by Phil Tucker
She looked in the rearview mirror. Vampires spilled out of the building, several of them sprinting after the SUV. She grinned and considered slowing down so they could catch up. Five of them began to fall behind as she hit forty, but one, a pale-faced young man in a tuxedo actually caught up with her, and at the last moment, leaped. Selah ducked as he hit the roof, and then jerked the wheel, sending the SUV roaring off the road and between two palms onto the grass beyond. She heard the vampire slip, heard him crash down once more, but somehow he held on. She laughed and tore back to the right, between two other palms, and back onto the road.
A fist shattered her driver-side window, but Selah grasped it before it could be retracted for a second blow. Glass spraying through the air. She yanked, pulled it in, and slammed it down on the windowsill. There was a clear crack as his forearm snapped, and then she yanked him deeper into the SUV, hauling him off the roof. He somersaulted down, twisting as he fell, and she released his arm. He fell back and into the night, gone as quickly as he’d come. Selah reached up, brushed glass from her hair, and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Headlights were shining behind her. They weren’t giving up easily.
Selah blasted through the Huntington Gardens’ entrance and turned savagely right onto the street. Pushed the accelerator down as far as it would go and drove down the center of the road. The trees and silent houses whipped by, blurs in Selah’s peripheral vision. She kept her eyes locked on the road before her, occasionally flicking them up to the rearview mirror. A savage joy, dark and destructive, pulled her on; she wasn’t racing toward a destination, but rather frustrating, hurting these vampires. Bringing them some small measure of the pain that had hollowed her breast and turned her dreams to dust.
The Porsche was fast behind her. It came roaring up as if she were merely going the speed limit, and a lithe figure leaned out the passenger window with a large gun. White fire sprayed from its muzzle, and the SUV’s rear window shattered. Selah ducked and swerved the car to the left, to the right, and then stabbed down on the brakes. The tires screeched, hiccupping as they fought for traction, and she fishtailed to a stop, the stench of burnt rubber thick in the air.
The Porsche had been going incredibly fast; Selah had hoped that it would into ram into the back of her bulkier ride. The driver, however, was talented; they swerved hard to the left, right up onto the pavement, and scraped past the SUV, sparks flying on both sides. The Porsche spun out, dragging tracks of burned rubber behind it as it came to a shuddering stop facing her. The passenger emerged once more from his window, and leveled the machine gun.
Selah threw open her door and dropped onto the road. Gunfire exploded, and then somebody rammed into the back of the SUV, hit it at perhaps a hundred miles an hour so that with a mind-shattering crash, it lifted right up off its rear wheels and flew forward, spinning and torqueing so that it rolled over onto its side, a brief flash of the other SUV roaring by as they flew past Selah like a bolt of shredded, tortured metal.
Selah pushed herself up and looked behind her. Three more cars were coming their way, headlights blinding her. Selah jumped to her feet and ran toward the crumpled SUVs that had knotted into each other like suicidal lovers. Vampires crawled out of the rear SUV like maggots from a carcass, but she ignored them. A burst of power and she leaped onto the back of the first SUV, ran along its roof, and then jumped over her own destroyed car to the ground. She turned, reached back inside her SUV for her pack, stashed the cradled Omni in its depths, and ran right at the Porsche.
The passenger was a svelte-looking man with chin-length, dirty-blond hair and stylized sunglasses. He had a jerkoff surfer look, the kind of smarmy guy who cadges beers off people in exchange for bullshit stories. He stared incredulously at her for a moment as she ran right at him. He lifted the muzzle of his machine gun, mouth parting into a wicked, fanged smile, and Selah hurled her backpack at him, whipping it around and releasing it with all her strength. His burst of gunfire tore it apart, but it hit him squarely in the chest and knocked him clean off his perch on the windowsill, machine gun bullets spraying up into the night as he fell.
The other cars stopped behind the tangled SUVs, and Selah heard voices, yells as vampires got out. There were a dozen of them, perhaps fifteen. She knew she was more powerful than any one of them, but fifteen? Not good. Selah reached the Porsche and grasped its door, and she used her momentum to slam it into the vampire’s head as he sat up. He let out a high-pitched scream and clutched at his face where shards of his sunglasses had stabbed his eyes. Selah snatched his machine gun and turned it on the driver.
