The Devil's Lions - Part 4

[ladyarcherfan3]

Part 4 - The Hunt
The Maasai sent out scouts before dawn, but it was nearly noon before the hunting party arrived at the stand of trees the lions had been tracked to. It was in the dip of a small valley, which created a natural funnel. The sun blazed down hot and sharp, with no wind to relieve the heat. But it also kept their scent from alerting the lions.

Sam pulled his hair into a tail to keep it from getting in the way and then checked his rifle and ammunition again. Beside him, Samuel shifted nervously and clutched at his own gun, one that Sam had made sure was loaded with anti-demon bullets as well. Ahead of them, on the last ridge above the trees, Dean and the highest ranking Maasai were discussing strategy. The rest were standing together, making final preparations to their weapons. Their massive headdresses of either ostrich feathers or what Sam would guess was actually lion’s mane tossed strange shadows across the grass. They were an impressive sight. But it still didn’t ease the knot of tension in his belly. Demons couldn’t be killed or stopped by spears.

Samuel swallowed hard again, and checked the rifle again to make sure it was loaded.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“Yes. And no. But Dean asked me to be along on the hunt, so I am here.”

Sam squinted towards his brother, who was heading back towards them. “Why did he ask?”

“He knows that I am afraid of lions,” Samuel replied, his own gaze flicking between the Maasai and their headdresses and the stand of trees.

“And he wants you to get over your fear,” Sam said. “He can be like that. Big brother protectiveness sometimes means throwing you in the deep end so you learn how to swim.”

Samuel turned rather worried eyes to Sam. “I don’t know how to swim, either.”

“You two ready?” Dean called out softly as he approached. At their nods he said, “The lions are down in the thicket somewhere. The Maasai are going to drive from the low end, towards the ridge. Samuel and I are going to be waiting for them. Sammy, I want you up towards the center, where you can see the ridge and where the lions should come out. Put a few bullets in the bastards as they go by to slow them down. Let’s go.”

They splintered off into their groups, Dean and Samuel disappearing into the brush near the ridge, the Maasai loping off and forming a U shape at the end of the valley. It took Sam a little bit longer to find a satisfactory spot. There weren’t many open spots heading towards the ridge, and fewer with a spot that afforded a decent view in all directions. By the time he found a bare tree overlooking a clearing about midway down the valley, strange, trilling whistles sounded from the low end of the valley. Sam hurried up and peered down. The Maasai were disappearing into the thicket, the red of their body paint disappearing into the green shadows.

The tree didn’t have much in the way of branches, but there was a wide, sturdy V on its upper edge, and Sam wedged himself in there, back braced on one side, feet set in the center. It gave him a stable perch that he’d be able to move and shoot from in a wide range. He just had to be ready when the lions appeared.

Sweat soaked his hair and ran in beads down his face as the sun blazed right above him. There was no sound from the valley, and he could hear his heart beat, the rate climbing in excitement and terror. What if the lions snuck up on the Maasai and slaughtered them, silent and methodical? And if they lions were driven to the end of the valley, could Dean get close enough for a shot with the Colt and not get hurt? The edges of a headache built behind his eyes, and he scrubbed at his face, smearing sweat and only blurring his vision.

A scream rose out of the trees, and Sam spun, rifle flying to his shoulder before he had formed a complete thought. But even as the first scream started, a wild rush of war cries began, underlaid with the hollow thump of spear shafts on shields, and the jangle of metal. The warriors apparently were in position and were ready to spook the lions out into the open. If these lions could be spooked. The headache ratcheted up another level, and images started to spark on the edge of his vision.

He blinked rapidly and swung back to look over the clearing. Birds had erupted from the trees at the shouts of the Maasai, but nothing else moved. The shouts and whoops continued, and he twisted in his perch, struggling to see. It had seemed like an ideal location at the time, but now he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t see Dean anymore, and there was no sign of the lions. A twinge of pain behind his eyes made him wince. He couldn’t stay up in the tree. He had to find a better spot.

