400 Horsepower of the Apocalypse

by Erica Lindquist

  I was still in Arizona, although Diane had brought us north through the state. I wasn’t far from the Grand Canyon, actually… but I folded the map up again and picked a bus schedule out of another rack. None of the routes leaving Kamin went all the way back to Crayhill, or even to Kansas. But there was a bus heading east to Holbrook. From there, it looked like I could change buses and make it as far as Oklahoma City.

  It was a start.

  I checked my torn jeans and was shocked to find my wallet tucked into the pocket. There were still a few of the hundred-dollar bills that Leo had given me inside. Was it just me or was Ben Franklin smirking? I didn’t want to hear ‘I told you so’ from my money any more than an angel, so I closed my wallet and stuffed it into my pocket again.

  I felt the attendant’s eyes on me as I stalked to a row of glass-fronted refrigerated cases along the rear of the store, but I just pulled out two bottles of water. I hesitated before grabbing a big can of beer, too.

  Leo was dead or worse… I didn’t need to stay sober for him anymore.

  I selected some trail mix, too, and a little plastic bag of cheap hair ties, then carried everything to the front counter. The clerk dutifully began ringing me up.

  “Where’s the bus station?” I asked.

  The man behind the counter blinked and stared like I had asked him how to get to the moon. I could only imagine how I looked to him.

  “Umm… go two blocks down Pickard Street,” he answered at last, pointing out the window at what I assumed was Pickard Street. “Then make a left on Tiber.”

  “That’s it?” I asked.

  The attendant shrugged. “It’s not a very big town.”

  He returned to scanning my purchases. There was a spinning rack of sunglasses and phone accessories, but no actual cell phones. I briefly considered asking if there was an electronics store in Kamin, but I was pretty sure that the answer would be a blank stare. Besides, Diane told us she was director of the southwest SPOT division and the Society was everywhere, all over the world.

  Even if Death leveled Blue Mountain, it was probably best to stay off the phone. I could call my parents from a pay phone once I got to Oklahoma City.

  I would have given every dollar left in my wallet just to hear their voices…

  I wiped at my eyes as I paid for my drinks and snacks, then asked if there was a washroom that I could use. The clerk sent me around behind the filling station. The bathroom was small and the single-ply toilet paper was practically sandpaper, but the sink worked and I could finally wash off the dust, sweat and tears.

  Sniffling and blinking, I regarded myself in the mirror. My hair was a hopeless tangle and picking my fingers through the riot of curls only helped a little. I pulled out the bag of hair ties and snapped two of them before at last managing a fluffy black ponytail.

  Good enough. At least it was out of my face. I limped from the washroom and made my way down Pickard Street in the direction that the filling station clerk had pointed. My knee was throbbing and the sun beat against the back of my neck, but I gulped down one of the waters as I walked.

  I turned left at a dusty intersection and found the Kamin bus station. There was another man behind the counter of the ticket kiosk, but he didn’t look twice as I bought a ticket to Holbrook. Kind of made me wonder what sorts of people came through here, but I didn’t have the energy to care very much.

  There was still another hour or so until my bus arrived, so I flopped down onto a bench in the hot gray shade and skipped the second bottle of water to go straight for the beer. I drank about half of it before pausing for breath, then alternated long sips and holding the cold can against my swollen knee.

  Jaz, this is not helping, Uriel said.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and finished the beer. Screw my knee. I needed to numb my brain even more. But all I could see in the darkness were Death’s empty sockets staring up at me from Leo’s face. I opened my eyes again and wondered if I could go buy another beer before the bus arrived.

  A news van with brightly-colored logos – not one of SPOT’s blank black vehicles – raced past the bus station, moving north. Toward Blue Mountain? Five minutes later, a second and third van followed behind. They were driving fast.

  But even at full speed, those reporters were pretty late to the show… I couldn’t see smoke coming from the mountain any­more. Had some other division of SPOT kept the press away until it made sure the base was safe?

  Or was Death still up there? Cold sweat ran down the back of my neck.

