Salt of the Earth, Part 3
“So, we been thinking....”
Dean stood in the cold morning air, impatiently nodding at Rick. Dude seemed like a nice enough guy, but Dean was getting anxious to get going on Jo and Ellen's trail. If Cas was correct that they'd ended up getting themselves ganked by some kind of old world demon, then it was just possible that every minute counted.
And, he had to admit to himself, if she was behind the zombie outbreak, he couldn't wait to punch Lilith in the balls.
Not that she had balls....
“I'd sure like to head home. Back to camp. I'm sure all of us would.” Rick looked around at his companions, Shane, Daryl, and Glenn, who were gathered there, yawning. “But I've started to believe the thing you boys are chasing, this Lilith, might be important. And there isn't anything more important to me than protecting my family.”
“Lilith is almost undoubtedly the entity behind the current tribulations,” Cas stated.
“Well. Thanks for that, Castiel. So I wondered, I know Daryl is gonna head out with you boys. I thought maybe we all could come along. For a time.”
Dean's eyes shifted to his brother. Sam nodded, almost imperceptibly. He looked back at Rick. “Yeah, I think that would be okay. We usually work a case on our own, but this looks like it might be a big deal.”
“But Rick, how do we get word back to the camp? We're already overdue.” Shane fussed.
Rick nodded. “We got us two vehicles. I had thought to send one of us back to send word. Give them an idea where we're headed.”
“That's probably a good idea,” said Sam. Dean tried to refrain from rolling his eyes, because it seemed a little bit sissy to him, personally.
“All right, I'll head back,” said Shane, as if that settled it.
Rick narrowed his eyes. “Shane. I was thinking of sending Glenn.”
“Sure, Rick. I guess I could do it,” said Glenn, who looked genuinely disappointed at the cancellation of his demon adventure.
“I'll do it,” Shane countered. “He's in no shape to be on his own.”
“I feel okay,” said Glenn. “I feel fine.”
“He appears fine, Shane. And didn't you tell us yesterday that he hadn't been hit after all?”
Shane’s look darkened. “I can change my mind.”
Dean scowled, now regretting he'd invited them along. “Anyway, you wanna hit it? It's getting late.”
There seemed to be a consensus, so Dean made an excuse about grabbing something from inside and headed back into the bar with his brother.
“What did I just do?” he asked Sam.
“I think we'll be okay. We're going against the undead and whatever Lilith has in store, remember. I wouldn't mind having some backup this around this time.”
“Yeah, but Shane shoots first, and then never gets around to the question later part because you're dead.”
Sam’s face relaxed into a big grin. “Well, I guess we learn to duck. Or get your angel to fix us.”
“Yeah, about the angel. Could you do me a favor?”
They all waved off Glenn in the compact (Dean had insisted on poking around in the piece of shit excuse for an engine beforehand to make sure the kid had a fighting chance of making it back in one piece).
Daryl revved up on his motorbike and nodded. Dean nodded back. At least that guy seemed normal, he thought, even if he was some kind of wacky religious fanatic. Rick ambled over to where Shane waited at their truck. Dean and Sam exchanged glances.
“You owe me one,” Sam mouthed to Dean, and then, casually as he could, he wandered over to Rick and Shane and, after a little conversation (Dean caught, “Won't be the first time I've ridden in back of a police car”), he climbed into the back of the truck.
“You're with me, Cas,” Dean told Castiel, who, looking confused, stifled a yawn, which just made him look even more confused. He had finally donned the overcoat, which he wrapped tight around his body in the morning chill. “I sense … coldness.”
“Let's get in the car and crank the heat,” said Dean, leading Castiel over to the Impala. They climbed inside, and Dean turned the engine over. The truck took off, Daryl in behind it, and Dean then pulled out, taking the rear in the convoy. “You want coffee? We boiled some water on a camp stove before we left.” He held up a thermos.
“I require neither food nor drink,” Castiel said primly.
“That didn't stop you from drinking with us last night.”
