Текст книги "Angel Fever"

Автор книги: L. A. Weatherly

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

23

“IT’S THE MOST DIRECT WAY.” Seb traced his finger along the map.

“I know, but I’m kind of nervous about Iowa,” I admitted. It was the middle of the night, with the world dark and still around us. We’d stopped for gas at an abandoned Exxon station near the eastern South Dakota border, and now we were leaning against the truck, poring over the atlas.

Seb looked up, his hazel eyes catching the glow of my angel as she hovered to give us light. “Nervous?” he repeated.

“It’s pretty populated,” I explained. “All the states are now between here and New York. The chance of getting spotted by Eden staff will be a lot more likely from this point on.”

I could hear the faint scrape of Seb’s stubble as he rubbed his chin. “Maybe we should go up through Minnesota and into Canada instead.” He turned to flatten the map against the hood. “We could cross the border right here – see? And then go north and then east again.”

“Yeah, I was wondering about Canada, but we’d be cutting things pretty close. Plus the snow will be worse there.” I stared down at the map with its different options. My stomach clenched when I imagined getting to Pawntucket too late to stop whatever Raziel was planning.

“Let’s try Iowa,” I said finally. “Do you have any feelings about it?” I wasn’t getting anything; I was far too emotionally entangled.

Seb gave a not really grimace. “Both ways feel dangerous.”

We looked at each other. Finally I shrugged, trying to hide my apprehension. “Well, if they’re both dangerous…then let’s at least take the fastest one, right?”

As the sun rose, at first there was little difference between Iowa and South Dakota: flat, frosty plains with occasional clusters of trees. As we drove, my thoughts kept turning uneasily to that moment of longing I’d felt towards Seb, and the fact that it was preying on my mind irritated me – it wasn’t as if I didn’t have enough to worry about already.

At least things were relatively back to normal between us – the morning after we’d shared the sleeping bag, we’d slipped back into banter, and last night it had been warm enough to keep to our own seats. Now, as we travelled across Iowa, we played “the minister’s cat” again, though it kind of disintegrated when Seb started throwing in Spanish words and insisting they counted. Twenty questions was a failure too, when we each realized we were trying to psychically probe the other.

The whole time we were joking around, it felt as if we were waiting for something to happen.

After a few hours, we started seeing people again – groups of trudging refugees, burdened with belongings. One little girl staggered along with a cat carrier, her arms rigid under its weight. My eyes lingered on her. I longed to tell them all to pile in – but I could do nothing. Nothing.

No. I am doing something, I reminded myself. I’m going to get rid of Raziel.

Seb’s glance held understanding. He started to say something…and then we both stiffened. Angelic energy – a lot of it and close by. Suddenly my palms were damp.

“We must be getting near an Eden,” I said.

Seb already had the map open. “Mason City, maybe – it must be a new one.” He flipped to the next page. “I’ll find another way, so we can get off this road quickly.”

I nodded tensely, scanning for angels as I drove. To one side we were hugging a rocky hill; there was a drop to the other. I rounded a bend – and slammed on the brakes, bringing us skidding to a stop.

There was a rockslide across a curve in the road. I stared in dismay. There was no way we could drive across: we’d have to take our chances off-road on the slope, or else get out and start moving stones.

Then I saw something else, just past the slope: the Eden wasn’t even half a mile away, with its stark barbed-wire fence and dozens of angels circling overhead.

Seb and I exchanged a taut glance. As we got out of the truck, I was very aware of the pistol in the pocket of my parka. Going over to where the road met the slope, I gazed downward. Seb had already started bending and lifting, hefting stones out of the way.

“You know, I think maybe we could make it across the slope—” I started, and then broke off as my spine tingled. Looking up in sudden dread, I saw two armed figures step around the bend.

They sauntered towards us, machine guns at the ready – a pair of grinning men in mismatched camouflage gear. “Well, look at this,” drawled one. Red hair and a broad smile. “This is a nice fish to catch – y’all got gas in that thing?”

Neither of us answered. Seb straightened up with his eyes narrowed, his stance deliberately relaxed. Like me, I could sense how much he wanted to bring out his angel – but just then a small pack of angels cruised overhead, wings flashing. Bringing attention to our half-angel selves right now was not a good idea.

“You want to get out of our way, bud,” Redhead advised Seb. “’Cause let me tell you, shooting you and your girlfriend wouldn’t bother me at all.”