It was a chubby black woman, perhaps fifty years old with skin as smooth as pudding. Her hair was done up in a businesslike bun, her eyes wide and as innocent as vampire eyes could get. She threw up her hands, and for a moment Selah paused, but she pulled the trigger, anyway. There were no innocent vampires, and the woman danced where she sat, clothing erupting as the bullets cratered into her flesh. Selah picked up her mangled pack and tossed it along with the gun into the passenger seat, and then grabbed the edge of the car and swung into the Porsche, both legs extended before her to hit the vampire hard enough to drive her right out and onto the road.
Falling into the seat behind the wheel, Selah swung her legs down and pulled the door closed. She slammed the car into reverse. Vampires were coming over the SUVs now with flea-like energy, leaping and springing clear of the cars with impossible speed, coats flaring out behind them, guns and swords and knives in hand, crying out their hunting calls and coming right for her.
Selah almost decided to drive right at them. Simply plow the Porsche into the SUVs and take out a handful of vampires. See how many she could kill before she fell before them. End it here, end it now. But no. She slammed down on the gas and the Porsche ripped backwards, the engine roaring, and then she spun the wheel and the Porsche screamed around so that it was pointing away once more. She shifted gears smoothly and floored the gas. The car leaped like a startled panther, and she tore off down the road, the vampires sprinting and throwing things but no match for the Porsche’s horsepower.
Selah watched them in the rearview mirror, and then took a turn onto a side street, which let out onto the broad and wide-open Huntington Drive. Selah relaxed marginally, and leaned her head back. The Porsche was so low to the ground, it felt as if her ass were scraping along the asphalt. There was a thrill to its power, to how responsive it was. She looked at the dash, trying to check if it was vintage or had modern circuitry. There was a cradle for an Omni, but none in place. Reaching into the ruined pack, she pulled out the SUV’s Omni and held it up, turning it around. Relief flooded her. It hadn’t been hit by a bullet. She thumbed it on and slotted it into the cradle. Put on the three FingerTips, and activated the windshield.
The display wasn’t as modern as the SUV’s had been—the Porsche had probably been made a few years before the War. Still, it had everything she needed. Slowing down, she cruised at a modest sixty miles an hour and logged into her personal account. A message began beeping on the windshield’s lower left. Video Mail.
Selah opened it. Chico’s face filled the right half of the windshield, the street visible through his translucent image.
“Cloud, Selah, hey. Just trying to check in and see how things are going. Any luck with the cure? I’m praying every morning and night for your success, guys. Things are starting to look really tense on this end. Padrino Machado has made good on his threats, and it looks like the Locos are going to be hit soon. We’re doing our best to get ready, and I’m trying to get some government people in here to help. With just a little luck, I think tomorrow we’ll see the first round of talks as people fly in to meet with Armando.” Chico’s voice was excited, distracted, and he kept looking off screen as if checking other sources of information. “Anyway, call me back. I want to hear from you guys. You’re in my thoughts.” The video feed ended.
Selah considered. The Omni’s Navigator program was prompting her for a destination. She tapped th
e steering wheel. She could just go to ground in the Core. Hide for a few nights, only to rise as a vampire. She could drive the Porsche at full speed into a concrete wall. Where was Theo? Probably searching for Arachne. Might he be making his way back to Huntington to find her? No way to know. She didn’t have a means of contacting him. Tapped the steering wheel some more, and then called Chico back.
It rang three times, then his image appeared, taking up the top left corner of her windshield. He looked harried, and looked at her in surprise. “Selah?”
“Chico.”
“Hey—it’s good to see you. Where’s Cloud? How’s the hunt for the cure going?” Somebody yelled off screen, and Chico winced.
“Not good. Cloud’s gone, and there is no cure.” Selah tried to say those words as if they meant nothing to her.
“Shit. I’m sorry.” There was more yelling off screen.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Are you all right?”