“That is true. Is, uh, that the reason that my head vexes me this morning?”
Dean grinned and leaned over to pop the glove compartment. He grabbed a bottle and tossed it to Cas. “Two aspirin, and some coffee. That will fix you up.”
“Thank you. Having a human vessel is more … painful than I had imagined.” Castiel supplied himself with a couple aspirin, and then occupied himself for a while in pouring coffee from the thermos. He sniffed it suspiciously, and then took a careful sip.
“So, you haven't actually come down here before?”
“No. Mine is to watch humanity from afar. You are much … different up close.”
“Different how? Different good or different bad?”
“You are different good, Dean.” Which caused Dean to break into a smile. “Some others … I'm not so certain about them.”
“Shane?” Dean immediately regretted saying it, but then peered curiously at Cas.
“Shane hides his purposes. I cannot see fully into his soul, but I can see enough. Some of my brothers have begun to act like that in recent times. I am uncomfortable with deception.”
Dean frowned and watched Cas pop the aspirin, washing it down with bitter coffee. “By your brothers, you mean the other angel dudes?”
“Yes.”
Well, that made sense: if Cas was an angel, there would be others. And they probably all hung out together, at angel camp or whatever. He had a thought. “So, tell me, if your brothers are out there, why do you think they aren't they out beating the bushes for you? I mean, if Sammy was in trouble, I'd move heaven and earth for him. You know?”
Castiel looked troubled. “I don't know. Perhaps there is more trouble at home. My home.”
“Oh, so you're worried about them now?” asked Dean, who suddenly felt a wash of sympathy for the angel. Well, if that’s what the guy truly was. Dean sure hadn’t seen any feathers, and he looked more like someone who went door to door selling vacuum cleaners. Although he seemed to like stabbing zombies.
They continued for some miles, and after a time forded a shallow stream that had become diverted across the road. Dean waited for the truck to make it across before he took the Impala. Despite Daryl's warnings, they encountered almost no walkers along the way, and really almost nothing out of the ordinary. That is, until they ascended a small rise after the stream.
“Dean, something is wrong!” Cas suddenly shouted.
“Walkers?”
Castiel looked around, seeming to stare in to the middle distance, but then pointed ahead.
Dean peered up towards where Cas was pointing. “Is it … another stream?” Whatever it was a patch of the roadside appeared to have come to life: it was rippling and writhing like some cursed thing.
Dean leaned on the horn. Daryl, who was riding between the two vehicles, made a slow U-turn, but the truck skidded to a halt right up on the edge of the weird area.
Dean stopped the car and hopped out. “Wait, is that-“
“Snakes!” came Daryl’s holler from up ahead. Dean grabbed his weapon and leapt out of the car, not having any idea what to do. A broad band across the roadway up ahead had turned into a living carpet of writing, hissing venomous snakes. It looked like a river of snakes, completely cutting them off from the way ahead.
Not knowing what else to do, Dean put a bullet into a few of them, and Daryl loosed an arrow or two, but they seemed infinite.
“Lilith’s serpents,” said Castiel.
“Yeah, I get that,” said Dean. “What do we do?” The occupants of the truck had emerged, and were standing around as well.
Shane stepped forwards towards the mass, and was rewarded with a chorus of hisses. He stepped back, but then got a determined look on his face. “Isn’t it obvious? We just ride over the bastards.”
“I do not think that would be a good idea,” said Castiel.
Shane made a dismissive gesture, but Rick said, “Shane, something about this … don't feel right.”
Shane turned to Rick with a disdainful expression. “Since when do we listen to the crazy dude?” he asked, hitching a thumb at Castiel. The angel narrowed his eyes, but didn’t reply. “We ride on over and pop a few of the little bastards.” And so saying, Shane hopped back into the truck’s driver’s seat and revved the engine. Looking very dubious, Rick and then Sam went back inside as well.
“I ain’t goin’ in there,” grumbled Daryl, and Dean nodded.
