Chapter 16: The Winchesters
Dean turned towards Sam’s voice and ducked just as Sam threw his knife over his brother’s head. It pierced a zombie’s chest with a sickening thud. The man went down, stunned for now.
“How are we going to get all these dead-eyes back in their graves? There’s gotta be about a hundred,” Dean said, standing.
Mary swung around and beheaded a zombie. Blood spurted from its neck wound. “This should do,” she said.
A second later, a machete came down on the zombie Sam had stunned.
“What?” Lindsay asked. “I needed something to swing at.”
Until now, the zombies had been few and far in between. The women briefed Sam and Dean that Mary had scouted the property alone---to which the brothers had a few choice words for their mother---and they knew more were coming. The hunters barricaded the doors and windows. They scattered bear traps around the yard. Then they waited.
Sam turned to Lindsay. “Where’s Connor?”
“He’s with Jenna.”
“You sound surprised,” she commented.
“You don’t sound bothered by it,” he added.
Lindsay jogged forward and hid behind a tree. “It’s nothing,” she whispered.
She motioned for Sam and Dean to take cover. Mary was already hidden. Even with their naturally (or unnaturally) stealthy ways, one hundred zombies tramping through the woods was just impossible. As the horde grew, the hunters knew the shot-gun style house would be a deathtrap. As the zombies began to choke the fenced-in yard, the hunters broke free of the house and made a stand in the yard.
Now that he knew what he was, Cameron had clawed his way out of his dark depression. It hadn’t been hard, much to his surprise. The process of sobering had been much more of a struggle. Three months had felt like three lifetimes; the days slipping through his fingers like water, while the water was suspended like a jellyfish in a motionless ocean.
And the werewolf hadn’t tasted human flesh. Kate had gently insisted that although animal meat and blood was the lesser of the two choices, it was the right one. Not that that mattered---eating human flesh repulsed Cameron. His stomach heaved at the thought of it. But maybe, if he hadn’t had Kate as guidance and he’d tasted a human, he wouldn’t react that way every time he thought about it. Maybe...he’d enjoy it.
The sun had set on the piles of zombie ashes, and the Winchester clan and Lindsay were cleaning the blood off their boots and faces. The zombies had put up a hell of a fight. It was like they had been tethered to something, as if someone was giving them orders.
"How could someone control that many zombies?" Mary asked, wiping the last bit of slime from her neck with a blood-stained rag.
"They'd need lots of juice," Lindsay replied from the bathroom. She came around the corner, drying her hair with a towel. "They'd need to be a witch or something."
"But they would also need spells. Lots of them," Sam added.
"What kind of spells?" Mary asked.
Dean kicked his feet up---sans socks as zombie guts had spilled over the lip of his boots into them---on the low coffee table and reclined in the gray cushions of the couch. "We had this one chick, the preacher's wife, that had a leash on a reaper. Remember her, Sam?" he said, shaking his head as he did so.
"Yeah," Sam replied. His tired face didn't change, but his eyes darkened, remembering the time when he and Dean visited Nebraska so that Dean could be cured by a specialist.
Little did they know, the "specialist's" wife had control of a reaper, and all she thought unworthy or unholy had their life drained. Their life would then be given to those who she deemed worthy and who had illness or injury. The poor preacher was blind and didn't ever suspect her. Or that his gift was false.
"So the spells would be like that one?" Lindsay asked. "Where would someone get something like that?"
"The one the preacher's wife had was from an old book. Black magic, awful stuff. She kept it hidden in her library," Sam offered.
He tried to avoid those memories. Any memory of Dean in pain, or dying, or even dead was a black swirling hole in Sam's stomach. They made him sick. The vortex pulled him down until he thought he'd no longer be able to reach the sun. But that was the norm these days. He and Dean were at the end of their rope now. These days would be the Winchesters' last.
There was no reaper, not even Death himself, to reap them or bring them back again. Sam tried to avoid those thoughts just like he was now. It did no good to dwell on them.
But this one just kept getting brought up.
"That was just one reaper," she countered, breaking through Sam's tortured reverie. "If this person needs more spells than that, or even just a more powerful one to control this many reanimated corpses, where would we possibly find that?"
A second of silence split the air.
"We gotta go," Dean said suddenly. He leapt from the sofa and started retrieving his things and shoving them into his duffel bag.
"Where's the fire?" Sam wondered. Dean gave him a pointed look. "Oh, no."
Sam's heart dropped through his feet. That look on Dean's face could only mean one thing.
Lindsay looked between one brother and the other. She could tell something was definitely up. Sam had seen that set of her mouth before. As they shoved their ruined clothes and guns into that bag, he became overwhelmed with shame once again.
The bunker had been breached, and they had never told their best friend about it.