Chico smiled grimly. “I don’t know. The Culebras are making a move. Word’s out about Armando’s decision, and they’re pressing us. Armando’s out there right now. I think I’m going to have to relocate. This place isn’t safe anymore.”
“What? Wait! You’re in danger? From the Culebras?”
More yells. “Selah, I got to go.”
“Where are you? Give me an address!”
“It’s not safe here—look, I’ll call you back, OK?”
“Chico!” Something in her voice stopped him. He looked at her. “An address. I can help.”
He hesitated, and then nodded. “All right—424 San Antonio Drive. That’s where we’re heading now. I have to go!” He cut the connection. Selah spoke the address into the Navigator, which thankfully was sufficiently old-school to not worry about the Wall. It immediately lit up the road before her, and she saw that it was directing her back to I-5.
“Where are you, Cloud?” she whispered to the world outside her speeding Porsche. “Where did you go? Why didn’t you trust me?” She bit her lower lip as she realized that heading back to Chico would mean leaving Cloud in the Core. It felt like abandoning him, no matter what her mind told her. But she couldn’t stay. Not with this many vampires on her tail. Gripping the steering wheel tight, Selah pushed the accelerator down and headed back toward the Wall.
Chapter Sixteen
Selah cruised down I-5 toward the Wall. She had tagged some low-key music so that the Porsche hummed and rumbled with a subtle bass beat. It was hard to remain motivated. Questions plagued her as she drove: Should she help Armando? What if she became a vampire in their midst? Would she do more harm than good? Where was Theo? How was he going to keep his end of the bargain if he wasn’t around? Every few moments she considered simply turning the wheel and sending the Porsche careening into the freeway divider and ending it all.
Over and under and through every thought was the one thing she couldn’t allow herself to think of: Cloud. That was too complex, too vast, too terrifyingly horrific. He’d abandoned her, after all his promises, after all they’d been through. That he had actually believed her capable of … her mind shied away once more. That was what gutted her, left her feeling like stone, a thing, little better than a monster. If the man she loved could think that of her? But he’d seen her kill the dealer when they first arrived in the Core. Knew she’d murdered Colonel Caldwell. Was it too great a stretch for him to imagine her tearing out his heart? Again, Selah’s mind flew away from the thought, but always it was drawn back.
The Navigator signaled that she was drawing close to the 605, down whose length the Army had built the Core’s Wall. Selah eased up on the gas. She couldn’t simply drive through. Or could she? Simply ram the gate? Scale the Wall? When she was only a half mile away, she slowed down and stopped the car. Turned off the lights and got out. The night air was crisp and chill like a paper cut. Selah jogged forward, scrutinizing the distant and brilliantly lit Wall. As she got closer, she ruled out hopes of ramming the gate. Concrete barriers had been set up so that any vehicle would have to snake around them before approaching the gate itself. She wouldn’t be able to build enough speed.
She surveyed the Wall itself. The 605 passed over I-5, its wall rising far overhead, the underpass blocked off with a gate embedded into it. A great ditch had been dug along the length of the 605, and the wall was mightier than the one in Miami, at least ten yards tall and topped with great bales of concertina razor wire. More rolls of razor wire were set against its base. Peering closer, she saw what looked like security cameras mounted along the Wall, and god knew what else.
Selah retreated to the Porsche and brought up the Navigator. She whisked the map around with the FingerTips, studying other approaches. An idea took shape in her mind. A memory of her SUV buckling up from behind as the other car had plowed into her. She found another large road passing under the 605 a little north—Telegraph Road. She went to full street view, and the Porsche’s windshield changed completely so that it looked like she was parked on Telegraph Road itself. Selah examined the overpass. It was an old image, pre-War, and didn’t show the Wall—but the site would do.
Selah flicked the street view away, and turned the Porsche around and drove back to the last intersection and off-ramp she’d passed. Got off I-5 and navigated north to Telegraph. Took a right, and cruised down it, heart thumping in her chest. Who was it that had told her that thousands crossed the Wall each night? Had it been Chico? Smuggled in by the gangs, under the corrupt eye of the military. But you still needed fake papers, a courier, something. She had nothing but her vampire eyes and those would get her stopped immediately.