Without thinking, he scrambled down and hurried off through the brush, heading towards the valley floor and the clearings there. The headache throbbed in time with his pulse but he ignored it. Thorns and the tangled thicket slowed him down as he moved; sweat dripped into his eyes and blurred his vision. The shouts of the Maasai grew louder and sent little spears of pain through his ears into his brain. All of his senses seemed to condense and collide right behind his eyes. And then they exploded into white.

When the white and pain receded, he was on his knees on the edge of a clearing, clutching his head and screaming in agony. He took several deep breaths as the pain became manageable, picked up his rifle, and stood. The sounds from the warriors continued on, but they were pushing in a direction parallel to where he stood. He must have gotten himself turned around when his head had decided to explode. Scrubbing sweat out of his eyes, he turned and looked for a high point that he could orient himself from.

The low, thunderous rumble of a growl stopped him. He turned towards it.

Directly across from him, at right angles to the Maasai’s line, a lion stepped out of the thicket and stopped, eyes locked on his. Heavy lips pulled away from massive fangs, and another growl rolled out into the thick air. The lion blinked and its eyes went sulfur yellow and pupilless.

Sam snapped the rifle to his shoulder; the lion didn’t move, save for the occasional lashing of its tail. His finger found the trigger, and started to tighten when a spike of pain stabbed behind his eyes. He blinked, and it stabbed again, leaving an after image of faint colors and shapes. When his sight swam back into focus, he steadied the rifle at the lion again. Before he could fire a shot, his vision exploded into a tangle of images and pain.

He saw a home he didn’t remember, a face that was more familiar from faded photographs, her blonde hair tickling his face as she bent to kiss him goodnight. Then, there was a dark shadow over him, and the taste of copper and sulfur on his tongue. Screams filled the air, and flames, and then everything twisted to white pain again.

And a quiet, haughty voice seemed to whisper through it all. Oh Sam. Is that any way to act?

But another voice cut through the agony and confusion. “SAM!”

He was on his knees again; one hand fisted in his hair as if ripping it out by the roots would soothe the other agony, the other clutching at the ground. Dean’s voice tore through the air again, and he picked up the rifle again.

“Sam! Shoot the damn thing!”

He staggered to his feet, eyes sweeping around the clearing. The lion was in the same position, yellow eyes blazing in triumph. Dean shouted at him again, and he saw movement from his left; Dean and Samuel were pushing through the underbrush towards him. The lion growled again, and Sam lifted the rifle, sighted, and pulled the trigger.

The hammer clicked down. And nothing else happened.

“SAM! SHOOT IT!”

Another rifle cracked, and a bullet whizzed past the lion’s head, cutting a stripe of hair from the mane, but doing nothing else. The lion turned and roared towards Dean, who was still yards from the edge of clearing. He didn’t flinch, just swapped the rifle for the Colt and fired. The bullet spattered into the dirt near the lion’s front paw. Sam, head still aching and eyes blurry, scrambled with his rifle, ejecting the bullet in the chamber, and reloaded. He looked up in time to see the lion snarl and turn away, disappearing into the underbrush again.

For several long moments, he couldn’t move. His entire body ached, and his vision was still blurry from the pain in his head. The events of the last few minutes were disjointed in his memory, broken by the strange images that had flashed through his mind when the lion - the demon - had looked at him. Then Dean’s hand was on his shoulder, both rough and comforting as he demanded to know what was going on.

“‘m alright, Dean, leggo,” Sam slurred.

“Like hell you are,” Dean replied, and hauled Sam to his feet. “What just happened? Why the hell didn’t you shoot the bastard?”

Sam managed to stay upright, and his head cleared a bit. He struggled to remember what exactly had happened. “My gun misfired,” he managed.

Dean groaned and stepped back, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Really? My guns don’t misfire, and I taught you everything I know about ‘em, so why did yours?”

“Maybe because I dropped it.” He squinted against the sunlight, but the pain was mostly gone. “I don’t know what happened. My head just felt like it was going to explode, and I saw a bunch of stuff...” He stopped when the leader of the Maasai called out to Dean, an edge of fear in his tone.

