Ruins of Our Own Construction - Chapter 3
Continued from Chapter 2 - Master post can be found here.
FBI Field Office - Norfolk, VA
January 17, 2008
Applause broke out over the meeting hall while Victor stewed over the fact that they had taken his gun. He’d promised himself he’d never hand over his badge and yet he’d done just that this morning so that he could sign up for this three ring circus.
The CEDA new agent briefing had been everything he’d expected - three wasted hours that he would never get back. Better yet, with martial law initiated, it was impossible to tell where the military ended and the CEDA began. It didn’t matter what agency the speaker was from. CEDA, marines, former FBI - they were all reading from the same damn storybook.
Each speaker stepped up to the podium like a weather forecaster confidently stating that their computer calculations reported it would remain sunny. The problem was, not a one of them had bothered to pull back the blinds to see that it had been raining for weeks.
Victor leaned back against the wall and watched his fellow newly recruited CEDA agents shuffle out of the conference room on their way to twiddle their thumbs. All they’d really been told in the briefing was that everything was going as planned.
If this crap excuse for a disintegrating government was the plan, then it was time for a new plan. For now, the official word was that everything was under control and they would be told more as soon as the higher-ups knew it. It was his first day on the job and he was already doing nothing but waiting around on standby.
He muttered his disgust beneath his breath and worked his way through the thinning crowd, back towards the stairs. It would be his last trip up to the old office. He’d moved most of the boxes down to his car last night, but hadn't finished before he’d been shuffled out by security enforcing the curfew.
As he headed up the next flight of stairs, he pulled down his face mask and wondered why the hell he’d had Reed take the boxes to his office instead of dumping them straight into his car. But of course, what should have been a few quick trips had turned into a monumental pain in the ass without the elevators.
The hallways were barely lit with ambient natural light. It didn’t matter how little light there was, he could’ve been blindfolded and still not faltered on his well-worn path.
It was that time of the day when the building across the street blocked the sun to his office window. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d strolled in here on quiet mornings just like this with a steaming cup of coffee and clicked on the lamp that may never turn on again.
Standing around and crying about it wasn’t going to help a damn thing. Without a second glance to the shell of an office, he grabbed the last box from the desk and headed back down the hall.
He was huffing by the time he made it to the parking garage and was distracted enough that he nearly walked straight into one of the guards. It took him a moment to realize that the man, a military officer holding some serious firepower, had purposefully stepped in his way.
Unimpressed by the man’s scowl, Victor raised an impatient brow and cleared his throat. “Excuse you.”
Without bothering with words, the officer pointed to a hideously intense orange notice posted on the wall. It illustrated a man wearing a face mask and declared in big bold letters, ‘Wear face mask at all times’.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that as soon as I unload this stuff.”
The officer widened his stance in front of the doorway. “You can get right on it now, Agent.”
Victor had half a mind to drop the box on the man’s foot, but didn't feel like picking up the spilled files afterwards so he placed it carefully on the ground instead. Grinding his teeth, he snapped the elastic of his face mask over his ears. As the impatient officer watched, Victor took his time adjusting the mask over his mouth and pinching the metal clip over his nose.
“Happy?”
When the officer stepped aside, Victor hefted the box back off the floor and tried not to throw his back out in the process. He kicked open the door and stepped out into the brisk air of the open-wall parking garage.
Sunlight spilled in, creating long, deep shadows that kept Victor on edge even though he knew this place was sealed tighter than Fort Knox. Outside the Safe Zone people were barely surviving and here armed military officers guarded the solid steel gates of a parking garage full of mostly abandoned vehicles.
The rear of his car sagged under the weight when he rested the box on the bumper just long enough to pop the trunk. Technically, it was a government issued vehicle, but the agency that had issued it was defunct and he was still doing their work.
He had to tip the oversized box to fit it under the lip of the trunk. The angle was steep enough for the top few files to slide from the unsealed box. Grumbling to himself, Victor pushed the box the rest of the way in before retrieving the fallen folders.
His hand stopped just short of tossing the files back into the box when he caught a quick glimpse of a Polaroid photo of a terrified girl in a hospital gown. He instantly assumed she was a rape victim, but the paper attached to the photo was filled with handwritten medical jargon, not typed criminal data and it was vaccine records and test results all to do with the Green Flu, not any STDs.
There was no name, only a number attached to the girl. An uneasy feeling settled in Victor’s gut as he leaned back against the trunk and started flipping through photos of other people with different numbers and vaccine information. The sheets were all dated after the Green Flu had hit and several had additional photos attached to the patient sheets - photos of the Infected with the same number from the original patient photo scribbled at the bottom of the Polaroid.
When he dug further into the box, Victor found more patient records, full reports and a listing of 'licensed' CEDA testing facilities. Most of the sites were prisons. While he wanted to give the benefit of the doubt, it was spelled out pretty damn clearly. With the CEDA stamp of approval, tests were being conducted on prison inmates.
Victor made a life of putting people behind bars, people who didn't deserve to ever again see the light of day, but they were still people. What bothered him even more was how few of the people pictured looked like they ever should have been in a prison to begin with.
~~~
Interstate 29 - Nebraska
Gordon was half sprawled over the backseat of a car with an engine that idled so damn loud that it might as well have been built to attract the Infected. If Dean stopped letting his emotions rule him, he’d dump this gas-guzzling steel boat at the next abandoned dealership and pick up one of those shiny new hybrid things. It wasn’t Gordon’s style, but the engines ran quiet and it would take a hell of a lot less gas siphoning to keep it running.
Instead of listening to the common sense of survival, Dean had nearly shot Gordon full of lead just for kicking his boots up onto the seat’s upholstery. Dean wasn’t going to dump this car any sooner than he was going to put a much-needed bullet in Sam’s head.
There was no question that Gordon wanted to do the honors of killing that thing behind the wheel. But unlike Dean, he could set aside his wants and see a tactical advantage for what it was.
Gordon worked alone and kept his connections at a distance, but the world was changing faster than one man could keep up with and his former connections had all but dropped off the face of the planet. Hell, he’d had to kill half of them himself.
Then there was Dean, a more than capable hunter that was gullible as all get out. He was a gun for hire for anyone who knew how to sweet talk him just right. With Sam on the way out, Dean would be desperate for someone to latch onto, and Gordon could put him to good use. There were just a few formalities to take care of first.
