Something metallic caught her eye on the road ahead. At first she thought it was just another abandoned car with the sun glinting off its trim, but then she realized the object was moving. Not only that, but it was moving toward her. As she watched it come closer, she saw that it was a big truck — a Ford F-250, if she wasn’t mistaken.
The truck slowed down as it drew near, then stopped altogether, the dust it had stirred up swirling around it like smoke. Its engine had a deep, throaty growl that seemed to find its way into her bones. She realized it had been more than two years since she’d heard a sound like that.
The door on the driver’s side opened, and a man of medium height and build got out. He looked like he might be in his early forties, with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. And even though he was so perfectly ordinary in appearance, Jordan couldn’t help staring at him, couldn’t prevent herself from drinking in every detail, from the plaid shirt he wore, its sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms, to the faded jeans and brown work boots. How could she not stare, when he was the first human being who wasn’t in her little group of survivors that she’d seen in years?
It was true. There were survivors here. And they weren’t djinn.
He was looking at her, too, studying her sturdy shoes and the pack on her back. Then he smiled. “Well,” he said, “you must have come a long way to get here.”
“I did,” she replied. Her voice sounded a little throaty, but no doubt this stranger would merely think she was thirsty from walking along this dusty road. “All the way from Colorado.”
His brows lifted. “That is a ways. How did you know to find us?”
“We — we talked to Dr. Odekirk on the radio, two years ago. But then we had to leave Colorado Springs, and the radio got broken, and — ” Jordan had to stop herself there, knowing that if she started telling her story to this kind-faced stranger, she would probably dissolve into tears all over again.
“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. I’m Brent Sanderson, by the way.”
“Jordan Wells,” she told him, and he held out a hand. She took it, was relieved by his firm grip, by the calluses on his fingers. That was the hand of a man who worked, and worked hard. So very, very human.
“Pleased to meet you, Jordan.” He smiled at her, a friendly smile that had nothing in it but welcome. “You want a ride to Los Alamos?”
Why did the house feel so empty? It shouldn’t feel empty. He’d lived here for two years without Jordan Wells anywhere around. She should have made it feel crowded, rather than the reverse.
Even so, the place seemed oppressively hollow to him. Well, it was a beautiful day. He might as well go out and enjoy it, especially since he knew that mild days such as this one would not last much longer. A few more weeks, and then the grass would be edged with frost every night, and the leaves would fall from the aspens, and the world would begin to close down, preparing for the long winter ahead.
Scowling, he went out the back door and headed up the hill toward the barn. If nothing else, he could let out those infernal goats, allow them to get their afternoon fill of grass before he locked them back up for the night.
Perhaps he shouldn’t even bother. After all, the animals had survived on their own for months. Why should he intervene now?
Because of the wolves, he thought then. The wolves are here, and winter is on its way.
He could feel a frown beginning to etch itself into his forehead, and did his best to smooth his expression, even though there was no one around to see it.
Besides, he had promised Jordan that he would give the goats shelter. Would he go back on his word, so soon after she was gone?
Gone because you did nothing to stop her.
He reached the barn door and wrenched it open. At once the goats were there, pushing past him, happily finding their way to the grass, oblivious to his thundercloud of an expression. They milled about for a moment or two before they each located the perfect spot to have their lunch, and then set to.
Maybe he should get a dog.
Hasan ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. In general, the djinn did not keep pets, simply because the creatures’ lives were so short in comparison to their immortal masters that sometimes it seemed as if they were here and gone within the blink of an eye. But still, a dog could be his companion for a while. A dog would help him forget about Jordan.
Oh, yes, I’ve heard that dogs kiss very well, he told himself, not bothering to contain the sarcasm in that inner voice. That would be a very good replacement.
What else could he have done, though? While he admitted perhaps it was for the best that he had not taken Jordan to bed, at the same time, he’d known he was walking down a dangerous road. Like an alcoholic human returning to the bottle, claiming that he could manage the addiction, he’d let himself grow far too close to that human female when he’d known the relationship could go nowhere.
Well, addicts could overcome their addictions, and he had no doubt that, like any other craving, his need for Jordan Wells would diminish over time, as long as he was resolute about keeping her from his mind.
The months and years would pass, and eventually he would not remember her at all.
At least, that was what he hoped.
Oh, yes, Los Alamos was so different from the way she’d imagined it that, if she hadn’t seen the town limits sign they passed as Brent drove his truck up the steep highway leading into the mountain stronghold, she wouldn’t have believed this was Los Alamos at all. All around were high plateaus with blazing aspens and dark pines and fir trees, while above brooded a dark peak that in the winter must be coated with snow. Houses on neat streets. A ball field where even now a group of kids were playing tackle.
The sight made tears start to her eyes once again. Kids playing outside, with no worry about being attacked…unless you counted getting pummeled by a truly spectacular flying tackle.
“It’s a lot to take in, I’ll admit,” said Brent, who’d obviously noticed her reaction to the sights outside the truck’s windows. “Especially if you’ve been in the wilderness for a while.”