Dean acknowledged them with a short nod, and looked back at Sam. “We’re not done talking.”

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Sam wondered absently.

He didn’t get an answer, but a half-formed smirk flittered across Dean’s face before he turned to the Maasai.

*
The warriors left that day. Though they maintained their proud demeanor, the undercurrent of fear was undeniable. They were just as certain as the workers that the lions were devils and not natural. It was not their lot to hunt such creatures.

Though no more mobs were formed, Sam felt his control over the workers slip. Those detailed to help with the new hospital continued their work briskly, but it was more that they were respectful and fearful of the sharp-tongued Hawthorne than of Sam. The rest working on the bridge staggered about, the speed and quality faltering, even from what it had been at the height of the lion attacks.

Dean saw it as well, and while he made no attempt to actually address the workers, he made sure that his own efforts against the lions were seen. And that as little demon-hunting activity could be seen. He observed the efforts on the hospital, which would be completely finished well before sun down. Then, with Sam and Samuel in tow, he started his preparations on the old hospital.

Despite having just given ten head of cattle to the Maasai, Dean had another one slaughtered. The blood was collected in buckets and sloshed on the path up to the hospital and on the walls, slabs of meat tossed down around the tin building and up to the door. Even in the fading heat of the day, it reeked and flies swarmed in black clouds.

“What is this?” Sam demanded in a low voice as he poured out the last dribble of blood and tossed aside the bucket. “This is disgusting and a waste.”

“We have to draw the lions here.”

Sam tossed a quick glance around to make sure none of the workers were in earshot. Samuel was shooing them away, not that they needed much encouragement. Everyone was eager to get away. “They’re demons, what the hell are you planning?”

Dean straightened from the wheelbarrow filled with cattle parts. He glanced at his gore covered hands, grimaced and then said, “Demons are demons, yeah, but we’ve always seen them act human… until they get kill-y.” He reached up to wipe at sweat trailing into his eyes, and just smeared blood across his eyebrow. “I figure the same with the lions.” He found a rag and cleaned his hands before grabbing a brush and a bucket of paint and going into the old hospital.

“I really don’t think that they’re going to get excited about a bunch of dead cows,” Sam said.

“Well, it’s not just the cattle that’s gonna be here.” Dean walked to the back door and started to paint a devil’s trap on the floor. “We are too. Cuz for some damned reason, I think that Abdullah was right. I think they’re after you.”

“What are you saying?” Sam asked. A pit opened in his stomach, and he fought back the sudden wave of fear. He knew exactly what Dean was talking about.

Dean put down the paint and turned to face him. “Sam, I saw you in that clearing. The gun misfired, yeah, but you were on the ground, holding your head, screaming. You said you saw stuff - which you still haven’t explained. And the attacks didn’t start until you got here, about the same time Dad started tracking leads on the demon to London and beyond? And the damn thing was in your nursery when it killed Mom.” Dean’s voice was thin and laced with pain.

“So you think it’s my fault Mom died? Christ, Dean, don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I’ve beat myself up wondering if I had never been born, that Mom would still be here for you and Dad?” His voice rose and echoed in the empty room. “Don’t you think I feel every fucking ounce of blood that those demons have spilled since I’ve been here, because every day I’m more certain that they are here to get me and torture me in the process? I can’t sleep, between the screams and the nightmares! Don’t you think that I’m both relieved and terrified that Jess and our baby are thousands of miles away from me right now? Because I am not there to protect them, but if I’m not there, the demon might not go after them? Because I am! I’m fucking terrified! Because I keep seeing things I shouldn’t! What happens if we kill the demon and that part doesn’t change? What if I really am a freak?”

