Taking Flight: The Unforgiven 1 Read online

  "So what do they look like?" Gabe asked as they got into the Jeep.

  "Scary," she said, in a tone that said this conversation was over.

  Gabe glanced at her curiously.

  "I saw one," she said, finally. "It was--"

  She was interrupted by Gabe's pants playing Nickelback. He took out his phone, swiped it, then put it to his ear.

  "Jess-- hi... yeah, I was just going to call you."

  Chapter Seven

  MELINDA DIDN'T KNOW whether to be amused or to strangle him.

  She knew, intellectually, that after they took her away, there was no indication that she was ever coming back and that Gabe probably would meet someone new. On the other hand, he did follow her directions, driving three-hundred miles east, to rescue her. And buy her a Coke.

  And he looked absolutely ridiculous when he was trying to explain to his real girlfriend why he was in Oklahoma with another girl.

  Still, the sting of having been replaced surprised her with how strong it was, and as Gabe stammered out one implausible lie after another, she felt a knot grow in her throat. Eventually, he hung up, looking distinctly unsatisfied.

  "Look, Melinda, I'm sorry. I meant to tell you. I just -- I just never--"

  He gave up. They drove in silence for a while as she absorbed the shock of realizing that Gabe had a girlfriend.

  And then she realized something.

  "You lied to her."

  "What?"

  "You lied to her. You said you had some family business."

  "Yeah, so?"

  "You drive three-hundred miles to save me, but you lied to your girlfriend?"

  Gabe slammed on the brakes. They skidded to a stop on the shoulder, and he put on his blinkers.

  "Fine," he snapped. "What do you want me to say? That you're more to me than a kid sister?"

  "It would be a start," she said sullenly.

  "When they took you away, it was like you'd died," he said, his voice strained from holding back tears. "We had so much fun together, remember?"

  She laughed in spite of her tears. She remembered, as he did, the state fairs they went to, picking apples, going fly fishing, "Riding the Ferris wheel," she said.

  "Corn dogs and funnel cakes," he replied.

  "Winning that giant stuffed dog."

  "Second place in pie-eating."

  Gabe started the Jeep again, checking his mirrors even though the highway was abysmally empty. He took them back to the motel where they ate the last of their dinner and watched some more Law & Order. It was a disturbing episode, one that was a bit too close to their situation -- a sixteen-year-old girl going out with an older man, and the detectives trying to charge him with rape -- and Gabe turned off the TV and looked at her from his bed.

  "Her name is Jessica Meyers," he said. "She's pre-law, in my class at Lincoln."

  For some reason, it upset her more to hear that he had a life that didn't include her, than that he had a girlfriend. She burrowed under the blanket on her bed, trying to think of what it all meant.

  All she could think of to say, though, was, "We need to head to Vegas tomorrow."

  Chapter Eight

  "SO, have you actually got a plan?" Gabe asked.

  They were on their way to Las Vegas, following Route 40 through the Texas Panhandle. It depressed her, having grown up on the edge of the Rockies in Colorado, how flat everything was. The sky and the earth seemed to be two shades of blinding white under the broiling sun, and the only thing breaking the monotony of the plains was an occasional house.

  Who the hell lives out here, she wondered, but she didn't dwell on it any more than to wonder if someone could have seen Caleb from the road. If he was walking, she had no idea how Caleb was getting around. Only that he was. Gabe had taken the top off the Jeep, the better to let the wind blow. But it was a hot wind and Melinda was reminded of the convection oven her mother had installed the year before she died and how much quicker it cooked meat.

  Luckily she was not the type to burn. But she could feel the heat around her, sucking the water -- the life -- out of her body.

  "Not a clue," she said. She had taken off the plaid Keds and put her feet up on the dashboard, enjoying the feel of the wind on her bare skin. The cult had mandated that women wear oppressive long-sleeved dresses that covered everything, skimming no more than one inch from the ground. Cut-offs and a t-shirt meant that she was practically naked, by their standards.

