Angel Fever (20 page)

Gallad looked pale; Raziel could almost hear him thinking that over seventy thousand people lived in Teotihuacán Eden, with another twenty thousand in nearby refugee camps. Below, bright human auras went about their business – shopping, strolling down the long stone roads.

“I’ll see to it,” Gallad said finally. “But as for getting all the angels to Schenectady too—”

“Oh, they’ll come,” said Raziel. “Tell them we’ve found the cause: it’s the fault of Willow Fields. We are now at war. Pawntucket is our first step towards obliterating her.”

And as Raziel shifted to his angel form and flew away, he knew, ironically, that he’d found the one thing that could unite the angels under his leadership: his daughter.

“I
T
’
S THE MOST DIRECT WAY
.” Seb traced his finger along the map.

“I know, but I’m kind of nervous about Iowa,” I admitted. It was the middle of the night, with the world dark and still around us. We’d stopped for gas at an abandoned Exxon station near the eastern South Dakota border, and now we were leaning against the truck, poring over the atlas.

Seb looked up, his hazel eyes catching the glow of my angel as she hovered to give us light. “Nervous?” he repeated.

“It’s pretty populated,” I explained. “All the states are now between here and New York. The chance of getting spotted by Eden staff will be a lot more likely from this point on.”

I could hear the faint scrape of Seb’s stubble as he rubbed his chin. “Maybe we should go up through Minnesota and into Canada instead.” He turned to flatten the map against the hood. “We could cross the border right here – see? And then go north and then east again.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about Canada, but we’d be cutting things pretty close. Plus the snow will be worse there.” I stared down at the map with its different options. My stomach clenched when I imagined getting to Pawntucket too late to stop whatever Raziel was planning.

“Let’s try Iowa,” I said finally. “Do you have any feelings about it?” I wasn’t getting anything; I was far too emotionally entangled.

Seb gave a
not really
grimace. “Both ways feel dangerous.”

We looked at each other. Finally I shrugged, trying to hide my apprehension. “Well, if they’re both dangerous…then let’s at least take the fastest one, right?”

As the sun rose, at first there was little difference between Iowa and South Dakota: flat, frosty plains with occasional clusters of trees. As we drove, my thoughts kept turning uneasily to that moment of longing I’d felt towards Seb, and the fact that it was preying on my mind irritated me – it wasn’t as if I didn’t have enough to worry about already.

At least things were relatively back to normal between us – the morning after we’d shared the sleeping bag, we’d slipped back into banter, and last night it had been warm enough to keep to our own seats. Now, as we travelled across Iowa, we played “the minister’s cat” again, though it kind of disintegrated when Seb started throwing in Spanish words and insisting they counted. Twenty questions was a failure too, when we each realized we were trying to psychically probe the other.

The whole time we were joking around, it felt as if we were waiting for something to happen.

After a few hours, we started seeing people again – groups of trudging refugees, burdened with belongings. One little girl staggered along with a cat carrier, her arms rigid under its weight. My eyes lingered on her. I longed to tell them all to pile in – but I could do nothing.
Nothing.

No. I
am
doing something,
I reminded myself.
I’m going to get rid of Raziel.

Seb’s glance held understanding. He started to say something…and then we both stiffened. Angelic energy – a lot of it and close by. Suddenly my palms were damp.

“We must be getting near an Eden,” I said.

Seb already had the map open. “Mason City, maybe – it must be a new one.” He flipped to the next page. “I’ll find another way, so we can get off this road quickly.”

I nodded tensely, scanning for angels as I drove. To one side we were hugging a rocky hill; there was a drop to the other. I rounded a bend – and slammed on the brakes, bringing us skidding to a stop.

There was a rockslide across a curve in the road. I stared in dismay. There was no way we could drive across: we’d have to take our chances off-road on the slope, or else get out and start moving stones.

Then I saw something else, just past the slope: the Eden wasn’t even half a mile away, with its stark barbed-wire fence and dozens of angels circling overhead.