He stopped, his entire body quaking with emotion, so that Dean wobbled in his vision. With an impatient motion, he swept the sweat and tears away from his eyes and took a deep breath. Dean hadn’t moved, except to be somehow drawn tighter with tension and bowed under guilt. Sam already knew what Dean’s thought process was; he was the older brother, it was his job to protect Sam from everything he could. But he hadn’t, and the only thing he could do now was change that. And Dean’s words confirmed it.

“Let’s kill the bastard, and not worry about them again.” He grabbed the paint brush and started on the devil’s trap once again. “Then we’ll sort everything else out.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Dean managed to make small talk while they finished their preparations. He joked about Sam’s “artistic abilities” with drawing sigils, though his own were just as precise. Hawthorne offered to join the brothers in killing the lions, apparently wanting to show his skill and make up for the lack of confidence he had shown in them earlier. Dean waved him off, saying that Hawthorne and Samuel both deserved a night where they could sleep without worrying about the lions. When they brought three more steers into the shed to help act as warning bells, Dean made cracks about how they were lucky they were the tough old things, which had saved them from being made into steaks; at the same time he made sure they had water and fodder before being tied up inside.

They shut the doors and bolted them - one with a heavy wooden bar, the other with a chain wrapped through the holes where the handles had been - so the lions could only make their charge inside and into the devil’s traps strategically. Though Sam had more trust in his and Dean’s abilities, there was no need to risk repeating the incident at the rail car trap.

Then, there was nothing to do but wait.

Bonfires blazed up around the camp as night fell; the fires had never really seemed to stop the lions, but they had become something of a nightlight for the workers. Samuel stopped by on his way to his tent, reporting that the new hospital was finished, and all the patients settled in, and even Hawthorne had to admit that it was a better situation. The rest of the camp was still uneasy, though. The only thing to reestablish order would be to kill the lions, and get back to work on the bridge.

Before long, the camp fell silent. The fires crackled and threw strange shadows about, but nothing else moved or made a noise. Even the cattle were silent, only twitching their tails occasionally to swat flies. Sam wandered from one window to the other, stepping up on stools and a bed frame that had been left behind. Dean leaned against one of the support beams, checking and rechecking the Colt. Then he glanced up at Sam, and chuckled quietly.

“What?” Sam stepped down from the bed frame with a hollow thump.

“You, man,” Dean said with a smirk. “It’s just funny thinking about you going back to your normal life after this.”

“I did it once,” he replied flatly.

“Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t mean that it has to stay that way…”

“Have you forgotten that I have built a life for myself? That I am married, and starting a family?”

Dean rolled a shoulder in a half shrug. “No. Hard not to. But it’s just that, you know, we could be more like a family again.”

Sam fought back a half laugh. “And what? Have you and Dad try to teach the baby exorcisms along with nursery rhymes? Have rosaries and spent shotgun shells as toys? Family reunions where you stagger, beaten and bloody from dealing with who knows what, and having some horrible cover story to keep Jess’s family from figuring it out?”

“Give me some credit; I’d clean up before showing up.” Dean tried a half smile, but it faltered. “Yow know what, never mind.” He turned and stalked over to the chained door, peering out into the dark.

“Dean.” He took a deep breath and pushed away his frustration. “What exactly do you want from me?”

It took a few moments, but Dean finally faced him, shoulders bowed and eyes not quite meeting his. “I just want us to be a family again, Sam. No more not talking, no more sneaking around in shadows trying to keep tabs on you with you pretending we don’t exist.”

“But Dean…” Sam struggled to put his fears into words. “I… Jess and I are having a baby. And I don’t want to raise my son like Dad did to us.” He gave a shaky laugh. “And I’m scared, man, on so many levels.”

“I would be too. Having a kid is rough. I remember dealing with you, everything from dirty diapers to teething, to that girl you had a crush on when you were twelve...” Dean grimaced, lost in the memories.

Sam blinked a little, and then let out a shaky laugh. “You know what? Never mind, you are going to be around after we kill these things. Cuz I want your advice on how to raise a child. I mean, you practically raised me.”

“Oh, this conversation is over as of now. I ain’t dealing with a kid again. I’m gonna be the cool uncle, and you’ll have to do the dirty work.”

