The Winchester Boys and the Tremors of Doom - Chapter 7
Dean opened the back gate of Blake’s Jeep and pulled out several steel fence posts, handing them off to his brother.
Sam accepted them with a frown. “What’s all this?” he asked as Dean pulled another piece of steel from the truck. It was tubular and painted in red enamel with long square handles that spanned two thirds the length of the base.
“I found these in Massina’s shed. They’re post drivers. See?” He took a post from Sam’s hands and stuck one end into the dirt at their feet, and then he fitted the steel tube down over the top of the post. He took hold of the handles and raised the driver up, and then brought it down hard; a loud metal on metal twang, ringing out over the desert like an off-key church bell. “Figure they’ll work good as Thumpers. Just like in Dune, Sammy,” Dean grinned.
Sam opened and closed his mouth as though he were about to argue the point and thought better of it. He twitched his nose and shook his head. “And you call me a geek.”
Dean ignored the comment, pulling a second post driver out of the Jeep. “I found three of them.”
The men paired off; Carl and Dodger, Dean and Cahill, and Sam and Blake; and they took their positions, spaced out along the south end of the pit that faced out into the desert where the Worms had last been seen. Angel took up lookout from the roof of Massina’s backhoe, while Noah sat in its driver’s seat waiting to do his part. The plan was simple enough: Use the post drivers-come-thumpers to draw the Limp Bizkits into the pit where they would be skewered by the hand-carved spears, and then Noah would light the Diesel. The pit would burn fast, but it would burn hot, insuring complete incineration. Best not take any chances.
“You see anything yet?” Dean hollered up at Angel, who stood atop the backhoe, scanning the quickly darkening horizon for ‘Wormsign’.
“Nothing,” Angel called back. “¡Maldita sea!” he cursed in frustration and let the binoculars fall heavily against his chest. “It’s like they just disappeared. Where could they be?”
Sam shook his head, his brow cinching up tightly in concern and he turned to his brother. “I don’t like this, Dean. Even in the middle of their…”
“Worm sex,” Dean filled in when Sam stalled out.
“Yes, that. Even then, they would have been aware of our activity. They’d have felt us and would have come looking for us. They should’ve been here by now.”
“Well then,” Cahill said, stepping into the conversation, “let’s quit wasting time and call these damn things. The quicker we get them here and make them dead, the quicker we can all go home, cuz I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not looking forward to facing these Limp-whatsits in the dark.”
“Man’s got a point,” Dean agreed. He grabbed up the post driver and positioned it over the steel fence post. “On the count of three?”
The six men on the ground took their places; Dodger, Cahill and Blake each holding a fence post steady, while Carl, Dean and Sam raised their post drivers. Just as they were ready to strike, the radio at Carl’s hip squawked. They all turned as one to look down the line at the rancher as he fumbled for the walkie.
“Luke? Is that you?” he asked into the mike.
The reception was scattered, and the message he received back was staticky, but filled with obvious panic. “…here! Came after…ows, Come up under… and Ronnie…”
“Ronnie?” Dean tossed his post driver to the ground and went to Carl’s side. “What about Ronnie?”
Carl shushed him and diverted his attention back to the radio. “Son, you’re breaking up. Come again?”
“He ran out there, Dad,” came the clear reply, “to lure it away. To protect me.”
Suddenly a faint echo reached out across the sands to them-the telling crack of a weapons discharge that had Dean surging out of the group, running, only to be caught by Sam’s long reach.
“Le’go. I’ve gotta go back,” Dean insisted, pulling hard against his brother’s hold.
Sam tightened his grip around Dean’s bicep and held him in place. “No, Dean. You can’t.”
“I have to. It’s my fault that they’re back there alone. All that kid wanted was to help. Offered to take Luke in to the Doc, but I wouldn’t let him. I made them sit tight. Thought they’d be safe there, but you heard Luke. They’re in real trouble and that’s on me.”
“Yeah, I heard Luke. And I can hear Ronnie too.” Sam threw a hand out in the direction of Massina’s farm, the crackling of gunfire still audible over the darkening landscape. “But Dean, you are never gonna make it back there in time to do that boy any good.”
“He’s got a family that depends on him, Sammy. Little sisters and a mom, and I promised I would get him home to them. I can’t just-”
“Yes, you can.” Sam tugged him away from the group, away from the terrified cries emanating from the radio, away from the anxious looks of the others. “Dean, you gotta pull it together, man. I mean, I get it. I really do. I mean, you’re looking out for the kid because he’s somebody’s big brother, and I understand. I’d be the same way. But our only chance of helping both him and Luke right now is to draw the attention away from them.”