“Nah, Blondie’s too cute to kill,” smirked the other one. “She can stick around. If she’s nice to us.” Both men were already halfway across the rockslide, picking their way through the debris as if it was a well-known route.

My veins were ice. Without looking at each other, Seb’s mind and mine touched: we couldn’t let them have the truck. No matter what.

Seb’s next thought came loud and clear: I’ll distract them and you run for it.

Seb, no! I’m not leaving you.

The red-headed guy was about twenty feet away from Seb now. Still Seb stood there, not budging. The man stopped, regarding him with hard eyes. “Did you hear me? Get out of our way.”

“Yes, I heard you.” And deliberately, Seb reached for his waistband. He wasn’t even carrying a gun, but the man’s reaction was immediate – he raised his machine gun and fired off a rapid volley of shots.

Seb fell, and I stopped breathing.

Then in a confused rush, I saw that Seb had just lunged down to grab a stone – he hurled it in almost the same motion. It hit the guy square in the stomach; as he crumpled, I snatched hold of my senses and drew my pistol. I pointed it at the second man before he could react.

“Stop!” My heart was slamming in my chest, but somehow my voice didn’t shake. “Don’t even think about it.”

The first guy was up, panting as he aimed the machine gun at Seb. “Oh, you asked for it—”

Seb tackled him; the two went scrabbling on the rocky ground. The second guy scowled and started forward. No. Holding the pistol in both hands, I pulled the trigger. The man yelped as the bullet ricocheted off his weapon, almost wrenching it from his grasp.

I’d meant to hit his arm but had the sense not to show dismay. I clutched my pistol tightly, holding it steady. “Keep walking and I’ll aim for you next time,” I told him through gritted teeth.

When I risked a glance, Seb was sitting on the other guy’s chest, pinning his arms with his knees – his switchblade open and pressed against the man’s neck. As the blade glinted, there was nothing in his expression of the boy I knew. This was the Seb who’d grown up fighting on the streets.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I won’t cut your throat,” he said in a low voice.

Redhead gulped, breathing hard.

“Drop the gun,” I told the second guy, still pointing the pistol at him.

He blinked, looking from me to Seb, like, Wait – this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Do it!” cried Redhead. He looked very young suddenly; not much older than us. There was a pause – and then the second guy dropped his machine gun onto the rocks with a clatter.

“Now back away,” I said.

He did so with his hands in the air. My legs felt like cotton, but I advanced quickly over the rockslide and scooped up the machine gun. Still holding his knife in place, Seb slowly reached for the other one. He grabbed it and got up, aiming it at the guy on the ground. He motioned tersely with his head. His cheek was bleeding.

“Both of you – go,” he said.

Redhead half scrambled across the rocks as he ran. His friend took off after him.

Seb and I sprinted back to the truck and hurled ourselves in. My stomach was trembling. I ignored it and started the engine. A second later I’d lurched us over the slope, the world tilting alarmingly, and then I was gunning us down the road. Seb opened the window and aimed a machine gun at the two men as we passed them. They stood by the side of the road, hands up, watching us leave.

I couldn’t relax even when they were no longer visible in the rear-view mirror – even when the Eden no longer was.

“That was close,” I whispered. I imagined Seb falling to the ground in a roar of gunfire, bullets ripping through him. I swallowed hard. “That…that was so close.”

Seb put the machine gun in the back. “Yes,” he said, and I winced at the raw scrape on his cheek. Studying me, he seemed about to say something else – then he looked away and reached for the atlas. “I’ll find us a different road.”

I nodded, clutching the wheel. “I think we should start heading north now, towards Canada. If it’s remote enough, we can stick to the highway and try to make good time.” I glanced at him; my throat was dry. “Do you agree?”

Seb shrugged. “This is your trip, querida,” he said quietly.

And I realized just how long it had been since he’d called me that. I faced forward again, my emotions in turmoil.

Now that we didn’t have to avoid the farms of the Midwest, our route became more straightforward. For hours we made excellent time, flashing past lake after lake. The banter between us had gone. Almost all conversation had gone; in its place was a growing tension. I felt so aware of Seb next to me: his lean body, his energy that was so similar to mine.

By late afternoon we thought we might have crossed over into Canada, though there didn’t seem to be a welcome sign any more. It had snowed recently, though, slowing us down; we had to stop and put on the chains. It seemed like a good idea anyway – the sky had turned a smooth, pearly grey.