“This is not a wise decision,” said Castiel, but he was nearly drowned out by the truck charging into the snakes. For a brief moment, it looked like Shane’s gambit had worked, as the tires popped through snakes.
But then the carpet of serpents surged up, like some great wave, and the front end of the vehicle became stuck right in the center of the writing mass.
The truck was now bobbing from side to side as the three men inside scrambled around. A gunshot sounded, and Dean yelled, “Sam!”
Gears ground and smoked, and then Dean, Castiel and Daryl dove to the side of the rode as the truck suddenly lurched into reverse and backed off the writhing snake carpet. The three passengers tumbled out, as did a few snakes, which had evidently worked their way into the cab.
“Dammit, Shane! You put a bullet hole in the seat!” Rick was yelling.
Shane was hopping around, brushing himself off. “It was crawling up my leg! It’s not as if management is gonna fine us for the damn car!”
Sam gasped as a snake curled out of his sleeve and twisted and twined around his arm.
“Stay still!” Dean shouted.
“What are you doing?” whispered Sam.
“Trust me!” said Dean, who, as a terrified Sam cringed, put a bullet into the snake’s head, blowing it apart, and all over Sam’s sleeve.
“Ugh, snake goo,” he said.
“What the hell do we do now?” Rick asked, after he had checked a time or two or three to make sure he had no snakes on him.
Shane was pale as a ghost. “This isn’t natural. We gotta go back. We gotta get out of here.”
“There’s too many of ‘em to shoot,” said Daryl, who was pointing his crossbow nevertheless. “Maybe I could go up a bit, check if there's a way around?” he proposed, gesturing through the forest.
“That's a good idea,” said Rick. “Might be the only way. Shane?”
“What?” snapped Shane. Rick inclined his head, indicating he intended to check down the other direction. “I don’t wanna go near those fuckers.”
“Shane. Come on. We’ll stay clear.”
“We’ll try to figure out something else,” said Dean as Daryl, Rick and an obviously reluctant Shane split up and departed.
“What are you thinking?” Sam asked his brother.
“We got by the old standby, right? Kill them with fire!” said Dean.
“Dean, I’m not so certain about that,” said Castiel.
“Aw, come on, this will be simple. Just scorch a path and barrel on through. Snake barbeque. And the best thing? I hear it tastes like fried chicken.”
“Dean, those beasts are unclean,” Cas told him.
“Well, what do you expect,” mused Dean, who was now prowling around in the Impala’s trunk. “They are crawling around on the ground.”
But Dean disregarded the angel, and soon had improvised a torch out of a stick, a rag and some gasoline. He ignited it with a lighter, and then confidently sauntered over to the snakes and waved the torch at them. “Hey take this, bitches! Indy Jones is here!”
The serpents, as one, coiled back.
And then, as one, surged towards the fire. Dean, emitting a small cry, backed up a few clumsy paces and then broke into a run.
He turned back, having finally eluded the serpents, to see Sam was hunched over trying to catch his breath from a laughing fit. Castiel only stared.
“Nice one, Indy!” yelled Sam between fits of giggling.
Dean puffed and, annoyed, walked a few paces down the road to drench the torch in the stream. “God dammit. Hey, thanks for the help, guys. So, they like fire.”
“Well, they are from hell, right?” asked Sam. “I guess it figures.”
“Dean,” said Castiel. “I think I will need to use my powers on them.” He turned towards the snakes, raising an arm.
“Oh, no you don’t!” said Dean, who half-tackled Cas, grabbing his arm.
“Dean!”
Dean wrestled down Cas’s stubborn smiting arm. He was remarkably strong for his size. “Hey, remember what healing Glenn did to you? Look, we just started the game, and we can’t waste you on Lilith’s level one. You’re our Sword of Destiny, and we still gotta keep you in reserve for the final boss!”
Castiel stared at Dean for an uncomfortably long time. “I have utterly no idea what you are talking about.”
“Cas, isn’t there another way?” asked Sam. “You said they’re unclean, right? Maybe holy water?”
“We got exactly one flask of holy water, Sammy,” grumbled Dean.