His finger was still itching to tighten around the trigger of the 9mm held loosely in his hand. In the front seat, Dean also held a pistol in plain view on his lap. Through the night, Gordon had watched as Dean’s head lolled repeatedly to the side just to jerk back up a moment later, each time shooting a glare over his shoulder at Gordon.
Half the time Gordon had smiled in smug amusement, half the time he’d glared back. He just liked shaking it up to keep the kid guessing. There was no reason for him to kill Sam while Dean slept. When he decided to end the human-faced monster, he could do it just as well when Dean was awake.
Instinct told him that Sam wasn’t just pulling the wool over Dean’s eyes on this one. Gordon should have known this thing was too big, too well orchestrated to be the work of one rogue demon army militant. It didn’t make Sam innocent, but it did make him a convenient game piece.
From the backseat, Gordon watched what might as well have been a married couple in front of him. There had been only glimpses in the dark, but now that the sun was up he could see in full view the worried glances each one of them sent when the other wasn’t looking.
There were the little touches as they coddled each other in a way that Gordon found impossible to believe that a hunter like John would have ever approved of. Sometimes he wondered if these two really had a damn thing to do with the John Winchester he had met. John hadn’t been a soft man, and he had been dedicated to his craft over all else. The boys in the front seat, they just didn’t get it.
They didn’t understand sacrifice or devotion to a greater cause, though Gordon at least had to give credit to Sam for being a manipulator of the highest caliber. He’d be a half impressive guy without the stick up his ass and if not for the whole evil incarnate thing. And Dean, he’d be a hunter to put his old man to shame if he would just give up the show and admit to being the killer he really was.
“Heads up, Gordy.”
Gordon’s eyes flashed up just in time to see Dean toss something back at him. Without any effort, Gordon caught it in his free hand before even looking to see what it was. Given that Dean wouldn’t ever harm a hair on his beloved Sammy's head, it was safe to say that the package wasn’t a bomb.
“Lemon fruit pie,” Gordon read off the package.
“Sour, just like you,” Dean said as he tore open his own package of some other flavor. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.” His expression again bled into one of those sappy, worried looks as he glanced at his brother. “You sure you’re not hungry?”
Sam kept his bloodshot eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Dean, if I even look at another one of those stale sugar bombs, I’m going to hurl.”
“We can stop and get something else. We also got some of those nasty ass ration bars in the trunk.”
“No, I’m fine.”
Silently, Gordon stared into the rearview mirror to catch the subtle shifts in the Winchesters’ faces and words unsaid between them. Dean gave a slight shake of his head and a frustrated sigh that seemed purposefully just loud enough for Sam to hear.
“Yeah, okay, but you better start thinking about what you want for lunch because this is the last meal you’re skipping.” Dean took an oversized bite out of his pie, running his tongue over the seeping red-filling before it could plop onto his shirt. “And once I’m through eating you’re pulling this car over so I can drive.”
Gordon looked up from his own sorry excuse for a breakfast when the two in the front were done playing nursemaids. “Don’t bother. You’re going to want to turn off soon anyway.”
“Hey, this isn’t a freakin’ taxi service,” Dean said. “You wanna get out, no one’s stopping you, but we’re not chauffeuring you to wherever the hell you’re going.”
“Oh, I think you will. ‘Cause if you got even half a brain, you’ll be going there too.”
Dean stopped chewing long enough to give Gordon a long, evaluating look. “You’ve turned trying to kill us into an Olympic sport. I got no clue how Sam talked me into letting you stay breathing, let alone sit in my car. Once we dump your ass, we’re going as far as we can get in the opposite direction and if you even think about taking one step in that direction, you’re dying bloody.”
“I already know where you’re heading.” Gordon smirked at Dean’s challenging glare. “Sioux Falls.”
With a frustrated glower, Dean bit his lower lip. “You don’t know jack.”
“Stay away from politics, Dean. You lie worse than you drive.”
“What the hell’s wrong with my driving?” Sam gave a sputtering sound that was probably a chuckle that had tickled his throat the wrong way. There was an indignant look in Dean’s eyes as he glared at his brother. “Sam? Got something you want to say?”
Sam only shook his head. The kid had given up pretending that it didn’t kill him just to breathe. It wouldn’t be long now and all would work out like it should.
“You wanna find Bobby?” Gordon interrupted. “You ain’t gonna find him in Sioux Falls. Last word I got, that place had been wiped off the map.”
“Right. And we’re supposed to believe you because you’ve taken a whole five hour break from trying to kill Sam.”
“Believe me or don’t, doesn’t make a lick of difference to me. But I’m telling you, hunter to hunter, if Singer is alive, he’ll be at the military pick-up site in Bellevue.”
“What the hell is the military picking up that Bobby would give a crap about?”
“Survivors.” Both boys seemed startled by the reply. Gordon had never been able to figure out how these two survived without ever having a clue about what was happening around them. “You two get this is over, right?”
“Earth to Gordon. This thing isn’t close to calling it quits.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Gordon acknowledged with a slow nod. “This plague, these monsters, they’re not gonna stop until there’s not one single drop of innocent blood that hasn’t been turned or spilled. It’s the fight that’s over.”
“Huh,” Dean mused. “Funny, I never took you for a quitter.”
Gordon chuckled, drawing a bit of a smile to his lips. If there was one thing Dean was damn good at, it was pushing buttons. It was cute and all, but these Winchesters must be wearing some serious rose-colored glasses to be able to look out on this skeleton of a world and think there was anything left to save, let alone that they could single-handedly do it themselves. If nothing else, Gordon had to give Dean kudos for a well-fostered ego. Too bad it would be the death of him.
“You wanted to know what that thing that took your brother for a ride was. It was a human, used to be anyway. They call them jockeys ‘cause they jump aboard and steer you wherever the hell they want - into a horde, off a bridge. Hell, I saw a man run straight into a burning building with one of those freaks laughing it up.”
For a moment, Gordon fell silent and just let Dean mull it over. While he might be an ace at the physical stuff, the guy wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist. Even after some time to think it over and a silent consult with his brother, Dean just wrinkled his brow in confusion.
“We’ve hunted a whole hell of a lot of crap. Nothing we’ve come across, nothing in our Dad’s journal, says that humans can up and turn into little hunched-over maniacs.”
“Time to rewrite your training manual ‘cause that there is just the tip of the iceberg. The last guy I worked with, I had to take his head off.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Gordon smiled, but his eyes became distant when he shifted his gaze out the window. Truth was, he didn’t blame Dean for doubting any of this. If Gordon hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, there was no way he’d believe it himself.