Finally we came to a county road heading north. Definitely Canada, I saw with relief: the road sign was shaped like a shield with a crown on top.

Seb was behind the wheel when the snow really hit. He muttered something in Spanish as the flakes attacked the windshield like a swarm of bees; his leg flexed as he tapped the brakes, his forehead tensed in concentration. Already, the road was fading away into a white blur on either side. When a grey chimney swam out of the storm, Seb angled us towards it.

“I think we better stop here – it’s getting dark anyway.”

I nodded, feeling apprehensive. If this didn’t let up soon, we’d be snowed in – maybe even for the rest of the season. I wished we could push on, but it would be suicidal.

You can’t control the weather, I reminded myself harshly as Seb pulled the truck over. Whatever happened, we’d just have to deal with it.

Through swirling flakes, I saw a large A-frame building of grey stone. A sign read: taketa lounge and restaurant. Sinking into fresh snow up to our ankles, we grabbed our things and headed over, flakes pouring down. There was a porch area with a few rustic chairs; I shook myself off, swiping the wetness from my hair.

“Locked,” Seb said as he tried the door.

I started to reach for my angel, but Seb had already gone for his own. Seconds later, he returned in a flurry. Seb grimaced. “No, there’s something wrong with the lock,” he muttered. He took out his switchblade and crouched down.

“I didn’t know you could pick locks,” I said, as he started to probe at the side of the door with his blade.

“Yes, I have many skills,” he replied, his voice toneless.

The bruise on his face looked even worse now, the skin tight and sore, and I gripped my elbows hard as I gazed at it.

Seb could have died. Just like Alex.

I saw Seb fall to the ground again – heard the roar of the explosion at the AK camp. Something in me went very still as I studied Seb, his firm shoulders flexing as he worked. I could sense the unhappiness that was his constant companion – the longing he couldn’t control. And my heart ached with an answering longing, this time so strong it left me dizzy.

Seb, what are you doing to me?

“There,” he muttered as the doorknob gave way. “There was something bent inside it.” He stood up, flicking the blade away; he put it in his jeans pocket.

He started to reach for our things. As our eyes met, my feelings were raw – exposed. Seb froze. Face tight, he abruptly turned away and started grabbing up the bags.

I helped, feeling hot and cold at the same time. Neither of us spoke. When we went inside, we found ourselves in a lounge area: an imposing stone fireplace with a sheepskin rug stretched out in front of it and an L-shaped sofa. A huge wicker basket half full of wood sat on the hearth.

Still without speaking, Seb went behind the shadowy bar and started rummaging. He found a book of matches and crouched in front of the fireplace, starting a fire with a handful of glossy brochures for kindling. They cast a greenish glow.

Once the fire was going, he came back to the bar and leaned next to me. We both gazed across at the flames.

I cleared my throat. “That’s…really good that you got a fire lit,” I said. “There must be a kitchen somewhere too. Maybe we can find some pots and pans, and heat up our meal for a change. Hey, we could use plates. And real silverware.”

I was babbling. I fell quiet again. Seb’s profile remained motionless, etched golden in the firelight. Finally he scraped his hands over his face. When he spoke, his voice was low.

“Tell me. What I sensed outside – did I only imagine it?”

My skin felt electric. I shook my head. “No. You didn’t imagine it.”

Seb’s eyes flew to mine. He swallowed, his expression haunted.

I wanted so badly to comfort him. I wanted so badly to comfort myself. I gently laid my hand against his hurt cheek, feeling the surface chill of his skin with the warmth underneath – the soft prickle of his stubble.

My voice wasn’t even a whisper. “Seb,” I said.

Our gazes held as the fire crackled. For a long moment, neither of us moved. I’d forgotten how. Then, slowly, Seb reached up and took my hand.

He lowered his head to mine; I closed my eyes as our lips met. The moment spiralled out into infinity as we tasted each other. Seb’s hand moved to my head, stroked through my hair. His feelings enveloped me in a rush, rocking me; at the same time he pulled me close against him, and I wrapped my arms around him tightly, drowning in the feel of him – his mouth, hungry on mine; his tongue, warm and wet and real.

It had been so long since I’d been held this way – so long since I’d felt like this. I broke away, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his temple. “Seb, Seb,” I cried, burying my face against his neck.