In the wilderness. That was a good description for it. She’d been wandering a long time. Pagosa Springs had always felt like a way station, even though she and her group had spent more than a year and a half there. It wasn’t permanent, though. Pretty much everyone had lived like she had, with their bags packed, ready to go at a moment’s notice. In the end, though, those preparations still hadn’t saved them.
No, don’t think about that. Jordan supposed she’d have to tell her story to someone at some point, but she didn’t want to dwell on it now.
“Since you mentioned Dr. Odekirk, I figured I’d take you to see him first,” Brent went on. Now they were passing through what looked like the main part of town, with neat little shops and offices bordering the streets on either side. There was even an enormous Smith’s supermarket with actual cars and trucks in the parking lot, as though the people who lived here still used it as their center of commerce. She’d have to ask about that. Did they have electricity? What kept the food cold? Where did they get the gas to power their vehicles, including the ones that must bring the produce from Española up to the hilltop settlement?
“Is Dr. Odekirk in charge here?” Jordan asked.
“No, not exactly. Shawn Gutierrez — he’s a former fireman — keeps things running day to day. But Miles Odekirk is our resident genius, and we wouldn’t be here without him. I just thought you’d feel more comfortable talking to him to start.”
Would she? Jordan didn’t know. Maybe if she heard his voice, something familiar, then this wouldn’t feel so strange. Since she could tell that Brent was trying to be helpful, she nodded and managed to smile. “Sure. I’m just glad that he’s still around. That all of you are.”
“Well, I can’t say we didn’t have a few times when it was touch and go, and a little too close to comfort for me, but in the end we managed to get through it all
.” Brent drove through what had once been the guard shacks that watched over the entry into the Los Alamos labs proper; now they appeared to be abandoned, as though the current residents of the town knew they didn’t have to worry about anyone infiltrating the facility. Who would come here? All the survivors in the area already lived in town, and no djinn could get anywhere close.
Besides, it sure didn’t look as if any full-scale research was going on at the labs. Brent guided the F-250 along an access road and then turned off into a parking lot, one that was entirely empty except for an older-model Subaru. They pulled up next to it, and he turned off the engine.
“Miles still works here,” Brent said. “He and his wife Lindsay.”
The mention of a wife startled Jordan. Not once during his interactions with the Colorado Springs group had Dr. Odekirk made any mention of a wife. Maybe he’d thought her existence wasn’t relevant to their conversations. And also, what were the odds of a man and wife surviving together? Millions to one?
Her expression must have communicated something of her surprise, because Brent said, “They’ve been together for about a year and a half now. Their first child is going to make an appearance in the real near future, too, although that doesn’t stop Lindsay from working with Miles. I swear, they’re probably going to deliver that baby right here at the facility. Anyway, come along. I’ll take you up to their lab.”
He guided her into the building and into the stairwell. Jordan noticed that they had electricity here, although apparently not enough to power the elevators. They climbed four flights of stairs. Good thing Brent had given her a lift most of the way, because if she’d had to hike up this many floors after walking all the way from Velarde, she probably would have keeled over.
They emerged into a hallway that could have been from any vintage office building in the world — drab off-white walls, dingy beige linoleum on the floors. Here were more fluorescent lights overhead, as there had been in the stairwell. However, only every third fixture was lit, obviously another energy-saving measure. Which was fine — the lights provided enough illumination for her to see where she was going.
Brent paused at a door about midway down the corridor. It stood open, letting Jordan see that within was a largish space, with tables lining the walls and several more in the middle of the room. At one end, an enormous whiteboard covered the entire wall. That whiteboard had every square inch filled with complicated formulas and diagrams. She’d had to take some chemistry and physics to get her environmental studies degree, but she couldn’t begin to guess what she was looking at.
Two people occupied the room. One was a tall man with brown hair and wire-framed glasses, thin-faced but not unattractive. The other was a woman probably three or four years older than Jordan, extremely pregnant, and also extraordinarily good-looking, with long dark blonde hair, the kind of warm-toned skin that seemed to have a perpetual tan, and striking green eyes.
Brent cleared his throat, because the couple were currently bent over a complicated wiring harness on one of the tables and didn’t seem to have noticed that they had visitors. The woman looked up first, the small frown she wore erasing itself as she seemed to recognize Jordan’s guide.
“Hey, Brent,” she said. The man next to her continued with his work; the sharp scent of warm solder drifted toward Jordan’s nostrils. The pregnant woman didn’t nudge her companion, because that might have damaged the work he was doing, but she did lean in and say, “Miles, we have visitors.”
“In a minute,” the man said, his tone just this side of testy.
Annoyed as he sounded, Jordan still recognized his voice. The woman — who must be Lindsay — had already called him Miles, so Jordan knew he must be the scientist in question, but even without that, she would have known who was speaking.
“Sorry,” Lindsay said. “We just worked out this new configuration, and — ”
“It’s fine,” Brent told her. “Lindsay, this is Jordan Wells. I found her coming down the 582 outside Velarde.”
Lindsay’s gaze sharpened. She might have the face of a cover model, but the brain behind that face apparently was no slouch, either. “You’ve survived all this time? On the outside?”
