Nieve (14 page)

As the car lurched forward then shot off down the street, Lias did exactly that, quickly sinking both hands into his tufty auburn hair and hanging on tight.

–Sixteen–
Car Trouble

A
t the speed they were going, Nieve figured they'd get to the city in no time. The scenery zipped by like an old black and white film on fast-forward. The car was rattling and banging like mad, and something had already fallen off, the muffler by the sounds of it. If Lias was terrified, he had every right to be. She saw that he was scrunched down, no longer holding onto his hair, but gripping the sides of the seat for dear life.
Dear life
. . . she wondered what she would say if that were the salutation of a letter. How very much she'd like to stick with it?

The ride was thrilling just the same. Her parents rarely drove over the speed limit, while Frances never drove any where near it. Every so often she slowed down, no doubt reminding herself that it was reckless and that she had kids in the car
and
there were no seat belts . . . then before you knew it, the speed crept up again until she was rocketing along.

When the car decelerated sharply, Nieve thought Frances must be having one of her conscience-stricken moments, but then noticed her peering into the rearview mirror, frowning and puzzled.

“Some joker's tailing us,” she said. “Driving without lights, the
idiot.
”

No lights? Nieve's heart gave a fisted thump against her chest.

“I've given him plenty of room to pass, but seems he wants to play a little game. Fabulous. Like we really need this? I can't even
see
the driver. What is he? A hobbit? Listen you two, make yourselves scarce. Your Gran said that the fewer people who notice you the better. Get down, Nieve. There's a blanket in the back, throw it over you if you have to, and Lias . . . Lias?”

He had disappeared.
Gone. No Lias in sight!

“Holy! By scarce I didn't mean . . . Nieve did you see . . . oh cripes, hang on!”

The car behind, the quirky silver car Nieve had seen at Ferrets, had glided up smoothly and given their car a sharp bump. She ducked down – where
was
Lias!? – as it gave their car another harder bump. Even with one ear pressed into the seat, she could hear the thing muttering
garbage, garbage.
It hit them again, and again, causing the car to shunt forward in abrupt jerks, losing parts as it went – a fender, a hubcap, the side mirror.

Frances spoke through gritted teeth, “No way, José!” She slammed her foot down on the gas pedal and they shot ahead, but the car behind was back on their tail in seconds.

Nieve heard it making a deranged roaring sound, a robotic yet eerily human noise that she realized was laughter. She thought,
Okay, I'm supposed to have “abilities” . . .
so I'll make them go away, make their car break down,
make
–

It rammed them again, so hard this time that it knocked her onto the floor.

“Ow!” said Lias from the front, even though there
was
no Lias to say it.

“Drat,” growled Frances. “The lid on the trunk's flipped up. Can't see if . . .
double
drat! There goes my parachute!”

“Parachute?” Nieve was still on the floor, wedged between the seats.

“Garage sale.” Frances swerved, barely missing the ditch. “Forgot it was in the trunk. You never know when you'll need a . . . a . . . ha!
Got'em
.”

Nieve clambered onto the seat to look out the back window. The windshield of the attacking car was completely covered in a billowing parachute. She heard a shriek,
blind,
blind
, followed by the sound of brakes squealing. The car skidded, spun out of control, then plunged off the road. The last Nieve saw of it before they zoomed ahead was a flash of silver swallowed up by the dark.

After a few moments, Frances said, “Well, that was fun.”

Fun maybe, but she still had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Lias said. He had reappeared head first, Cheshire Cat style, but minus the grin and rubbing his brow.

Frances gaped at him, then had to brake and swerve again so they wouldn't end up in the ditch, too. “Welcome back,” she said, once the car was righted. “And again . . . I won't ask. Good car,” she added, giving the dashboard a pat.

“I
will
,” said Nieve. “How did you do it?”

“Trade secret.”

“Come on, tell me.”

Lias turned to face her, and now did have a cat-like grin on his face. His initiation into Frances' demolition derby style of driving seemed to have cured him of his passenger's anxiety. “No way, José,” he smirked.

Frances laughed, but Nieve was
not
amused. She supposed this was what it must be like to have a brother. Annoying. Visiting friends, she'd witnessed lots of sibling teasing and fights and hadn't liked it one bit. Which didn't stop her from saying, “I didn't know they talked that way in the Dark Ages. That's where you're from, isn't it?” She stared pointedly at the goose egg shaping-up on his forehead.

“The Dark Ages is where we're going,” was his response, turning away and no longer much amused himself.

When they entered the city, Nieve had to wonder. It wasn't as if they'd entered a time warp or anything, but the city did seem older, worn, less glitzy, and it was certainly darker. Darker because of the power outage, yet there was something else, she could feel it. Some sort of heaviness . . . and menace. A deeper darkness.