He clutched me to him – his lips on my hair, then pulling away to hold my head with both hands, kissing my mouth again. “It’s always been you,” he said fiercely between kisses. “No matter what I did – no matter what I wanted – always you.”

I could never get enough of him; I wanted to climb inside him. We fell against the bar with a bump as we kissed and kissed. I could feel the pounding of Seb’s heart through his sweater – or maybe it was my own. Seb’s hands moved across my back; he found bare skin just above my jeans, and his touch shivered through me.

And now I could feel our angels too. As the fire cast dancing shadows around the rustic room, they’d emerged above us and were buried in each other’s energy…joined so deeply that I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

24

ALEX’S SHOULDERS SLUMPED AS HE spotted the stream through the trees. Oh, thank Christ – it had been two days since he’d managed to fill his water bottle. Limping on his throbbing left foot, he made his way down the muddy bank. The water felt cold on his hands and face as he scooped up handful after handful to drink.

He’d been wary of the water here at first, but he’d had no choice except to try it – and he’d found it cleaner and fresher than anything back home. The angels had no industry, no pollution. In many ways their world was a complete Eden, though just the word made Alex grimace.

He drank his fill and then refilled the plastic bottle, screwing the cap back on carefully before replacing it in his pack. Turning his attention to his foot, he drew off the tattered sock. God, his flesh looked as if it had been through a meat grinder: oozing blisters and cuts that couldn’t heal. He dipped it in the stream and winced. Presumably the plants here were similar to those in his world – if he knew how, he could make himself a poultice or something. He’d have to take the survivalist class along with the rest of his team when he got home.

Because he was going to get home. End of story.

“What are you doing?” asked a morose voice.

Alex hardly looked up. “Soaking my foot.”

“Oh.” A man drifted into view through the trees. Sandy hair and a worried expression, clothes that had been fashionable ten years ago. “Have you seen the angels?” he asked.

“No.” Alex motioned with his head. “Denver’s that way.” He had no idea whether the place he was heading to was called Denver here or not. It didn’t matter; the ghosts never listened. This one didn’t either.

“They’ve all gone,” the man said sadly. He came around so that he was standing in the stream in front of Alex, looking deceptively substantial. The water flowed on, undisturbed by his presence.

“No, they haven’t,” said Alex.

“There used to be so many of them…so glorious…and now they’ve all gone. Their world is still beautiful, though. All the rainbows…” The man trailed off, gazing at the rainbows that only ghosts could seem to see. Then he remembered Alex and looked at him hopefully. “So do you know where the angels are? Can you help me find them?”

Alex didn’t respond. Once they got going on this subject, the ghosts could keep talking for ever. He drew his foot out of the water and dried it as best he could; the sores looked no less fierce. He pulled on his sock, gritting his teeth at the pain. When he looked again, the man had vanished. There were only the trees on the opposite bank.

The “ghosts” had startled Alex at first, then intrigued him – now, after three weeks in this world, he was bored out of his skull by them. He still wasn’t sure what they were. He’d never seen a ghost in his own world and thought he would have, if they really existed. Were these memories, somehow, of people the angels had fed from? Except that their thoughts, though predictable, did seem pretty rooted in the here and now. The few angels Alex had seen – flying distantly overhead, looking flagging and weak – paid the ghosts no attention at all. Definitely the best policy.

Anyway, the ghost had been right about one thing – there weren’t many angels here any more; clearly almost all of them had now evacuated to the human world. Lucky us, thought Alex. He rose and tested his weight on his foot. It would do – it would have to; he still had at least twenty miles to go.

He touched the woven bracelet on his wrist. Willow must be out of her mind by now. Not much longer, babe, I promise, he thought, as he climbed up the bank. Imagining being back with her again – holding her close, seeing her smile – was what drove him to walk extra miles every day, when his throbbing foot would have preferred to rest.

Alex continued on his way, keeping as brisk a stride as he could. He was deep in the angels’ equivalent of the Rockies now, with woods to either side and a soaring view of mountains whenever he reached a clearing.

In his world, this area was total wilderness. Here, the angels had apparently groomed the place to be a giant outdoor park. He was walking on a path that had once been tended, lined with small symmetrical rocks; occasionally he passed items that appeared to be artwork, though any meaning was lost on him. He studied a large globe made of steel bands, lying dented beside a marble block.

As he walked, he scanned constantly for angels. He’d seen only a handful in three weeks, but wasn’t about to become careless now – not when he was so close. There were none, though he saw several more ghosts. They kept their distance, staring mournfully at him as he passed.