“Maybe not,” said Sam, smiling and eyeing Castiel.
“Tell me why I’m doing this again?” grumbled Sam, lighting up the brand new torch.
“It was your idea. And a good one!”
Daryl had come back around the same time as Rick and Shane, to report the weird river of serpents appeared to go on endlessly. They had since backed all the vehicles, the truck, the Impala and the motorcycle, back across the narrow stream, so the roadway was cleared between that and the snakes. The three men now stood watching as Sam, first sparing a glower for his brother, raised his torch and cautiously approached the snakes.
“Not too fast!” Dean yelled.
“Then you do it!” Sam retorted. He waved the torch at the snakes, who once again briefly ebbed back before surging towards him in a hissing writhing mass. Sam walked, rapidly, but awkwardly, backwards, luring the snakes towards the stream. He tried not to get too far ahead, backing along as more and more snakes slithered along the road after him.
“You’re getting near!” Dean shouted, just as Sam felt himself back into the stream. He touched the torch to the ground, and leapt away as it ignited the trail of gasoline they had poured along the edge of the water.
Sam stumbled back in ankle-deep water as the mass of serpents roiled up like a boiling tsunami, driven mad by the flames. He tripped and fell backwards. The snakes lunged forwards, looming over him.
And then they met the stream, where, as Dean dragged his brother back away, they suddenly went silent and died, hissing, the instant they touched the water.
Castiel, standing ankle-deep in the water a few yards upstream, calmly watched the lifeless bodies drift downstream.
“Ha! Instant holy water. Just add angel,” said Dean.
“I’ll remember that,” muttered Sam. “I just hope we don’t run out of stream before we run out of snakes.”
“I tell you, Aquaman is one of the best.”
“Dean.”
“He had these cool snowballs he would throw....”
“Dean.”
“I mean, they were made of water. So I guess they were waterballs.”
“Dean! He talks to fish!”
“So?”
Sam regarded his brother with grave skepticism, while the other men and one celestial being who were gathered around the fire looked on with a mixture of dry amusement and complete bewilderment. “Dean. What good does any of this do if you don’t happen to be on the bottom of the ocean?”
“And tell me how much crime there is in the ocean?”
“Well. None.”
“That’s because Aquaman is on the job!” Dean smugly concluded. “He has put an end to water-based crime.”
“Got a point,” said Daryl, which earned him a dirty look from Sam.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel put in. “How is talking to aquatic species any different from communication with other wildlife?”
“Why do you say that, Cas?” asked Dean.
“If as you say, this … Aqua Man has power in the seas, why would he not also contact terrestrial creatures for assistance if his current location required it?”
“You mean, like talk to a moose? Or my brother?” chuckled Dean. Sam glowered.
“Yes.”
Daryl’s eyes had gone wide. “Can you do that, Cas? Talk to animals and suchlike?”
“The crazy guy ain’t Aquaman,” muttered Shane.
“Of course,” Castiel told Daryl, igoring Shane. “All angels can communicate with lower species.”
“You mean like us?” Rick asked dryly.
“You’re Dr. Doolittle?” asked Dean. Castiel only looked more bewildered than usual, so Dean added, “Can you talk to something? Like, now?”
Cas nodded, and then went very still. There was no noise for a while, nothing but the soft crackle and sputter of the bonfire.
Daryl was the first to spot her. “Look. She’s a beauty,” he whispered. The rest of them turned in the direction he was looking. A doe had emerged from the forest, and stood silently at the edge of the clearing.
There was a moment of silence. And then Shane was on his feet, aiming his gun. Daryl was up a second later, knocking him away so the shot went wild.
The deer melted back into the forest.
“What the hell did you do that for, Daryl? That was a week’s dinner.”
“That ain’t right, Shane. He called her.”
“Dumb redneck.” Shane gave Daryl a shove, and it looked for a second like they were going to go at it. But suddenly, like a miracle, Castiel was standing between them, his glare piercing through Shane.
