puncturing arteries, severing limbs, decapitating people. The huge sections of falling steel smashed through the fuel tanks of two cars, one each in the southbound and northbound lanes. The scraping of metal against metal created showers of sparks, which ignited spilt fuel and led to more explosions. Pools of flaming gasoline spread across multiple lanes of traffic, burning pedestrians and drivers trapped in their vehicles.
With each accident, he sought to maximize the level of death and destruction. Flesh wounds became broken bones and impalements, severed limbs and decapitations. Similarly, fuel spills became fires and explosions. The radius of death and destruction spread outward like ripples from one dropped stone.
But every symphony reaches a crescendo and he felt he had wrung as much enjoyment from this opportunity as possible. While the energy he expended to create the havoc had exhausted his resources, the resulting pain, misery and grief replenished him and more.
The devastation gave him enough energy to reach out across the bustling town of Laurel Hill and claim it, his vibrations thrumming to the core of it. Those ripples would produce the desired effect. A call to violence and destruction.
The switchback stairs on his end of the overpassremained relatively intact, held together by his will to facilitate his exit. Ignoring the cries behind him, he descended the stairs with a buoyancy in his step he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He crossed the parking lot of the Hillcrest Shopping Plaza, climbed into the plumber’s van and navigated several back streets to avoid the gridlock he’d created.
Sam pushed his way through the frightened crowd, Dean at his side, as the pedestrian overpass crumbled and collapsed. Then Dean vanished, replaced by Lucifer, who cheered and clapped as pedestrians fell to their deaths.
“Hell of a party you got here, Sam,” Lucifer said. “I should know. Right?”
Sam edged forward, but Lucifer caught his arm.
“Watch this one, big guy.”
In the middle of the highway, a man in a tan blazer, face bleeding, fell to his knees a moment before the grill of a white Ford pickup crushed his head against the rear bumper of a Mazda Tribute.
“Woo, boy! That skull burst like a ripe melon!”
Shut up , Sam thought intently. Shut up!
“Little help here, Bunky,” Lucifer said as he grabbed an elderly woman by the nape of her neck. “Let’s make pancakes together.”
Lucifer pushed the woman forward, ignoring her hysterical screams, and shoved her under the wheels of a speeding commercial van.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, flinched when he heard thewet thud, and speared his right thumbnail into the scar on his left palm.
Through the press of rushing, shoving bodies, Dean saw the tall man in the bowler hat slam something downward. Instantly, the overpass shuddered, as if in the throes of an earthquake. Many people had crammed into the caged switchback staircase, with those in the lead already nearing the top. Nervous shouting followed. Several people yelled, “Hurry!” or “Move!”
As another car explosion sounded from the parking lot behind them, the crowd pushed forward with renewed urgency. Dean wanted to reach the guy in the bowler, but the mass of humanity flowing up the staircase blocked him. With the nearest traffic light a couple of hundred yards away, dodging cars across four lanes of speeding traffic was the next best option.
“Sam! It’s Frogger time.”
When he got no response, he turned and discovered his brother had fallen several steps behind. Sam stood motionless, staring off into space, his left hand gripped in his right.
“Sam!”
Dean ran back and shook Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy!”
Sam, startled, focused on Dean’s face. “I’m okay. Fine. What?”
Dean pointed to the far side of the crowded overpass. “Bowler!”
Sam looked where Dean pointed. “Where? Oh, I saw the hat—for a moment.”
“We’ll lose him in the crowd unless we cross
With each accident, he sought to maximize the level of death and destruction. Flesh wounds became broken bones and impalements, severed limbs and decapitations. Similarly, fuel spills became fires and explosions. The radius of death and destruction spread outward like ripples from one dropped stone.
But every symphony reaches a crescendo and he felt he had wrung as much enjoyment from this opportunity as possible. While the energy he expended to create the havoc had exhausted his resources, the resulting pain, misery and grief replenished him and more.
The devastation gave him enough energy to reach out across the bustling town of Laurel Hill and claim it, his vibrations thrumming to the core of it. Those ripples would produce the desired effect. A call to violence and destruction.
The switchback stairs on his end of the overpassremained relatively intact, held together by his will to facilitate his exit. Ignoring the cries behind him, he descended the stairs with a buoyancy in his step he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He crossed the parking lot of the Hillcrest Shopping Plaza, climbed into the plumber’s van and navigated several back streets to avoid the gridlock he’d created.
Sam pushed his way through the frightened crowd, Dean at his side, as the pedestrian overpass crumbled and collapsed. Then Dean vanished, replaced by Lucifer, who cheered and clapped as pedestrians fell to their deaths.
“Hell of a party you got here, Sam,” Lucifer said. “I should know. Right?”
Sam edged forward, but Lucifer caught his arm.
“Watch this one, big guy.”
In the middle of the highway, a man in a tan blazer, face bleeding, fell to his knees a moment before the grill of a white Ford pickup crushed his head against the rear bumper of a Mazda Tribute.
“Woo, boy! That skull burst like a ripe melon!”
Shut up , Sam thought intently. Shut up!
“Little help here, Bunky,” Lucifer said as he grabbed an elderly woman by the nape of her neck. “Let’s make pancakes together.”
Lucifer pushed the woman forward, ignoring her hysterical screams, and shoved her under the wheels of a speeding commercial van.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, flinched when he heard thewet thud, and speared his right thumbnail into the scar on his left palm.
Through the press of rushing, shoving bodies, Dean saw the tall man in the bowler hat slam something downward. Instantly, the overpass shuddered, as if in the throes of an earthquake. Many people had crammed into the caged switchback staircase, with those in the lead already nearing the top. Nervous shouting followed. Several people yelled, “Hurry!” or “Move!”
As another car explosion sounded from the parking lot behind them, the crowd pushed forward with renewed urgency. Dean wanted to reach the guy in the bowler, but the mass of humanity flowing up the staircase blocked him. With the nearest traffic light a couple of hundred yards away, dodging cars across four lanes of speeding traffic was the next best option.
“Sam! It’s Frogger time.”
When he got no response, he turned and discovered his brother had fallen several steps behind. Sam stood motionless, staring off into space, his left hand gripped in his right.
“Sam!”
Dean ran back and shook Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy!”
Sam, startled, focused on Dean’s face. “I’m okay. Fine. What?”
Dean pointed to the far side of the crowded overpass. “Bowler!”
Sam looked where Dean pointed. “Where? Oh, I saw the hat—for a moment.”
“We’ll lose him in the crowd unless we cross
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