He kept on after dark, his heart quickening in anticipation. Denver was only a few miles away now – with luck, he could be back in his own world before morning. Then hot pain tore through his injured foot.

Alex swore; groping down, he pulled away a stick with thorns. He could hardly even see his foot any more, but could feel the warm blood streaming from it, soaking into the sock. He hurled the stick into the undergrowth. Stopping when he was so close felt like torture, but if he kept on he might stroll over a cliff before he even noticed.

Reluctantly, he left the path and made his way into the trees; he sank down between two of them and let out a long breath, head dropped back against the bark. His muscles were starting to sing. How far had he walked today? Twenty miles, thirty?

He took a deep, thirsty swig of water, conscious now of how hungry he was. He only had one energy bar left; he allowed himself two bites and then lay down tiredly, covering himself with his leather jacket. The ground was freezing, but at least there was no snow. Adding frostbite to his sore and bleeding foot would have just been a joke.

The smell of damp earth surrounded him; he could hear the gentle rustling of the wind. Exhausted, Alex stared into the shadows, thinking about Denver. If it was laid out like the Denver in his own world, then the gate would be near the cathedral somewhere – on the north side of town, slightly outside the city limits. So he’d circle around and, he hoped, avoid the remaining angels.

He’d learned early on that most congregated in the cities – when he’d passed Albuquerque, the place had been comparatively teeming. He didn’t have a clue why the creatures no longer seemed to enjoy strolling around in their wilderness parks, but he wasn’t about to argue.

As Alex finally drifted off to sleep, he touched his woven bracelet again: the colours of his aura and Willow’s entwined. Not much longer, he vowed silently. He’d get back to her soon – or die trying.

When Alex had first opened his eyes after the blast, there hadn’t been a single part of him that didn’t ache.

Gazing blearily upwards, he’d seen smooth white walls that met a plain ceiling, light streaming in through a small window. Dawn. Or sunset, maybe. Ignoring the fact that he felt as if he’d been clubbed with a mallet, he slowly rose to his feet and stared around him.

Jesus, he’d made it. He was in the angels’ world – though getting here had been agony like nothing he’d ever experienced. Recalling the sense of being crushed, ripped apart, Alex marvelled that he was even still alive.

The room that he’d glimpsed from his father’s house was weirdly ordinary, something he wouldn’t have looked at twice in his own world – about the same size as his dad’s place, but all one open area. It had the feel of a disused storeroom, with a thin layer of dust and a stale scent. He couldn’t see any form of lighting; apart from that, the only strange thing was a painted line of symbols on one wall – elegant squiggles and swirls that he couldn’t read. A wooden crate lay on its side, empty.

Wondering briefly what angels needed to store, Alex sank down onto it, his thoughts spinning. Everything ached. He was coated with a powdery grime, and had a dozen scrapes and bruises. His left ankle was the worst: a long, shallow scratch that had clearly bled a lot; his sock was stained with red.

Sock. Suddenly he realized that he was only wearing one shoe. Alex stared down at his foot in bemusement. The shoe must have gotten blown off in the explosion.

It all rushed back. That’s right; he’d seen the house go, had lost sight of this room in the blast. He must have passed through just as everything went up – he was even luckier to be alive than he’d thought.

“But what the hell, Cull,” he murmured. The plain room was silent, ageless. “It is possible to get here.”

Alarm hit as he recalled again the force of the explosion. He straightened up sharply. Speeding his consciousness up through his chakra points, he scanned the room.

The opening between the worlds was gone.

No, stay calm – he had to be imagining this. Alex got up and circled the room, examining the ether from every angle. There wasn’t even the faintest ripple to show where the gate had been.

“Shit,” he whispered hollowly. Dust motes glinted, stirred by his walking. How could he carry out his father’s plan with no gate leading back to his own world? No, forget that – how the hell was he supposed to get home?

“There’s got to be a way,” he muttered. “The angels get through all the time – I’ve just got to find one of their routes, that’s all.”

Yeah, simple.

Alex slumped back onto the crate and slowly rubbed his hands down his face as he gazed at where the opening should have been. Okay, fine – for the time being, he was stuck here. Deal with it. Meanwhile, he’d try to do what he came here for. Maybe that would provide some answers that staring into space couldn’t.

