SEVENTEEN
Sam and Dean had been walking through lunchtime and into the afternoon, coming up empty. They searched the area where they had found the organ victim, then started moving in greater circles. The weather looked iffy, a new layer of clouds moving in low and grey on the horizon. A chill came with it.
As they crested a rise, suddenly Dean felt eyes on him. A branch snapped and he whirled around. Grace stepped out, her huge backpack towering behind her. "Hey," she said as they lowered their guns. "That was some messed up crap the other day. Guy was full of other people's body parts." She met Dean's gaze, her eyes haunted. This was a subdued Grace Dean hadn't seen before. As if reading his thoughts, she added, "You don't shrug something like that off." She sized them up. "I'm surprised they don't have more agents out here."
Sam shrugged, then winced at the pain in his shoulders. "We're pretty busy at the bureau."
Dean noticed that she had double the ammo in her belt now, and a shotgun was strapped onto her pack. He looked at Sam.
"It's strange that everywhere I go, here you are," she said.
Sam looked at his watch. "We should check in with Bobby."
"Sounds good." Dean pulled out his cell and checked the bars. The icon on his screen displayed a satellite dish spinning uselessly. No signal.
"I'll be right back," he told them. He walked toward the nearby ridge, then began the steep ascent up the smooth granite. He could feel the sun radiating off the rock. Yellow and orange lichen grew in colorful patches as he climbed higher. From the top of the ridge, he could see trees and other patches of open granite outcroppings. In the distance, the Tahoe Summit ski resort ran its ski lifts, and in the far, far distance, he could make out the treeless slopes of the Boreal and Sugar Bowl ski resorts. The whole area up here was dotted with them, with miles and miles of undeveloped forest between. It was a perfect place for a man-eater like a wendigo to make its nest. Lots of tourists coming and going, as Bobby had said.
Dean pulled out his cell again, lifting it up as it powered on. One bar. He called Bobby.
When he answered, Dean asked, "You find anything yet?"
"I think I may be on to something. I contacted a hunter on the west coast at Point Reyes who found an account of a villager using a stingray barb on the end of a whip. But both the whip and the barb have to be treated with a variety of spices and an incantation was performed on top of that. It's not something I could whip up here. The ingredients make quite an exotic shopping list."
"So what should we do?" Below him, Dean watched as Sam and Grace milled about the clearing, talking awkwardly. The wind sighed through the trees, and a gust buffeted his back.
"This hunter has some of what we need. I can go out there and get her to make it, but it would save time if you helped gather the ingredients. We could be there and back in a day."
"Sounds good."
"Find anything exciting out there?"
"Not yet. Grace found us again."
"Well, you two should come back. I don't like the idea of leaving one of you alone out there. Faster we get this weapon made, faster we can take care of this thing."
"Okay. I'll tell Sam." Dean hesitated. "Should we call Jason? He was good backup before."
"Slow backup."
"But he helped."
"Okay," Bobby relented. "I guess that way one of you could stay out there, warn people off, and the other could come to Point Reyes."
