She glanced down over the bifocals, giving him a harder stare.
“I will deny I said this,” she said. “But do us all a favor, Terry. Kill that son of a bitch already. I am tired of this cat and mouse game with him.”
Terian’s lips twitched in humor.
I don’t think that would go over well with the big boss. His face creased painfully with another attempt at a smile. I would have liked to see you in your prime, Xarethe...
The old seer looked at him, and for an instant, her eyes flashed a hard white, her lids falling to half-mast, until they appeared almost reptilian.
No, she told him. ...You wouldn’t.
7
ESCAPE
I stared out the dirty window of the bottle-green Plymouth, watching trees and rocky coastline slide by, now broken by low-hanging clouds and fog. We were still on Highway 1, nearing where it merged with 101, not far from the Oregon border.
I hadn’t been on this stretch of road since I was a kid.
What took minutes on Highway 5, or even 101 North from San Francisco to Eureka, took hours along Highway 1, making the twisting two-lane road hugging the jagged coastline feel endless. But Revik wanted us off the main highway, at least until we crossed state lines.
Even within seaside towns, he took side streets, avoiding the main “strips,” if they could be called that in towns that maybe had four bars, a salt-eaten motel, a greasy spoon, a church, a head shop and one drive-through coffee stand.
Somewhere near Fort Bragg, he uncuffed me from the door.
I suppose I should’ve been grateful for that, but as my hands and ankles remained bound, my gratitude was limited. I watched the sun slink into the Pacific as pelicans skimmed by, beating long wingspans.
I felt him looking at me.
When he didn’t stop after a few minutes, I exhaled sharply, facing him.
“What?”
He turned the worn, leather-wrapped wheel of the Plymouth, sliding onto the main street of another seaside village whose name I didn’t know. We passed a few bars and an auto shop. His pale eyes shone in the neon signs as night approached.
“We are low on gas. Can I trust you?”
“Dehgo...whatever your name is...”
“Revik.”
“Right. Are you going to tell me? What that guy meant about me ending the world?”
He exhaled. “Terian was trying to unbalance you. But it is true that they...” He amended, “...We believe you to be someone important.”
“Important how?”
“Allie, can I trust you, if I—”
“Revik, important how?”
Clicking to himself, he pulled into a nearby Arco station.
Stopping in front of a pump, he turned off the ignition. When an attendant walked right up to the window, I realized with some surprise that we must be in Oregon already. Revik rolled down the window, which stuck a few times. He gave me a last warning glance.
“Hey! Cool car, man! What can she do on the freeway...?”
The boy’s words trailed, just before his eyes filmed over.
Revik sat up to tug the money clip from his back pocket, handing through a few bills of paper currency to the kid attendant. I noticed the attendant’s eyes didn’t look at me as he took the folded paper. They also didn’t glance at the rust-colored stains on Revik’s shirt, or the slash of the same on his pale neck.
“Revik...”
Frowning, he glanced at me, then at the rearview mirror.
I watched as he licked his fingers, rubbing at the dark stain on his neck. Then he leaned over my lap and pulled open the glove box. Taking out an oil rag, he poured some water in it from a plastic bottle and rubbed it over his neck, erasing the mark completely.
“Where did you get this car anyway?” I said. “Speaking of cool cars.”
“I stole it.”
I felt my jaw tighten a little, but truthfully, I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting for an answer. Looking back at the minimart attached to the gas station, I only nodded.
“Revik, I’m hungry. I’m thirsty, too.”
Instead of answering, he handed me the half-full water bottle.
I tilted it over my mouth, drinking.
His tone remained neutral. “Like I told you...historical periods have beginnings, middles and ends,” he said. “At the end, the dominant species has an opportunity to evolve...in several possible directions. We seers call these opportunities Displacements.”
In the mirrors, he watched the boy hook the pump to the tank. His fingers gripped the wheel when he looked back at me, his skin a greenish-white in the florescent light.
“In some human mythology, this is called ‘Apocalypse,’” he added, his pale irises reflecting that same green light. “Do you know this word?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I might have heard it on one or two heavy metal albums.” I watched the blond kid in the dingy overalls enter the convenience store. He walked to one of the coolers in the back, pulled out a large bottle of water.
“...So you understand,” Revik said. “This will, of necessity, affect all of the species, not just humans. The elders have seen signs of the human Displacement approaching. Some of these signs relate to developments in the natural world. Others have to do with—”
“Okay,” I said, still watching the boy. “...So you’re paranoid. What does any of that have to do with me?” I watched the blond kid pull two plastic-sealed sandwiches out of a cooler, two apples, a bag of chips...
“Burrito,” I blurted. “Get me a frozen burrito...he can throw it in the microwave, right?”
A hint of revulsion grew visible in the set of Revik’s mouth, but when I looked back at the store, the blond kid was stuffing a plastic-covered burrito into a industrial microwave and twisting the grease-covered dial.
When I glanced over, Revik was watching me again, his eyes narrow.
