The Passenger: Prologue
PROLOGUE
John
1983
Dean was sleeping in the back seat, snoring those little baby snores that made John's chest clench up, half with love, half with dread at not being able to protect him. He sighed. This was no fucking life for a four year old. Patient, good little thing that he was. They'd been on the road for a long time now, stopping only to hunt for gas, for something to eat, mostly sleeping in the car. Running across occasional enclaves of people, mostly decent encounters-everyone was still too desperate trying to live to organize against each other. He'd had a close call or two, and the last place they'd come from, there'd been an old guy who talked to him about monsters for God's sake. He claimed they were out there, ghosts and goblins and ghouls. He'd been damn serious about it too. John glanced back at his son, relived to see he was still sleeping heavily, smiling at the sight of him curled up in a tatty blanket he'd somehow claimed as his.
That Elkins guy...he wished the fuck he could have said the guy was crazy-there were a hell of a lot of crazy people wandering the roads these days. Hell, he was kind of crazy himself. But on one of the nights he and Dean had stayed in Elkins' compound, there'd been a pounding at the gate, and a weird, warbly howling that took him too long to realize was a person calling for someone, several someones. Begging them to open the gate, for them to save whoever it was howling like an animal out there.
A young woman named Tamara had had to be restrained from going to her husband-what had been her husband. John would never forget her name, never, not for the rest of his life. Looking over the gate John saw a shambling, half-rotted thing shuffling around in circles, staggering towards the gate and rebounding against it over and over, and its whited-out eyes rolling as it called, mindlessly, over and over, "Tamara, help me, Tamara, help me, let me in-"
John shuddered even now, thinking about it. Elkins claimed it was part ghost, part ghoul, and that some strange, unexplained plague had brought the monsters out in the open at the same time it killed them-most types anyway-along with the humans. "Fucked some of them up good. Here's the trick, though-salt, iron, silver, copper-still good things to have. Copper will kill almost anything silver won't and iron will fuck them up a piece, too."
The day they'd left the enclave, Elkins had cut a long, measured look at Dean, his eyes going dark as he did. John remembered, how he thought he recognized the look-he'd heard about certain types of diseased men who preyed on the vulnerable. Even now, his lip curled in a reflexive snarl, thinking about it, and how he'd started reaching for the small of his back and the gun he'd tucked there, a Colt he'd found pretty as you please on the side of the road. A slick, pretty thing-and fucking handy for situations like this.
The ivory grip had been cool and smooth under his fingers, and he'd almost tugged it free when the old man broke the heavy silence.
"You know what, boy? You need to talk to Bobby Singer. He don't have the same field experience I've had-he's a young one like you, but that man can help. He's smart as a whip; got a shit ton of info on the very things I been talking to you about. He'll teach you what you need to know to keep that precious little one of yours safe." He gave John a map and directions. "I got no idea what it looks like out there in the larger world-we all came here and hunkered down for the worst. Were some shocked when it turned out to be not too bad-poor 'Mara's tragedy notwithstanding. After the Monster plague, we tend to count anything like that as...well, hate to say it, but it's a small price to pay for the safety we got here. Not that I'd ever look that woman in the eye and say such a thing…"
He shook himself and John just nodded. Hell, he didn't judge the enclave for feeling like that. They were right. Anyone who'd watched loved ones, their homes, their entire community be put to the torch had to understand the old man.
"Thanks. Bobby Singer, hunh?"
"Yeah," Elkins rasped out a laugh. "Hard-head, like you. You all oughta get along like a house on fire." He glanced at Dean again and frowned. "I'm torn between insisting you go and insisting you stay. It's a fuckin' harsh, nasty world out there, and our children are the only treasure that matters anymore," he said, shaking his head sadly.
Yeah. John winced, shamed at the mistaken direction his thoughts had taken back then; he'd almost blown a hole in an old man who was only worried about the future.
John had thanked him again, then picked his son up, bundled him out to the car. He'd tucked Dean into the back seat, said a prayer and turned the ignition. The old, black beast, faithful as ever, had shuddered and rumbled, grumbling loudly before settling into a steady low roar, and leaping out onto the road.
Now, picking his way down a mostly clear road, thank God, he wondered how long he was going to be able to run his girl. Gas was getting harder to find, and she was getting a mite cranky. "I'm not gonna leave you on the side of the road like your former owner did, Baby, not if I can help it-promise," he murmured, patting the dash with a self-conscious grin.
Dean inhaled suddenly, a long, shaky intake of air, before letting it go and settling again. John smiled softly, taking a moment to be the man he used to be, and pushed a cassette into the player. They drove on, the sounds of BB King filling the car. Stormy Monday...John nodded, fingers on the steering wheel keeping time as they drove on, weaving around wrecks and damaged sections of road, heading towards some guy named Singer that he hoped was going to give his boy a chance to stretch his legs and breathe again.
