Angel Fire (7 page)

But no, they were here – and it could not bode well for him.

The Twelve had arrived.

Manhunt for Terrorist Suspects Continues
, read the headline.

They’d stopped at a small 24-hour service station near the Mexican border; dawn was still an hour away. As he glanced over the story, Alex was relieved by its lack of details – not to mention the photo of Willow with her long blonde hair spilling past her shoulders, reassuring him again just how different she looked now. The picture of Raziel was an old one, he noticed. He felt a grim satisfaction, knowing the angel was probably still incapacitated from the bullet that had nicked his halo. Alex would have far preferred to have killed Raziel, but knocking him out for as long as possible would do for second best.

“Pump three,” he told the guy behind the counter. He put down two styrofoam cups of coffee, too.

Willow was waiting beside the motorcycle as he went back outside, her short red-gold hair spiking in the breeze. She had on faded second-hand jeans that she’d bought the day before, and a tight, pale blue shirt with long sleeves that looked great on her. Behind her, the night sky was starting to lighten, the stars fading to the east. Alex smiled, his blood warming as he remembered the silky feel of her in his arms the night before. It had taken a serious effort to get going that morning; all he’d wanted to do was stay in the tent with Willow for a while – like, the rest of his life.

She stood looking off into the distance as he walked up, frowning as if she were thinking about something. She seemed to shake it away when she saw him. “Thanks,” she said, taking one of the coffees. “And here, you take this. I hate even holding it.” With a quick glance at the empty service-station forecourt, she covertly handed him the pistol.

Alex never felt good about giving Willow the gun. Handing a loaded weapon to someone who’d never shot one before, and was nervous of them anyway, wasn’t really the best plan in the world. But it was a million times better than her
not
having a weapon if any trouble happened. He tucked the gun away in his holster, keeping his back to the camera that he knew would be perched on the roof of the service station.

“I need to teach you how to use this,” he said, thinking aloud.

He saw her start to protest. Then she looked away and took a sip of coffee, her green eyes troubled. “Yeah, okay,” she said finally.

Alex’s eyebrows flew up. “Really? I thought you’d hate the idea.”

“I do,” said Willow. “But I can’t not do something just because I don’t like it. I don’t have that – luxury, any more.” She shrugged. “I mean, all I have to do is look in the mirror to see how much things have changed. And I can’t depend on you to protect me all the time.”

“You protect me too,” Alex pointed out. The memory of Willow’s angel flying above him, shielding him while putting herself in mortal danger, flashed into his mind. It had been the moment he’d first realized he was in love with her, though he’d been too much of an idiot to admit it to himself. He gulped down his coffee and tossed the empty cup into a trash can.

“Okay,” he said. “You ready to become an illegal alien?”

Willow shook her head with a smile and threw away her own empty cup. “This is the ultimate bad-boy date, isn’t it? Breaking into a different country.”

“Hey, it makes a change from hot-wiring cars together.”

“Been there, done that... Alex, seriously, are you sure no one’s going to shoot us?”

“Don’t worry – if anyone’s around, we won’t cross,” he said. Border guards weren’t exactly his number one concern just then, but he still had no intention of taking any risks.

They sped down the highway again; the southern New Mexico desert stretched out around them, silvery in the pre-dawn. A ghostly-looking coyote loped alongside the motorcycle for a few seconds, as if they were running a race, and then veered off on errands of its own. To Alex’s relief, he found the dirt road easily, leading off from the highway a few miles further on. He took it, leaning into the turn and feeling Willow’s hands tighten on his waist as she shifted her weight behind him.

The border wall came into view. In some places this was a concrete barricade with razor coils glinting at its top; here it was just a tired-looking barbed-wire fence separating the two countries, as if they were neighbouring ranches. The fence cut across a dried-out riverbed; where it came up one of the banks it gave up for a few feet, collapsing onto the ground with its posts sagging.

There was no one around; it was still almost dark. Alex trundled the bike to a stop, and Willow helped him manoeuvre it over the slant in the riverbed, into Mexico. “I thought the wall would be more...wall-like,” she said.

