All that remained of the four who’d tried to kill me were disturbed patches of earth, and a single pale hand breaking the surface. I hardly gave it a glance. My paramilitary friends hadn’t appeared from nowhere; they’d likely come in a vehicle, as humans seemed wont to do even for short trips.
I saw a flash of movement in the trees, then a pale, dirty face.
C. T. Styles. He had gotten away.
“Calvin Theodore,” I said, and braced myself against the trunk of a nearby pine. I kept my other hand firmly pressed against the wound in my side. “Don’t be afraid.”
He moved out from behind his concealment but didn’t come any closer. There was little expression on his face, and a flatness in his eyes that concerned me.
I said, “Your father sent me, C.T.,” and the numbness in him broke, replaced by a flare of hope so bright it was like sunrise. “I need you to help me. Did these people come in a car‹e c me?”
He shook his head emphatically. My own hopes dimmed as his rose, until he said, “They came in a truck. It’s a jeep. It’s black.”
I almost laughed. It wasn’t often a human was more precise than a Djinn. “Can you take me there?”
“Sure,” C.T. said. He darted forward and held out his hand. I took it. His skin felt fever-warm against mine, but that was only because I was chilled from shock and blood loss. He tugged at my arm to get me started, and we headed in the direction of the cold, rising moon.
“They took everybody in the truck, but I got out the back,” he said proudly. “I stayed. I knew you’d help.”
I had no breath to spare to praise him. It seemed a long way to this mythical black jeep, and every step poked red-hot knives through my side. My body was sloughing off its shock, and I did not much care for the results. “Wait,” I murmured, and pulled C.T. to a stop to lean against a handy boulder. I left black smears against the rock. “How much farther?”
“Not very much. It’s right up there,” the child said, and tugged my hand. “Right there!”
I allowed him to pull me on. At each rise, he promised me only one more, until my feet were no longer certain of their steps.
At last, I fell, and although I tried to rise, I couldn’t.
I collapsed on my back, panting, and saw C.T. lean over me, no expression on his small face.
“I thought you’d never fall down,” he said. “Goodbye, lady.”
He turned away and left me. I tried to rise again.
The dark rolled in and swept me away.
When I woke, I was being carried—no, dragged. Dragged by the heels, like a carcass, through the dirt. I opened my eyes and made a protest that sounded more like a moan than words—and then I realized that I had spoken in Djinn, not English.
It was now pitch-dark, only thin flickers of light coming through the trees. The moon had moved on without me, but it was far from morning. The air was frigid on my exposed skin.
I kicked feebly, and the one dragging me dropped my foot in surprise. The impact of my heels on the ground sent a searing burn through my side, and I jackknifed into a fetal position in response. I couldn’t scream, although I wished to. I could only pant for breath.
I heard a blowing sound, followed by a strange, fast clacking of teeth.
An enormous paw touched my stomach. Even in the dim light, I could see the talons.
The black bear was a shadow in the dark, save for a small glitter of its eyes in the moonlight and a brush of lighter fur around its muzzle.
It was frightened of me, I could see that, and I lay very still. Black bears were not aggressive in the main, and preferred eating plants to people, but that did not mean it wouldn’t kill me.
It made that blowing and clacking sound again, and I saw the white flash of teeth this time. It was followed by a long, low moan that lingered like a ghost on the air.
I forced myself not to move as the muzzle dipped and sniffed my face. The bear snorted, shook its huge head, and padded off.
I had been rejected, apparently, as not worth the trouble. After the relief—and, strangely, a touch of annoyance—the trembling set deep into my bones. I had forgotten that humans were food. And now so was I. There was something about it that terrified me on levels I had not known existed within me. The Djinn didn’t—
I was not a Djinn. I was human, and I was wounded. Predators would be drawn to the blood.
I squirmed around and pressed a hand to my stab wound. Still bleeding. I gritted my teeth, ripped cloth from my shirt, folded it, and jammed it into the open lips of the cut.
I might have cried out. I heard the black bear, not yet so distant, make that long, low moan of fear again. Once the sickening pain and shock passed away, I climbed to my hands and knees and then to my feet.
Backtrack, I told myself. C.T. had deliberately led me astray.
My eyes had adjusted well to the darkness, and I could follow the drag marks, and then the stumbling signs of my progress. Blood smeared on a rock. Dragging footsteps.
It seemed to take forever to return to the road, where my poor, dead Victory lay with its flattened tire. It had leaked gasoline into the dirt from the shattered tank. I limped past it, past the last resting place of my four opponents, and just over the next rise, I found the black jeep that C.T. had so convincingly spoken about.
Keys were in the ignition.
I ransacked the contents of the back of the small truck and found a red cross-marked case filled with useful items. I rebandaged my stab wound, shaking antibiotic powder on it as I did, although I knew full well the bacteria would be inside my system by now. I swallowed painkillers and guzzled a bottle of water I found rolling in the back, then picked up one of the extra weapons. It was small, heavy, and clearly meant to destroy—some sort of machine pistol, with a fully loaded clip. The mechanism seemed simple, as most deadly things were.
I tossed it on the front seat next to me, started the jeep, and followed the trail deeper into the forest.
Chapter 14
THE RANCH—IF that was where I was—seemed endless, and empty. There was little to mark this place as having human residents—no fences, no grazing animals other than deer that bounded away from the road at the sound of the approaching engine. I saw no lights, no structures, no other vehicles.
For all I knew, The Ranch went on for many miles in all directions. Any route I chose, if I left the road, would be utterly random.
But the road had to lead somewhere.
Luis is probably dead, my remorseless Djinn ghost said. What will you do then? You should walk away now, and save yourself the pain and trouble.
I glanced at the machine pistol on the seat beside me, and for the first time, answered her directly. “I will not walk away. I will kill them all,” I said. “And I will take the children home.”
Fine words, fine intentions, but when I topped the last rise and saw the valley, I realized that I could not possibly have enough ammunition to solve the problem that lay before me.
It was a well-lit compound, and by my estimation it covered an area the size of a small town. Tall iron towers ringed the perimeter, and there were two walls, inner and outer, with empty space between them.
It looked like nothing so much as a prison.
Within the walls were square, neatly ordered buildings. Some appeared the size of small houses, and others were as large as schools or city halls. Part of the compound—the town—was a parking lot full of vehicles. Trucks, cars, all-terrain vehicles, large vans.
The lights turned night to day not only within the compound, but on every approach.
A line that Manny had once quoted came back to me. “We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” I murmured. That seemed oddly funny to me at the moment, but that was probably blood loss and the onset of infection.