Dean
1985
Dean shot up in bed, almost falling out, crying without even feeling it. Smoke filled the air, and heat-too much heat; felt his feet burning as he ran down the hall of their house, and then Daddy came swooping in out of nowhere to sweep him off his feet into his arms, his bathrobe flying out around him like a cape, like a superhero. Daddy jumped through a window and flew over the lawn, coming to a soft landing in the neighbor's driveway and Dean shuddered, blinking into the darkness as the flashing lights faded, the sirens dying down into a steady mutter that was the sound of other people moving about in other rooms.
That...that hadn't happened at all. He blinked again, wiping his face as he did, and looked down at his hand, puzzled. His hand was wet, his face was cool. He scrubbed hard, drying the evidence away. He didn't want Daddy to know he'd been crying.
Daddy flying though, that had been a real weird ending to the dream. He dreamed about their old street pretty frequently, and the stuff that had happened that night. Nowadays he wasn't sure all his memories were real because even though he dreamed about it so much all the dreams ended some weird or bad way, really bad...only the part with his mommy dying always ended the same.
One day she coughed and went to bed and then she never got out of bed again. She just coughed and coughed until she stopped, like she does now in every dream he has about her. After the day she did really stop coughing, the army men came and took her, along with most of the neighbors, down to the end of the street and set everything on fire. It looked like a bonfire, only bigger, and he remembered how it smelled so bad.
He remembered too that the Smiths' house caught on fire and the army men didn't even care, just kept pouring gasoline or whatever it was on the people who died and all their stuff.. Daddy held him in his arms and cried right along with Dean; Dean remembered that because after that night, Daddy didn't cry anymore. The army men gave Daddy something in a little bag, he was pretty sure it was money but Daddy didn't say. Then they made him and Daddy and some neighbors get on a truck. He watched his street burn as they drove away, and whispered against the glass, "Bye-bye, Mommy."
That was the end of their regular life.
Dean rolled to his side, wrapped himself around his pillow and thought. He was six now. What happened was a long time ago. Uncle Bobby told him once that things were better now, there weren't any fires anymore. He said all that happened two years ago and kinda hinted that Dean didn't really remember all that he said he did. That maybe he was just repeating what he'd heard, but no. He didn't say so to Uncle Bobby, but he was dead wrong. Dean remembered all of it and it didn't matter that it was probably a long, long time ago.
He was older now than he was back then, of course. Six was older. He sure felt older; he felt tired and older and empty inside. Alone. He wished he had a friend. A sister or a brother. Wouldn't that be nice? A brother-he could play ball with him and stuff with him. He tapped his fingers together: one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, and imagined his brother and him being Batman and Robin-'course he was Batman 'cause he was the older brother-until he fell asleep again. This time he dreamed about a little boy who was his brother, who smiled real wide, and had shaggy brown hair, green eyes, stupid freckles and pointy ears just like his.
When he woke up again, Daddy was there, sitting on the end of the bed. Daddy's eyes were red, the way his own eyes got if he cried too much and then rubbed too hard to make himself stop. Daddy smelled like pretty flowers and the brown stuff he drank sometimes, and a little like the sticks Uncle Bobby and him smoked sometimes. His shirt was buttoned wrong, and Dean tried not to laugh at Daddy's mistake. He probably could laugh and it would be okay-Daddy didn't look sad, and he didn't look like something was sneaking right up behind him; he looked like that a lot.
He reached out and rubbed a hand over and through Dean's hair, ruffling it around all crazy. Dean grinned, despite being pretty sleepy. It was nice when Daddy smiled, and he smiled a lot in this town.
"Hey, Champ. Don't worry about getting up yet, I'm gonna wash up and catch some zees before we hit the road."
"We're not gonna stay so's you c'n visit your frien' again?"
"Nah, I got a need to move on a bit. It's been fun staying here, but it's time to pull up stakes."
"Okay." Didn't make much difference to Dean. He'd hardly stepped outside, especially not when Daddy left him alone. Stay inside, lock the door, don't open it to anybody who doesn't know the secret password. Dean was a good soldier; Daddy said so. He wasn't going to let anyone in, no way, even though the other people didn't scare him at all. They were nice, here at the Mo-tel. That's what Daddy called it. Dean figured it was an okay place even if it smelled like washrags when you rolled them in a ball and packed them away wet.
Daddy walked out with a bucket, but he was back inside before Dean could count to twelve. He watched Daddy pour the water into a bowl, and then pour something from a little bottle into it. He watched Daddy take his clothes off, and rub a wet rag all over himself, flinging water all over and making Dean laugh. He scrubbed his teeth until they got all foamy, and grinned at Dean when he laughed again. Rinsed and spit, and then winked at him.
He dressed quickly, then packed up their clothes from yesterday and squared away all their gear. "How 'bout we head out to Uncle Bobby's in the morning, kiddo?" he asked.