“Omigod!” Luke’s terror-filled voice broke through again, loud and clear. “Omigod! I can’t see Ronnie anymore! I can’t see him! The worm…it…” the radio broke up again, emitting nothing for a moment but static.
“It what?” Dean roared. “What?”
“…think it ate him! Omigod! I think it…”
Dean put his hands to his head, and looked at Sam, his eyes filled with desperation.
“Get back in the house, son,” Carl said calmly, “and find somewhere to hide. You hear me?”
Dean spun in a slow circle and stood facing the direction the last gunshots had come from.
Sam squared him by the shoulders and forced Dean to face him. “I can’t do this without you, man. Please.”
Dean eyes fell and he took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly and clenching his jaw. There was nothing he disliked more than having his own words used against him. Nothing, maybe, except giant man-eating worms. And witches. Dean hated witches.
Every fiber of his being screamed at Dean to get out there and hunt down the monster that had…that had…goddamn it! He’d let Ronnie down. Sam was right though. The best thing he could do now was make that monster come to him. And then he would rip its goddamn lungs out. Did worms even have lungs? Begrudgingly, Dean went back to his fence post and picked up the driver. The rest of the men joined him at their positions and together they brought the drivers down. The resulting sound rang out across the desert floor, loud and clear like a cast bronze bell, and reverberated down deep into the ground below their feet. Over and over, in a practiced rhythm, they brought the drivers down, pausing only a moment to switch off to the next post at which point Dodger, Cahill and Blake took over.
They had three posts each into the ground before Angel raised the alarm.
“I see it,” he cried, his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice over the metal on metal racket. “There!”
He pointed off to the west where the sun had just set and the faint wisps of lavender clouds sat low in the sky, scattering and refracting the remaining sun-glow across the desert floor. Below the sky and tracking slowly across the painted earth, an ominous dust cloud billowed up out of the ground like a whirlwind death omen.
“That’s only one,” Cahill answered. “Where’s the other?”
The Winchesters weren’t superstitious or anything. They’d seen too much over their combined fifty years that could and did discredit certain superstitions, like knocking on wood for example, but there was something to be said for ‘tempting fate’. You just didn’t do it. And as soon as the words were out of Cahill’s mouth, Sam and Dean heaved exasperated sighs and rolled their eyes at the sky before glancing at each other. A second later their world erupted into chaos.
The second, unseen Worm exploded up and out of the rocky soil sending dirt and rock and bodies flying in its wake. Sam tumbled end over end, rolling up to his feet as gracefully as if the fall had been his intention all along. He moved quickly, scooping a hand under Blake’s arm and hauling the man quickly to his feet. “Around to the other side,” he ordered, grabbing up a fence post driver as they ran.
Dean too was up and running; diving protectively in front of Carl and igniting the flame thrower. It sputtered twice and then roared to life, sending a cascade of liquid fire raining down on the beast. “That’s what you get for ruining a classic like ‘Faith’, you bitch!”
The Limp Bizkit bellowed. It rose up out of the ground and thrashed in pain; its inflamed thick-muscled body, looming dangerously over all of them. And then, as if the action would extinguish the heat, the monster threw itself head first into the ground, its armored head protecting against the blow.
The ground shook with the force of it, knocking all of the men off of their feet. Dean scrambled away; pushing Carl up and out of sand as it fell away, sinking beneath the movement of the giant Worm. Cahill too was climbing on hands and knees, digging in to pull himself to freedom, and snatching up as many of their weapons as were within his reach.
Noah and Angel felt helpless, watching from the backhoe as each member of the group-save Sam and Blake, who were already safe-struggled to get clear of the collapsing Worm hole and move to higher, safer ground. They all succeeded; all but Dodger.
“Climb!” Noah encouraged, and above him, Angel shouted, “Dammit Dodge! Move your ass!”
Dodger worked, grasping hand over hand of loose sand and rock, but for every foot he gained up the widening sink hole, he lost two. The Worm thrashed again as it fled the area, loosening even more soil, and Dodger slipped over the edge.
“Dodge!” Angel jumped from the cab roof into the upturned bucket of the backhoe, and then onto the ground, rolling into a full-on sprint. He raced to the place where he’d last seen the man and threw himself onto the ground. “Dodge?”
He looked over the edge of the hole into the pale face of his friend and released a shaky breath. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. Get me out of here…please.”