The excitement that usually gripped her when she came to the city shifted into apprehension. Except for the sound of a siren in the distance, it was strangely quiet. And unpopulated. Not much of anything going on. A few candles flickered in the windows of the tall buildings, but most were as black as graves. No one was out window-shopping or walking their dog. There were no honking taxis or sleek limos or fancy European cars racing down the street. Even Frances slowed the car to a crawl as she passed through an intersection with a bank of blacked-out traffic lights.

“Don't want to hit anything,” she said. “Emphasis on
thing
.”

Nieve didn't like the sound of that, but was too absorbed in scanning the streets and sidewalks to ask what she meant. She recognized an art gallery her parents had visited once. The work it carried had been too upbeat for their tastes and they hadn't bought anything. Upbeat was no longer a problem. The gallery, now called Hangman's, had on display in its window what she supposed was an action painting. The massive surface of the still-wet, blood-red canvas was writhing with maggots. If revulsion was the artist's desired response, it worked.

Farther along she saw a confectionery called Grimm's. You'd think you could rely on a candy store for some enticement, Nieve thought, but flies dusted with icing sugar? And dead rats dipped in chocolate? And marzipan hands raggedly lopped-off at the wrist (she
hoped
it was marzipan), and cotton candy as grey and appetizing as old man's hair?

If this wasn't the Dark Ages, it might as well be.

“You okay?” Frances asked.

Had she groaned aloud? “Be glad to get there.” Nieve watched a shadowy form slither across a movie marquee and disappear around the side. It reminded her of that spider's shadow, unattached and running free, that she'd seen in town early on. Only this one was much larger.

Frances glanced up at the movie advertised on the marquee. “Nosferatu? Sheesh, what an oldie. Silent flick but totally high on the creep meter. Blast!” She hit the brakes.

“Did you see
that
? My gosh, a streaker! I nearly flattened him!”

A naked man, arms flailing, had run in front of the car, then scurried away into an alley on the other side of the street.

“A brag,” Lias said grimly.

“Yeah? He didn't have much to brag about,” Frances said.

And not much to brag
with
, Nieve said to herself, but could not –
would
not – say aloud. Because
he had no head!
She slumped down in the seat. She'd seen enough, she'd had enough. She wanted to go home.

But they weren't going anywhere because the car obviously wanted to pack it in, too, and did. When Frances tried to move ahead, it sputtered and stalled. “C'mon, baby,” she urged, turning the key in the ignition. The engine made a game
rnnn rnnn
noise, as if it were trying its best, but didn't catch. She tried six, seven more times before giving up. “It's kaputski. Flooded, needs some down time. Guess we hoof it from here, it's not far anyway.”

“You can't leave it, though, can you?” said Nieve. “Here, I mean, in the middle of the road?”

“No one in their right mind would steal it (sorry, old thing!), but you're right, we'll have to push it over to the side. Hope you kids had your Wheaties this morning.”

The trouble was no one wanted to get out of the car, not even Lias, who originally hadn't wanted to get in. They sat listening to the engine
tick tick,
and staring out the windows, wondering
what else
might be running loose on the dark city streets.

An ambulance roared by, careering around them, horn blaring, followed by another shortly after.

“You know, I can't figure it,” Frances said. “The hospital is freakin' busy. More and more people admitted all the time, and yet there still seems to be plenty of room. No idea where they're putting them all.” She pounded the steering wheel and the knob on the radio tumbled to the floor. “Okay, let's go. I've left Malcolm alone long enough.”

–Seventeen–
The Inhospitable
Hospital

T
he hospital wasn't the hushed and orderly place that Nieve had been expecting. It was a madhouse. The walk there had been brisk and tense – they had even held hands like little kids – but she'd assumed that once they pushed through the hospital doors they'd be safe. In fact, they might have been safer staying outside.

The Emergency Department was closed, perhaps because a sense of emergency had spread throughout the whole building. Ambulances arrived at the main door every few minutes and paramedics rushed in bearing stretcher after stretcher, while nurses and medical technicians, exhausted and harassed, hurried every which way. The foyer was packed, almost impossible to push through. People jostled each other with impatience, or stood irresolute, wringing their hands, looking anxious and lost.

“Use your elbows,” Frances advised. The elbow technique got them to the hallway, but then Nieve was almost run over by a surly, acned, dire-haired teenager in a wheelchair. Lias pulled her out of the way just in time, only to be dressed down by a passing doctor for fighting.

“
Look
at that jaw of yours!” The doctor glared at Lias. “See where brawling with your sister gets you. Don't expect us to fix you up, we have enough to do! ” Her mouth was stretched into a taut line, yet she managed to snap at Frances, “Can't you control your children?”

“They're monsters,” Frances agreed happily.

If Nieve had known that was going to be the last funny thing Frances said, she would have laughed harder.