Angelfall

CHAPTER 13

We mostly have evergreens in California, but there’s enough fall foliage that covers the forest. We can’t help but crunch at every step. I don’t know about other parts of the world, but at least in our hills, I’m convinced that the whole story of skilled woodsmen walking silently through the woods is a myth. For one thing, there’s simply no place to walk during autumn where you can avoid the fallen leaves. For another, even the squirrels and deer, birds and lizards make enough noise in these hills to make them seem like much larger animals.

The good news is that the rains drenched the leaves, which dampens the sound. The bad news is that I can’t navigate the wheelchair on the wet hillside.

Dead leaves get trapped in the spokes as I struggle to force it forward. To lighten the load, I strap the sword onto my pack and carry them on my back. I throw the other pack to Raffe to carry. Still the chair skids and slips on the wet leaves, constantly heading downhill as I struggle to roll it crosswise. Our progress slows to a crawl. Raffe offers no help but neither does he offer sarcastic suggestions.

We eventually pick out a clear path that seems to go in the general direction we want to head. The ground is mostly level on the trail and there is far less foliage on it. But the rains have turned the dirt trail into a mud bath. I don’t know how well the chair will work in the mud, and I’d rather keep it running in smooth condition. So I fold the chair and carry it. That works for awhile, in an uncomfortable, awkward way. The most I’ve ever carried the chair before was a flight or two of stairs.

It becomes obvious very quickly that I won’t be able to continue to hike carrying a wheelchair. Even if Raffe offered to help—which he doesn’t—we wouldn’t make it very far lugging an awkward metal and plastic contraption.

I finally unfold it and set it down. It sinks in, the mud greedily sucking at the wheels. It only takes a few feet for the chair to get completely clumped in mud to the point where the wheels freeze.

I grab a stick and knock off as much of it as I can. I have to do that a couple more times. Each time, the mud clumps faster on the wheels. Once churned, it’s more like clay than mud. Finally, it only takes a couple of spins of the wheels before the chair is good and stuck.

I stand beside it, tears stinging my eyes. How can I rescue Paige without her chair?

I’ll have to figure something out, even if I have to carry her. The important thing is that I find her. Still, I stand there for another minute, my head bowed in defeat.

“You still have her chocolate,” says Raffe, his voice not ungentle. “The rest is just logistics.”

I don’t lift my eyes to look at him because the tears haven’t gone away yet. I brush my fingers along the leather seat in goodbye as I walk away from Paige’s chair.

~

We walk for about an hour before Raffe whispers, “Does moping actually help humans feel better?” We’ve been whispering since we saw the victims on the road.

“I’m not moping,” I whisper back.

“Of course you’re not. A girl like you, spending time with a warrior demigod like me. What’s to mope about? Leaving a wheelchair behind couldn’t possibly show up on the radar compared to that.”

I nearly stumble over a fallen branch. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I never kid about my warrior demigod status.”

“Oh. My. God.” I lower my voice, having forgotten to whisper. “You are nothing but a bird with an attitude. Okay, so you have a few muscles, I’ll grant you that. But you know, a bird is nothing but a barely evolved lizard. That’s what you are.”

He chuckles. “Evolution.” He leans over as if telling me a secret. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been this perfect since the beginning of time.” He is so close that his breath caresses my ear.

“Oh, please. Your giant head is getting too big for this forest. Pretty soon, you’re going to get stuck trying to walk between two trees. And then, I’ll have to rescue you.” I give him a weary look. “Again.”

I pick up my pace, trying to discourage the smart comeback that I’m sure will come.

But it doesn’t. Could he be letting me have the last say?

When I look back, Raffe has a smug grin on his face. That’s when I realize I’ve been manipulated into feeling better. I stubbornly try to resist but it’s already too late.

I do feel a little better.

~

From the map, I remember that Skyline Blvd. is an artery that runs through the woods into South San Francisco or thereabouts. Skyline is uphill from where we are. Although Raffe hasn’t said where the aerie is located, he’s told me we need to head north. That means going through San Francisco. So if we just head uphill, then follow Skyline into the city, we could stay out of highly populated areas until we can no longer avoid it.

I have a lot of questions for Raffe now that I’ve realized I should collect as much knowledge of angels as possible. But cannibals take precedence, and we keep our conversation to a whispered minimum.

I thought that it could take all day for us to get to Skyline but we reach it by mid-afternoon. Good thing, too, because I don’t think I can handle another meal of cat food. We have plenty of time to rummage through the houses on Skyline for dinner before it gets dark. These houses are nowhere near as close to each other as houses in the suburbs, but they are still regularly spaced along the road. Most of them are hidden behind redwood trees, which is great for surreptitious supply searching.

I wonder how long we should wait for my mother and how we’ll ever find her again. She knew to come up to the hills, but we had no plans beyond that. Like everything else in life right now, all I can do is hope for the best.

Skyline is a beautiful road along the hilltop of the mountain range that divides Silicon Valley from the ocean. It’s a two-lane highway that gives glimpses of both the valley on one side and the ocean on the other. It’s the only road I’ve walked on since the attacks that doesn’t feel wrong in its deserted state. Flanked by redwoods and smelling of eucalyptus, this road would feel more wrong with traffic on it.

Not long after we reach Skyline, though, we see cars piled up crosswise on the road, blocking any potential traffic. This is obviously not something that happened by accident. The cars are angled ninety degrees to the road and staggered for several car lengths, just in case someone decides to crash through them, I suppose. There is a community here, and it does not welcome strangers.

The angel who now looks human takes in the site. He angles his head like a dog that hears something in the distance. He nods his chin slightly, ahead and to the left of the road.

“They’re over there, watching us,” he whispers.

All I can see is an empty road running through redwoods. “How can you tell?”

“I hear them.”

“How far?” I whisper. How far are they, and how far can you hear?

He looks at me as though knowing what I’m thinking. He can’t read minds as well as have amazing hearing, can he? He shrugs, then turns to head back into the cover of the trees.

As an experiment, I call him all kinds of names in my head. When he doesn’t respond, I come up with random images in my head to see if I can get him to give me a funny look. Somehow, my thoughts drift to how he held me during the night, when I dreamt I was freezing in the water. My imagination has me waking up on that couch and turning to face him. Somehow I’m wearing only my…

I stop. I think about bananas, oranges, and strawberries, mortified that he might actually sense what I am thinking. But he continues through the forest, giving no sign that he can read my mind. That’s the good news. The bad news is he doesn’t know what they are thinking either. Unlike him, I don’t hear, see, or smell anything that might indicate that anyone is out to ambush us.

“What did you hear?” I whisper.

He turns around and whispers back. “Two people whispering.”

After that, I keep my mouth shut and just follow him.

The woods up here are all redwoods. There are no leaves on the forest floor to crunch as we walk. Instead, the forest gives us exactly what we need—a thick carpet of soft needles that muffles our footsteps.

I want to ask if the voices he heard are coming our way, but am afraid to speak unnecessarily. We can try to go around their territory, but we need to continue in the same general direction if we are to reach San Francisco.

Raffe picks up his pace downhill almost to a run. I follow blindly, assuming he hears something I don’t. Then I hear it too.

Dogs.

By the sound of their barking, they’re heading straight for us.