Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days #1)(47)

“It's unlikely there will be two units flying in the same direction within an hour or two of each other. Once we're on the road, we'll be safer from the road monkeys. They'll think we're Obi's people, too well armed and too well fed to attack.”

“We’re not monkeys.” Hadn't I just thought we were clever monkeys? So why does it sting that he just called me one?

He ignores me and keeps walking.

What did I expect? An apology? I let it drop and follow him down to the freeway.

As soon as we step onto the asphalt, Raffe grabs my arm and ducks behind a van. I crouch beside him, straining to hear what he hears. After a minute, I hear a car coming toward us. Another one? What’s the chance of another car just happening to be on the same road only ten minutes behind the first car?

This one is a black truck with a canopy over the bed. Whatever is under there is big, lumpy, and somehow intimidating. It looks a lot like the truck they were filling with explosives yesterday. It rumbles by, slow and full of purpose towards the city.

A caravan. It’s a very spread out caravan, but I’d bet the contents of my pack that there are more cars ahead and behind. They’ve spread it out to be less noticeable. The Hummer probably knew about the angels flying toward them because they got word from the cars ahead of them. Even if the first car was taken out, the rest of the caravan would be all right. My respect for Obi’s group goes up another notch.

When the sound of the engine fades, we get up from our crouch behind the van and start looking for our own ride. I'd prefer to drive a low-profile, economy car that won't make much noise and won't run out of gas. But that's the last car Obi's men would drive, so we start looking at the large selection of beefy SUVs on the road.

Most of the cars don't have their keys in them. Even at the end of the world when a box of crackers is worth more than a Mercedes, people still took their keys with them when they abandoned their cars. Habit, I suppose.

After looking at half a dozen, we find a black SUV with tinted windows with the keys on the driver's seat. This driver must have pulled the keys out of habit, then thought better of dragging the worthless metal with him on the road. It has a quarter tank of gas. That should at least get us into San Francisco, assuming the road is clear that far. It’s not enough to get us back though.

Back? Back where?

I quiet the voice in my head and climb in. Raffe climbs in the passenger seat. It starts on the first try and we begin weaving up 280 north.

I never thought moving 20 miles per hour could be so exciting. My heart pounds as I grip the steering wheel like it's going to fly out of control any second now. I can't watch all the obstacles on the road and still be on the lookout for attackers. I throw a quick glance at Raffe. He’s scanning the surroundings, including the side mirrors, and I relax a little.

“So where are we going, exactly?” I'm not an expert on the city's layout, but I have been there several times and have a general idea of where parts of the city are located.

“Financial district.” He knows the area well enough to identify the city’s districts. I briefly wonder how but let it go. I suspect he’s been around a lot longer than I have to explore the world.

“I think the freeway goes through that, or at least near it. That's assuming that the road is clear that far, which I doubt.”

“There is order near the aerie. The roads should be clear.”

I throw him a sharp look. “What do you mean, order?”

“There will be guards at the road near the aerie. Before we get there, we'll need to prepare.”

“Prepare? How?”

“I found something for you to change into at the last house. And I'll need to change my appearance too. Leave the details to me. Getting past the guards will be the easy part.”

“Great. Then what?”

“Then it's time to party at the aerie.”

“You're just full of information, aren't you? I won't go unless I know what I'm getting into.”

“Then don't go.” His tone is not ungentle, but the meaning is clear.

I grip the steering wheel so hard, I'm surprised it doesn't crumple.

It's no secret that we're only temporary allies. Neither of us is pretending that this is a lasting partnership. I help him get home with his wings, he helps me find my sister. After that I'll be on my own. I know this. I've never for a moment forgotten about it.

But after only a couple of days of having someone watch my back, the thought of being on my own again feels...lonely.

I clip the open door of a truck.

“I thought you said you could drive this thing.”

I realize I've been pressing on the accelerator. We're weaving drunkenly at 40 miles per hour. I pull it back down to 20 and force my fingers to relax.

“Leave the driving to me, and I'll leave the planning to you.” I still have to take a calming breath as I say this. I've been mad at my dad all this time for leaving me to make all the hard decisions. But now that Raffe is taking the lead and insisting on me following him blind, it churns my stomach.

We see some ragged people along the side of the road here and there, but not a lot. They scurry away as soon as they see our car. The way they stare, the way they hide, the way their furtive, dirty faces peer at us with burning curiosity brings to mind the hated word: monkey. This is what the angels have turned us into.