“Uh.” Shane stepped nervously back a pace.
Cas, with a last, extra smite-y glare at Shane, returned to take his seat around the fire.
“So, what you think this Lilith is gonna throw at us next, Castiel?” Rick asked, more to break up the tension than anything.
“I don't know.”
“Well, I got a guess,” said Dean. “She whipped out snakes first, so won't it be birds next?”
“You mean the owl in the branches?” asked Sam.
“Yes, the owl is her servant,” Castiel agreed.
“So we're gonna all get to be Tippi Hendren. Nice,” said Dean. “And only Sammy's got the hair for it.”
“Shut up, jerk.”
“Bitch.”
After dinner, Rick and Shane retreated to their vehicle to sleep, although they had not seen any walkers in the vicinity, it paid to be careful. Daryl had curled up next to his motorcycle, though he slept with his crossbow within easy reach.
Castiel had defiantly maintained he did not require sleep. He took first watch, along with Sam and Dean, and was soon huddled against a tree, head back, snoring with great gusto.
Sam sat near the fire, poking at the embers with a stick. He watched as his brother came and sat down next to Castiel, shotgun on his lap. Both of them eyed the truck, and Dean smiled over towards Cas. “So, what did you get?” Dean whispered to brother.
“Dude, that was the most awkward ride of my life.”
“Yeah, I know, I know, I owe you one.”
“And that back seat? I don't think it would have had enough legroom even when I was twelve years old.” Sam rubbed a sore knee as if in remembrance.
“Sammy, what did you hear?”
“But that said … Rick's got a pretty interesting story. He was in a coma when it all went down.”
Dean turned to regard Sam. “Really? Wow.”
“He'd gotten shot and was in the hospital. And somehow, maybe blind luck, he got out and managed to hook up with his family.”
Dean looked thoughtful. “And Shane?”
“Yeah, that's the juicy part. Shane was 'taking care' of Rick's family when he got back.”
“Like, taking care of the wife?”
Sam nodded, and Dean gave a low whistle. “So, score another one for your angel.”
“He's not my angel,” Dean muttered, though he sounded a little pleased with himself. He smiled softly at Cas, drowsing beside him. “So Officer Friendly is a douche?”
“Well....”
“Well what?”
Sam smirked. “Dean. You did sleep with my prom date.”
Dean leaned over and clapped his hands over Castiel's ears. “Watch it! The angel!” he whispered. Cas stirred and muttered, but did not waken.
“So he's an angel now?”
Castiel moaned, and his head drooped over onto Dean's shoulder. “Well. Uh. You know,” said Dean.
The next day dawned charcoal grey and cold as a witch's heart.
Dean had seized the lead in the convoy, his brother reinstalled in the shotgun seat, Castiel delegated to the back. Daryl followed behind on the motorcycle, and then Rick and Shane in the truck.
Dean's eyes flicked to the rear-view. “You'll give us a heads up when something's skeevy, right Cas?”
“What is 'skeevy,' Dean?” asked the back seat angel.
“If you sense Lilith or her creepy pals,” Sam explained, sparing his idiot brother a despairing look.
All three whirled around to face front as a projectile smacked into the windshield, creating a great crack.
“Lilith!” said Castiel.
“Yeah, thanks for that,” grunted Dean.
“What is that?” asked Sam, squinting at the ruined windshield. “Is that a-”
His question was answered as there came a flurry of smacks and cracks on the left side windows. Dean stomped on the brakes and everyone ducked. Dean regarded the cracked windows: feathers and blood. “We're getting dive-bombed by birds?”
“They are not birds, but Lilith's servants,” said Cas. Gunshots fired behind them.
“What are we gonna-” said Sam.
There was another smack, and the windshield shattered.
“Get the fuck outta here. C'mon Cas!”
Brushing off broken glass, Sam, Dean and Cas burst out of the passenger door side of the Impala and huddled behind it for a time. Daryl was just behind, crouched behind his bike. Shane was firing wildly into the sky, but then screamed when another crazed kamikazee bird crashed into his arm, knocking the gun away. Rick gave him a shove, and they too were now hiding on the lee side of their vehicle.