  I suddenly remembered the news story the morning after Arrow Lodge, about the exploding gas main. Our server at the diner said it was a government cover-up… I never realized just how close to the truth she had been. That gas explosion story must have been the one SPOT put forward, something palatable to the citizens of a world that knew nothing about the angels and horsemen coming to destroy them all.

  What would the story be this time? Another gas line blowing up? Or maybe something bigger, like a missile going off… The Society’s southwest hideout was an old military base, after all. I would have bought it.

  I wondered if any of the tabloids would hit the mark. Diane said that they sometimes managed little bits of esoteric truth. So what would the headlines look like tomorrow? Satan appears in Arizona and destroys a secret military base!

  Return of Bat Boy, page 9.

  I didn’t laugh, though. Instead, I chugged the rest of my beer and wondered how many more I could drink before the bus came. But my knee hurt, and I had no desire to miss my ride out of this nightmare while I was off staggering across Kamin.

  The bus arrived about half an hour later, just as the thin beer buzz was fading. I climbed in, dropped my ticket into the box next to the driver and then limped to the first empty win­dow seat. Uriel might have been able to heal all of my bumps and bruises, but I didn’t want the angel’s help right now.

  Or ever.

  The bus was only about a quarter full, but I was the only passenger to board in Kamin, so the doors closed with a hiss and the driver pulled out onto the road. I leaned against the window and watched the little town vanish swiftly into the distance. The sun was beginning to dip toward the western horizon behind us, but it was still too warm for the air conditioner to compete with and everyone on the bus remained sullenly silent and sweaty.

  Within twenty minutes, we were on the open road: Highway 44, heading east. The bus drove through the hot, dusty afternoon, quiet and uncomfortable and boring. Which was exactly what I wanted.

  No, it is not, Uriel said.

  I’m not talking to you, I thought. Ever again.

  Then listen.

  I rolled my eyes at my reflection in the window. Even after all this time, the archangel was still so damned literal.

  You have fought for control of your body, Jaz, Uriel told me. And fought your enemies at every turn. You have stood your ground, even when it was unwise to do so.

  Well, I’m done with that. I just want to go home. I never should have left in the first place.

  Why? Uriel asked. You fought your whole life to leave Crayhill.

  Because I’m tired and I’m scared, I thought. Because if I never left, I would be safe back home!

  I stared out of the bus window at the red-banded rocks of northern Arizona as they flashed past. There were more signs for the Grand Canyon, advertising hikes and river rafting excursions. A dirty blue minivan weighed down with a roof rack full of luggage passed us going the other way. I caught just a flash of excited faces inside, and one of the kids pointing at the billboard as he bounced in his seat.

  What the hell do you care about me seeing the world, anyway? I asked. If you get your way, you’ll destroy the entire universe!

  I am… sorry, Uriel said. I did not intend to deceive you, Jaz. I simply did not consider it important.

  I sighed against the window. Yeah, I know. And that’s what scares the shit out of me.

  You have been frightened since the moment I chose you as my v
essel, Uriel told me. But that has never stopped you. And it will not stop you now.

  Stop me from what? I asked.

  From fighting me, the angel answered. From fighting Death to save Leo.

  I shut my eyes and pressed my cheek against the glass of the bus window, shutting out the sights of colorful signs and rocks outside.

  I can’t, I thought. Even closed, my eyes hurt. I can’t save Leo. Leo’s dead. Or he is Death…

  The horseman’s unbridled demonic chrome steed had ram­paged through Blue Mountain, killing an entire room full of trained and well-armed soldiers. How much worse would Death itself be?

  He said your name, Uriel reminded me. Leo spoke with Death’s voice, but he spoke to you…

  I rubbed at my eyes, pressing my fingertips against the lids until colors exploded across my vision, but I still heard my name echoing in Death’s hollow voice.

  Stop dredging up my memories! I told Uriel.

  These thoughts are not my doing, Jaz.