The Wall pulled into view. The space beneath the overpass had indeed been blocked off by a smooth concrete wall, the actual Wall itself passing overhead along the 605. Yet they hadn’t bothered removing the old concrete roadblocks. Those would be solid, probably anchored with steel pylons into the ground. Perfect.
Selah reversed until she was about a thousand feet back. Sat still, the Porsche’s engine rumbling, purring, waiting. She rolled down the window, slipped off her safety belt, and scooted up so that she sat on the sill, leaning out. She peered down the road, considering, gauging the distance, and then sat back in the seat.
The world was silent, as if holding its breath. There was only a slim chance she’d be able to pull this off. It was probably suicidal to even try. Only the delirious courage that Sawiskera’s curse instilled in her allowed her to even imagine she could pull it off. Selah put the Omni in her pack and then tied its frayed edges together. She took a deep breath. Held it, and then slammed down the accelerator. The Porsche’s wheels immediately gripped the road and threw the car forward. In fewer than four seconds, she was going sixty; in ten, she was going a hundred. The Wall rushed up and she clicked on the cruise control. Hiked herself up onto the windowsill, gave the wheel one last adjustment, and then scrambled out into the tearing wind. Hauled herself up onto the Porsche’s roof. Turned to face the Wall.
She hadn’t anticipated getting there so fast, but with Sawiskera’s blood within her, she was able to adjust. Crouched low, the wind shrieking around her and plucking at her body, forcing her to slit her eyes, she waited for the right moment. The Porsche flew directly at the concrete barrier, straight as an arrow, and with terrible violence hit at about a hundred and twenty miles an hour.
Time slowed. Selah flexed every muscle in her legs and leaped in that one crucial millisecond. The front end of the Porsche crumpled as the barrier stopped it cold. All the momentum transferred to Selah, who timed her leap perfectly. The Porsche stopped; she flew up and forward at over a hundred miles an hour. Catapulted into the darkness. Fighting the urge to wave her arms, she instead pressed them to her side and flew like a bolt through the night, up over the Wall, mind blank, exultant, feral.
The entirety of the 605 passed beneath her in a flash. An instinct that was foreign to her forced her to relax and to prepare for impact. It took seconds, it took forever, and then she slammed down onto the road and
tried to throw herself into a wild roll—and the world went away.
Selah awoke. It was still dark. She was lying on her side. Pain blanketed her, stabbed her sharply in the shoulder, her hip, cut right through her left shin. With a grunt she tried to move. More pain flared through her like heat lightning through the belly of a storm cloud. Her mind was fevered, unable to focus. She tried to remember where she was. Couldn’t. Tried to call for Cloud, and couldn’t open her mouth. Blood, the taste of it. One eye wouldn’t open. She groaned, and slipped away.
It was early morning when she opened her eyes again. This time the pain was manageable. Wincing, Selah pushed herself up and touched her hand gingerly to her head. She blinked, and then picked at the lashes of her left eye to pull away the dried blood that gummed it shut. Turned her head carefully to stare behind her at the Wall. It was barely visible through the fog, grim and gray in the diffuse early morning light. Selah looked down at herself. She hadn’t died. Dry blood was smeared over her skin, had soaked into her torn clothing. Nothing seemed broken. Selah closed her eyes. Tried to remember what had happened—not what she had done, but what she had been thinking. Had she even thought it through? What would happen to her when she hit a concrete barrier at such speed?
She hadn’t. Maybe she really had tried to kill herself. Selah lowered her face into her hands and pushed the base of her palms into her eyes as hard as she could, refusing to cry. No more tears. She sat still, the light of day on her scraped and abraded skin. She felt small, broken, a shell. Her eyes were normal, she realized. Sawiskera’s power had retreated, gone dormant under the light of the sun. She was as human as she was capable of becoming.
Selah lay back down, wincing as she did so. Rested her head on the asphalt, and looked up at the sky. It was a shifting pall without depth. She hadn’t realized that Los Angeles could get foggy.