“What the hell do we do?” shouted Rick. Up overhead, looking like a roiling cloud, a vast flock of birds hovered, waiting to dive.
“No fucking idea,” Dean shouted back.
Another barrage of birds dove and attacked, hammering the truck and car, and knocking down Daryl's motorcycle. It fell on top of him, but the birds kept coming, pummeling the bike, turning the clean lines to scrap.
“Get him!” yelled Rick, who was already running.
“My leg,” said Daryl.
Sam had run out too, but all three hit the dirt as more birds dove for them.
“Gotta get the bike up,” said Rick.
Castiel, who was suddenly standing there, bent down and wrenched up the bike. Rick and Sam pulled Daryl free. “Thanks, dude!” Sam told Castiel.
“The ditch, guys!” shouted Dean, jumping off the side of the road. Rick and Sam pulled Daryl down, and Shane, his arm bleeding, followed. “Cas! Get the hell down here!” Dean yelled at the lagging angel as the birds regrouped for another barrage. Castiel, reluctantly it seemed, strode to the side of the road and, at the last possible minute, hopped off to the side. He stood glaring furiously up at the sky while the birds continued to make a mess of the vehicles.
“They are unclean things,” Castiel grumbled.
“The feathered bastards junked my bike!” Daryl growled. “Uh, no offense,” he added towards Castiel.
“Cas, ideas!” said Dean.
“Is there anything like the holy water we can use?” asked Rick.
“I don't know,” Castiel admitted.
Dean literally snorted. “Don't tell me I'm gonna die in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, dude! And it's not even one of the Princess Grace ones!”
Castiel rounded on him. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”
“Dean is culturally impaired,” said Sam. “He can only talk in old movies and comic books.”
“Wait,” said Rick. “What about that comic book guy y'all were jawin' about last night? You made that doe come to us, Castiel.”
Castiel stared at Rick. “I cannot communicate with these animals, Rick. I am sorry. They are Lilith’s.”
“But what about other animals, Cas?” asked Dean. “Predators? Like, I dunno, wolves or sharks or something.”
“Wolves eat owls?” Sam asked Dean.
“Sharks?” asked Shane, rubbing his wounded arm. “For fuck’s sake.”
Cas stared up into the sky. “I can … request help. I have no guarantee they'll come.”
“Well then ask nicely!” Dean told him. “You're sort of a bird, right?” he added, flapping a pair or imaginary wings.
“Cas ain't no bird,” Daryl sourly informed Dean. “Got before you a celestial being.”
“Do we have time for this?” whined Shane. “Ask for Chrissakes! Call some scorpions, or a herd of moose!”
“Why moose?” asked Sam suspiciously.
Castiel was staring into the middle distance. “I could request this of the bees. They are very close to God. And I have always liked domestic house cats. But-”
“Cas?” pleaded Dean.
Castiel closed his eyes. There was a flapping sound, and everybody hit the deck, Dean dragging Castiel down with him. A flurry of Lilith's owls hurtled themselves against the position where the men were hiding. The birds cried out, and then the cries turned to unerathly shrieks.
Dean raised his head. “Did you hear that?” Everybody, save Castiel, squinted up into the distance. The great swarm of attacking birds was itself being dive-bombed by some magnificent birds of prey.
“Eagles!” said Rick. “Those are eagles.”
“America!” laughed Dean. “Cas, good choice.” The angel seemed to rouse from his daze. “See, Sammy, I told you!”
“Told me what, exactly, Dean?”
“Aquaman!”
“We can put in a new one.”
Dean nodded grimly at Daryl. “Yeah. We'll do it later. Friend of ours owns an auto yard.” He wrenched the crowbar, pulling out the remains of the Impala's broken windshield. “Just hate to see my Baby messed up.”
Shane rubbed his bandaged arm and glared over as Dean and Daryl fussed over the Impala. “Treats that car like it's his girlfriend.”
