Intuition: The Premonition Series (13 page)

My strategy is working well and I know it because nothing has killed me yet, that is until I hear a tree being uprooted about a hundred yards behind me. It is then hurled into other pines near me on my right. A deafening noise careens through the woods, as the enormous branches crash into several more trees, causing them to splinter and snap like an avalanche of falling wood. Huge pines are tumbling down like dominoes and I have to veer to the left sharply to avoid being smashed by the sheered off cap of one of those large trees. Fear bolts through me, causing me to increase the speed at which I flee from her. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t seen me and is only hoping to get lucky with a wild pitch because if she had seen me, that pine tree would have flattened me like road kill.

I slow my pace a little when I hear a scream behind me. It is a scream of rage and it chills me, sending shivers down my spine. Then, a feminine voice calls out over the distance that is growing more steadily with every step I take, “I WILL FIND YOU NEPHILIM, AND I WILL RIP OUT YOUR EVIL HEART!” She continues yelling her head off, but I can’t understand anymore of what she says because she is now speaking in Angel and getting further and further away as I pick up my pace again.

After that, I don’t allow myself to think of anything but the terrain ahead of me. When I need to jump over ledges and streams, I do it, never hesitating or allowing doubt or fear to intrude on my mission. I don’t know how long I have actually been running without looking over my shoulder, but it is dark when I do look back to see if she is behind me. Still hidden by a thick canopy of branches above me, I slow to take stock of my surroundings. I faintly hear the engines of cars somewhere ahead of me, maybe a few miles away. If I shadow the road, there could be a place to hide out for a while. I could get a clear read on where I am and then call Reed to extract me—if he is okay. That last thought sends a wave of nausea through me. He has to be okay or it is over for me.

Pushing myself to keep going, I follow the sound of the cars to a snow covered two-lane road. I don’t leave the cover of the trees, but trudge along, following the tree line near the road. The cold is beginning to register with me now, and I hug my arms to my body, trying to retain some body heat. My skin is thicker now so it’s keeping the worst of the frigid air from sending me into hypothermia, but it doesn’t feel pleasant to be out here without my coat, which had been ripped apart and left behind me.

Glowing lights ahead indicate the existence of a town so I stay hidden in the trees until I near it. I have to make a decision whether to risk leaving the woods to find a place to hide, or stay where I am and follow the woods further. The trembling of my hands makes the decision for me. I have to find shelter soon to warm up, and I need to find out where I am so that I can contact Reed. I cautiously leave the shelter of the trees, scanning and mapping every living thing around me. Staying well back from the road, I travel to the town’s limits and read the sign that welcomes me to Ames, Home of the Happy Folk and the 1994 State Champion Lumberjack Team. Normally, that would have made me smile, but under the circumstances, I’m just numb.

Right before I near the first streetlight overhead, I become aware that my wings are still out so I pause in my tracks to debate what to do next. I have to get them to go back in somehow, before someone in Ames sees me and alerts the media. Anxiety is not going to make this easy on me. I’m so worried about what has happened back on the hill with Reed and the other angel that I can hardly breathe. Pulling his phone from my front pocket, I notice immediately that it’s not on. It must have shut itself off at some point in my escape. I depress the power button and the screen brightly illuminates my face as the display indicates that there are 33 missed calls.

As I scroll through the missed calls, there are several made from my cell phone. Maybe Reed went back to the cottage and retrieved my phone to call me. There are several from Buns’s and Zephyr’s phones, too. They have been trying to get in touch with me for hours now. I check the time; it is almost nine o’clock, which means I have been running through the forest for at least four hours.

They must be insanely worried,
I think, immediately dialing my number and hitting send. It is answered on the first ring, “Evie?” Reed asks, and his voice sounds different. It is his voice, but it has an edge to it that I recognize as the voice that I had first heard when I woke up after Alfred almost killed me.

“Reed, are you okay?” I ask because the pain in his voice scares me.

There is silence for a few moments then he says, “Yes. You?” he asks in a strained tone.