“One day he started acting off, real feisty like, and the next he sprouted a damn six foot tongue. And you should’ve seen this thing down in Orleans. It hurled my own car at me. The real kicker, I met its wife the day before. Humans get sick and they change into monsters. Now you tell me how you’re gonna stop that.”
Dean shoveled the last of his pie into his mouth and tapped Sam’s shoulder. “Pull over.”
“Dean...what if he’s right?”
Finally, there it was. Sam’s eyes moved up to the rearview mirror, and through it, met Gordon’s. He might be the future of evil, but Sam at least seemed to have enough humanity left in him to connect the dots. Sam was sick, and he’d only be getting sicker until he turned into something real nasty. It wasn’t any different than the path he had already been on, but this was something more immediate, more concrete.
Dean caught their exchange and slapped Sam’s shoulder harder. “I don’t know about the rest of this crap. Maybe people are changing, it’s not like it would be a first, but he’s not right about you. Seriously, Sam. Just pull over the damn car.”
The corner of Gordon’s lips tugged up when Sam didn’t so much as glance at the shoulder of the road. “Maybe we should just check this out. It’s on the way.”
“And maybe I should kick both your asses,” Dean replied. “What’s there to check out? Gordon wants someone to rescue him, fine, but that’s not our gig. We’re the ones that do the rescuing, and we sure as hell don’t give up.”
The argument lapsed as Sam was lost in a coughing fit. Dean grimaced and tensed enough that Gordon could make out the stiffening of Dean’s shoulders even beneath the cover of his leather jacket.
Without a word, Dean reached back near Gordon and dug out a water bottle. He unscrewed the cap before practically wrapping Sam’s fingers around it. After some tentative sips, Sam nodded a silent assurance to Dean.
Sam leaned slightly into Dean after his breathing had more or less steadied out. “If we take him where he wants to go, at least he’ll leave us alone.”
There was no straining required to make out Sam’s words even though they were said with a slightly hushed tone. It was clear enough that Sam was playing the secretive card solely for Dean’s benefit. For once, Gordon was sure that he and Sam were on the same page, but telling Dean, now that would blow the whole deal.
“Putting a bullet in him would be a surer thing,” Dean grumbled.
But despite the words, Dean let it drop. Hiding his satisfaction, Gordon again nestled back in his seat and let his head settle on the sun-warmed leather of the headrest. Things were finally heading in the right direction.
~~~
A couple hours dragged on before they pulled off the main road and Gordon started handing out directions for the Affutt Air Force Base. He ought to be awarded a medal for his restraint in not whipping Dean’s ass for all his damn bitching and moaning. Dean wasn’t even the one driving. Once Sam was taken care of, he and Dean were going to have words.
Gordon shut up and let the visuals do the talking as they closed in on the airbase. The airfield was stocked with U-Haul style vans. Makeshift security fencing topped with razor wire surrounded the primary site.
It took getting closer to see the shredded bits of bodies littering the concrete around the contained area, but it didn’t take long to guess that automatic weapons had been the cause of the carnage. Automatics did well enough dispatching the Infected so no shock there and the sight of the dead was old news these days.
What called Gordon to attention weren’t the rotting remains, but the rare sight of the living that was confirmed when the car pulled up to the fence. Inside the makeshift compound was a flock of survivors assembled like lambs for the slaughter.
These refugees had every right to be terrified. They weren’t hunters and there was only a layer of chain link separating them from the Infected. Many wore face masks and all buried themselves deeply in their coats as they tried to stay warm. Some huddled in groups around fires while others tried to keep as much distance between themselves and anyone else as possible.
Gordon was stowing his gun when he glanced up to catch Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Dean raised a brow to Gordon who only raised his own expectantly in return. Not only hadn’t they parked, but the car was still running.
It was Dean who broke the silence. “This is your stop.”
“In case you weren’t listening, this is the only stop.”
“No way I’m leaving my car.” Dean smirked and leaned back in his seat. His expression grew serious as he looked through the fence at the gathered people. “The sidelines, it’s really not our thing. You go kick back with your tequila while the big boys take care of this.”
With a rough chuckle, Gordon shook his head. “You know, I just can’t figure how you can be this damn stupid and still be breathing. This isn’t some demon war, it’s a disease. The only thing to do is hole up in a Safe Zone until this whole thing blows over.”
“So let me get this straight. The military is going to carry us away to a magical land where people don’t get sick? Come on, seriously? This isn’t a rescue, it’s a freakin’ all-you-can-eat buffet.” Dean gave a wave to the assembled crowd before he turned in his seat to face Gordon. “Whatever's going on, someone’s gotta save what’s left of this sorry world and it’s not gonna be a bunch of CEDA yahoos.”
“All this risking your life for lost causes is just gonna get you dead, Dean.”
“I love you too, Gordon. Now get the hell out of my car.”
Gordon shifted in his seat to catch the attention of the younger Winchester who seemed to be keeping silent as much out of contemplation as exhaustion. “Sammy?” Both Winchesters glared at Gordon and he waved them off. “Sam?”
Last night Sam had looked bad, today he looked half dead and sounded the part too with all his wheezing breaths. It wouldn’t be long before Dean’s brother would be just another victim of the Green Flu, just another Infected. Dean would never face up to it, but Gordon could clearly see that Sam was all too aware. It was a bad hand for Sam, but Gordon couldn’t deny, that for him, it was killing two birds with one stone.
It was still hard to believe that Gordon had to resort to pleading with the demonic brother to hunt down something resembling common sense. It wasn’t like he cared. He’d learned from John that Winchesters were stubborn asses. They’d do what they damn well pleased and he couldn’t stop them, it wasn’t his place to even try.
He had no loyalty to these two. If the circumstances warranted it, he’d have no problem landing a bullet in either one of them. But he respected Dean for what he was, and it was a sorry thing to see such a damn fine hunter so happy to throw himself to the wolves over a war that had already been lost.
The thing was, Gordon had no intention of letting them go. Either they came with him or he at least killed Sam. It was that simple and it was nothing personal, just necessity, but he’d really rather not put Dean down if it could be avoided.
Sam finally spoke up and saved him the choice. “Dean, he’s right. I’m infected.”
“Yeah, with a nasty cold. Look, Sam, we’ve seen plenty of people turn without needing a single Kleenex. Not related, and even if it was, Gordon and I would already be infected too so you can drop the self-sacrificing hero crap right now. Just let me drive so you can get some rest.”
