The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

... And Then There Were None

... AND THEN THERE WERE NONE

Chin in my elbows, Dean and Sam positioned on either side of me, we watched Bobby across his desk as he spread out an upside down map in front of us, atop the articles pertaining to the job we were investigating.

"I've been getting blasts from hunters all week," Bobby said. "Nest of vamps." He circled a town in Nevada. "Werewolf dance party." Another on the Utah border. "Shifters, six of them. Two hunters died taking them out." I grimaced, watching Bobby circle with red marker Kearney, Nebraska. "Ghouls, ghouls." A town in west Iowa was circled, followed by one in Illinois. "Ghoul-wraith smorgasbord." Belonged to Indiana. I wasn't a road expert - wasn't me that did the driving or even nav-man around here, but that looked a little like the I-80.

As Dean, who knew that interstate like the dash of his Impala, traced his finger down the I-80 from Cali through to the final circle in Indiana, I could see it.

"Is it just me, or is that a straight kick-line down I-80?" Dean asked.

"Exactly," Bobby agreed, twirling his pen.

"Looks to me like it's a Sherman march monster mash," Dean said grimly.

"Yeah, but where are they marching to?" Sam asked.

That was a very good, albeit frightening, question. What were they marching to? The ghouls, the hybrid. They were big ass. And clearly, they were marching toward something bigger ass.

Bobby put a final circle on the map, around Sandusky, Ohio.

"What is it?" I asked, throat tight.

Bobby pulled an article out from beneath the map. "Guy bashes in his family's heads."

Of course that got our attention, and so the four of us packed up quickly and drove our two cars the 12+ hours out to Ohio - ironically taking the I-80 in from Nebraska.

We arrived the next morning at the police station (after Bobby'd called ahead, of course), to interrogate the guy who'd gone postal on his family.

We arrived at the police station, where our guy, Rick, was being held in the interrogation room.

"Agent Willis," Bobby introduced himself, leading the way as the cop let us into the windowless room. "And this is Agent Hanks, Agent Langdon, and Agent Brooks."

Brooks. That was slightly better. The boys had wanted me to use Watson, but I'd put my foot down. No way. Sure, it was an unflagged, barely used alias of mine, but after last week, 'Watson' just seemed a little too real. It'd began, actually, not pertaining to Emma Watson, but as a reference to Sherlock Holmes, though now I took it as the former. It felt just a little too uncomfortably 'me', and I didn't want to be referenced as Watson again. So, 'Agent Watson' was now going to be burned. Sam, Dean, and I took seats opposite Rick, who wore the orange jump-suit of a prisoner. He was knotting his hands together, brows knitted together, though he kept his eyes down - not meeting eyes with anybody in the room. It was a sure sign of anxiety.

Sam leaned across the table, keeping his voice pacifying. "Rick, we just wanna know what happened."

"It's like I told the cops," Rick said. "I blacked out."

Oh, well that's super helpful.

"Well, just tell us what you do remember," Sam prompted patiently - in contrast to my scowl.

Rick hesitated for a moment, expression deeply thoughtful as he sifted though probably hazy details. "Driving my regular route, and then I-I woke up in my truck at work."

"And where's work?" Sam pried.

"Starlight Cannery," Rick responded. His voice was panicked, breath short. "I-I didn't remember how I got there... So I called home. When no one picked up. I-I went there, and I found..." he broke off, eyes red and shining.