He said, “The Bridge ushers in the Displacement. They are the catalyst. They are also what we call an intermediary being...one of the first. Historically, they gather three friends—”
“Let me guess...the four of us, we all ride horses, right?” I propped my cuffed hands on the armrest. “I do read, you know.”
I leaned my head on the glass of the passenger side window. Glancing in the side mirror, I winced. I looked like I’d escaped from a mental hospital, then got beaten up and thrown in a dumpster. When I looked over, I saw him watching me again, his expression wary.
“Trust me to attract crazies even among the seers,” I said. “...Jon will love this.”
Looking away finally, Revik rolled down his window, accepting the receipt from the blond in the dirty coveralls. The blue and white patch on his breast labeled him “Jerry.” Jerry handed a paper bag through the window that Revik immediately placed on my lap, where its warmth soaked through my waitressing uniform skirt.
“The Bridge is the catalyst,” Revik repeated, like I hadn’t spoken. “They have their place, and their purpose...just like any of the intermediary beings.” He turned the key in the ignition, and the GTX’s engine rumbled back to life. “You need to understand your importance. Not in terms of ego, but of role. It is a responsibility, Allie.”
I looked up from the bag. “So, just to be clear. You're saying I am going to end the world...at least as we know it. And that this is a job that I should take seriously...and do really, really well.” Shaking my head a little, I smirked at him. “Did I get that right...Revik?”
I watched him think. “Yes,” he said. “That is right. Simplistic, but ultimately correct.” Before I could speak, or even laugh, I saw his eyes click back into focus. “You will meet Vash. Then you will understand.”
“Did you just read my mind?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Is that absolutely fucking necessary?” I said.
He thought about this also, glancing at me.
“Yes,” he said.
I stand on a high building above a smoky city.
An angular
, steel and glass structure shaped like a square reaches up on two legs from the edges of the skyline in front of me, barely visible through a veil of smog and smoke drifting near the ground in the pre-dawn light. Beyond that oddly-shaped building, more skyscrapers reach up like jagged teeth, stretching in rows as far as I can see. A low building made of watery glass, bulging shades of blue-green and blue-white, like giant raindrops, crouches incongruously in all of that smoke, an artificial world that looks better suited to the bottom of the ocean.
Already, lights are coming on, even though the sun isn’t yet above the horizon.
People emerge from tall buildings and single-dwelling homes with briefcases and backpacks. Some of them jump on bicycles or mopeds, or patiently wait for buses and trains, drinking hot drinks and reading feed marquees. The whisper of car horns grows audible as others crawl along a jam-packed freeway, fighting to get downtown.
I recognize this skyline, but I’ve never been here.
I’ve seen it on the feeds.
Even as I search for landmarks, sound erupts over the horizon, followed by a silence so profound the city’s heart stops beating.
Trails of smoke follow bullet-like shapes over a curve of amber sky.
Then...the wailing sirens start up for real.
White streaks of light multiply to the increasing pitch of air raid horns.
I watch, my breath caught, as people stand like penguins staring at the sun. The first missile hits, creates a shock wave of smoke, then a rapidly blooming mushroom cloud that looms over every building. The sky goes from amber to pink to red even as, in the distance, another missile kicks up an even larger cloud of dust, forming a second, blood-red pillar of smoke.
Another hits, then another.
One crashes through a leg of the upright square, another flattens the watery glass structure and I hear the scream of metal as it rips through steel, just before—
I jerked awake.
My face hurt from being ground into a wrinkle in the cloth seat. Drool connected my lips to the cushion until I raised my cuffed hands, wiping my mouth clumsily with my fingers.
Gazing through a dirty window at the pre-dawn light, I felt my heart clench.
But this was no smoke-drenched city of auto-rickshaws, bicycles and millions of Chinese. All I saw was pale blue sky above a low horizon of two-story Craftsman homes. Our car was the only one I could see in an empty parking lot before it transitioned back to the main road. I glimpsed ocean through the trunks of trees on the other side of that same road, broken by more houses on a street that sloped downwards, probably leading eventually to the beach itself. A seagull sat on a dimming orange parking lot light, stabbing at something with its beak that it held between its toes.
Next to me, he shifted position, drawing my eyes.
His long body stretched across the driver’s seat, his head and neck cramped in the crack by the driver’s side door. Despite the awkward angle of his body, he was asleep.
His face, even his hands lay open as he breathed.
I watched him sleep, and that inexplicable nausea I’d felt around him in the park returned. It rose and crested...then started to recede when I felt a returning pull from him, like a slow tugging below the navel that brought heat, along with another wave of that discomfort. I clutched my belly in reflex, then pressed my hand to the middle of my chest, rubbing the spot there, even as he shifted his weight uncomfortably, lowering a hand to rest on his thigh.
When that feeling didn’t lessen, a soft sound left his throat.
I waited to see if he would wake. When he didn’t, I let out my held breath.
Quietly, I bent forward, testing the binders on my ankles.
The hard plastic had already cut into my skin. I tugged on the ring anyway, feeling the connecting points for how to unlock the plastic knot. I fumbled with the end, realized a key fit in there, a small one.