"Yeah!" Dean yelped, finally feeling some kind of real enthusiasm. Bobby's place was cool-he had a real bedroom there, and a bathroom with running water, and he had a stove too, so they had hot food every day. He could play outside without having Daddy hanging over him like a mama bear. That's what Bobby called it when Dad did that thing like he could hardly let him out of his sight.
Yeah. Dean snuggled back under his blanket, and let out a deep, satisfied sigh. Bobby had pretty good food, and it was clean, and not too many monsters around and nobody coughed anymore anyway.
A little frown creased his forehead. Besides where Bobby lived, there weren't a lot of people around either. Daddy said there were some families living in the cabins he could just make out back in the trees, and a village farther down the road where he bought the stuff they'd been eating and some supplies for the road, but Daddy had never taken him along; he hardly ever took him to places with a lot of people except Bobby's.
Sometimes Dean thought he remembered there used to be a way lot more people, before Mommy coughed herself into bed.
Sam
1987
"Seli-ma," Sam called. "Sam hungry. Food?"
"I'm waiting for one of my friends to come with food-he promised. When he leaves again, then we'll eat, okay?" Seli answered patiently.
He smiled, and went back to stacking a little pile of flat rocks on the floor-his current favorite toy. He looked up when there was a pounding on the door, then towards Seli for direction. She froze, a look of fear on her face. "Go to the back room, hide under the floor. Don't shift," she hissed. "Scoot-now."
He dashed for the other room, shoved aside the mattress on the floor, knocking over the pile of blankets they slept in. There were a few loose boards under the mattress, and ever since he could remember, his mother had drilled into him that when the humans came, if they were angry, get in the hole under the boards. She always told him no matter how much they smiled when they came to visit her, one never knew when they might go mad. Humans were not to be trusted. Treat them delicately, like the snakes that rattled their tails in the leaves.
He'd just pulled up the last board when something snatched his ankle-a human. He heard his ma screaming in the front room.
"Please, please, let him go! I'll make it better for you, I promise!"
One of the men laughed. "I didn't think they got all that attached to their pups. Watcha got?"
"Boy, maybe a girl, cain't tell with all this hair." The grip on his ankle tightened, and the human holding him swung him back and forth in the air. "So, kill it or sell it?" His world swooped 'round and 'round. He clenched his eyes shut because it was scary. When he opened them again, they were in the front room. With Seli.
Seli-ma was laying on the floor and a man was on top of her, but not like usual with smiles and laughs, and her telling Sam to go back in the other room with the funny voice she used when humans were there. No, she was covered with red, and there was a terrible stink, a stink like she cooked food in grease, but it was too hot, so the grease burned.
She had a look like she was beginning to shift, and he knew that was bad, bad, bad-never show a human your shift. But her eyes were bright yellow, and her yellow fur was trying to come out and she had a shiny knife stuck in her chest and the skin all around it was black.
"Seli, Mama, Sam scared! Scared!"
"Shut the fuck up!" The human holding him swung him so he hit the wall and it hurt all over; bright silver stars crashing together in his eyes and head.
"Sam! You fucking leave my Sam alone, you--" Seli-Ma roared, like she was shifted all the way even though she wasn't, and she bit the human laying on her. There was a lot of blood and that human went dead. The other human took another shiny knife and stuck it in Seli-Ma and wiggled it back and forth, like when a thorn got caught in the paw, and she screamed even louder. The man yelled, "Fuckin' killer monster bitch!" and there was a loud noise like a door slamming really hard, and something hot and wet and smelling like the inside of a rabbit splashed all over him and his ma was quiet. He screamed-Seli-ma's face looked all funny and wrong.
"Monster freak tryin' to act like it's human. Getty, haul your ass over here and help me get this poor shit offa her. Poor stupid bastard."
The human holding him by the leg swung him up higher in the air. A big, hair-covered face was suddenly thrust in his. It stunk, like piss, and dead things, and the smoke from fire-rings. "Y'know, we might be able to use this thing ourselves. Bait, somethin'. And it's free."
"It's a fuckin' pup. What the fuck can it do? S' too little ta work. Can't shift or it woulda. Sell it off and let it be someone else's problem. Or kill, like I said first time."
"Don't kill it when we can sell it. Lotsa people got use for a little monster, specially one that looks like it's human, if you get my drift."
"You're a pig, Getty. A fuckin' pig. Still…."
He hung there, blood rushing to his head, pounding in his ears. He cried silent tears for his mother, and for himself. He was scared, Seli-ma was gone dead, and his stomach clenched and danced. A hot rush flowed up his throat; instinct forced his mouth open and he vomited all over the humans leg's and feet.
"JeezDamn it," it howled, and threw him across the room. Before the black swallowed him up, he heard, "Get them chains out. Just in case."
Phoenix1966
chapter one