“Yeah. I’m okkkay. I’m in Ames. I jjjust got hhhere. I’m outside of the town bbbecause I can’t get my wwwings to cccooperate yet. I’m a little cccold,” I say as I realize that my teeth are chattering.

I hear Reed say “Ames” to someone he is with on the other end, maybe Zephyr and Buns. “Are you alone?” he asks in an efficient, military tone.

“Yeahhh,” I reply as I quake a little from the cold.

“Why didn’t you answer the phone?” he asks, beginning to sound more like himself.

“It was ttturned offff. I didn’t know yyyou were tttrying to cccall mmme,” I explain with my teeth still chattering. I try to clench them so they won’t make any noise.

“Are you sure you’re in Ames?” Reed asks me in the military voice again.

“Yesss. It’s jjjust mmme and the hhhappy fffolk,” I say ironically, scanning the area for the happy folk and not seeing anyone walking around, probably because it’s freezing outside.

“The what?” Reed asks, sounding much better than he did a second ago.

“Nnnever mmmind, yyou’ll know wwwhen you get hhhere. Wwwhen are yyyou cccoming?” I inquire, shivering.

“I’m already on the way. Zephyr and I are in your car and Buns is following us in the other car. Ames is over a hundred miles away according to our map, and there is no direct route there, so it’s going to take us around an hour at least to get there. Is there somewhere you can go to wait for us and keep a low profile?”

It takes a minute for what he just said to register. “I’m a hhhundred mmmiles away fffrom yyou?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“I rrran a hhundred mmiles?” I ask again for clarification and wonder just how long I have been stumbling around.

“Yes, you are getting better at following my orders. I said ‘run’ and you didn’t disappoint me,” he replies, like he’s proud of me. “Next time, turn the phone on so that I know you’re alive,” he continues, and the strained voice is back.

“Ssure,” I agree, feeling numb because I had no idea that I had gone that far to escape the angel chasing me. I bet if it had been on even terrain, I would be two hundred miles away and the thought floors me.

“Evie, is there anywhere you can go to warm up? I can hear your teeth chattering,” Reed asks.

I scan the area. “Wwell, I hhhave sort of a ppproblem. I cccan’t gget mmmy wwings to go bback in,” I inform him, switching the phone to my other hand so that I can put the other hand under my armpit to warm it up a little.

“You just have to relax,” he replies unhelpfully.

“Oh,” I say because it is getting harder for me to concentrate on what he is saying. “Ookay. Mmmaybe if I jjjust sssit ddown hhere ffor a mmminute.”

“NO! Don’t sit down!” Reed almost yells into the phone. “Listen to me. You can’t sit down. You’ll get colder if you sit down,” he says in a harsh tone.

“Okay,” I agree, feeling the icy air blowing across my exposed skin. It’s colder here than it had been in the forest. I stumble forward, trying to stay out of the glow of the streetlamp as I walk toward Ames.

“Are you relaxed enough now?” Reed asks.

“I don’ttt know. Lllet me tttry,” I try, but my wings don’t move.

“Evie?” Reed asks after a while.

“Wwhat?” I respond in confusion.

“Did it work?” he asks.

“Nnno,” I reply, shivering.

“It doesn’t matter. Just find somewhere you can warm up and I will be there soon and persuade the humans that they saw nothing,” Reed says in a tense tone.

“Mmm nnnot sssupposed ta do dat,” I reply, but it doesn’t come out the way I think it should. It sounds slurred and mumbled.

“Evie, find someplace.
Now
!” Reed barks at me and I flinch.

“Kkkay.” I agree and hang up the phone. I feel disoriented and I don’t want to be yelled at so it makes perfect sense to me to hang up. I wander toward the light down the street, but when I get near it, it turns out to be a convenience store. The florescent lights glow evilly, making my head spin with flashes of pain and fear. I have to get away from it so I stay in the shadows across the street from the store and continue walking.

