Download Carved in Flesh (Supernatural, Book 12) by Tim Waggoner PDF
By Tim Waggoner
Suggested sightings of a hellish hound and the invention of newly lifeless desiccated corpses convey Sam and Dean Winchester to Brennan, Ohio. but if they capture the monster dogs it seems to be "Frankenmutt"; a reanimated patchwork of items from separate dogs.
Soon the brothers are on a path that leads from mad scientists and biotechnology to a centuries-old alchemists, strolling corpses, and an historical and malevolent strength.
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Extra info for Carved in Flesh (Supernatural, Book 12)
T he next day Cain woke lethargic from the laudanum, his head pounding the way it did after he’d had too much. They saddled up and rode out, arriving at the outskirts of Timbucto around midday. Though it was April now, a cold rain with bits of snow and ice fell all day, and low gray clouds hung just above the treetops, making it seem as if a huge piece of sky had broken off and fallen on them. They waited in the woods outside the village, hidden in a dense thicket of laurel. The cleared area of the Negro village was a half mile away, set on a high table of rocky land ringed by steep blue-gray mountains whose peaks were shrouded in clouds and snow.
But that was nothing like this ice-locked and frigid landscape. “Them Yankees can have this cold,” Preacher complained one time, blowing on his hands. ” Little Strofe, who happened to be riding next to Cain, asked, “Y’ever see you such c-cold weather in springtime, Mr. ” “No, indeed, Mr. Strofe,” he replied. Cain had developed a fondness for the stuttering, simple man. “Why, up in the hills it weren’t never like this, even in the hardest winter. ” He turned and called over his shoulder to Strofe.
At last, when they ﬁgured he was far enough away from the settlement, they split into two groups, one circling ahead of the boy and approaching him from the front, the other coming at him from the rear. Warily, the boy watched them approach, four white men on horses and a pair of hounds. He was wearing a wool coat, homespun trousers, and a pair of brogans much too big for his feet. When they reached the boy, Strofe asked about the two runaways. “One goes by Henry,” he explained. “He’s a right stout nigger.