There was no time for Sam to change his mind before a pounding at the driver’s side door had everyone in the car tightening their grip on a gun. Gordon’s eyes narrowed on the military officer in a full hazmat suit. It was the barrel of the man’s rifle that had rapped against the window’s glass.
“Shut off the engine and step out of the vehicle.”
Dean made a twirling motion with his hand and leaned over his brother’s lap as Sam cracked the driver’s window just far enough for Dean to call out. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving.”
Not surprisingly, the officer wasn’t impressed. Instead of stepping away, the man leveled his weapon at the front seat and again spoke with a voice heavily distorted by a full respirator. “This is your last warning. All three of you, out of the car, one at a time and line up right here at the fence.”
Sam looked at Dean who shrugged. “Shut her off. I’m not having her get shot up full of bullet holes. We’ll deal with this guy and get out of here.” After the engine stilled, Dean nodded to Gordon. “Guests first.”
Gordon knew how to pick his fights, and Dean might be begging for a beating, but now wasn’t the time to hand it out. Without complaint, he slowly opened his door and stepped out of the car with his hands visible. He flexed his cramped legs and struggled to bite his tongue.
The thought of lining up at a fence had him all twitchy. He’d done more than his fair share of getting real close and personal with fences and bars while doing his time. Just one more reason it was going to feel so damn sweet when he finally did pull the trigger on Sam.
It was Sam who came out of the car next, but he didn’t join Gordon at the fence. “My brother’s hurt. He can’t walk. Just let me help him out.”
“Get by the fence.”
Even out of the corner of his eye, Gordon could see that Sam had no intention of budging an inch without Dean. It was only Dean’s nod of assurance that got Sam to reluctantly step away from the car and move to join Gordon’s side.
In the next moment, Gordon had to grab Sam’s arm to keep him from rushing back to the car when Dean started putting up a fuss. Looking over his shoulder, Gordon saw that the officer now had a friend who reached into the car and yanked a stumbling Dean out. A moment later, Dean was shoved against the fence hard enough for Gordon to feel the vibrations where his hands rested against it.
Sam was nowhere near to a hundred percent, but his reflexes were fast enough to clutch Dean to his side before he fell. Gordon kept to the fence, staying clear of the trouble, while Dean leaned most of his weight into his brother and struggled to find his footing.
“Turn around slowly,” one of the officers said.
The other man, Gordon slowly realized, was a CEDA agent, not military. He walked past Gordon after only a quick glance and stopped at Sam. His thickly gloved hand reached out to Sam, but Dean slapped it away before it reached its target.
“Keep your damn hands off him,” Dean hissed.
Instead of returning to Sam, the man took a few steps closer to Dean, who was still panting as he sneered at the man that had hauled him over to the fence. Ignoring the irritation in Dean’s eyes, the CEDA agent grabbed Dean’s chin and tilted his head up, clumsily using gloved fingers to pry one of his eyes open further.
When he’d finished his examination, the man shoved Dean’s head back against the fence. “Admit these two,” he said with a quick gesture to Dean and Gordon. “Dispose of the other one.”
Gordon almost felt as if he ought to warn these officers about the hell they would unleash if they tried to separate the Winchesters. Instead, he leaned back against the fence to watch the show. If they were saying what he thought, and they could somehow pull it off, then it would save Gordon from looking like the bad guy to Dean.
Another officer stepped forward and latched onto Dean’s arm. Despite being barely able to stand, Dean twisted in the man’s grip. He got one punch into the man’s gut before the officer jammed the butt of his rifle deep into Dean’s ribs.
The momentum of the strike threw Dean’s balance onto the wrong foot. He let out a pained yelp as his leg gave out. Before he even hit the ground, the officer pulled back the rifle and this time aimed the barrel at the back of Dean’s head. Sam moved faster than Gordon would have thought any man capable of, but it wasn’t fast enough to outrun a bullet.
One quick shot fired before the spray of blood splattered to the ground not far from Gordon’s boot. It was about damn time someone did it. He barely paid a glance to Sam’s fallen body, and instead was drawn by the horrified anguish that instantly washed over Dean’s face. It was a mirror image of the look Gordon had seen on Dean’s face last night, only this time, Dean was justified.
It was an interesting thing how quickly that agony switched to rage. Proof to what Gordon had always said, Dean was a born hunter and would be one of the best if he just learned to control that animal inside of him.
Dean was floundering to get up when the officer again spoke. “That one too,” he said with a nod towards Dean.
Now they were just getting wasteful. Gordon took one step away from the fence, but didn’t approach any closer. “I think you’ll be wanting that one. He’s immune.”
He wasn’t even sure that it was a lie and didn’t care if it was. Whether or not it was the truth, the CEDA agent predictably took notice. Gordon didn’t know much about official details, but he’d heard whisperings. He knew they were searching for anyone who might be carrying antibodies against this freak show.
After a moment’s hesitation, the agent nodded. “We’ll see about that.” The man signaled to the officers. “Load him with the rest.”
Not that Dean would have any of it. The boy was still on full suicide mode, hollering at the top of his lungs about killing everyone he could get his hands on while practically crawling towards his bleeding out brother. It was downright pathetic, and the officers weren’t going to find Dean worth the trouble if he kept throwing sloppy punches towards everyone that came within two feet of him.
Nonchalantly, Gordon held his hands up to the officers and stepped around the blood pooling from Sam’s body. Dean didn’t pay an ounce of notice as Gordon stepped up behind him. With one well-placed strike to the back of the head, Dean stiffened before falling still on the ground.
“I’ll take him from here,” Gordon said as he crouched down to lift Dean’s unconscious body.
When Dean woke, they were going to be having a talk about all those damn pies he’d been shoveling down. He might have looked little compared to his oversized brother, but Dean was a considerable bundle to carry flung over a shoulder.
It was no real difference to Gordon. He gave a parting glance to Sam and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before he adjusted Dean’s bulk over his shoulder and followed the officer’s instructions towards the loading area.
Where they were going, it wouldn’t be any safer than where they were, but despite what he wanted Dean to think, it wasn’t safety that Gordon was looking for. He planned on holing up and waiting this out alright, but not before he took care of a couple of things first.
It all came down to the fact that the larger the concentration of survivors, the better the hunting would be. Not many of these people would survive, and he’d be there to take care of every last one of them as they turned.
