Angel, Page 46

Page 46

 

  He didn’t move; he just stood there for a moment, gazing down at me. “You’re really amazing, you know that?”

  I felt my cheeks turn red at the warmth in his voice. “Yeah, well . . . a misspent youth, I guess. ”

  We glanced back at the Mustang. It looked even worse at a distance, like a demolition car at a fairground. “Come on, we’ve got to push this thing off the road,” said Alex.

  “No way!” I protested in alarm. “Alex, come on. Whoever owns this car is hiking down there. We could kill them. ”

  “No, look,” said Alex. He pointed down a hundred yards or so to where a dense line of trees and brush rose up from the scrabble. “See, that’ll stop it. It won’t hurt anyone. And meanwhile it might buy us a little bit of time; no one will know we’ve been here until it’s found. ”

  I pursed my lips, gazing down at the tree line. “Yeah, OK,” I said finally.

  We grabbed our things from the Mustang. Alex put it into neutral, and we started to push. A few minutes later, the car was rolling down the steep slope with an almost eerie grace, gathering speed as it went, tires crunching against the loose rocks. When it hit the tree line, it jolted and came to a stop, with much less noise than I would have expected. Silence wrapped around us again, with the car nestled down among the trees like a strange piece of art.

  A pang went through me at such a great old car being treated this way. I stared down at its olive-green body. “I’m waiting for it to burst into flames, like in the movies. ”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t,” said Alex. He tossed his bag onto the backseat of the Chevy. “Come on, we’ve got to get out of here. ”

  The car’s engine roared to life as he touched the wires together. “Nice one,” he said, revving it. He did a quick three-corner turn, then pulled away from the shoulder and headed west. I found a map in the side of the door and unfolded it, trying to locate us. “Good. Let’s try to take back roads all the way now,” said Alex, craning his neck to study it. “We’ll be in New Mexico soon, and then I’ll know where we are. ”

  I nodded. Remembering the ice chest, I turned in my seat and pulled off the cooler lid. Cokes, sandwiches, a few cans of beer. My mouth twisted. It was stupid, but I felt almost as bad about stealing these people’s lunch as I did their car. They were going to have a really terrible day now, because of us. “I hope one of those hikers has a cell phone,” I said, gazing at their picnic. If they didn’t, then they had even more of a hike ahead of them now, to get back to the main road.

  Alex was watching me. “We didn’t have a choice, Willow,” he said softly. “I know that doesn’t make it right, but it really was life-or-death. ”

  “Yeah, I know. ” I hesitated but decided that wasting the cooler’s contents wouldn’t help anything. I pulled out a couple of Cokes and put the lid back on. “Here, do you want one? Since your coffee just went over the rim with the Mustang. ”

  He smiled. “Thanks. ” Our fingers brushed as he took it. His hand felt warm, and fleetingly, I imagined just leaning against his shoulder; him putting his arm around me. It would be so nice. It would be so really, really nice.

  I shoved the thought away but found my gaze resting on the dark scab on Alex’s cheek where the glass had hit him.

  Life-or-death. And I had thought that I was calm, but I wasn’t — suddenly I was shaking. I put a hand to my hair; I could feel that there was still glass caught in it. Trying to control my trembling fingers, I propped my Coke between my legs and slowly picked out a few pieces: bright, hard shards that caught the sunlight.

  Just like an angel’s wings.

  Even in the moonlight, the ground looked dry, dusty, as though it hadn’t rained in a thousand years. They’d crossed over into New Mexico a few hours earlier, crisscrossing their way on remote back roads — which, once they’d gotten out of Texas, had abruptly turned to dust. The Chevy groaned along at about thirty miles an hour, with the wheels spitting up a steady stream of dirt and pebbles as they rumbled over the uneven ground. Occasionally one would ping against the windshield, nicking it. Alex had frowned as he drove, concentrating on steering them around the ruts and dips. Finally it had gotten so dark that driving had become too risky in the Chevy, so he’d pulled off the road and they’d stopped for the night.

  They hadn’t seen another living soul in hours.

  Now Alex sat leaning against the car, drinking one of the Coors they’d found in the cooler, with Willow a few feet away, her knees pulled to her chest, staring out at the desert. It had always reminded Alex of the ocean in a weird way — so endless and utterly silent. And cold, now that the sun was down. He had his leather jacket on, and Willow her denim one. Alex drained the beer, then crushed the can between his hands and played with the crumpled aluminum. Ever since they’d pulled off the road, his mind had been replaying over and over again, like a bad dream, the moment when he’d seen the rifle pointed at Willow — the split second when he thought she might die.

  His heart had almost stopped.

  Alex turned the can over in his hands, watching it glint in the moonlight. In that moment he hadn’t cared whether she was a threat to the angels or about anything at all apart from saving her. The thought of her being hurt . . . He swallowed hard. When had the fact that Willow was half angel stopped mattering to him? He didn’t know. Maybe it was the reading she gave the waitress in the diner, or their time in the motel room, or just being on the road with her. But at some point over the last few days, its importance had melted away. The idea that Willow was in any real way like the invading parasites was laughable to him now. Her angel aspects were simply a part of who she was, and though Alex didn’t like what had happened to bring Willow into being, he was still very glad that it had. He didn’t really care what she was, so long as she existed.

  In fact, he could hardly imagine being without her anymore.

  The thought stunned him; he felt his hands grow cold. What the hell was going on? Being attracted to Willow was one thing, but this was . . . Alex’s thoughts trailed off, lost in confusion. It wasn’t just how she looked; it was Willow herself, everything about her. He hadn’t had this depth of feeling toward anyone since Jake had died. And he didn’t want to be having it, not ever again. It wasn’t worth it; being close to people just meant pain, eventually. For the second time that day, an image of his brother’s death flashed through his mind, and Alex’s jaw tightened.

  “Is everything OK?” asked Willow.

  Glancing up, he saw that she was watching him, her blond hair almost silver in the moonlight.

  “Yeah,” said Alex shortly. “Just kind of tired. ”

  She looked doubtful, her eyes scanning his face, but she didn’t pursue it. “How long will it take us to get to the camp from here?”

  Alex scuffed his shoe across the sandy soil. “Four or five hours, probably. We should be there by noon or so tomorrow, if we don’t run into any trouble. ”

  Silence fell. In the distance, a long, wavering howl sounded, and Willow jumped. “What’s that?”

  “Coyote. ”

  She stared at him, her face alight with amazement. “What, really?”