“It is, in some places,” said Alex. “But in others, it’s just like this. And look.” He nodded at a rusty metal sign. It said,
You must enter the US by a designated entry point. This is not a designated entry point. If you enter by this route, you are committing a felony.

Willow stared. “But – it probably cost more to make the sign than it would have to repair the fence. It’s almost like they
want
people to sneak in.”

“They do,” said Alex. Pebbles skittered down as they got the bike up over the edge of the bank. “Or at least the angels who live around here do. Illegal immigrants mean fresh energy supplies, without them having to go looking.” He remembered when Juan, one of the other AKs, had first showed them this route – and how he and his big brother Jake had encountered a border guard here once, smiling with angel burn and talking about how important it was to do the angels’ work.

Kara had been with them that time, too – an exotically beautiful AK with nerves of steel; both he and Jake had had crushes on her back then. “Idiot,” she’d said as they’d driven away, shifting gears with a tight, angry motion. Sitting in the back of the jeep, Alex had taken in her profile. And despite the easy banter the AKs usually shared, in that instant he could think of nothing at all to say to Kara – but had instinctively understood the mix of fury and sorrow that made her mad at the guard, as if getting angel burn were his own fault.

Now Willow looked slightly queasy at the thought of the predatory border angels. “Oh,” she said. He saw her throat move. “That’s – that’s really...”

“I know,” said Alex, understanding exactly how she felt. Unfortunately, there were plenty of angels in Mexico too, and had been even before the Invasion. There was hardly anyplace on earth now that he thought he could take Willow where she’d be really safe.

But he’d do his best – or die trying.

Nearby, he could just see the rough dirt track he remembered, heading off to the east. “Okay, that connects up with the highway eventually,” he said, climbing back onto the bike. “Or at least, it used to.” He hoped it hadn’t been washed out; struggling the Shadow over miles of no road at all seriously wouldn’t be his idea of fun.

Willow started to put on her helmet, but hesitated, playing with its straps. “Alex, are there any really big cities in Mexico? I mean –
really
big.”

He looked at her in surprise, taking in the worried lines that had appeared on her forehead. “Yeah, Mexico City. It’s one of the largest cities in the world. Why?”

She didn’t reply immediately. “I’ll tell you later,” she said at last. “But maybe we could find a place to stop soon, where we can talk.”

Apprehension tickled his spine. Whatever this was about, he didn’t much like the sound of it already – but hanging around a few feet from the border wasn’t the place for a long discussion. “Yeah, okay,” he said reluctantly, and pulled on his own helmet.

The dirt road seemed to last for ever, but as the sun came up they finally turned south onto Highway 45. This part of Mexico looked almost identical to the New Mexico landscape they’d just left behind: hard, dry ground scattered with juniper bushes and cactuses, with rugged-looking mountains rising in the distance. Alex grimaced as they passed a billboard: the familiar image of an angel with wings and arms outspread.
La Iglesia de los Ángeles,
it read.

Dusty pickup trucks passed by, driven by men with dark hair and white straw cowboy hats. Though no one gave Willow a second glance in her helmet, Alex knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until they were holed up in the Sierra Madre, as far away from the Church of Angels as possible. It was a lot more remote up there, in what they called
el monte
: the wild.

And then he could start trying to recruit people, and train them.

The dread Willow had sensed the night before touched him again with its clammy fingers.
Get a grip,
he thought, irritated with himself.
You have to do it; you’re the only one left.
If he didn’t get some other AKs trained – didn’t somehow get a camp set up and then hopefully other camps too, until they had a network of them up and down the continent – then humanity could just kiss itself goodbye in a few years.

Even so, Alex’s hands tightened on the Shadow’s handlebars as the wind rushed past. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight the angels – god, apart from being with Willow, it was the only thing he
did
want. He’d willingly give his life; he’d do it a dozen times over, if it meant defeating the angels in this world. He just didn’t want to be responsible for the lives of a whole team too. His brother’s death shuddered through his mind. Yeah, he’d already shown how great he was at covering someone’s back, hadn’t he? And if one of his decisions killed someone—

Alex pushed the thought away, hoping that Willow wasn’t picking up on any of this crap. There wasn’t anyone else who could be in charge, so he’d deal with it. End of story.