Continue to Chapter 4
FBI Field Office - Norfolk, VA
January 17, 2008
Applause broke out over the meeting hall while Victor stewed over the fact that they had taken his gun. He’d promised himself he’d never hand over his badge and yet he’d done just that this morning so that he could sign up for this three ring circus.
The CEDA new agent briefing had been everything he’d expected - three wasted hours that he would never get back. Better yet, with martial law initiated, it was impossible to tell where the military ended and the CEDA began. It didn’t matter what agency the speaker was from. CEDA, marines, former FBI - they were all reading from the same damn storybook.
Each speaker stepped up to the podium like a weather forecaster confidently stating that their computer calculations reported it would remain sunny. The problem was, not a one of them had bothered to pull back the blinds to see that it had been raining for weeks.
Victor leaned back against the wall and watched his fellow newly recruited CEDA agents shuffle out of the conference room on their way to twiddle their thumbs. All they’d really been told in the briefing was that everything was going as planned.
If this crap excuse for a disintegrating government was the plan, then it was time for a new plan. For now, the official word was that everything was under control and they would be told more as soon as the higher-ups knew it. It was his first day on the job and he was already doing nothing but waiting around on standby.
He muttered his disgust beneath his breath and worked his way through the thinning crowd, back towards the stairs. It would be his last trip up to the old office. He’d moved most of the boxes down to his car last night, but hadn't finished before he’d been shuffled out by security enforcing the curfew.
As he headed up the next flight of stairs, he pulled down his face mask and wondered why the hell he’d had Reed take the boxes to his office instead of dumping them straight into his car. But of course, what should have been a few quick trips had turned into a monumental pain in the ass without the elevators.
The hallways were barely lit with ambient natural light. It didn’t matter how little light there was, he could’ve been blindfolded and still not faltered on his well-worn path.
It was that time of the day when the building across the street blocked the sun to his office window. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d strolled in here on quiet mornings just like this with a steaming cup of coffee and clicked on the lamp that may never turn on again.
Standing around and crying about it wasn’t going to help a damn thing. Without a second glance to the shell of an office, he grabbed the last box from the desk and headed back down the hall.
He was huffing by the time he made it to the parking garage and was distracted enough that he nearly walked straight into one of the guards. It took him a moment to realize that the man, a military officer holding some serious firepower, had purposefully stepped in his way.
Unimpressed by the man’s scowl, Victor raised an impatient brow and cleared his throat. “Excuse you.”
Without bothering with words, the officer pointed to a hideously intense orange notice posted on the wall. It illustrated a man wearing a face mask and declared in big bold letters, ‘Wear face mask at all times’.
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that as soon as I unload this stuff.”
The officer widened his stance in front of the doorway. “You can get right on it now, Agent.”
Victor had half a mind to drop the box on the man’s foot, but didn't feel like picking up the spilled files afterwards so he placed it carefully on the ground instead. Grinding his teeth, he snapped the elastic of his face mask over his ears. As the impatient officer watched, Victor took his time adjusting the mask over his mouth and pinching the metal clip over his nose.
“Happy?”
When the officer stepped aside, Victor hefted the box back off the floor and tried not to throw his back out in the process. He kicked open the door and stepped out into the brisk air of the open-wall parking garage.
Sunlight spilled in, creating long, deep shadows that kept Victor on edge even though he knew this place was sealed tighter than Fort Knox. Outside the Safe Zone people were barely surviving and here armed military officers guarded the solid steel gates of a parking garage full of mostly abandoned vehicles.
The rear of his car sagged under the weight when he rested the box on the bumper just long enough to pop the trunk. Technically, it was a government issued vehicle, but the agency that had issued it was defunct and he was still doing their work.
He had to tip the oversized box to fit it under the lip of the trunk. The angle was steep enough for the top few files to slide from the unsealed box. Grumbling to himself, Victor pushed the box the rest of the way in before retrieving the fallen folders.
His hand stopped just short of tossing the files back into the box when he caught a quick glimpse of a Polaroid photo of a terrified girl in a hospital gown. He instantly assumed she was a rape victim, but the paper attached to the photo was filled with handwritten medical jargon, not typed criminal data and it was vaccine records and test results all to do with the Green Flu, not any STDs.
There was no name, only a number attached to the girl. An uneasy feeling settled in Victor’s gut as he leaned back against the trunk and started flipping through photos of other people with different numbers and vaccine information. The sheets were all dated after the Green Flu had hit and several had additional photos attached to the patient sheets - photos of the Infected with the same number from the original patient photo scribbled at the bottom of the Polaroid.
When he dug further into the box, Victor found more patient records, full reports and a listing of 'licensed' CEDA testing facilities. Most of the sites were prisons. While he wanted to give the benefit of the doubt, it was spelled out pretty damn clearly. With the CEDA stamp of approval, tests were being conducted on prison inmates.
Victor made a life of putting people behind bars, people who didn't deserve to ever again see the light of day, but they were still people. What bothered him even more was how few of the people pictured looked like they ever should have been in a prison to begin with.
~~~
Interstate 29 - Nebraska
Gordon was half sprawled over the backseat of a car with an engine that idled so damn loud that it might as well have been built to attract the Infected. If Dean stopped letting his emotions rule him, he’d dump this gas-guzzling steel boat at the next abandoned dealership and pick up one of those shiny new hybrid things. It wasn’t Gordon’s style, but the engines ran quiet and it would take a hell of a lot less gas siphoning to keep it running.
Instead of listening to the common sense of survival, Dean had nearly shot Gordon full of lead just for kicking his boots up onto the seat’s upholstery. Dean wasn’t going to dump this car any sooner than he was going to put a much-needed bullet in Sam’s head.
There was no question that Gordon wanted to do the honors of killing that thing behind the wheel. But unlike Dean, he could set aside his wants and see a tactical advantage for what it was.
Gordon worked alone and kept his connections at a distance, but the world was changing faster than one man could keep up with and his former connections had all but dropped off the face of the planet. Hell, he’d had to kill half of them himself.
Then there was Dean, a more than capable hunter that was gullible as all get out. He was a gun for hire for anyone who knew how to sweet talk him just right. With Sam on the way out, Dean would be desperate for someone to latch onto, and Gordon could put him to good use. There were just a few formalities to take care of first.
