djinn wars 01 - chosen (16 page)

Although I knew I’d acted in self-defense, hadn’t even squeezed the trigger until he’d shot at me, it was still hard to see him like this, knowing I couldn’t do anything for his pain. “I’m sorry,” I said at last, then straightened up and headed back to the Cherokee. The best thing I could do now was get the hell out of here.

I got in the car, shut the door, and pulled out of the parking space. As I drove away, I didn’t look back.

Head north,
the voice said once I was a few blocks from the Walgreens.
Get on the freeway.

“Are you kidding?” I asked, hands tight on the steering wheel. Right then, I wasn’t sure whether I had a death grip on the thing because of all the vehicles choking the roads, or because I was still shaking from that confrontation back in the parking lot. Maybe a little bit of both. “The freeway is going to be worse than the surface streets.”

No, it isn’t. Trust me.

Considering he’d just saved me from a speeding bullet, I decided to trust him.

The closest on-ramp was at Paseo del Norte, so I headed in that direction, keeping my speed below twenty-five miles an hour, and sometimes even slower than that, depending on how congested the street around me was. When I got to the on-ramp, I actually had to drive onto the shoulder to get around two vehicles that seemed to have crashed head-on into one another. Now it was impossible to tell whether they’d both been trying to get on the freeway at the same time, or whether the drivers had been so ill that they’d basically plowed into each other at the worst possible spot.

After that, though, the connector was clear enough, and I eased up onto I-25, keeping my speed down. The voice had been right, though — yes, there were still abandoned vehicles here, but they tended to have either crashed into the center divider or drifted over to the shoulder. The middle two lanes were fairly clear, although I still had to slow down from time to time to get around a car or truck that had stopped in the center of the highway.

In fact, the going was easy enough that I thought it safe to risk opening one of the water bottles so I could get a drink. My throat was parched, and I drank half the contents of the bottle without even stopping. In the passenger seat, Dutchie cocked her head and looked at me.

“I’ll take care of you when we stop, girl,” I told her. Along with the camping gear, I’d stowed a set of collapsible dog dishes in the back of the Cherokee, relics of the times when we used to take Sadie on day trips with us. My father never got rid of anything — which was why none of our cars ever actually lived in the garage — and I’d found the dishes when I was scrounging some of the other stuff.

Dutchie wagged her tail, then sort of collapsed onto the seat, curling up in a smaller ball than I would have thought possible. Up until then, she’d been sitting up and looking out the window, but, truth be told, once you were on the freeway, the sights and smells really weren’t that interesting.

“So where are we going?” I asked of the general air around me. Judging by his delayed reaction to the man who’d assaulted me back at Walgreens, the voice wasn’t necessarily around at all times. In this case, since I was asking a direct question, I had to hope he was close enough that he would hear me and respond.

North
.

“Besides that,” I snapped, irritated now. I’d done what he asked — Albuquerque was dropping farther and farther behind me, since I’d started out from the more northern end of the city sprawl anyway. At this point, I really couldn’t see the reason behind the continuing games of evasion. “It’s a little early for ski season.”

That is all you need to know for now. I will tell you when it is time to get off the freeway.

I might have growled. But since I knew there was no point in pressing the issue, I took another swig of water and kept my gaze focused on the road. I actually hadn’t been about to run out of gas; the tank was nearly full. I’d just hoped that lying about the gas situation would convince the stranger at Walgreens to choose some other prey. So much for that brilliant idea.

At any rate, I knew I wouldn’t have to stop for gas for some time. Maybe not at all, depending on how far I was going. What I had in the Cherokee right now was probably enough to get me to the Colorado border, although I sincerely hoped I wasn’t going quite that far.

So I continued to drive north on the freeway, pushing my speed closer to forty miles an hour as I left Albuquerque behind, and the vehicles littering the road gradually grew fewer and farther between. Not to say that the highway was completely empty, but it was open enough that I felt safe going a little faster. Wherever I was headed, I wanted to get there as quickly, albeit as safely, as I could.

An hour passed. Dutchie slept in the passenger seat, and I could feel my stomach begin to growl. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would’ve gotten some of the food out of the back and brought it up here with me, but shooting someone at point-blank range does tend to rattle your logic centers a bit. Ever since I’d left Albuquerque, I’d been telling myself that there was nothing else I could have done, that he’d shot at me first…but those kinds of reassurances only go so far when you’re trying to wrestle with the realization that you’d killed someone earlier that day.

It was not your fault.
The voice was soothing, its earlier weariness apparently gone. I must have been really broadcasting my angst, because in general, the voice only answered direct questions and didn’t respond to my inner thoughts.
He forced the issue. You should not blame yourself.

I knew that intellectually. But I also knew that killing, even in self-defense, carried its own weight of emotional consequences. When I was in high school, my father had shot someone while on duty — a drug dealer who’d drawn a .38 Special when he was pulled over for running a red light. My father didn’t have much choice but to shoot. Even so, he was in counseling for months after that, coming to terms with what he’d done. Taking a human life was not something to be dismissed lightly. And how much heavier was the burden of doing something like that when so few people were even left alive?

I wasn’t sure, but at the moment it felt pretty damn heavy.

The world has changed,
the voice told me.
So you must change with it.

“So I’m supposed to not care?” That didn’t sound right at all. What was the point of surviving all this, if the only way to do it was to become a person I didn’t like very much?