“Yes,” Jordan said. “I was with the group in Colorado Springs.”
That revelation made Miles Odekirk set down his soldering iron. Behind the glasses he wore, his blue-gray eyes were nearly as piercing as his wife’s. “Colorado Springs? We lost contact with you twenty months ago. What happened? Did your equipment malfunction?”
“Not exactly. The djinn found us, and we had to run. We tried to bring the radio equipment with us, but it got broken. We ended up in Pagosa Springs, but we didn’t have any way of communicating with you, of letting you know that some people had survived.”
“How many?” Dr. Odekirk asked. He pushed his glasses up with one long finger, although with his thin nose, they’d probably just slide back down again soon enough.
Jordan swallowed. “There were about a hundred of us in Colorado Springs. Only twelve made it to Pagosa.”
The scientist and his wife exchanged a glance. Lindsay reached over and touched her husband’s hand, as though letting him know she wanted to be the one to speak next. “How long were you in Pagosa Springs?”
“For a little more than a year and a half. But….”
No one said anything, only waited for Jordan to go on. They probably knew exactly what had happened, but they wanted to give her the time to get to it on her own.
“But the djinn eventually found us there. I ran — everyone ran. For some reason, they didn’t catch me. I headed south. I didn’t know what else to do. I knew that you were here…or at least, I hoped you’d still be here.” Jordan’s voice caught and she swallowed. It was all right. No need to break down now. She was safe. A gulp of air, and she went on, “I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try.”
“You walked all the way from Pagosa Springs?” Lindsay’s voice wasn’t so much disbelieving as surprised.
Jordan hated to lie to her — to all of them — but she wasn’t ready to explain the few days she’d spent with Hasan al-Abyad. Maybe in time, but for now…. She nodded. “I hid in the trees when I could, in abandoned houses or barns or whatever else was available. I didn’t see any djinn. Maybe they thought they’d killed everyone and didn’t even realize I’d gotten away.”
Through this recitation, Miles Odekirk had listened in silence, thumb and forefinger absently rubbing at his chin. “Did you see anyone at all? What about near Taos?”
Why he was concerned about Taos, Jordan had no idea. And why would he think she’d come that way at all? She would have had to jog miles and miles east to do so, and that would’ve added days to her journey.
It’s because of where Brent found you, she told herself. If you’d stuck to your original route, and walked the whole way instead of having Hasan take you to Velarde, you would’ve come down through Abiquiu and into Española that way, and there would’ve been no reason for you to be anywhere near the 582.
“No one,” she lied. “It’s all empty. It’s like the djinn came and went or something.”
“Oh, they’re still here,” Miles said, although she didn’t detect any condemnation in the comment. He was simply stating a fact, nothing more.
“And so are we,” Lindsay put in. “Anyway, I’ll bet Jordan is hungry and tired and would rather have the interrogation later after she’s had a chance to rest.”
“It’s okay,” Jordan began, but Brent only nodded.
“Lindsay’s right. I can take her to see Shawn, get a place set up for her.”
“Sounds great.” Lindsay paused, one hand resting on her enormous belly. She really did look like she was going to pop at any second. No wonder Brent had opined that she might end up having the baby here in the lab. “And afterward, Miles and I can take her to Pajarito’s.”
“‘Pajarito’s’?” Jordan echoed, somewhat mystified.
“It’s a restaurant here in town. We�
�ve kept it open so we would have a sort of gathering place, a spot that still feels like the old days. Anyway, it’s mostly veggie stuff now, since livestock is too valuable for us to slaughter, but they still make a mean plate of truffle fries.”
French fries. And a restaurant, a restaurant filled with people who were doing their damnedest to make sure the world didn’t slide into oblivion.
It still hurt to think of how Hasan had let her go, but right then, Jordan felt a tiny spark of hope. Maybe she would survive this. Her heart would mend, and she’d go on.
It seemed like she’d come to the right place to heal.
Chapter Twelve
Hasan felt Danya’s presence immediately. Although djinn considered it very bad etiquette to blink themselves into another djinn’s home without permission, that didn’t mean they couldn’t still precipitously appear on one’s doorstep.
When she knocked, he was of half a mind to ignore her. She was not possessed of a great deal of perseverance or persistence, and so he guessed she would leave if he made her wait long enough. Then again, if he was so unconscionably rude, then she would become angry, and might send her minions against him. That sort of inter-djinn scuffle was not the kind of thing the elders would appreciate, but neither would they be likely to interfere. In general, they preferred to be hands off unless given no other choice.
Scowling, he pushed back his chair and went to open the door, leaving his half-eaten dinner behind him. There she stood on the porch, a gossamer veil of pale blue silk covering her white-blonde hair and drifting down to her shoulders. Hasan knew that covering was only for effect, as such a flimsy fabric would be of little use in warding off the chill of an autumn evening. Besides, djinn couldn’t even feel the cold the way humans did. But that veil did look very lovely, just kissing her skin, its ends waving slightly in the breeze.
Once upon a time, he might have been affected by such artifice. Now it just annoyed him.
“What do you want, Danya?”
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