His finger was still itching to tighten around the trigger of the 9mm held loosely in his hand. In the front seat, Dean also held a pistol in plain view on his lap. Through the night, Gordon had watched as Dean’s head lolled repeatedly to the side just to jerk back up a moment later, each time shooting a glare over his shoulder at Gordon.
Half the time Gordon had smiled in smug amusement, half the time he’d glared back. He just liked shaking it up to keep the kid guessing. There was no reason for him to kill Sam while Dean slept. When he decided to end the human-faced monster, he could do it just as well when Dean was awake.
Instinct told him that Sam wasn’t just pulling the wool over Dean’s eyes on this one. Gordon should have known this thing was too big, too well orchestrated to be the work of one rogue demon army militant. It didn’t make Sam innocent, but it did make him a convenient game piece.
From the backseat, Gordon watched what might as well have been a married couple in front of him. There had been only glimpses in the dark, but now that the sun was up he could see in full view the worried glances each one of them sent when the other wasn’t looking.
There were the little touches as they coddled each other in a way that Gordon found impossible to believe that a hunter like John would have ever approved of. Sometimes he wondered if these two really had a damn thing to do with the John Winchester he had met. John hadn’t been a soft man, and he had been dedicated to his craft over all else. The boys in the front seat, they just didn’t get it.
They didn’t understand sacrifice or devotion to a greater cause, though Gordon at least had to give credit to Sam for being a manipulator of the highest caliber. He’d be a half impressive guy without the stick up his ass and if not for the whole evil incarnate thing. And Dean, he’d be a hunter to put his old man to shame if he would just give up the show and admit to being the killer he really was.
“Heads up, Gordy.”
Gordon’s eyes flashed up just in time to see Dean toss something back at him. Without any effort, Gordon caught it in his free hand before even looking to see what it was. Given that Dean wouldn’t ever harm a hair on his beloved Sammy's head, it was safe to say that the package wasn’t a bomb.
“Lemon fruit pie,” Gordon read off the package.
“Sour, just like you,” Dean said as he tore open his own package of some other flavor. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.” His expression again bled into one of those sappy, worried looks as he glanced at his brother. “You sure you’re not hungry?”
Sam kept his bloodshot eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Dean, if I even look at another one of those stale sugar bombs, I’m going to hurl.”
“We can stop and get something else. We also got some of those nasty ass ration bars in the trunk.”
“No, I’m fine.”
Silently, Gordon stared into the rearview mirror to catch the subtle shifts in the Winchesters’ faces and words unsaid between them. Dean gave a slight shake of his head and a frustrated sigh that seemed purposefully just loud enough for Sam to hear.
“Yeah, okay, but you better start thinking about what you want for lunch because this is the last meal you’re skipping.” Dean took an oversized bite out of his pie, running his tongue over the seeping red-filling before it could plop onto his shirt. “And once I’m through eating you’re pulling this car over so I can drive.”
Gordon looked up from his own sorry excuse for a breakfast when the two in the front were done playing nursemaids. “Don’t bother. You’re going to want to turn off soon anyway.”
“Hey, this isn’t a freakin’ taxi service,” Dean said. “You wanna get out, no one’s stopping you, but we’re not chauffeuring you to wherever the hell you’re going.”
“Oh, I think you will. ‘Cause if you got even half a brain, you’ll be going there too.”
Dean stopped chewing long enough to give Gordon a long, evaluating look. “You’ve turned trying to kill us into an Olympic sport. I got no clue how Sam talked me into letting you stay breathing, let alone sit in my car. Once we dump your ass, we’re going as far as we can get in the opposite direction and if you even think about taking one step in that direction, you’re dying bloody.”
“I already know where you’re heading.” Gordon smirked at Dean’s challenging glare. “Sioux Falls.”
With a frustrated glower, Dean bit his lower lip. “You don’t know jack.”
“Stay away from politics, Dean. You lie worse than you drive.”
“What the hell’s wrong with my driving?” Sam gave a sputtering sound that was probably a chuckle that had tickled his throat the wrong way. There was an indignant look in Dean’s eyes as he glared at his brother. “Sam? Got something you want to say?”
Sam only shook his head. The kid had given up pretending that it didn’t kill him just to breathe. It wouldn’t be long now and all would work out like it should.
“You wanna find Bobby?” Gordon interrupted. “You ain’t gonna find him in Sioux Falls. Last word I got, that place had been wiped off the map.”
“Right. And we’re supposed to believe you because you’ve taken a whole five hour break from trying to kill Sam.”
“Believe me or don’t, doesn’t make a lick of difference to me. But I’m telling you, hunter to hunter, if Singer is alive, he’ll be at the military pick-up site in Bellevue.”
“What the hell is the military picking up that Bobby would give a crap about?”
“Survivors.” Both boys seemed startled by the reply. Gordon had never been able to figure out how these two survived without ever having a clue about what was happening around them. “You two get this is over, right?”
“Earth to Gordon. This thing isn’t close to calling it quits.”
“You aren’t wrong,” Gordon acknowledged with a slow nod. “This plague, these monsters, they’re not gonna stop until there’s not one single drop of innocent blood that hasn’t been turned or spilled. It’s the fight that’s over.”
“Huh,” Dean mused. “Funny, I never took you for a quitter.”
Gordon chuckled, drawing a bit of a smile to his lips. If there was one thing Dean was damn good at, it was pushing buttons. It was cute and all, but these Winchesters must be wearing some serious rose-colored glasses to be able to look out on this skeleton of a world and think there was anything left to save, let alone that they could single-handedly do it themselves. If nothing else, Gordon had to give Dean kudos for a well-fostered ego. Too bad it would be the death of him.
“You wanted to know what that thing that took your brother for a ride was. It was a human, used to be anyway. They call them jockeys ‘cause they jump aboard and steer you wherever the hell they want - into a horde, off a bridge. Hell, I saw a man run straight into a burning building with one of those freaks laughing it up.”
For a moment, Gordon fell silent and just let Dean mull it over. While he might be an ace at the physical stuff, the guy wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist. Even after some time to think it over and a silent consult with his brother, Dean just wrinkled his brow in confusion.
“We’ve hunted a whole hell of a lot of crap. Nothing we’ve come across, nothing in our Dad’s journal, says that humans can up and turn into little hunched-over maniacs.”
“Time to rewrite your training manual ‘cause that there is just the tip of the iceberg. The last guy I worked with, I had to take his head off.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Gordon smiled, but his eyes became distant when he shifted his gaze out the window. Truth was, he didn’t blame Dean for doubting any of this. If Gordon hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, there was no way he’d believe it himself.