I pass by sandstone buildings with festive holiday displays still gracing the facades. The town of Ames has white, twinkle holiday lights wound in a serpentine pattern around each street lamp with wreaths gracing the tops. Golden bells and garlands are wrapped around wire and strung across the street, making a beautiful archway through the town. As I walk further along the sidewalk, I have to duck into a couple of the shadowy doorways of the closed store fronts to avoid being seen by the cars that drive past on the street. Everything seems to be closed for the night, probably because it’s New Year’s Eve and the happy folk have parties to attend.

The phone starts ringing.
Someone should answer that because it’s getting annoying,
I think drunkenly, as I continue on to the center of town. I must have come upon some kind of town hall because there is a big WWII howitzer on the front lawn along with a Nativity scene, a gigantic lighted Menorah, and a Happy Kwanzaa sign. I approach the angel in the Nativity scene. It doesn’t look like anyone I know.
They should get one that looks like Reed. Someone would steal it though…I would.

Thumping sounds, coming to me from further down the street, distract me from the town hall’s menagerie of holiday spirit. As I walk toward it, I ascertain that it is music coming from a club at the end of the street. The yellow-lighted sign outside reads, “Cowboys and Cowgirls–Welcome–Dollar Drafts ‘til Midnight.”

I duck into the alley near the front of the bar just as a laughing couple turns the corner and approaches the double wooden doors. Peeking around the corner at them, a cascade of warm air swirls outside in a rush when the man politely holds the door for his date. A sultry voice tumbles out the entrance accompanied by a hauntingly sweet guitar as they go inside. It’s a man singing something about how he has got to run so he doesn’t have to keep hiding. He doesn’t want them to catch him—no.

I nod in silent agreement, understanding his problem. “You’ve got that right, pal,” I mutter. “I don’t want them to catch me either.” The door swings shut again and the song is muffled.

I turn away from the bar and slip down the alley toward a parking lot at the back.
Something smells good,
I think, continuing down the alley and crossing over a darkened parking lot. It is the back door area of some kind of restaurant. Coming closer, it appears to be a diner. The back door is slightly ajar. I stay behind a van parked in the lot, watching an employee from the restaurant carry several large, black garbage bags to the dumpster. Heaving them in, the glass bottles clang loudly as they settle at the bottom of the dumpster. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it; smoking it quickly, he throws it away from him with a flick of his fingers as the ember glows orange.

The man goes back to the door before yelling to someone, “Yo, I’m outta here, see ya suckas next year…Happy New Year Daryl, Happy New Year Karen…Later!” He laughs and walks out the door and around the corner to his car. He fires up an old Pontiac and wheels it out of the parking lot while a loose belt in the engine screams in protest.

After he is gone, I walk up to the back door, feeling a trickle of warm air escaping from the portal he left ajar. It feels delicious. Pulling the door open, I am assailed by heat and the heavy odor of greasy comfort food. My stomach growls while I look around with jerking motions to see if anyone is in the back of the diner. It’s a stockroom area and it appears to be empty. I step in and lean against the door to close it behind me.

The grill sizzles several yards ahead of me as someone flips whatever is being cooked with a metal spatula. I want to follow my impulse that is telling me to walk to the front and ask for some French fries. I resist doing that because there is a reason that I shouldn’t, I just can’t think of what that reason is at the moment. Noticing a door on my right, I push away from the one I was leaning against to open it. The door leads to some kind of employee break area with lockers, a broad laminate table with a couple of ash trays on it, folding chairs, and a small sofa that has been pushed against the far wall. Stepping into the room, I close the door just as the phone starts ringing again.

I have to stop the noise, so I push several buttons on it and say, “Shh!” It stops ringing and I turn off the light, waiting a fraction of a second while my eyes adjust to the dark room. When I can see really well again, I sit down on the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest while hugging myself for warmth. I shiver violently as I breathe in deep gulps of warm air and exhale them haltingly. It takes me a while to realize that there is a voice speaking from the phone in my hand. I put it to my ear. Reed is saying something to me that I don’t understand because he is speaking to me in Angel, in his sexiest voice. Sitting on the sofa, I listen to his voice weave like hypnotic music, calming me like a gentle lullaby.