TWENTY-ONE

Sam took a couple of wax pencils and decided to start from the back of the train. As people slept in their seats in the economy cars, Sam quietly moved through, marking all the doors with Devil’s Traps. He had to move quickly, Devil’s Traps took a while to draw and it was a long train.

Sam finally reached the storage cars, and made his way to the caboose. On the ceiling as well as on the floor, he carefully drew a Devil’s Trap. His back was to the door when a man in a uniform opened it and stepped in.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?”

Sam spun around. “Oh sorry, I was trying to find my bag. I forgot to bring my shaving kit to my cabin.”

“Well, let me help. You take that side, I’ll look on this side,” the guy said as he waddled toward Sam. “What’s the name on the suitcase?”

“Ahh, George. George Michael.”

“What do you do George?”

Sam tried to seem anxious about finding his suitcase.

“Oh, you know.” Sam was drawing a blank. “I’m a song and dance man.”

“Really? Because I would have said you were a liar!”

The uniformed man dived at Sam just as he ducked and rolled out of his way, knocking a pile of steamer trunks over. The man’s eyes flashed black as he flung himself over the trunks. Sam didn’t have a weapon—he had stupidly left the salt-packed shotguns in Walter and Julia’s cabin—and he doubted that there was any salt hanging around the storage car. Sam kicked the demon in the face, then swung at him with a heavy-handled suitcase. The large man fell face first, giving Sam an opportunity to move toward the door, past the Devil’s Traps.

The guy leapt to his feet with surprising grace, and threw himself at Sam, landing rather nicely in the middle of the hastily drawn symbol on the floor.

“Get me out of here,” he growled.

“Sorry, guy. You need to answer some questions first.”

“Go to Hell.”

“Really, that’s all you got? How many more of you are there?”

“You’ll never possess the scroll. It doesn’t belong to you.”

“What do you know about it?”

With that the demon took out a pistol.

“Don’t!”

Sam lunged at him, but the demon put the barrel to his head and pulled the trigger. Sam lay on top of the brain and blood spattered corpse. Black smoke screamed out of his mouth, and gathered as a dark cloud on the ceiling. With a whoosh it flew out an air vent.

Crushed and frustrated, Sam pulled himself up and retreated back to the cabin.

Walter was finishing a ham sandwich.

“Good lord, what happened to you?”

“Guy, or demon rather, just blew a man’s brains out. Where’s Dean and Julia?”

“Still eating.”

“We have to tell them. Let’s go. Grab your books too.”

Walter hurriedly picked up his jacket. Sam grabbed his duffle bag and handed Walter a shotgun.

“Do you know how to use one of these things?”

“Of course. I fought in both wars.”

Sam had forgotten that this was an era where generations of people had lived through two world wars. It seemed strange to think that the third war would be Armageddon itself.

Sam and Walter made their way to the dining car.

Eli dabbed at the corners of his mouth and set the napkin onto his plate. He then grabbed for the case that housed the scrolls.

Dean looked at Julia. “You’re on.”

Julia glanced at Eli, and drained her martini glass. She approached Eli’s table.

“May I join you?”

Eli didn’t look up as he pushed out his chair. “I’m sorry, I’m leav—” His eyes met Julia’s large baby blues.

“Oh please, do have one drink with me. It’s so dull traveling alone. Don’t you think?”

“I thought you were with that fellow over there?” Eli looked up, but Dean was nowhere to be found.

“Oh that plebian, not at all. He invited himself to sit with me. All the while, I was hoping to join you for dinner.”

“Me?”

It was clear that Eli did not remember Julia. The refined woman wearing a blouse and a nice-fitting red suit looked quite different from the gun-toting, jeans-wearing, 1950s Lara Croft who had stormed the Waldorf’s Presidential Suite.

As Julia continued to chat up Eli, Dean met Sam and Walter in the hallway in the next car.

“Another demon,” Sam reported.

“Damnit. From where?”

“I don’t know. The one in the caboose was a security guard. Strange thing was his uniform said he was from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

“Let’s get everyone out of the dining car and get this freaking scroll from Howdy Doody. ’Cause I want to get back home,” Dean said.

Julia was still talking to Eli when the boys and Walter walked into the dining car. Even though Eli was only giving one-word answers to Julia’s questions, he was clearly enthralled. Walter sat at the table right behind Eli.

Sam quietly ushered the other diners out of the car. After flashing a police badge, he said he was train security and there had been a series of thefts. Everyone was asked to go back to their cabins and seats and check all their belongings.

Dean asked all the waiters, most of whom were African-American, to go back to the kitchen car. This was official train business, he explained, and they needed to use the dining car.

None of them moved. “What kind of official train business? We weren’t told of anything,” a lithe black guy said to Dean, “and they always tell us if it has to do with service.”