The sun beat down on them as it rose higher, chasing the clouds away until the sky was an almost painful blue. He drove until about ten o’clock that morning, wanting to get a few hours between them and the border before stopping. Finally, near the outskirts of Chihuahua, he saw a roadside taco stand and pulled over. He killed the engine and did a quick scan. Good – no angels nearby, at least.

“What do you think, is it all right to stop here?” he said to Willow as they got off the bike.

Her short hair was ruffled as she took off her helmet; she smoothed it absently, gazing around her. “I think so,” she said. “There’s
something
here, but...” She trailed off with a frown.

Alex kept quiet, letting her concentrate. While she did, he leaned against the bike, smiling slightly as he took in her slim figure, her face with its delicately pointed chin and wide eyes. God, she was so beautiful. He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get lucky enough to have Willow, but was thankful for it every day of his life. The two years he’d spent alone before he met her seemed like a black-and-white film to him now, a time devoid of colour.

“I think we’re okay,” said Willow finally, sounding more certain. The day had grown warmer, and she pulled off her blue long-sleeved shirt; under it she wore a green camisole top. She put the shirt away in the Shadow’s storage compartment. “Anyway,
Señor
, we’re supposed to be saving money on food, remember? What are we doing at a taco stand?”

“It’s okay; these places are really cheap,” he said as they started towards the stand. Back when he’d had even less money than he did now – it had never occurred to Alex’s father that perhaps his sons should receive a salary like the other AKs – he and Jake had used to live off these roadside stands every time they came here.

Tacos, quesadillas, mulitas, tortas
, said the weathered sign. Willow gave it a quizzical glance. “Hmm, Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more. You choose for me, okay?”

Alex got them each a Coke and a few tacos with
carnitas
: chopped roast pork. “And don’t worry, I told her you want extra chillies on yours,” he said to Willow, keeping a straight face. They were actually for him – he loved spicy food.

She gave him a look. “Dude, if there are
any
chillies on mine, you’re going to be wearing them.”

Alex paid with dollars – most places down here accepted US bills, though he knew he’d need to change their dwindling funds into pesos at some point. A worn picnic table stood to one side; they carried their food over. For a few minutes they ate the Mexican tacos with their soft cornmeal wraps, in companionable silence, a light breeze stirring the dusty ground.

Finally Willow sighed and put her last taco down. “So I guess we need to talk.”

The remains of their food went uneaten as she related her dream. Alex listened intently, his skin prickling as she described the twelve bright angels, and the sound that was like a million of the creatures screaming.

“It was all so vivid – and there was such an incredible sense of urgency,” Willow finished. Her face was tight with worry. “Only I don’t even know where this place is, for sure.”

“Mexico City,” he said absently, still thinking of the images from her dream. He’d been there twice, on hunting trips with Juan and a few of the others.

“Definitely? You’re positive?”

Alex shrugged. “No other place is that big. Plus that square you described has got to be the Zócalo – it’s one of the largest squares in the world.” He rubbed his forehead, where a dull ache was beginning to pound.

Willow started to say something and stopped, touching his arm. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He dropped his hand. “Listen, if what you’re leading up to is that you think we need to go there—”

“We
do
need to go there,” she broke in anxiously. “The Sierra Madre isn’t where we’re supposed to be; Mexico City is – I’m sure of it. Only, I don’t know what’s going to happen once we’re there. The dream didn’t feel very...cheerful, exactly.”

Great. He let out a breath. “Willow...”

“Alex, listen to me. It wasn’t just a dream; it was a premonition. We have to go.”

His voice hardened. “You do know that Mexico City is literally about the last place on the planet I’d ever want to take you, right? The Church of Angels is huge there – and the city was full of angels even
before
the Invasion. Any angel that saw your aura would know exactly who you are. We’re in enough danger just sitting here, but at least we can do a scan first. In a city that size? No way.”