“One day he started acting off, real feisty like, and the next he sprouted a damn six foot tongue. And you should’ve seen this thing down in Orleans. It hurled my own car at me. The real kicker, I met its wife the day before. Humans get sick and they change into monsters. Now you tell me how you’re gonna stop that.”
Dean shoveled the last of his pie into his mouth and tapped Sam’s shoulder. “Pull over.”
“Dean...what if he’s right?”
Finally, there it was. Sam’s eyes moved up to the rearview mirror, and through it, met Gordon’s. He might be the future of evil, but Sam at least seemed to have enough humanity left in him to connect the dots. Sam was sick, and he’d only be getting sicker until he turned into something real nasty. It wasn’t any different than the path he had already been on, but this was something more immediate, more concrete.
Dean caught their exchange and slapped Sam’s shoulder harder. “I don’t know about the rest of this crap. Maybe people are changing, it’s not like it would be a first, but he’s not right about you. Seriously, Sam. Just pull over the damn car.”
The corner of Gordon’s lips tugged up when Sam didn’t so much as glance at the shoulder of the road. “Maybe we should just check this out. It’s on the way.”
“And maybe I should kick both your asses,” Dean replied. “What’s there to check out? Gordon wants someone to rescue him, fine, but that’s not our gig. We’re the ones that do the rescuing, and we sure as hell don’t give up.”
The argument lapsed as Sam was lost in a coughing fit. Dean grimaced and tensed enough that Gordon could make out the stiffening of Dean’s shoulders even beneath the cover of his leather jacket.
Without a word, Dean reached back near Gordon and dug out a water bottle. He unscrewed the cap before practically wrapping Sam’s fingers around it. After some tentative sips, Sam nodded a silent assurance to Dean.
Sam leaned slightly into Dean after his breathing had more or less steadied out. “If we take him where he wants to go, at least he’ll leave us alone.”
There was no straining required to make out Sam’s words even though they were said with a slightly hushed tone. It was clear enough that Sam was playing the secretive card solely for Dean’s benefit. For once, Gordon was sure that he and Sam were on the same page, but telling Dean, now that would blow the whole deal.
“Putting a bullet in him would be a surer thing,” Dean grumbled.
But despite the words, Dean let it drop. Hiding his satisfaction, Gordon again nestled back in his seat and let his head settle on the sun-warmed leather of the headrest. Things were finally heading in the right direction.
~~~
A couple hours dragged on before they pulled off the main road and Gordon started handing out directions for the Affutt Air Force Base. He ought to be awarded a medal for his restraint in not whipping Dean’s ass for all his damn bitching and moaning. Dean wasn’t even the one driving. Once Sam was taken care of, he and Dean were going to have words.
Gordon shut up and let the visuals do the talking as they closed in on the airbase. The airfield was stocked with U-Haul style vans. Makeshift security fencing topped with razor wire surrounded the primary site.
It took getting closer to see the shredded bits of bodies littering the concrete around the contained area, but it didn’t take long to guess that automatic weapons had been the cause of the carnage. Automatics did well enough dispatching the Infected so no shock there and the sight of the dead was old news these days.
What called Gordon to attention weren’t the rotting remains, but the rare sight of the living that was confirmed when the car pulled up to the fence. Inside the makeshift compound was a flock of survivors assembled like lambs for the slaughter.
These refugees had every right to be terrified. They weren’t hunters and there was only a layer of chain link separating them from the Infected. Many wore face masks and all buried themselves deeply in their coats as they tried to stay warm. Some huddled in groups around fires while others tried to keep as much distance between themselves and anyone else as possible.
Gordon was stowing his gun when he glanced up to catch Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Dean raised a brow to Gordon who only raised his own expectantly in return. Not only hadn’t they parked, but the car was still running.
It was Dean who broke the silence. “This is your stop.”
“In case you weren’t listening, this is the only stop.”
“No way I’m leaving my car.” Dean smirked and leaned back in his seat. His expression grew serious as he looked through the fence at the gathered people. “The sidelines, it’s really not our thing. You go kick back with your tequila while the big boys take care of this.”
With a rough chuckle, Gordon shook his head. “You know, I just can’t figure how you can be this damn stupid and still be breathing. This isn’t some demon war, it’s a disease. The only thing to do is hole up in a Safe Zone until this whole thing blows over.”
“So let me get this straight. The military is going to carry us away to a magical land where people don’t get sick? Come on, seriously? This isn’t a rescue, it’s a freakin’ all-you-can-eat buffet.” Dean gave a wave to the assembled crowd before he turned in his seat to face Gordon. “Whatever's going on, someone’s gotta save what’s left of this sorry world and it’s not gonna be a bunch of CEDA yahoos.”
“All this risking your life for lost causes is just gonna get you dead, Dean.”
“I love you too, Gordon. Now get the hell out of my car.”
Gordon shifted in his seat to catch the attention of the younger Winchester who seemed to be keeping silent as much out of contemplation as exhaustion. “Sammy?” Both Winchesters glared at Gordon and he waved them off. “Sam?”
Last night Sam had looked bad, today he looked half dead and sounded the part too with all his wheezing breaths. It wouldn’t be long before Dean’s brother would be just another victim of the Green Flu, just another Infected. Dean would never face up to it, but Gordon could clearly see that Sam was all too aware. It was a bad hand for Sam, but Gordon couldn’t deny, that for him, it was killing two birds with one stone.
It was still hard to believe that Gordon had to resort to pleading with the demonic brother to hunt down something resembling common sense. It wasn’t like he cared. He’d learned from John that Winchesters were stubborn asses. They’d do what they damn well pleased and he couldn’t stop them, it wasn’t his place to even try.
He had no loyalty to these two. If the circumstances warranted it, he’d have no problem landing a bullet in either one of them. But he respected Dean for what he was, and it was a sorry thing to see such a damn fine hunter so happy to throw himself to the wolves over a war that had already been lost.
The thing was, Gordon had no intention of letting them go. Either they came with him or he at least killed Sam. It was that simple and it was nothing personal, just necessity, but he’d really rather not put Dean down if it could be avoided.
Sam finally spoke up and saved him the choice. “Dean, he’s right. I’m infected.”
“Yeah, with a nasty cold. Look, Sam, we’ve seen plenty of people turn without needing a single Kleenex. Not related, and even if it was, Gordon and I would already be infected too so you can drop the self-sacrificing hero crap right now. Just let me drive so you can get some rest.”