  I didn’t want to believe the archangel, but Uriel hadn’t actually lied to me during all of this. Failed to tell me some damned important stuff, yes, but… Death had plenty of time to kick my ass while its steed tore apart the SPOT base. Why had it left me alive? Was Leo still somewhere behind that terrible, blank black stare? What did that matter now? Even if Leo had managed to maintain control, how long could that possibly last?

  You are strong, Jaz, Uriel said. Stronger than I ever would have believed. And Leo may be that strong, too.

  But not alone. Leo couldn’t do it without the Knights of Hell, and not without Carlos.

  Not without me.

  I could run all the way home to Crayhill, but never escape that truth. Leo needed me…

  What War told Pestilence was true. Leo couldn’t be strong alone. Not for himself… But for his gang, his friends and his family, Leo was made of something sterner than steel.

  But what the hell did I owe him? Ever since Leo Valdis drove into my life on the back of a demon-bike, I had been on the run. I had been shot at and possessed by an angel, nearly thrown off a motorcycle at over a hundred miles an hour and literally faced Death every day. I had never been so scared in my life.

  Or excited. Leo and I had been together for one week, but I had seen more in that handful of days than all the years before. Sure, a lot of what I had experienced was horrible… But there had been wonders, too. Angels and moonlit forests, new cities and hot shirtless bikers. And that was only the beginning of what freedom had to offer.

  What if I didn’t go home to Crayhill? The bus would take me to Holbrook, but from there, I could go anywhere. Denver, New York… Or leave the country entirely and head for Paris or Hong Kong. But wherever I went, I would be on my own.

  You are never alone, Uriel said. Not as long as I am within you.

  Okay, not alone. But all Uriel knew was strife and battle, and I wanted so much more. And I wanted to share it with Leo.

  If Leo was still Leo… Could he actually be alive and fighting Death even now? I couldn’t begin to imagine how, but I would never know for certain unless I found him again. I jumped to my feet, bashing my head into the low bus ceiling, and an old white man sitting behind me frowned over his newspaper.

  “Are you alright there, miss?” he asked.

  “Stop the bus!” I said.

  Holy shit, I was actually doing this. My stomach twisted into a knot, but the man with the newspaper blinked as I stepped out into the center aisle of the bus and stalked up to the front.

  “Hey, stop the bus!” I shouted.

  “This ain’t a stop,” the driver told me. “Sit down!”

  “No, this is the spot where I kick your ass if you don’t let me off,” I said. “Just pull over!”

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere, missy.”

  “Do I look like I care?” I asked. I grabbed my wallet. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars to stop and open the door.”

  The driver looked skeptical, but I took one of the bills out of my wallet and threw it into his lap. His eyes widened, then the other passengers groaned and complained listlessly as the bus slowed to a stop next to the highway. I hovered over the driver’s shoulder until he pulled the lever to open the accordion bus doors.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I raced down the steps and landed in the dusty gravel. The door slammed shut behind me and the big black tires spun, kicking up dirt, and then the bus pulled back onto Highway 44.

  I turned the other direction – west, toward California and San Diego. If Death was done gutting the SPOT base and there was anything of Leo inside that monster, then that’s where he would be going. I didn’t have much money left now and my motorcycle was twisted scrap in a junkyard somewhere, but I had two thumbs and a nice ass. I could hitchhike my way to the coast if it came down to that. It was getting late in the afternoon and most of the tourists would be stopping for dinner and a hotel room soon, but truckers worked all hours and I hoped that one of them would be lonely for some company.

  And if nobody stopped, I would walk. At least my knee didn’t hurt anymore, but I doubted that was the effect of the beer – either the cold or the alcohol. My jeans were still ripped out, but the skin beneath was smooth and unblemished brown. No more scrapes or swelling, or even a scab.

  Thanks, Uriel, I thought.

  Something behind me wheezed and then rattled. I glanced over my shoulder and frowned. The bus had crested the next low hill, but now it was rolling to a stuttering stop. The engine guttered and a single puff of black smoke oozed from the tail­pipe, then nothing. Was the bus out of gas?