“I will, Dodge,” Angel assured, quickly assessing the situation. “I promise.”
Dodger was dangling above the ten foot deep hole, whispering prayers of salvation and clinging tight to the newly exposed roots of a Joshua tree. Below him, there was no secure place for him to plant his feet; only open space and the risk of the Limp Bizkit returning though the same tunnel. Angel moved quickly, reaching over the rim to grab hold of the other man. “I need your hand, Dodge. Give me your hand.”
Dodge tried, his arms shaking beneath the strain of his own weight, but he didn’t dare let go, for fear of falling. Because if he fell, and that Worm did come back, it would roll over him and that’d be the end of that. He shook his head and clung tighter to the roots.
“Dodger,” Angel coaxed, his voice steady and sure, “look at me. Look at my hand. If you let go, I am going to catch you. I won’t let you down. Never again.”
Dodger swallowed hard and nodded. He didn’t waste time, just let go of the roots and thrust his hand up into Angel’s awaiting grasp. They moved immediately; Angel wrapping both hands around Dodger’s wrist. He pulled, digging the heels of his boots into the ground and leaning back, using gravity and his own weight to leverage the older man towards the surface.
Dodger scrambled up, finally finding a foothold in the root system of the tree and with one last yank, he was out of the hole and they were sprawled out across the sand, chests heaving from exertion.
On the other side of the opened-up tunnel, Dean, Cahill and Carl stood in various stages of relief and disbelief. Carl clapped a hand to his forehead and chuckled anxiously. “You two alright?” he asked.
Dodger flopped over onto his back and stared up into the star-lit heavens until an Angel-shaped shadow fell over him. The boy leaned over and offered him his hand, grinning. “Lemme give you a hand up, old man.”
He pulled Dodger to his feet and swamped the man in a hug. Dodger’s first reaction was to gasp in disbelief, but then he relaxed and pulled the kid into his arms, returning the hug and patting the kid on the back affectionately. “I owe you one, boy,” he said, his voice muffled into Angel’s shoulder.
“Are we done with the hearts and flowers yet?” Cahill asked, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “We’ve still got two of these sonsuvbitches to kill.”
“Noah, you got eyes on them?” Dean asked of the man in the backhoe.
“Sure do.” Sometime during Angel’s heroic endeavor to save Dodger, Noah had moved to take up position on top of the machine and keep a watchful eye on the situation. “We’ve got Fred at our 8 o’clock, about 100 yards out.”
“Fred?” Cahill asked, shouldering a rifle and sighting the scope. “Are we giving them names now?”
But Dean wagged his finger knowingly at Noah. “And where’s Wes Borland?”
“Still circling at a safe distance. I’m not sure why it’s holding back, but it doesn’t seem to have moved.”
“Does it really matter?” Dean shrugged. “I’d rather not have to deal with two of those sonsuvbitches at one time if I don’t have to. Sammy?”
“We’re ready, Dean.” On the far side of the pit, Sam and Blake had reset the thumpers and with a signal from Dean, they set to work, calling the Limp Bizkits.
“Alright,” Dean said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Showtime.” He turned to the others and spoke loud enough for Dodger, Angel and Noah to just hear him from where they stood across the collapsed tunnel. “Now, we don’t know how this thing is gonna react this time. Last round, it caught us by surprise and-”
“But you hurt it,” Angel argued.
“Which only makes it more unpredictable. So, everybody spread out,” Dean barked; his hands directing the group through the hand signals his father had drilled into him since childhood. “Move quick, take what you can carry and get around to the back side of the pit. Once you’re in position, hunker down and don’t move. If it can’t feel our vibrations, then it can’t find us and it’ll go straight for those thumpers.”
While Sam and Blake continued to operate the thumper, everyone else hurried into position and then froze in place. Noah kept watch, the binoculars glued to his eyes, sweeping the horizon for the tell-tale signs that a Worm was approaching. Two minutes passed; five. Dean started counting, just for something to do. Finally, just when Dean was starting to worry, Noah made the signal. Sam and Blake stopped working the Thumper immediately and joined the others. Dean smiled at his brother, his eyes tight with pre-battle worry. Sam gave him a thumbs-up and an easy grin and the tension in Dean’s belly eased, just a bit. On the one hand, he hated knowing that Sam was in harm’s way; on the other, there was no-one else-not even his father-who Dean would rather have watching his back.