Seb and I exchanged a taut glance. As we got out of the truck, I was very aware of the pistol in the pocket of my parka. Going over to where the road met the slope, I gazed downward. Seb had already started bending and lifting, hefting stones out of the way.

“You know, I think maybe we could make it across the slope—” I started, and then broke off as my spine tingled. Looking up in sudden dread, I saw two armed figures step around the bend.

They sauntered towards us, machine guns at the ready – a pair of grinning men in mismatched camouflage gear. “Well, look at this,” drawled one. Red hair and a broad smile. “
This
is a nice fish to catch – y’all got gas in that thing?”

Neither of us answered. Seb straightened up with his eyes narrowed, his stance deliberately relaxed. Like me, I could sense how much he wanted to bring out his angel – but just then a small pack of angels cruised overhead, wings flashing. Bringing attention to our half-angel selves right now was not a good idea.

“You want to get out of our way, bud,” Redhead advised Seb. “’Cause let me tell you, shooting you and your girlfriend wouldn’t bother me at all.”

“Nah, Blondie’s too cute to kill,” smirked the other one. “She can stick around. If she’s nice to us.” Both men were already halfway across the rockslide, picking their way through the debris as if it was a well-known route.

My veins were ice. Without looking at each other, Seb’s mind and mine touched: we couldn’t let them have the truck. No matter what.

Seb’s next thought came loud and clear:
I’ll distract them and you run for it.

Seb, no! I’m not leaving you.

The red-headed guy was about twenty feet away from Seb now. Still Seb stood there, not budging. The man stopped, regarding him with hard eyes. “Did you hear me? Get out of our way.”

“Yes, I heard you.” And deliberately, Seb reached for his waistband. He wasn’t even carrying a gun, but the man’s reaction was immediate – he raised his machine gun and fired off a rapid volley of shots.

Seb fell, and I stopped breathing.

Then in a confused rush, I saw that Seb had just lunged down to grab a stone – he hurled it in almost the same motion. It hit the guy square in the stomach; as he crumpled, I snatched hold of my senses and drew my pistol. I pointed it at the second man before he could react.

“Stop!” My heart was slamming in my chest, but somehow my voice didn’t shake. “Don’t even think about it.”

The first guy was up, panting as he aimed the machine gun at Seb. “Oh, you asked for it—”

Seb tackled him; the two went scrabbling on the rocky ground. The second guy scowled and started forward.
No.
Holding the pistol in both hands, I pulled the trigger. The man yelped as the bullet ricocheted off his weapon, almost wrenching it from his grasp.

I’d meant to hit his
arm
but had the sense not to show dismay. I clutched my pistol tightly, holding it steady. “Keep walking and I’ll aim for you next time,” I told him through gritted teeth.

When I risked a glance, Seb was sitting on the other guy’s chest, pinning his arms with his knees – his switchblade open and pressed against the man’s neck. As the blade glinted, there was nothing in his expression of the boy I knew. This was the Seb who’d grown up fighting on the streets.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I won’t cut your throat,” he said in a low voice.

Redhead gulped, breathing hard.

“Drop the gun,” I told the second guy, still pointing the pistol at him.

He blinked, looking from me to Seb, like,
Wait – this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Do it!” cried Redhead. He looked very young suddenly; not much older than us. There was a pause – and then the second guy dropped his machine gun onto the rocks with a clatter.

“Now back away,” I said.

He did so with his hands in the air. My legs felt like cotton, but I advanced quickly over the rockslide and scooped up the machine gun. Still holding his knife in place, Seb slowly reached for the other one. He grabbed it and got up, aiming it at the guy on the ground. He motioned tersely with his head. His cheek was bleeding.

“Both of you – go,” he said.

Redhead half scrambled across the rocks as he ran. His friend took off after him.

Seb and I sprinted back to the truck and hurled ourselves in. My stomach was trembling. I ignored it and started the engine. A second later I’d lurched us over the slope, the world tilting alarmingly, and then I was gunning us down the road. Seb opened the window and aimed a machine gun at the two men as we passed them. They stood by the side of the road, hands up, watching us leave.