“You wanna help up here?” Rick called down from the pickup bed. With help from Castiel - a lot of help from Castiel, in fact - the had lifted Daryl's busted motorcycle into the bed, and now, after a thorough once-over from Daryl, Rick was reassuring himself that it was in fact completely secure. “Can't be too careful.”
“Should have left that behind for scrap,” Shane grumbled as he hopped up into the truck’s long bed.
“Don't let Daryl catch you saying that, friend. Anyway, not clear we're gonna head back by this route.”
“What we need to do, we need to turn around now and get the fuck away from whatever is doing this fucked up shit.”
“Well, you think maybe we come too far to turn tail now?”
“I think we have no idea what we're dealing with, and we're letting a guy who's mentally unstable lead us.”
Rick picked up a plastic bottle of water from the bed of the truck. He leaned a hip against the cab, and scrutinized Shane. “Don't believe Castiel is an angel of the Lord?”
“You can't tell me you do!”
Rick shrugged. “You just saw him pick up a damn motorcycle and toss it into the back of a truck like it was a toy.”
“Rick, what the hell. You know as well as I do, those guys, they're hopped up on some kind of crank, they do weird shit. You've seen it, I've seen it. And he's riding with a couple of dealers.”
Rick cocked an eyebrow. “The Winchester brothers are drug dealers?”
“Oh, come on. You can smell it on Dean. I'm sure underneath that false bottom, there's a pack of weed and a bong the size of Wisconsin. And don't tell me different.”
Rick took another swig of water. “Shane. You know me. I believe what I see. Walkers: they're real. Those snakes yesterday. Those birds this morning.”
Shane crossed his arms. “Real is real. And crazy is crazy.”
As it turned out, Dean had enough clear plastic and duct tape in the trunk to construct a makeshift windshield, though it was admittedly breezy as hell. “I just hope it doesn't rain,” Dean sighed as they followed along behind the pickup.
“Quit bouncin' my damn bike,” Daryl, who'd take up temporary residence in the back seat, grouched at the pickup up ahead. As Shane and Rick were now on point for the convoy, they had sent Castiel to sit up with the policemen.
“Would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” said Sam, as they caught sight of Cas gesticulating towards Rick.
“Why is Cas so damn chatty all of a sudden?” groused Dean.
His brother grinned. “Maybe Rick knows about something other than Marvel and DC?”
“I can talk about other things!”
“Dean, you sound like a jealous boyfriend!”
“Do not.”
“Yeah. You do,” Daryl put in.
“You! Motorcycle Boy, you could ride up on top you know.”
Daryl's face quirked into a small smile. “Probably better ride up there.”
“Do not dis Baby.”
“Dean!” It wasn't clear if it was from his brother's warning, but Dean jammed on the brakes just in time to avoid rear-ending the pickup. Everyone was already piling out up ahead, so the passengers in the Impala did the same.
The truck had stopped at the crest of a small rise, and Rick was pointing off into the distance.
“Is that it, you think?” he asked.
“Yes. Certainly,” Cas replied. He stood still as a stone angel.
“I'm gonna grab the glasses,” Sam said as he darted around to the back of the car.
“That's the tree?” Dean asked Castiel.
“That is the center of Lilith's power,” Castiel told him. “I can feel it radiating, even up here.”
“What's wrong with it?” asked Daryl. Everyone fell silent.
The tree was huge, its immense branches dwarfing everything around it. But the foliage was the most disturbing thing. The leaves were not green, but a pale, sickly flesh color. They sometimes appeared to ripple in the breeze, although there was no prevailing wind that day.
Sam was back with a pair of binoculars. He peered through them, carefully focusing. He stared for a long time.
“Sam. What is it?”
“I don't believe it.”
“After all we been through?” scoffed Shane. “Gimme the glasses.” He grabbed them from Sam, who didn't put up a fight. Dean looked questioningly at his brother, who stared at the valley, shaking his head.