There was no time for Sam to change his mind before a pounding at the driver’s side door had everyone in the car tightening their grip on a gun. Gordon’s eyes narrowed on the military officer in a full hazmat suit. It was the barrel of the man’s rifle that had rapped against the window’s glass.
“Shut off the engine and step out of the vehicle.”
Dean made a twirling motion with his hand and leaned over his brother’s lap as Sam cracked the driver’s window just far enough for Dean to call out. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving.”
Not surprisingly, the officer wasn’t impressed. Instead of stepping away, the man leveled his weapon at the front seat and again spoke with a voice heavily distorted by a full respirator. “This is your last warning. All three of you, out of the car, one at a time and line up right here at the fence.”
Sam looked at Dean who shrugged. “Shut her off. I’m not having her get shot up full of bullet holes. We’ll deal with this guy and get out of here.” After the engine stilled, Dean nodded to Gordon. “Guests first.”
Gordon knew how to pick his fights, and Dean might be begging for a beating, but now wasn’t the time to hand it out. Without complaint, he slowly opened his door and stepped out of the car with his hands visible. He flexed his cramped legs and struggled to bite his tongue.
The thought of lining up at a fence had him all twitchy. He’d done more than his fair share of getting real close and personal with fences and bars while doing his time. Just one more reason it was going to feel so damn sweet when he finally did pull the trigger on Sam.
It was Sam who came out of the car next, but he didn’t join Gordon at the fence. “My brother’s hurt. He can’t walk. Just let me help him out.”
“Get by the fence.”
Even out of the corner of his eye, Gordon could see that Sam had no intention of budging an inch without Dean. It was only Dean’s nod of assurance that got Sam to reluctantly step away from the car and move to join Gordon’s side.
In the next moment, Gordon had to grab Sam’s arm to keep him from rushing back to the car when Dean started putting up a fuss. Looking over his shoulder, Gordon saw that the officer now had a friend who reached into the car and yanked a stumbling Dean out. A moment later, Dean was shoved against the fence hard enough for Gordon to feel the vibrations where his hands rested against it.
Sam was nowhere near to a hundred percent, but his reflexes were fast enough to clutch Dean to his side before he fell. Gordon kept to the fence, staying clear of the trouble, while Dean leaned most of his weight into his brother and struggled to find his footing.
“Turn around slowly,” one of the officers said.
The other man, Gordon slowly realized, was a CEDA agent, not military. He walked past Gordon after only a quick glance and stopped at Sam. His thickly gloved hand reached out to Sam, but Dean slapped it away before it reached its target.
“Keep your damn hands off him,” Dean hissed.
Instead of returning to Sam, the man took a few steps closer to Dean, who was still panting as he sneered at the man that had hauled him over to the fence. Ignoring the irritation in Dean’s eyes, the CEDA agent grabbed Dean’s chin and tilted his head up, clumsily using gloved fingers to pry one of his eyes open further.
When he’d finished his examination, the man shoved Dean’s head back against the fence. “Admit these two,” he said with a quick gesture to Dean and Gordon. “Dispose of the other one.”
Gordon almost felt as if he ought to warn these officers about the hell they would unleash if they tried to separate the Winchesters. Instead, he leaned back against the fence to watch the show. If they were saying what he thought, and they could somehow pull it off, then it would save Gordon from looking like the bad guy to Dean.
Another officer stepped forward and latched onto Dean’s arm. Despite being barely able to stand, Dean twisted in the man’s grip. He got one punch into the man’s gut before the officer jammed the butt of his rifle deep into Dean’s ribs.
The momentum of the strike threw Dean’s balance onto the wrong foot. He let out a pained yelp as his leg gave out. Before he even hit the ground, the officer pulled back the rifle and this time aimed the barrel at the back of Dean’s head. Sam moved faster than Gordon would have thought any man capable of, but it wasn’t fast enough to outrun a bullet.
One quick shot fired before the spray of blood splattered to the ground not far from Gordon’s boot. It was about damn time someone did it. He barely paid a glance to Sam’s fallen body, and instead was drawn by the horrified anguish that instantly washed over Dean’s face. It was a mirror image of the look Gordon had seen on Dean’s face last night, only this time, Dean was justified.
It was an interesting thing how quickly that agony switched to rage. Proof to what Gordon had always said, Dean was a born hunter and would be one of the best if he just learned to control that animal inside of him.
Dean was floundering to get up when the officer again spoke. “That one too,” he said with a nod towards Dean.
Now they were just getting wasteful. Gordon took one step away from the fence, but didn’t approach any closer. “I think you’ll be wanting that one. He’s immune.”
He wasn’t even sure that it was a lie and didn’t care if it was. Whether or not it was the truth, the CEDA agent predictably took notice. Gordon didn’t know much about official details, but he’d heard whisperings. He knew they were searching for anyone who might be carrying antibodies against this freak show.
After a moment’s hesitation, the agent nodded. “We’ll see about that.” The man signaled to the officers. “Load him with the rest.”
Not that Dean would have any of it. The boy was still on full suicide mode, hollering at the top of his lungs about killing everyone he could get his hands on while practically crawling towards his bleeding out brother. It was downright pathetic, and the officers weren’t going to find Dean worth the trouble if he kept throwing sloppy punches towards everyone that came within two feet of him.
Nonchalantly, Gordon held his hands up to the officers and stepped around the blood pooling from Sam’s body. Dean didn’t pay an ounce of notice as Gordon stepped up behind him. With one well-placed strike to the back of the head, Dean stiffened before falling still on the ground.
“I’ll take him from here,” Gordon said as he crouched down to lift Dean’s unconscious body.
When Dean woke, they were going to be having a talk about all those damn pies he’d been shoveling down. He might have looked little compared to his oversized brother, but Dean was a considerable bundle to carry flung over a shoulder.
It was no real difference to Gordon. He gave a parting glance to Sam and allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before he adjusted Dean’s bulk over his shoulder and followed the officer’s instructions towards the loading area.
Where they were going, it wouldn’t be any safer than where they were, but despite what he wanted Dean to think, it wasn’t safety that Gordon was looking for. He planned on holing up and waiting this out alright, but not before he took care of a couple of things first.
It all came down to the fact that the larger the concentration of survivors, the better the hunting would be. Not many of these people would survive, and he’d be there to take care of every last one of them as they turned.
Continue to Chapter 4