“This conversation isn’t over,” Sam replied with a grin.

“Oh, it is. But I don’t think a demon is going to show up with us having a heart to heart. And if it does, I don’t want to be caught like that.” He shuddered dramatically.

“You know, I leave for a few years, and some things never change.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re still not funny.” Sam smirked and turned to climb up to the window again.

Dean snorted. “Shut up. I’m hilarious.”

A few moments later, they both fell silent. The night crept on, quiet and still as the fires burned down. Sam felt lethargy settled into his muscles and mind, and shifted from window to window, door to door to find a breeze and stay active. Dean paced, going around the building, stopping to check and recheck the devil’s traps.

A little past midnight, the cattle became restless. They shifted and pulled at their tethers, bellowing. Dean drew the Colt, and Sam lifted his rifle, when the entire building shuddered with the impact of a heavy body as it slammed against the barred door. A deep, bubbling growl cut through the tumult.

“Come on, you bastards!” Dean roared back and lined himself up with the door, the Colt level and steady in his hand.

There was a sudden thump directly above their heads. Sam fired at the roof, the heavy hunting round ripping through the corrugated tin. More thumps echoed across the roof and Dean shot several times with his rifle as well, but there was no reaction. Heavy bodies slid across the roof, but there was no indication where they landed.

A shadow flicked by the other door and the chain rattled. Sam spun that direction, but one of the steers pulled loose from his tether, and careened around the building. It slammed into Sam with one flank, knocking him off balance. With another terrified bellow, it twisted away and skittered towards the other door. Dean swore, twisted out of the way of its horns, and grabbed the rope still dangling from the steer’s head.

“Settle down!” he growled.

“Not such a great idea, huh?” Sam asked as he joined Dean wrestling the steer.

Dean slammed his shoulder into Sam’s and bit out, “Get your eye back on the demons, what the hell are you doing?”

Grimacing, Sam spun away and lifted his rifle. But the only noise and movement was from the cattle. “I didn’t want you getting run over,” he said in a low voice as Dean finished retying the steer.

“Not gonna matter much if the demons rip us up.” He joined Sam in the center of the room, back to back.

“Where are they?”

“Don’t know. But that damn steer messed up the devil’s traps. This could get real interesting, real fast.”

“Great. Gah!” A sudden flare of pain drove through his head, and he felt his legs wobble with the force.

“Sam?”

“I’m...okay. But the demon-”

A shrill, terrified scream cut through the night, and even as it was choked out, it was followed by a huge wave of terror and pain. Sam screamed as well, the pain in his head spiking up again, blanking out the world into a twisted mess of white and half-formed images. He saw the lions ripping through the rows of cots at the hospital tent, killing and maiming without care. Then the images twisted again, and he was back in his nursery. A dark shape stood over him, yellow eyes blazing from the shadows. He heard his mother’s frightened but defiant voice, then her screams of pain. Everything was washed in flames and heat. With a final twist, Sam found himself kneeling on the dirty floor of the hospital, all but sobbing.

“Sam? SAM! Talk to me!”

Sensation and thought reorganized, and Sam felt Dean’s hand on his shoulder, saw his own hands clawed against the stained wooden floor. And he heard the screams from the other end of camp.

“Sam? You good?” Dean asked again.

He managed to look up; Dean’s gaze darted between him and the direction of the new hospital, muscles tensed and jaw clenched. He took a deep breath and staggered up. “The hospital,” he panted. “Let’s go.”

Dean handed him his rifle and they took off.

The run across camp seemed to take forever. Spikes of pain and random images still shot through Sam’s head, but he forced his legs to keep moving. A voice twisted through the images, an aftertaste of the pain. It was too muddled for him to understand it, but each heartbeat made it clearer. It was one word, repeated over and over.

Sam…

“Sam!”

Dean’s voice cut through the pain and the terror, and he staggered to a stop. “Oh, no,” he whispered as his vision cleared.

“Ah, fuck,” Dean said. “Doc, you should have stayed away.”