  Her knees, she noticed, had gotten knobbier. She knew that she had gotten skinnier since she had been with the Knights but she looked practically scrawny now. No wonder Gabe couldn't get over the whole "kid sister" thing.

  She had been trying to think of what they would do when they find Caleb but she kept getting sidetracked with thoughts about Gabe and this Jessica Meyers he said was his girlfriend, even though he kept lying to her.

  Now, Gabe was "helping my uncle move a few things."

  She had to confess, though, that if she didn't have this gift, "Chasing down a rogue angel" was a lot less plausible.

  "Caleb. What are we going to do about him? What can we do?" she wondered.

  "Ask him to stop?"

  "If we say 'please' nicely enough, maybe he'll listen," she said sarcastically.

  But Gabe didn't laugh.

  As the sun browned her skin, she wondered why Caleb didn't try to escape the compound. They'd kept him in a simple kennel. The elders didn't know any spells or charms that could bind an angel -- or a demon, for that matter. They simply kept him in chains and beat him every moment they had.

  Chains.

  She sat up in her seat suddenly. "I just realized what an idiot I was--"

  "And I just realized we're being followed," Gabe cut in. "Don't look," he added just as she was about to glance in the mirror. "If they think we've noticed them, they might take a shotgun to us again."

  "Shit," she muttered, settling back into her seat. "Are you sure?"

  "In case you hadn't noticed, we're like, the only car on this stretch of highway for miles around. And it's been with us since we left the motel."

  "Maybe it just hasn't reached its exit yet," she said, but she knew even as she said it that it was a false hope. If Gabe -- sensible, reliable, logical Gabe -- thought they were being followed, they probably were.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Hope that it runs out of gas before we do," Gabe said grimly.

  She checked the fuel gauge and groaned.

  They had only a quarter-tank left.

  The sign on the side of the road told them that the next rest stop was ten miles farther on. They could make it, but it would be close, and they would be coasting in on the fumes. Still, they didn't have a choice.

  Gabe looked at her and offered her his hand. At least we'll go down fighting, kid, his look said.

  She took it. Amen.

  By the time they pulled into the rest stop, the engine was coughing. It was all Gabe could do to ease the Jeep next to the fuel pump. They both got out, their stomachs churning in anticipation for a knock-down-all-out fight. Melinda flicked her uncle's lighter open, then closed. She was not sure she was suicidal enough to actually blow up the gas station on purpose, but she was sure she was not going back to the compound.

  "Act normal," Gabe said, tossing her the squeegee that was sitting in a bucket of soapy water next to the pump. He told her to keep an eye out for a blue sedan. She caught it and began to wipe the windshield, watching the highway while Gabe paid for a tank and thunked the nozzle into place. Twenty-five gallons of liquid explosive rush into his tank. She wondered if Gabe realized how desperate she was.

  The car never passed.

  Five minutes later, the tank was filled up, the windshield was clean, and Gabe was buying them stale hot dogs and chewing gum from the store. A semi roars by, then two pickups. But no blue sedan.

  Ten minutes later and they had ran out of excuses to stay there. Gabe eased back onto the highway checking both directions.


  Nothing.

  "Weird," he muttered. "There wasn't any other exit, I'm sure of it," he said, but he kept going.

  "I don't think it's the Knights," she said, glancing backwards. The road behind them was empty as far as she could see. "There were only ten cars on the compound, and Caleb blew up most of them, if not all of them."

  But they keep checking the mirror until they got close to Albuquerque where the increased traffic made it impossible to keep track of which car was behind them and when. Gabe drove through the city, pausing to buy toothbrushes and fresh socks for them, and pulled into a seedy motel five miles outside the city limits.

  He parked the Jeep and went around the back to make arrangements to stay there.

  The sun was sinking, and the desert air cooled off a lot faster than Melinda realized. She dug around in the bag of thrift store clothes and found a sweatshirt. It was slightly too small and smelled faintly of mothballs, but she put it on anyway.

  Presently Gabe returned, satisfied. "Fifteen bucks a night, can you believe it?"