Noah gave the second signal and Dean barely had time to count to three before the Limp Bizkit exploding out of the ground and devoured the Thumper.
Dean raised his arm high and then brought it down, signaling the charge. The waiting men surged forward, shooting at the Worm, driving it toward the pit. When it tried to force its way past them Cahill blasted it with the flame thrower, in one sustained burst of fire, causing it to roar and slam its huge body into the ground, scattering its attackers.
“Dean!” Cahill called. “I’m just about outta fuel!”
Dean slung his rifle across his back and ran in close to the Limp Bizkit, a knife in each hand. He stabbed one of the knives in between two segments of the Worm’s back and when the Worm rolled he let it pull him up top. Running along the Worm’s back, Dean couldn’t help whooping in delight. Did he have the best job in the world, or what?
He felt, rather than heard, Sam come up behind him. He threw a grin over his shoulder. “How awesome is this, Sammy! I’ve always wanted to be a sandrider!”
Sam’s grin matched his own. “Cool though it is, do you actually have a plan here, or is this just for fun?”
Dean hefted his knife and nodded toward the waving antennae on the Worm’s head. “I’ll take the right one, you take the left one.”
The approached the head cautiously, stopping and exchanging a glance once they were in position. “On three?” Sam said.
“Okay.”
“One…two…”
“Wait, wait, wait! Do we do it on three? Or one, two, three, then do it?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s your ass Cochise.”
Dean sniggered. “Thank you, Riggs. We go on three.”
“On three? Okay. One, two…three!”
They severed the Limp Bizkit’s feelers simultaneously. Which may not have been the best thought-out plan in the world because the Limp Bizkit roared and reared up and sent the boys hurtling to the ground.
Dean had no idea what exactly the feelers did for the Worm, but without them it seemed directionless, rolling and bellowing and thrashing around. Which was a pretty good description for himself right now too. Dean rolled and rolled, bellowing for Sam and trying desperately to get clear of the thrashing Worm. The Limp Bizkit slammed down right next to his head, its putrid hot breath washing over him and making him want to hurl, and the impact making his ears ring.
“Dean!” he heard his name called as if through molasses. “Move your ass!”
The Worm was rolling again and Dean barely scrambled out the way in time, wasn’t sure he was going to make it until Sam’s shovel of a hand was suddenly wrapped around his wrist, hauling him out of the way. They stumbled backwards, twisted, staggered, and then tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, rolling over and over and finally coming to a stop with Dean on his back and Sam sprawled on top of him.
“Thanks little brother.”
Sam blew his bangs out of his eyes. “You’re welcome.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably. “Get off me, man. I don’t want anybody to see us like this!”
Sam clambered to his feet and reached down a hand to Dean, pulling him up.
“Fire in the hole!” Cahill shouted. And then he threw one of the IEDs straight at the Limp Bizkit. The explosion and resulting fire sent it into a frenzy of rolling and it hurled itself straight into the pit, impaling itself on the wooden spikes and bellowing in distress.
An answering bellow sounded in the distance and Noah shouted from his watch position on top of the Jeep. “Incoming! Wes Borland is moving in fast! I repeat: Wes Borland is moving in fast! We’re about to have company guys and from the way it’s moving, I’d say it’s pissed.”
The field of battle was a mess; gaping holes, massive mounds of displaced rock and soil, uprooted brush, one very sad looking Joshua tree, and seven men on the ground, clambering to get into position for the next attack.
It rode the desert like a sidewinder rattlesnake, pushing its entire body along the surface and tearing up the ground beneath it, leaving a trail that looked like curled ribbons in the sand. Sam stopped to watch its trek, awestruck by the power this one was displaying.
Dean came up behind him and tugged on his arm before moving into a better attack position. “Come on. You can geek out later, Sammy.”
“But Dean, do you know what kind of strength it has to have to be able to pull that off? I mean the sheer size of it alone…”
Dean shook his head and smirked, rolling his eyes in that fond way he had of dealing with his little brother. “Such a nerd.”
They ran and jumped over an embankment of rock and were joined right away by Blake who came bearing gifts in the form of two IEDs. “These are all I could find,” he said. “Carl and Cahill have one a piece and Dodger has one. The rest were lost during the first attack.”
Sam grimaced unhappily. All that time and energy they’d spent in their assembly had gone to waste if they didn’t have enough firepower to finish the job. “We’re just gonna have to make these last,” Dean said, placing a steadying hand on Sam’s shoulder as if he could read his younger brother’s thoughts.