I did not say that. But there are certain realities you must face. There is nothing wrong with killing, if that is the only way for you to stay alive.

In other words, I shouldn’t feel bad about acting in self-defense. Maybe someday I’d get to that point, but at the moment I’d had too many shocks in too short a period of time. I really just wanted to curl up in a ball somewhere and pretend the world didn’t exist for a while.

Here,
the voice told me.
Take the turnoff for 84 north.

“Santa Fe?” I asked in some surprise. For some reason, I’d thought I’d be going much farther than that.

Yes, Santa Fe.

Well, thank God for small favors. I did as instructed and pulled onto the highway, which was more that in name than anything else, since in reality it was just a four-lane road cutting through town, with shops and schools on either side. Here I had to slow down again, as there was a good deal of stalled traffic once more. Not enough that I couldn’t get around it when necessary, even if I had to pull up onto the island at the center of the street, but it was still nerve-wracking.

Then turn here, on Cerrillos.

So we were heading into the heart of the town? I knew Santa Fe, although not intimately; my family had come here from time to time, mainly when my mother was tired of camping and hiking, and wanted us to get some culture. And I’d visited the town with Elena and Tori a couple of times, generally when Elena borrowed her parents’ timeshare so we could get out of Albuquerque and let our hair down for a few days. Even then, though, I hadn’t been the one driving. We always took Elena’s car, because she had a Porsche Cayenne, which was a lot more impressive than my eight-year-old Honda or Tori’s Ford pickup.

But I did know enough to realize if I stayed on my current route, I’d be heading toward the old town square and the touristy areas around it. Sort of a strange choice, if the voice was really that intent on keeping me out of population centers.

I slowed even more, as the road was getting narrower, and I knew I was about to enter the maze of one-way streets that twisted around Santa Fe’s central square. Oddly, there weren’t as many abandoned vehicles here. But this was a touristy area — maybe everyone had bugged out for home as soon as the infection began to spread.

And now down Alameda.

“So I’m not going to the center of town?”

No.

“Is it far?”

Not that far.

Good, because I knew I was going to need a bathroom fairly soon. I just had to hope that my destination included those sorts of civilized comforts, even if I wouldn’t be able to flush after the first time.

I angled the Cherokee down Alameda, stopping every so often to go up on the curb to avoid yet another abandoned car. Luckily, the south side of the road ran along an open greenbelt, so there were no businesses located there, which meant no parked cars, either. To either side, the trees were brave with fluttering leaves of yellow and orange, but no one was around to admire their autumn finery, and I was too focused on my route to give them more than a passing glance.

The street continued in this way for some time, until I was out of the downtown area and in a more residential district, still heading steadily eastward. Since the voice had given me no further commands, I kept going.

And right here,
it said, just when I thought I was going to be on Alameda forever.

I turned as instructed, moving onto Canyon Road. As I did so, I couldn’t help wondering just where the heck I was going. This was still a residential area, but with the houses spaced farther apart. The upside was that I didn’t have nearly as many stray cars to maneuver around.

Follow the curve,
the voice said then.

Veering off to the left, I found myself now on Upper Canyon Road. It narrowed further, but even in my current focused state, I couldn’t help being impressed by some of the compounds I passed. They had high adobe walls that seemed to stretch on for a full block. Just the kind of thing for people with fat wallets and a serious need for privacy.

The road wound on and on, steadily rising. It became more rutted, littered with gravel. I slowed down, although I didn’t think it was quite time to engage the four-wheel drive. There was still pavement under my tires, albeit pavement that hadn’t been very well maintained.

Eventually, though, even that rutted and gravelly pavement disappeared, and the road turned to dirt. I brought the Cherokee to a crawl, put it in neutral, and then engaged the four-wheel drive. After I felt it catch, I sped up again, but cautiously, knowing I should keep it around twenty-five for safety’s sake.

Even up here there were scattered home sites, and I wondered if I would be told to turn off at one of them. But then the voice said,
This road
, indicating a dirt track that branched off from Upper Canyon, heading even farther into the hills.

I slowed down a little bit more, jolting and bouncing along the unpaved surface, which now was only wide enough to allow a single car through. Good thing I probably didn’t have to worry about someone coming this way from the other direction.

Dutchie, who’d been dozing for the past hour or more, blinked and got to her feet, pressing her nose to the window. She left quite a smudge, and I winced. Even though I knew my father was far past caring about what happened to the Cherokee, I still couldn’t help experiencing some discomfort at knowing the SUV wouldn’t exactly be in showroom condition by the time I got to my destination…whatever the hell that might be, out here in the middle of nowhere.

The track kept snaking farther and farther back into the hills. At least I’d had some experience driving off-road, so the rocky, rutted surface beneath the car didn’t bother me too much. What did bother me was how far away from civilization this place must be. Had the voice lured me out here to….

To what?
I asked myself with some scorn.
If he wanted to kill you or do anything else, he could have done it already. What would be the point in sending you out to the back of beyond like this?

No point at all that I could tell.

Which didn’t mean much.

At least the voice couldn’t seem to hear my interior monologue. A minute or so later, it said,
Here
.

Another dirt track, even narrower than this one. It split off from the main road — if you could call it that — and wound up the side of a hill. Around the crest of that hill, I thought I spied a flash of shimmering gold leaves. Aspen trees?