The tent that the new hospital had been set up in was shredded and ripped down in places. Blood stained the white canvas and turned the dirt to rust colored mud. Bodies were strewn about, and the cries of terror and agony from the men who had survived the rampage continued on. But there would be no doctor to tend to them; Hawthorne’s body lay near the center of the carnage, his powerful rifle next to him in the bloody mud.

“Why the hell would the demons do this? They are after you…” Dean’s voice was weak.

It took several moments for Sam to answer. The ache in his chest was too much. “They are after me. And they’re doing a fucking good job at it.”

*
Night had ended with a flood of blood. Day began with a flood of bodies leaving camp. The train that was still at the Tsavo station pulled out just after dawn, every inch of it covered with people. The workers crowded into the boxcars, sat on top of them, packed themselves on the flatcars, and clung to the same bench that Sam and Angus had arrived on. And from his perch near the center of the train, Abdullah shouted and waved at the stragglers to hurry up. He glared at Sam, defiance and the pain of loss etched onto his face. There were a lot of men who had come to Tsavo that wouldn’t be leaving. There had been a mass burial not long before dawn, alongside a massive funeral pyre. The wind shifted, bringing the scent of smoke and blood. The train steadily picked up speed as the last few men clambered up.

Sam watched them go. There was nothing he could do to stop them. And he didn’t want to. The demon lions had killed more than enough before the hospital. Those that had been slaughtered in the night only added to the black guilt that had been weighing on him since the first kill. It was time to put an end to this madness.

He turned to see Samuel standing a few feet away, clutching something in his hand. Sam didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say. The deaths of all those men were literally on his head. And Samuel had lost friends in the slaughter.

“Sam,” he said quietly, and lifted his hand. The lion claw necklace, from the first lion, hung from his fingers. “One of us has to be brave.”

He nodded, and took the necklace, slipping it over his head. After a few moments, he asked. “Where’s Dean?”

“The edge of camp, not quite to the bridge.”

With the camp all but abandoned - Sam found a few people lingering, those whose home villages were nearby - it was quiet, peaceful. If he didn’t take a deep breath, or look at the abandoned traps and the destroyed hospital, he could almost forget the death of over a hundred people. But only for heartbeats at a time.

He found Dean pacing aimlessly. The grassland opened up on one side, leading up to the rugged foothills, and the river with the unfinished bridge framed the other. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Dean nodded towards the bridge. “You know, I’ve never given you enough credit, for all your college learning. It’s a strong looking bridge, Sammy. Even half finished. Didn’t really notice it until this morning…”

“We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms until recently, for you to tell me.”

Dean huffed something between a sigh and a laugh. “Yeah, that’s true.” He plucked at the seed heads of the tall grass absently. Then he glanced up at Sam, eyes lingering at throat level. “You get jealous of me having a cool charm, and had to get your own?” He tapped the bronze amulet that had hung from his neck for years.

Sam touched the lion claws. "I gave you that, and no. But Samuel said that they will protect me, and bring luck. And he said that someone has to be brave right now."

"He's not wrong." Dean looked away again.

Sam looked over to the bridge. He saw all the things wrong with it, the half-finished pieces, the abandoned equipment. But he also saw the strong foundation, and the potential. And he suddenly knew that he could finish it, and rebuild another bridge as well. “You remember that saying you used to throw at me when stuff would go wrong? Usually when some sort of idea I had failed, or I got in a fight? Something about boxing and everyone having a plan until they got hit. And then the getting up was up to you.” Sam looked back at Dean and caught his eye, flashing a half smile. “What do you say?”

“What I’ve said since I got here. Let’s kill the bastards. But this time, let’s take the fight to them.” Dean’s grin turned feral. “I wasn’t just admiring your bridge this morning, Sammy. I think I found where the lions have been holing up. Or at least the route they take in and out of camp consistently.”

“What’s the plan? And you know I am going to help and tell you that you’re an idiot.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Back to Part 3 // Onward to Part 5