His father’s idea had first been born years ago, when Martin had seen an angel crossing into the human world. He’d done a hasty scan before the entryway between dimensions had closed – and learned that the energy field of the angel world was wholly different from that of the human one. Far stronger, but also more pliable, organized – nothing like the faint but chaotic energy of home.

“It could be controlled, I’m sure of it,” Martin had told his sons. “Think of it – the energy field of an entire world at our fingertips! If we could just get over there long enough to connect with it, we could bridge it back to our own world and use it to destroy the angels!”

Remembering, Alex shook his head. Even now that he’d crossed the first hurdle, the idea still seemed insane to him. I hope you were right about this, Cull, he thought, closing his eyes. Or else I’m stuck here for nothing, and then I really am going to feel like a complete idiot.

Martin had taught both his sons how to tap into the world’s energy field – something Alex hadn’t bothered with in years; at home there was no reason for it. Now he carefully centred himself, planting both feet firmly on the ground. Then he lifted his consciousness and let it spread out in all directions. In his own world, this sensation made him mildly dizzy; here it brought a wave of nausea that had him pale and sweating in seconds. He paid no attention.

There, exactly as Martin had described – a sea of seething energy that roared past his senses. Yet he could tell what his dad had meant: there was an order to it. The sense that if you could just figure out the right key, it could be yours.

Alex felt a flicker of excitement. Cautiously, he started to delve into the energy, attempting to merge into it like Martin had taught him.

“Ahh!” He jerked back; the crate skidded as he crashed onto the floor. Senses reeling, he hefted himself backwards and slumped against the wall for a minute, breathing hard. The pain had been like grabbing an electrified fence.

His next few attempts were even worse. After an hour of increasingly violent expulsions, Alex was clammy and shaking, muscles taut. “Okay, yeah, this is a real success,” he muttered finally, wiping his forehead. “Oh, man, Cully. I wish you weren’t dead so I could kill you.”

He gripped his temples, forcing himself to face the truth: his energy was alien to that of this world; there was no way for him to breach it. His dad had been wrong. Cully had been wrong. He could observe the energy field here – that was all.

Alex sat motionless, fury and disappointment raging through him. Yeah, he’d just had to try this thing, hadn’t he? He’d known it was insane, and now what? He wondered if Willow could sense him in this world; imagining what she’d think if she couldn’t, he winced. Oh, Christ, he’d be frantic if it were her. He’d rather have died in the blast than live trapped in this world for nothing.

Alex’s jaw hardened at the thought. No. He would get home again.

He did a scan to check that there was no life beyond the walls. Then he grabbed his backpack and rifle, swung them over his shoulder, and stepped out into a gentle dusk in the angels’ world.

He was in an enclosure reminiscent of his father’s old camp: plain white buildings that were clearly abandoned, though these were clustered around a central courtyard. There was no fence. Desert lay in all directions, startlingly like the one he knew – even the low mountains on the horizon were the same. A warm breeze stroked past.

Relieved at the similarity between worlds, Alex squinted north across the desert. With the gateway here obliterated, the one place where he knew the angels had crossed dimensions before was in Denver.

Over five hundred miles of desert and mountains, and he had no vehicle and only one shoe – but at least he had a direction to head in. It should take him a few weeks, if he was lucky and made it without being discovered.

Please try not to worry too much, babe, he thought to Willow. I’ll be home as soon as I can, I promise.

As he headed across the dusty courtyard, its flat stones still held some of the day’s warmth. Where they ended, the ground turned gritty under his shoeless foot.

Leaving the buildings silent and empty behind him, Alex started walking across the desert.

Now, three weeks later – three weeks during which his sock had rapidly disintegrated until he was limping on cuts and blisters, but still he’d refused to slow his pace; three weeks of largely harsh terrain with barely any food to keep him going – Alex had finally reached his goal.

When he’d first woken up that morning, he’d found a foxlike creature nestled asleep against him – the animals here had no fear at all. He’d smiled in slight surprise, touching the reddish-gold fur; the fox-thing had awakened with a sharp, pointed yawn and ambled off. It had seemed a good omen.

It wasn’t.

Alex lay on his stomach on a grassy hill, staring down at the city below. In some ways, it looked very much like the Denver he knew – some of the buildings were even the same. He could pick out a twin to the Wells Fargo Centre with its curved apex, and something that looked like the Centre for the Performing Arts, though with a kind of crystal surface.