I opened the glove box, moving papers and the oil rag as quietly as I could, looking for something sharp, but all I found was a broken pen that leaked ink, a used up book of matches and a condom so old the wrapper had cracked in the heat of the engine. I felt around under the seat, looking for anything that might saw through the thick plastic.
“Does it hurt?”
I jerked back, slamming my head into the open glove box lid. When I glanced up, rubbing my head, his pale eyes shone orange in the streetlights.
“Do you sleep?” I said.
He didn’t answer, but leaned forward, reaching into his back pocket.
My eyes followed his hands as he pulled out a rectangular piece of featureless, black metal. He unfolded the blade housed inside and before I could fully absorb the reality of the knife, he bent to my ankles. Without warning the hint of nausea leapt.
Holding the plastic off my skin, he cut through it with a single tug.
I was still reacting to the relief of that pressure being gone when he pulled off the hard coil, letting it drop to the floor of the car. Once he had, he traced the red line on my ankle with his finger. When he did, the nausea surged, catching me off-guard.
Swallowing, I looked away.
“Is it all right?” His voice was gruff.
“Yeah.” I drew my feet away from his fingers. “Thanks.”
“I should have taken it off,” he said.
“It’s fine. Forget it.”
I watched him look at me.
As I did, I couldn’t help but remember what he was. Even in early adolescence, all I’d ever heard about seers was that they had, well, issues with sex...that they were born with abnormally high sex drives, that the males would rape or manipulate women into sleeping with them, that the females couldn’t say no to anyone, no matter who they were. I always figured it was b.s., a way to scare girls off the males at least.
Looking at him now, though, I wondered.
There was definitely something different about his sexuality...an added component of some kind. Whatever it was, there seemed to be a lot of it.
Averting his eyes, he sank back in his seat. After he refolded the knife and replaced it in his back pocket, he shoved his hand in his front pocket, extracting the keys.
“Did you sleep?” I said. “Or were you faking before?”
Ignoring me, he started the car, gunning it slightly to blow out the exhaust. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Can I call my mom?”
The look in his eyes flattened. “No.”
He put the car in gear. The wheels crunched through gravel and garbage as he drove to the edge of the parking lot. We bumped over the low curb as he pulled onto the road.
“Where are we?” I said.
“Washington.”
“Washington? What happened to Oregon?”
“You slept through Oregon. I took us to the main highway.”
I gazed out at the gray-looking town, feeling my stomach start to cramp. “Why?” I said finally.
“I wanted to make some time. There is a safe house in Seattle. I thought—”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Why can’t I call my mother?”
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Say I believe you,” I said. “Say I believe some of it, anyway. Why can’t I call my mom, tell her I’m okay?”
He shook his head. “The Rooks will have infiltrators with your people by now.”
It took another few seconds for his words to penetrate.
“My people?” I said.
Not seeming to notice my stressed tone, he nodded, once. “They will use them to gather imprints on you. To track you.” He pointed to a sign with missing marquee letters. “...I could get us food there.”
I stared at him, my mouth ajar. My voice rose. “Use them? To track me? How does that work, exactly?”
He focused on a field beside the road, a stretch of sharply green, waving grasses dotted with wildflowers where cows grazed in the early morning light.
“Revik!”
My tone jerked his eyes over. His
fingers tightened reflexively on the steering wheel.
“What does that mean?” I said. “Are they going to hurt my mom? My friends?”
After a flat beat of time, he looked back out the window.
“All right,” he said. “We will eat later.”
He turned onto the ramp for Highway 5 North. The Plymouth made a growling noise as he accelerated from the base of the hill.
In my defense, I didn’t actually know I was going to do it.
I didn’t plan it, which is probably why he didn’t look over until I already had my fingers on the handle of the car door.
By the time he lunged, I was in mid-motion.
My weight followed with a hard lurch as my fingers snapped the latch.
His foot slipped on the clutch...he miscalculated where he aimed his hand as a result, snatching at the edge of my ripped shirt, getting the blanket instead. I slid off the seat and into cold rushing air as the blanket unraveled around me...
There was a silence.
In it, I felt free, an odd rush of joy...
Then my body smashed inelegantly into the ground.
I hit, bounced, rolled, scraping arms and elbows and face as I tumbled down a rock and weed and garbage-strewn slope beneath the ramp.
My cuffed wrists smacked against my chest, then my face. I finally used them to slow my fall, digging the metal rings into the dirt as I slid on my stomach, my legs partly splayed. Coughing gravel dust and dirt, I stumbled drunkenly to my feet at the bottom, my ankles still stinging from the plastic bindings. Somehow I felt that more than the pain of the fall itself. Brushing bits of rock off my forearms and knees, I limped barefoot towards the main road.
On the ramp above, the GTX had come squealing to a stop.
Another car slammed it from behind, knocking it further into the middle of the ramp. Cars careened into angled stops in a rough line behind the first, and promptly began to honk.
Revik got out. Ignoring the other drivers, he walked to the edge of the ramp and looked down at me. A young guy in a stained shirt and cap got out of a rusted pickup and started walking towards the Plymouth.
Allie's War, An Urban Fantasy: Episode 1 Page 9