Dean noticed that James had disappeared from the doorway. That’s not good, he thought. He turned to the waiter.

“Can you get me all the salt you have in the kitchen?”

“Salt? Sir, I’m truly sorry, but I can’t—”

“Listen, dude, I get it, you’re just trying to keep your job. But right now there is a distinct possibility that a whole host of very ancient and pissed off demons are on this train. And I need that salt.”

“Demons? Why didn’t you say?” The guy pulled a small green cloth bag out from the collar of his shirt. “Chicken bones, feather, little dust. Demons don’t scare me none.”

“Hoodoo?” Dean asked.

“Born and raised and taught by my momma.”

“Great. Then please get me all the salt you have, and start making lines at the doors and windows.”

“You got it. Name’s Ray.”

“Nice to meet you. Dean.” Dean shook Ray’s outstretched hand. A couple of other guys followed Ray out of the dining car to the kitchen.

Julia looked down at her watch. “Well, look at the time. We really do need to retire. We reach Chicago quite early tomorrow, don’t we?”

Eli noticed the car was now empty of diners, save for two big guys and the old man seated behind him. Finally, he took a good look at Sam. Recognition dawned on his face. Eli got up and moved to pick up his case.

“I’ll take that,” Walter said, pulling the case from underneath Eli’s chair.

“That’s mine. You can’t have it. I remember you—you were at the auction too.” Eli looked around the room. “You all were.”

Dean trained a shotgun on Eli.

“Yes, and you took something that we need.”

Walter backed up behind Sam and Dean as Julia stepped away. Eli visibly started to panic.

“You don’t understand—I need those.”

“Yeah, buddy, so do we. Sort of like the entire planet hangs in the balance.”

An enormous crash echoed from the dining car ceiling.

“What was that?” Eli shrieked. Small flakes of paint floated down from the gilded ceiling.

“They’re on the roof,” Sam cried. “Walter, Julia, make these signs everywhere!” Sam threw them wax pencils.

“You,” Dean indicated Eli. “Stay where you are.”

Eli shuddered as he watched Walter attempt to open the locked case. A series of bumps and thumps emanated from above.

“What’s going on?” Eli demanded, sounding scared.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Dean snapped. “The contents of your little suitcase there comes with a whole mess of angry demons that are bound to protect it. During your Thomas Crown moment they were released, and now they’re after whomever has the scrolls. So bite it, buddy. Right now we’re saving your sorry ass.”

Dean hastily drew a Devil’s Trap on the ceiling, then another right next to it.

Ray and the other waiters returned from the kitchen car.

“Hey man,” Ray said warily, “I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s looking bad out there. Like a damn demon hoe-down.”

“Just my type of gig.” Dean handed Ray a wax pencil. “Don’t need to be da Vinci.”

The banging sound from above stopped.

“Where’d they go?” Julia asked, peeking out of the window.

“They’re trying to find another way in,” Dean said.

“Will they?” she asked.

“Hopefully not, but if you see one, use this.” Dean handed her a shotgun filled with salt shells. “I have a feeling you can handle it.”

Dean then grabbed his brother and they moved to a corner to confer.

“So what’s the plan?” Sam asked.

“They’re here for the scrolls right? But we don’t know which one—are they protecting all of them, or only one?”

“I would guess that if Lilith has anything to do with the demon possessing James, then it has to be our scroll. The War Scroll. If you were Lucifer, wouldn’t you want to protect the battle plan to defeat you?”

“Right, but... musty old ancient bitch demon, how does she know what we give her?”

Sam and Dean set about tearing up linen tablecloths.

“Hey Ray, are there any canisters in the kitchen, like for flour or something?” Dean asked.

“Absolutely. But I don’t think I want to go out there.” Ray motioned toward the door scrawled with the Devil’s Trap. “They sound like some bad-ass demons.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Dean grabbed the shotgun back from Julia.

“You know, you could have brought along your own firearm, if you’re so women’s lib.”

“What?” Julia asked, puzzled by the modern reference.

Dean aimed the shotgun at the sky as Ray opened the door and they crossed the rattling platform to the kitchen car.

Dean kicked open the door, the stainless steel glinted from the fluorescent lights. He stepped in further.

Ray gasped. The chef, a pudgy man with floppy ears, was splayed out on the floor, his heart split in two by a meat cleaver. The sous-chef had fallen at his side, with a soup ladle impaled through his eye.

“Bernie and Ralph didn’t deserve that,” Ray muttered.

“Let’s get that flour.” Dean stepped over the bodies to the baking area. He grabbed four steel flour canisters and handed them to Ray.

“Well, well,” a voice said. “I was hoping to meet the son of the mother slain, the vessel of goodness and light.”