  She got out of the car and stretched her legs. "There'd better not be bugs in the sheets," she said, but at this point she didn't really care. As long as they're not in the Jeep, she would be happy. She had to dive into the back seat to get the stuff that Gabe had bought earlier.

  "So which room?" she asked as she looped the plastic bags around her wrists.

  Gabe didn't answer.

  "Which room?" she asked again, louder this time. But he didn't answer again so she stood up and saw him staring.

  She followed his gaze.

  Straight to a blue sedan.

  Chapter Nine

  THERE WAS A COMPANY POLICY against picking up hitchhikers, and there was a company policy against picking up hookers, and there was a company policy against driving more than six hours at a stretch.

  None of these had ever kept Jimmy Keegan from picking up hitchhikers or whores, though he was almost religious about keeping to his six-hour limit. He'd picked up more than one college student in his years on the road, and they were usually glad to give him what he wanted in return for an extra thirty miles in his rig. He never had any trouble persuading them. The view of the open road and miles of nothing did that for him.

  The young man walking alongside the road, for instance, seemed to be just the type of person who could use a ride. He had fair hair and skin -- kid with color like that would burn up quicker than toast in this heat. He slowed the empty big rig down and lowered the passenger window.

  "Need a lift?" he asked.

  The young man smiled at him. He's even good-looking, too, in an androgynous, elfin way.

  "Well, come on up," he said.

  The kid -- hard to tell how old he was -- clambered up the side. He had to jump to reach the handle to pull himself in, but he managed to get himself inside the cab. Only now did Keegan realize that the kid didn't have any baggage. Or shoes.

  "What're you doing out here?" Keegan asked.

  The kid shrugged.

  Fine, Keegan thought. He'd prefer to have a talker but he could deal with a silent one, too. "Hope you don't mind Aerosmith," he said. The kid stared out the window so Keegan popped the CD into the player, and as Train Kept a-Rollin' started up, he threw a wary glance at his new passenger and put the rig into gear.

  Kid's seventy pounds, soaking wet, Keegan found himself thinking. I could take him, he reassured himself. Keegan might be starting a beer gut, but he had only been driving for five years and he could still bench press two-hundred pounds. Then he shook his head. What're you so worried about, Jimmy boy?

  But the feeling would not go away.

  The miles rolled on. In this part of the country, the only thing that changed was the crop -- corn, wheat, soy, and there was an occasional herd of cattle that could be seen from the road. They had passed exactly two trees in forty minutes and the next one was half an hour away on the horizon. Keegan thumped his thumbs against the steering wheel to keep in time with the music. He didn't know if the kid was annoyed by this but it soothed his nerves. He couldn't figure out why he was so jittery. He had picked up college athletes before, linebackers and basketball players, and never felt threatened.

  But this kid -- he just didn't know.

  Two albums and a gas tank later, Keegan finally stopped, unable to stand his passenger's presence for another minute. "Look, kid. Would you at least tell me where you're going?"

  "I am going where you take me," the young man answered, still staring out the window. He hadn't moved at all since he got in, Keegan realized.

  "And where is that, exactly?" Keegan asked.

  "Hell."

  The finality of the answer startled him for a moment. "Are you, like, a Mormon, or something?" he asked.

  "I am something."

  Christ, I sure know how to pick 'em, Keegan thought, rolling his eyes.

  "You wish me to pay," the kid said suddenly, turning to face him. He smiled again, and it was all Keegan could do to keep his pants from denting. He was more beautiful now than he was when he got in -- his pale eyes are larger, his smile was somehow more charming... lovelier. It must be a trick of the light, Keegan thought, but even his admiration for the boy sitting before him could not quell the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

  "I shall gift you," the kid said. And suddenly he was no longer a kid but a man, beautifully sculpted and statuesque, sitting next to him, giving him a look that could only mean: Come and get it, buddy.

  Keegan felt himself lean over. It was not his own doing. It was his body that did it, as if it had its own thought. The man -- kid... thing? -- reached across the seat for him and touched his cheek so softly. So gently.

  It felt like a benediction, like grace.

  And then all of a sudden, it turned into a searing pain of unbelievable agony.