Shane emitted a cry and stumbled back a few paces. “It's not possible. No. I'm not going against that shit. We're turning around. We're going back.”
“Hand over the damn glasses,” snapped Dean, snatching away the binoculars. He swung around to focus on the tree, ignoring Shane's caterwauling. He immediately saw why the leaves created that uncanny rippling effect: they were not leaves. He felt ill.
“It's … it's full of people.”
“It's like a Bosch painting,” said Sam, staring at the mass of humans - or rather ex-humans - now writhing and twisting in the branches.
Dean handed the glasses over to Rick. He stared for a while, and then turned to Castiel. “But they're not human, are they?”
“No. They are the undead.”
“It's a fucking tree full of walkers?” sputtered Shane. “That's it. Rick! We are fucking done, end of story, game fucking over. We are going home. We're going back to camp, back to our families.”
Rick eyed his partner. “What families, Shane?”
Shane's eyes were murderous. “You don't go back to Lori, then goddammit, I will.”
“Over my dead body.”
Shane had his gun out, quick as lightning, pointed at Rick. “I can arrange that.”
Rick raised his hands.
“Drop it.”
Shane glanced to the side. Dean had a gun pointed at his head. Sam had a 9mm raised, and Daryl had strung an arrow. But then Shane moved quick as a snake, grabbing Rick, gripping him in a headlock, his gun at Rick's temple.
“Don't any of you guys see? We need to get out of here!”
“Shane,” said Rick, calmly as he could. “We can talk about this.”
“No we can't! We're done talking. I'm taking the pickup, and you assholes can deal with the freaky walker tree and the freaky bitch.”
“Put the gun down, Shane,” Dean ordered.
“Get out of my way or he loses his head!” Shane barked, as he began to frog-march Rick over to the pickup. Sam, Dean and Daryl kept their weapons pointed as he eased over. He backed up slowly until he reached the pickup truck. Then he knocked Rick over and hopped into the cab, gunning the engine.
“Hello, Shane.”
Shane turned, surprised to see Castiel was waiting in the passenger seat. “How the hell did you get up here?”
“I find I like riding in what they call, ‘shotgun,’” Castiel explained.
“Get the fuck out.”
Castiel calmly touched two fingers to Shane's temple, and he collapsed in a heap over the steering wheel, causing the horn to blare.
“Whoa,” said Dean, who had just run over. “You got the Vulcan neck pinch?”
Castiel tilted his head in puzzlement.
“You wouldn't understand the reference,” said Sam, yanking Shane's head back to shut up the horn. Shane slumped back against the headrest.
“Wow. How long is he gonna be out?” asked Dean.
Cas glared at the unconscious figure. “He lives. But he will remain unconscious for most of a human day.”
Daryl was helping Rick to his feet. “Can you blink him out for a week? Or a month?” the cop grumbled. “I've just about had enough of that jackass.”
After a certain amount of due consideration, the small party decided the best course of action would be to stuff Shane's unconscious body in the back of the truck alongside Daryl's wrecked motorcycle, handcuffed to the side, and then pray for a sudden rainstorm. Or maybe a rain of frogs, given the circumstances.
Dean scowled at the motorcycle, and then grabbed something from under the mangled fender. He made a face, and tossed it out, wiping his hand on his shirt. It was an owl carcass. “I swear we still got some in the cab,” said Rick. “Or maybe they got under the hood, wedged in the engine. It was starting to stink pretty bad.”
“Just, gross, man.”
Daryl and Sam set out to scout up ahead. They brought back the unhappy report that the road became impassable only a short distance down the road.
Dean took the news as a cause to pack as much of the contents of the Impala's trunk into a gym bag.
“We gotta go for the tree,” he said. “You coming with us, Rick?”
“Yep. I still consider myself an officer of the law. And that's what we do.”
“Daryl?” asked Dean. “This is gonna be shitty. I'm just warning you guys.”
“Fuck yeah,” said Daryl. “I'm goin'. That's what we do.” He and Rick shared a little smirk.
NEXT