I couldn’t relax even when they were no longer visible in the rear-view mirror – even when the Eden no longer was.

“That was close,” I whispered. I imagined Seb falling to the ground in a roar of gunfire, bullets ripping through him. I swallowed hard. “That…that was so close.”

Seb put the machine gun in the back. “Yes,” he said, and I winced at the raw scrape on his cheek. Studying me, he seemed about to say something else – then he looked away and reached for the atlas. “I’ll find us a different road.”

I nodded, clutching the wheel. “I think we should start heading north now, towards Canada. If it’s remote enough, we can stick to the highway and try to make good time.” I glanced at him; my throat was dry. “Do you agree?”

Seb shrugged. “This is your trip,
querida,
” he said quietly.

And I realized just how long it had been since he’d called me that. I faced forward again, my emotions in turmoil.

Now that we didn’t have to avoid the farms of the Midwest, our route became more straightforward. For hours we made excellent time, flashing past lake after lake. The banter between us had gone. Almost all conversation had gone; in its place was a growing tension. I felt so aware of Seb next to me: his lean body, his energy that was so similar to mine.

By late afternoon we thought we might have crossed over into Canada, though there didn’t seem to be a welcome sign any more. It had snowed recently, though, slowing us down; we had to stop and put on the chains. It seemed like a good idea anyway – the sky had turned a smooth, pearly grey.

Finally we came to a county road heading north. Definitely Canada, I saw with relief: the road sign was shaped like a shield with a crown on top.

Seb was behind the wheel when the snow really hit. He muttered something in Spanish as the flakes attacked the windshield like a swarm of bees; his leg flexed as he tapped the brakes, his forehead tensed in concentration. Already, the road was fading away into a white blur on either side. When a grey chimney swam out of the storm, Seb angled us towards it.

“I think we better stop here – it’s getting dark anyway.”

I nodded, feeling apprehensive. If this didn’t let up soon, we’d be snowed in – maybe even for the rest of the season. I wished we could push on, but it would be suicidal.

You can’t control the weather,
I reminded myself harshly as Seb pulled the truck over. Whatever happened, we’d just have to deal with it.

Through swirling flakes, I saw a large A-frame building of grey stone. A sign read:
taketa lounge and restaurant
. Sinking into fresh snow up to our ankles, we grabbed our things and headed over, flakes pouring down. There was a porch area with a few rustic chairs; I shook myself off, swiping the wetness from my hair.

“Locked,” Seb said as he tried the door.

I started to reach for my angel, but Seb had already gone for his own. Seconds later, he returned in a flurry. Seb grimaced. “No, there’s something wrong with the lock,” he muttered. He took out his switchblade and crouched down.

“I didn’t know you could pick locks,” I said, as he started to probe at the side of the door with his blade.

“Yes, I have many skills,” he replied, his voice toneless.

The bruise on his face looked even worse now, the skin tight and sore, and I gripped my elbows hard as I gazed at it.

Seb could have died. Just like Alex.

I saw Seb fall to the ground again – heard the roar of the explosion at the AK camp. Something in me went very still as I studied Seb, his firm shoulders flexing as he worked. I could sense the unhappiness that was his constant companion – the longing he couldn’t control. And my heart ached with an answering longing, this time so strong it left me dizzy.

Seb, what are you doing to me?

“There,” he muttered as the doorknob gave way. “There was something bent inside it.” He stood up, flicking the blade away; he put it in his jeans pocket.

He started to reach for our things. As our eyes met, my feelings were raw – exposed. Seb froze. Face tight, he abruptly turned away and started grabbing up the bags.

I helped, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Neither of us spoke. When we went inside, we found ourselves in a lounge area: an imposing stone fireplace with a sheepskin rug stretched out in front of it and an L-shaped sofa. A huge wicker basket half full of wood sat on the hearth.

Still without speaking, Seb went behind the shadowy bar and started rummaging. He found a book of matches and crouched in front of the fireplace, starting a fire with a handful of glossy brochures for kindling. They cast a greenish glow.