Dean spun around to face a young girl in a Waldorf Astoria maid’s uniform. With her blouse half-unbuttoned, her skirt cinched up, and her lips blood-red, she was clearly a full-on, fully sexed-up demoness.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean’s shotgun was aimed right at her heart.

“Exactly. I do love scholars. I’m Eisheth, sister to Lilith.”

“Lilith has family?”

“Sister by marriage. I’m one of Lucifer’s wives and so is she.”

“So you’re like Mormon demons? Kinky.”

Eisheth’s eyes flashed red.

“I wouldn’t make it mad,” Ray whispered.

Dean moved toward Eisheth. “Well, listen, this was really fun and all, but we better be getting back.” He trained the gun on the demoness and stepped toward her, Ray close behind him. “Just a little warning, the salt in here is going to burn a lot, like a bad herpes outbreak. They have that back where you’re from?”

“You remind me of the town leper,” Eisheth growled.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

They circled one another until Dean and Ray could back-peddle out of the kitchen toward the dining car.

Ray opened the door and backed out first.

There was a low growl. Dean turned his head to see James perched above them on the scaffolding between the train cars. Before Dean could get off a shot, James jumped at Ray.

Ray hit the deck of the car and almost rolled off. Dean shot James in the shoulder, making the animal even madder. He turned and lunged at Dean.

From inside the dining car Sam had his shotgun trained on the back of James’s head. Dean gave a nod and ducked as Sam took the shot. The window shattered.

James’s body fell forward, lifeless. The demon inside shot up into the air and out of sight.

Dean spun around just in time to catch Eisheth dragging Ray back into the kitchen.

“Leave him alone, he didn’t do anything. We’re the ones with the scrolls.”

“I’ve always liked a proper sacrifice,” Eisheth hissed. She produced a long blade, picked Ray up by the neck and in one swift movement sliced him from groin to throat.

“No!” Dean got off another shot as Eisheth flung Ray aside and raced toward him.

Dean dived back into the dining car. Two of the waiters pushed a wooden table up against the door’s broken window. Eisheth pounded on the other side of the barrier.

Dean pushed his back against the wall—that wasn’t a fair way for Ray to go.

“I found out who we’re dealing with,” he said.

“Who?” Julia came forward.

Eli sat quivering in a corner.

“Bitch named Eisheth. Know anything about her, doc?” Dean looked at Walter.

“Yes, she’s one of Satan’s wives. She doesn’t come up very much.”

“Yeah, because she’s playing second fiddle to Lilith.”

Sam looked to see if Eli had any inkling as to what they were talking about. From the look on his face, it seemed like he did.

Sam leaned over Eli. “What do you know about the scrolls?” he shouted into the little guy’s face. “You’re not telling us something. Why did you want them so badly?”

Eli scrambled to the other side of a table.

“They’re precious. You wouldn’t understand. The scrolls were written by the Essenes, devout followers of Judaism. They are pre-biblical.”

“Tell us something we don’t know.”

Just then, the train lurched. Everyone fell forward.

“What is that bitch doing now?” Dean got up and pushed his head out of the window. Eisheth was underneath the train. Sparks flew as a piece of the undercarriage rolled down the incline of the train tracks.

“Hope we didn’t need that.” Dean trained his shotgun at Eisheth. The shots went wide.

“So now what do we do?” Walter had spread the War Scroll over a couple of tables.

“You put that in here.” Dean threw him the metal container.

“But this isn’t sterile. This is centuries-old parchment, it can’t be exposed to foreign substances.”

“Well it’s a foreign scroll in a foreign land. Put it in there.”

Walter gently wrapped the scroll in a tablecloth and put it in the canister.

“Now give it to Sam.”

“You don’t understand—” Walter faltered.

“Old man, do you want to get out of here alive or not? Give it to Sam!”

Sam took the canister and placed it in the duffle bag that hung from his shoulder.

“Julia, take the scroll jar and stuff it with strips of tablecloth. We’re going to make a little ancient trade. Who wants to play bargain with a demoness?”

No one raised their hands.

“Okay then, guess I have to have a little tête-à-tête with this bitch myself. Sam?” Dean beckoned to his brother.

They huddled together. It was a bad situation and the fact that they were on a moving train just added to their problems.

“This is what I figure,” Dean said. “We need to get the passengers away from her. And we need to get away from her. I say we play a little Great Train Robbery and detach the cars.”

“What about Eli?”

“We have the scroll, right? Just let him go.”

Five minutes later, Sam had scaled the train through the back door of the dining car. The roof of the car was rain slicked, and a wind blew off the Great Lakes on his left. He made his way over the top of the dining car toward the bar. Sam had to move quickly in order to get over to the passenger car and detach it from the train.