  Keegan couldn't move or scream. He heard a hiss and felt something drip on his lap and he realized -- My face is melting! He wanted to move, wanted to get the hell out of this cab and away from this, this, whatever it was. But he was frozen in place and he couldn't do anything.

  Open your mouth.

  He didn't know where the words came from because neither of them spoke, but he felt his mouth opening, farther and farther until he heard the crunch of his jaw breaking. And then the thing stuck his own hand in it as his eyes watched, horrified in their bleeding sockets. His entire hand, and then his elbow, disappeared. And then his shoulder. And then...

  It was a small mercy that he's dead long before his body ripped apart in a splatter of blood and flesh.

  The man that was not Jimmy Keegan sat in the driver's seat of the big rig, feeling the steering wheel and the pedals, listening to the engine as it purred. He put it into gear, and the powerful engine surged to life and began rolling down the highway, faster and faster.

  And faster.

  A comet spewing diesel fumes and flame, heading for Albuquerque.

  Chapter Ten

  GABE PUSHED MELINDA behind him.

  She clutched his arm. A part of her was aware that this was an awkward gesture, given that he had a girlfriend. The rest of her was only aware of the terror and that Gabe was clutching her hand almost as hard as she was his arm. The windows of the sedan were deeply tinted, rendering the glass opaque in the setting sun.

  "I swear--" Gabe sputtered. He opened the passenger door and reached into the storage compartment. He fished out a flashlight, one of those heavy-duty steel Maglites that were fifteen inches long and could easily kill someone. "Get back in the car, Melinda," he told her.

  She did what he said and started the engine for him while he went around the front of the Jeep, never taking his eyes off of the sedan as he got in. Then they rocketed out of the parking lot, back onto the highway. He turned on the seat and buckled his belt as he went.

  "How in the hell...?" Gabe muttered, but he didn't finish.

  They drove in the dark for several more hours before the cold finally became intolerable. Gabe stopped
and put the top back on the Jeep, then switched off his lights and drove off the road in the dark.

  "I think they weren't following us," Melinda said. She had kept her eyes glued to the rearview mirror the entire way. There hadn't been a headlight in sight.

  "God... but I hope you're right," Gabe said. He got out. Melinda wanted to tell him to get back in because her stomach was still in knots and she was not entirely sure that they were safe. She couldn't decipher why she was so nervous, only that she was.

  "What're you doing?" she asked instead, unlocking her door and getting out.

  "Getting out the emergency blankets," Gabe said. "Oh, wait," he said.

  There was a click, and suddenly in the darkness of the desert there was a blade of white. He had turned on the flashlight and he adjusted it so that the beam looked like a fan.

  "Better?" he asked.

  "Are you insane?!" Melinda shrieked, grabbing the light and turning it off. "You've just let them see where we are!"

  "There's nobody around for miles," Gabe said sullenly. "You said so," but he kept the light off, going by touch and starlight. He lifted the trunk liner and there, along with the spare tire, was a small emergency kit -- blankets, stale granola bars, road flares, a hand-cranked radio and flashlight, and a bag of kitty litter. "Hungry?" he asked, handing her a bar.

  "Not really," she said, watching the desert and the road they came on. "I just have a bad feeling."

  "Nothing's going to get us," Gabe said, but the uncertainty in his voice belied his reassurance. "I just couldn't understand how that blue sedan could have gotten past us. Route 40 is the only interstate around. He'd have had to be doing, like, three-hundred or something to blow past the small towns and come out ahead of us."

  They got back into the Jeep and Gabe reclined his seat all the way.

  "It's not too bad," he said, wrapping a blanket around him. "I've done it a few times, when I got snowed in."

  "Do you love her?" she asked, lowering her seat so that it, too, was almost horizontal.

  "Don't ask me that," Gabe groaned.

  In the desert darkness, the only sounds were the Jeep clinking as it cooled and the ghostly howl of the wind above them, carrying the yipping noise of coyotes. Gabe whistled occasionally -- he's already asleep, and who could blame him? Squinting for five hours into a blinding landscape would take it out of anybody.