Andrea Sanders, legendary hunter, is the kind of legend that only the brave and stupid dare to whisper about at night. After ditching the foster system at sixteen, she follows her father's footsteps into the only life she's ever known: hunting down...
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The sun had already fallen behind the horizon by the time we made it to Camp Chitaqua. My mouth was like sandpaper, and I'm pretty sure the zombies could hear my stomach growl in a 5 mile radius. While I couldn't even remember my last meal, Dean didn't seem to mind. Whenever I had brought up the idea of food to him, all he would respond was that we could eat when we got out of this nightmare. I, of course, had to politely remind him that we would be here for at least three days. That had awarded me a glare.
"Keep up, Sanders." Dean whispered behind him. My lips pursed into a thin line as I pushed a branch out of my way and followed, a million insults flying through my head but restraining myself from letting them spew out like word vomit. "I think I see the sign."
'Camp Chitaqua' was painted white on a large wooden sign, still visible after what was likely years of neglect. Without really thinking about it, I let my fingers trail down the sign. I suppose my genius is fairly limited to hunting because I immediately got a splinter from my idiotic decisions. "Shit!" I let out, bringing the hand to my chest as though I had been burned.
"Shh!" Dean scolded from his place along the chain link fence. Squeezing my finger tightly, I made my way over to him with a grimace plastered on my face.
"Two guards," I whispered, inclining my head to a little ways up the fence where to men with guns seemed to be making their way through a perimeter watch. Yanking the green eyed man behind the sign once more, we waited for them to pass quietly. Letting my hearing heighten, I didn't let go of Dean's arm until their footsteps were a good distance away. The electricity died as soon as my hand fell to my side. "Clear."
His nod was short as he made it back to the fence, eyes scanning as much as he could over the dark terrain. Though being on edge seemed to be the norm for the Winchester brothers, Dean found a way to grow more tense as his eyes landed on something in particular. Fingers curling into the fence, he took a sharp breath. "Oh, Baby, no." His voice shook, but suddenly he was like a moth to a flame. In a flash, he was up an over the fence, striding toward an old car rotting from the inside out. I could only assume it was his Impala. "No, baby, what'd they do to you?" Rolling my eyes, I attempted to make my way over as well.
"Ow!" My hand retracted quickly with an annoyed huff, a pout falling on my lips as I stared at the splinter still embedded in my finger. Splinters and paper cuts had always been my least favorite injuries. Considering I had been shot, maimed, tortured, and pretty much anything you can think of, that was saying something. It wasn't in too deep, so with gritted teeth, I forcefully pushed it out of my finger. Before I could even give myself an acknowledgment of victory, my attention was dragged back to Dean as a slight commotion took place.
Though it was dark, it wasn't hard to make out Dean in the soft glow of the moonlight, standing over what seemed to be an unconscious body. Not that that was an unusual sight, but he looked slightly different and I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. Furrowing my eyebrows in confusion, I latched my hands onto the fence in anticipation of the climb to go help him. However, I hadn't even gotten a foot raised when I stopped, eyes wide and staring as I watched Dean start dragging the unconscious body toward the inner part of the camp. But that wasn't what shook me to my core. No, I was far more concerned with the fact that Dean seemed to be dragging an unconscious version of himself behind him.