  I squinted through the failing daylight as the driver climbed out and circled the bus, head lowered to inspect it. He seemed to be swearing and aimed a suspicious look back my direction. I shrugged, but doubted the driver could see at this distance. Hey, he got his hundred bucks.

  The sound of another motor rumbled across the rocky hills, something a lot more robust than the handful of family cars that had passed me up. That might be my lonely trucker, so I turned and held out my thumb.

  No, Jaz! Uriel shouted.

  The archangel’s voice was so loud inside my skull that I had an instant migraine.

  What’s the problem? I asked. I thought you were actually with me on this!

  A shape crested the hill, parting the watery heat shimmer with a single outthrust tire. It wasn’t a truck.

  It was a motorcycle, a stripped down and skeletal chopper riding low on its suspension. The finish was a flat matte black that didn’t reflect any of the fading sunlight. The rider was tall and feminine, but achingly thin – little more than a skeleton wrapped in dark leathers.

  Uriel… what’s that? I asked.

  It’s Famine!

  So that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t just fear – it was the sensation of an encroaching horseman. But there was still plenty of fear as Famine’s stripped-down black chopper raced down Highway 44 toward me, and I didn’t sense the electric fire of angelic backup this time.

  I staggered a step back. Running or flying the hell away from here sounded like a great idea, but the bus was still stalled on the top of the hill, out of gas.

  That is Famine’s doing, Uriel said.

  What’s going to happen to those people when Famine gets here? I asked.

  Nothing good.

  The archangels might not have cared what happened to the Earth and its people, but I did.

  I’m done running, I said. How do you feel about kicking some ass?

  Uriel skimmed quickly through my thoughts to make sense of my words.

  In single combat against Famine and without my full manifestation of power, you cannot win, Uriel said. And killing a horseman alone, before we are gathered for the final battle, is against the laws of our creation… But I believe that we can lead Famine away from the humans.

  How? I asked.

  I couldn’t outrun a motorcycle – not even a normal one, to say nothing of a horseman’s demonic ste
ed. Famine raced down the double yellow line of the road at me. The matte black paint job seemed to devour the slowly fading sunlight.

  I recommend flight, Uriel said. Both literally and figuratively.

  I stepped out into the highway and held up my hand, middle finger raised.

  “Hey Famine!” I shouted. “Over here! I’m the one you want!”

  The gaunt horseman leaned over the stretched-out handlebars of its chopper and pale eyes glared at me from its deep-set, sunken sockets.

  You have its attention, Uriel said. Get ready!

  Light blazed around me and formed into a pair of luminous wings that spread out from my shoulders. My feet floated up off the asphalt and my cramping stomach shot into my throat. I re­membered the lurching, buffeting flight of the helicopter and wasn’t excited about this plan.

  Your mortal machines are no match for an angel’s wings, Uriel said. Now fly, Jaz!

  Behind me, the bus driver shouted something that sounded like more cursing, but the words came out so fast that they all ran together. A cold, sharp wind whipped out along Highway 44 as Famine closed in.

  I didn’t know how to drive a pair of wings any better than a helicopter, but my angelic passenger had an eternity of practice. Uriel was a powerful, looming presence inside me and for the first time since all of this began, I was grateful.

  My glowing wings beat once and I shot up into the air like a fired arrow. I had the sudden but distinct impression that aerodynamics, Newtonian physics and other such trivialities didn’t matter much to an angel in flight. I was terrified to look down, but I had to lead Famine away from the bus, or innocent people were going to get hurt.

  I forced my eyes open and found the bony black shape of Famine’s steed fifty feet below. The horseman turned its skeletal face up toward me and bone-white eyes gleamed malevolently in its sockets.

  Go! Uriel cried.

  With a thought, I shot out in the opposite direction along the dark ribbon of Highway 44. The lean chopper revved, growling like an empty stomach as Famine pulled it around in a tight turn and raced after me. Greasy black smoke billowed from the tail­pipe and smelled like burnt meat.