Chapter 31
Extraction Requested
Cass had rarely been so happy to greet the sun after a mostly sleepless night, which was saying something.
Dawn arrived as a redgold furnace boiling under a seethe of pink cloud, the terrible breathless stillness of Salt Lake retreating to a distant mutter, no more lightning or bouncing thunder—the world was back to its usual dimensions again, and the strange sense of an invisible burden lifting made her head spin.
Maybe the heavy overcast tinged with smoke-scent had something to do with the latter.
It was wildfire season in the hills.
The interchange loomed ahead. “Right then.” Nigel exhaled softly, not quite a sigh.
The sound might even have been relief. “When you’re ready, hit the power button.
Just like last time, I’ll tell you what to dial.
Leave it on speaker, and if we get another audio illusion just hand the phone to me.
If not, just repeat what I tell you into the mic at the bottom there, clearly as you can. ”
Which brought up the question of just why he wasn’t calling. Cass decided to risk asking. “It’s different if I say it?”
“You’re the lirai.” A tight smile as he tapped the brakes; the traffic around them was pointed into the sun, and purple mountain majesties were distracting if you liked that sort of thing.
Nigel’s eyes glowed, the streak at his temple flushing briefly.
“If even a breath of you gets through, they’ll mount a full rescue effort. ”
He sounded so sure, so certain, Cass couldn’t find the energy to disbelieve. “What if it doesn’t?”
“One worry at a time, love.” A muscle flicked in his cheek, back to roughened stubble. She couldn’t figure out when he’d had time to shave; did the magic take care of that too? “But we’d best call before the road divides.”
She could guess why on that score, at least. The big kahuna might be able to track the signal, and if so, Nigel wanted all the bogeys uncertain of exactly which route they’d taken. It was the kind of tactical consideration Bern would have applauded.
Dear God, it hurt so badly to think of Frank.
And Apoc. Had her freakish talents led the big kahuna to her helpless friends, or just drawn the rotting, ambulatory corpses—revenants, Nigel said, it was both comforting and disturbing that he didn’t seem surprised or angry—along Cass’s trail like bloodhounds?
Either way she’d almost gotten Nigel killed as well. She was a Typhoid Mary of bogey-hunting.
“Cass?” Nigel, polite but worried, and there was the whole ‘sealing’ thing to worry about as well.
If she thought about that her head might explode. “It’s on. Give me the number.”
It was like the first time, except no hateful tinny shriek. The burner phone simply sat in her palm, its speak button lit up, and her hand quivered like a wind-rattled leaf.
No sound of ringing, but Nigel nodded slightly as if he’d expected as much. “Repeat after me, nice and clear: Code in, Alpha-Henry-zero-zero-eight-Mike-four-Xray. Extraction requested, value sigma.”
Cass repeated the string of numbers and code letters into the microphone, slow and clear. A burst of static roared from the flip phone’s top half, its lights stuttering. She gasped, jerked as if slapped, and almost dropped the goddamn thing.
“Repeat,” Nigel continued, implacably. “Extraction requested, value sigma. Again, Cass. Please.”
Do I add that last bit too? “Extraction requested,” she squeaked. “Value sigma.”
Another burst of static, full of weirdly modulated tones rising and falling—like a theremin, but mixed with strange underwater bubbling.
“Right. Turn it off.” Nigel was still so goddamn calm. So little perturbed the man, it was unreal.
Her fingers were numb, and Cass fumbled with the power button—not quickly enough, because a screech of feedback poured from the speaker.
“HOWYA LIKE THAT, LITTLE BITCH? I TOOK ’EM BOTH AND I’LL KILL YOU TOO, YOU AND YOUR TRAITOROUS LITTLE—”
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered.
Nigel leaned from the driver’s seat, snatching the burner from her hand.
He crushed it as he had the other one, and now he wasn’t so calm.
A swift snarl pulled his lips back, exposing bright white teeth; with his eyebrows drawn together and nose wrinkled he was the picture of furious, violent disgust.
If he ever looked at her like that, Cass might just shrivel up in a corner and expire of sheer shame.
A roar of freeway wind tugged at the driver’s side window as it rolled down, and he tossed a now-shapeless lump of smoking plastic into the slipstream. The van rocked slightly on its springs, surprisingly aerodynamic; now a whole church was going to have a terrible day because of her.
“Well done,” he said, as if this qualified as a victory.
Or maybe he was just being kind. It might not be the most awkward situation she’d endured after sleeping with a guy—there had been the New Year’s Eve incident in Santa Monica, and that creep’s poor girlfriend showing up the morning after—but it certainly wasn’t the least, either.
Why in God’s name was she thinking about ancient history, or about a hotel bed? She should just be grateful he hadn’t left her to the bogeys.
“Thank you.” Now she sounded prim. Her skull vibrated painfully with the tire-hum and she honestly couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t feel terrified, when every muscle and nerve wasn’t a separate note of low grumbling pain. “Nigel? I mean it, thank you. For everything.”
“Ah.” He blinked, then nodded. It was no longer strange to see him in the driver’s seat with a sword strapped to his back; he’d also somehow turned from ‘giant question mark of a kidnapper’ to ‘ally’, and not just because she’d let him in her pants. “I should thank you instead, for trusting me.”
Her vision blurred, but she could blame that on the morning glare smacking the windshield, not stupid, useless tears. “How long is it to Cheyenne?”
“Seven or eight hours, if all goes well and we don’t stop for more than petrol.
There’s also a frontier temple in Laramie, which might be an option for reinforcement.
” He paused. Cass held her breath—and was rewarded when he continued.
“We also might be intercepted by Sons before then, which is naturally the best outcome.”
Now she was actually hoping for his big, super-secret organization to find them. “Or by the big kahuna’s people, which is the worst. Right?”
“I certainly hope not. But if so, I will deal with it then.” He frowned slightly, and reached to flip the visor down. The sun was finally high enough for a flap of stiffened material to make a difference, but Cass didn’t touch hers.
She crossed her arms, tucking her hands close to her body, suddenly certain that if she touched one more thing that didn’t belong to her another disaster would occur.
Bright sunshine scouring into her skull was a penance she accepted, and when a pair of hot fingertips traced down her cheeks she could pretend they were simply a reaction to the light.
Seven or eight hours was a short road trip for a bogey-hunter. All she had to do was not fuck it up by being some kind of stupid psychic freak.
* * *
They got just over the Wyoming border before disaster hit again.