“Closing fast,” Noah hollered out to them. “Fifty yards, now forty.”
“Alright,” Dodger growled from his and Angel’s place. “We don’t need a damn countdown. Just tell us when it’s here.”
“It’s here!” Angel yelled as the beast tore through the brush, directly in front of them. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“Cuss later,” Dodger said, grabbing the boy’s arm. “Run now!”
The Limp Bizkit reared up, literally foaming at the mouth in rage and roared, showering them with spittle as they ran. And then it was slamming itself into the ground, driving its armored head into the soil and sending the two men flying in a hail storm of dirt and debris.
Dodger staggered to his feet, his brains rattled from the impact, and his right side barely able to hold his own weight. He looked around without focus until his eyes landed on Angel’s still form. Quickly, he limped to the boy’s side, setting his rifle aside and giving the kid a quick once over, cringing when he pulled his hand away from Angel’s hair, tacky with blood. There was a gash just inside Angel’s thick dark hairline, and Dodger ran his thumb over the boy’s forehead, wiping away the trickle that was snaking its way down toward his eyes.
The earth trembled beneath them and Dodger suddenly seemed to remember that he was in a war zone. He patted Angel's cheek with rough, dry hands, trying to rouse the young man. "Wake up, kid. We've gotta get out of here."
There was a deep rumble below the ground; an angry warning a second before the Limp Bizkit breached the broken surface. It came up snarling and hissing directly over them, threatening to take the unconscious Angel down into the bowels of the earth with it. Moving in one fluid motion, Dodger rolled to his back and pulled his firearm up. “Don’t you touch ‘im!” He blasted three shots in rapid succession into the soft tissue of the Worm's mouth.
Screaming at the irritation, the beast thrashed and rolled, slipping over the rim of the pit. Gravity set in, pulling the Limp Bizkit into the death trap, but the Worm refused to give up. It surged up, attempting to use the injured form of its mate to boost itself out of the pit. But Dodger was waiting for it. He threw the last of his IEDs into the open maw of the beast. The detonation was immediate and effective, discharging tissue and armored skin in all directions and blasting Dodger off his feet.
The rest of the men descended upon the scene, casting the remaining IEDs into the pit, adding to the carnage. Noah moved quickly, down off the top of the backhoe, running to the edge and lighting the fuel-filled pit. The diesel burst to life, burning hot and bright, sending the Limp Bizkits into fitful death throes.
The sky filled with acrid black smoke and the fumes of burning flesh choked everyone involved. Angel sputtered awake, complaining with a groan. Carl and Cahill peeled off from the group to check on the boy and Dodger, who had been blown back by the first explosion.
“You ole coot,” Cahill admonished as he knelt down next to his friend. “What were you thinking, using a .22 to defend against that thing?”
Dodger stared up at him in a daze from the ground. His clothes and hair were singed and still smoldering; the skin that had been exposed at the time of the explosion was burned an angry red, but other than the burns and a few abrasions, he looked little worse for wear. “The kid saved my life,” he answered, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I owed him one.”
“We’re even, Dodge.” Angel limped over, his arm wrapped around Carl’s shoulder for support. “We are so even. You need to come see what you did,” he said with a grin.
They carefully pulled Dodger to his feet and brought him to the edge of the pit. There, Sam and Dean were standing looking over the fiery pit of smoldering worm, comfortably warming their hands. The Chloride locals exchanged nervous glances when Dean turned to his brother, saying, "We should've brought marshmallows. I really feel like toasted marshmallows."
Sam rubbed his hands together and nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, some graham crackers, a little chocolate-”
“A couple of cold ones.”
“Typical Saturday night,” Sam smiled.
“This is typical to you guys?” Angel asked, his voice cracking.
Sam’s mouth turned down and he shrugged nonchalantly. “Blood, guts, fire-”
“The smell of death,” Dean added. “Good times. What you gotta understand…Angel,” Dean stifled a chuckle at the boy’s name. “What you have to understand is, any day that you can walk away from is a good day. We learned a long time ago, life is short, so enjoy the little things, whether that’s toasted marshmallows or a beautiful night sky, like this,” Dean glanced up at the moonless starry night. “Or a much needed road trip to Vegas with your brother; it’s the little things that make life…livable.”
Angel raised his eyes to the inky black sky with its stars shining bright like diamonds and shrugged. He stepped up next to Dean and raised his palms to the warm embers of the pit. “Makes sense to me,” he said.
Dean nudged Sam’s side and smirked.
Master Post / Next