An Artificial Night
Page 59
Spike hissed and fled to the front seat when an overenthusiastic child tried to pull it out of Jessica’s lap, having sensibly recognized the rose goblin as something that would cause a lot of damage if thrown. Jessica glared at the kid, removed her one remaining shoe, and pitched it out the window. That was promising; it was the first real action I’d seen her take since we got out of Blind Michael’s lands.
Maybe it was the combination of our speed and the objects flying out of the car, or maybe it was just sheer, dumb luck. Whatever the reason, we made it through the intersection just ahead of a turning Metro bus. So did the first Rider. The second Rider didn’t. The sound of crashing metal has never been that sweet.
The last Rider was still behind us, and we were running out of things to throw; we needed to lose him. To make matters worse, the excitement was starting to wear off for the children, and it was being replaced by fear. I could hear whimpers starting under their continued giggles. Kids get upset easily. They also recover fast, but that doesn’t make it a fair trade.
I threw the last of the cans out the window, demanding, “How are we supposed to get rid of this guy?”
“I don’t know!” snapped Connor.
“Then what good are you?” I threw a bad paperback romance out the window, followed by my trash bag from the week before.
“Toby? Toby?”
“Shut up, May!”
“Um . . .”
I turned toward her, glaring. “What is it?”
She had time to whimper, “Hill,” and then we were going down, fast. Very, very fast. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the last Rider pulling his steed to a halt at the top of the hill, staring. He wasn’t dumb enough to follow. Lucky us, we were already committed.
“Turn! Turn!” I shouted. The kids weren’t whimpering anymore—most of them were cheering like wild things. The few that had the sense to be scared were screaming, but the screams were almost indistinguishable from the cheers.
San Francisco was built on a series of hills. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. Some of them are steep enough that sane people won’t drive down them even at a normal pace; they go around instead, using the side streets with gentler inclines. Yet here we were, plummeting down one of the tallest hills in the city at a speed so ludicrous that I was willing to bet we were close to breaking a record. Slowing down would have been suicide. The brakes weren’t good enough, and parts of the car simply wouldn’t stop.
“Turn where?” wailed May. Connor was staring at the street as it unspooled ahead of us, all the blood drained from his cheeks. He looked terrified. I couldn’t blame him.
“Find a smaller hill! Turn!” We could lose some speed by turning. The car probably wasn’t going to recover—the damage to the engine had been done—but we might still be able to save ourselves if we could slow down enough.
May wrenched us hard to the left, and this time the car did lift up onto two wheels before dropping back to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. The shocks weren’t going to like that. The brakes probably weren’t too happy about it either.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” said an unhappy voice from the back.
Privately, I agreed. Out loud I said, “Try to wait, okay? Let us stop the car first.”
“How do I stop the car?” May demanded.
“Start slowing down!” The hill was tapering off, and we’d stopped gaining speed; there was a chance that we’d be able to decelerate enough to keep from becoming a thin metal sheet at the bottom of the hill. Not a good chance, but a chance.
“How do I slow down?”
“The brakes, hit the brakes!” snapped Connor.
“The what?”
Oh, that was not what I wanted to hear. “Take your foot off the gas!”
“Oh!” May nodded and eased off the gas, looking relieved. The car slowed, until we were moving at a speed that had at least a passing resemblance to the legal limit.
“Good,” I said. “Now try the other pedal.”
Connor held his breath as May fumbled for the brakes, found them, and brought the car to a stop in the middle of the street. She slumped forward, resting her forehead against the wheel, and I leaned over Connor to set the parking brake before we could start rolling again. The kids in the back cheered. Connor shuddered and started breathing.
I eyed him. “Wimp.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Are we dead yet?”
“No. The brakes worked.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” said the voice from the back.
“Me too,” said Connor.
“I don’t ever want to drive again,” moaned May.
“Deal,” I said, before adding, “You realize you just saved my life, right?”
“What?” She sat up, staring at me.
“We’d have died if you hadn’t taken the wheel.” I grinned at her. “Good job.”
“I can’t save your life! I’m your Fetch!”
“Yeah, I know. Get in the back.” I nudged Connor with my elbow. “It’s your turn to drive.”
He gave me a sharp look. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” I shrugged. “I’m still too short to drive. Our other option is May. Do you really want to do that again?”
He looked from my Fetch to me and back, frown deepening in a scowl. Finally, he took off his seat belt, saying, “May, move.”
Flashing a grin, May scrambled into the backseat, settling next to Jessica and Spike.
Connor slid into the driver’s seat and fastened his seat belt, saying conversationally, “You realize I hate you.”
“I know,” I said, and smiled. “I’m okay with that.”
“I didn’t really save your life,” said May.
“I’m okay with that, too,” I said. “Come on. Let’s get these kids home.”
Connor sighed and restarted the car. It wasn’t riding very smoothly anymore, and I was fairly sure the shocks were shot. Oh, well. There’s nothing like a good car chase to start the morning off right. I gave him the directions to Mitch and Stacy’s and fell silent, enjoying the quiet. The kids were exhausted, and Connor and May were too busy hating me to talk. It was nice to have the break.
May was right. She didn’t save my life, because she couldn’t save my life; she wasn’t the one who was going to take it. A Fetch is an omen of death, not the cause.
Maybe it was the combination of our speed and the objects flying out of the car, or maybe it was just sheer, dumb luck. Whatever the reason, we made it through the intersection just ahead of a turning Metro bus. So did the first Rider. The second Rider didn’t. The sound of crashing metal has never been that sweet.
The last Rider was still behind us, and we were running out of things to throw; we needed to lose him. To make matters worse, the excitement was starting to wear off for the children, and it was being replaced by fear. I could hear whimpers starting under their continued giggles. Kids get upset easily. They also recover fast, but that doesn’t make it a fair trade.
I threw the last of the cans out the window, demanding, “How are we supposed to get rid of this guy?”
“I don’t know!” snapped Connor.
“Then what good are you?” I threw a bad paperback romance out the window, followed by my trash bag from the week before.
“Toby? Toby?”
“Shut up, May!”
“Um . . .”
I turned toward her, glaring. “What is it?”
She had time to whimper, “Hill,” and then we were going down, fast. Very, very fast. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the last Rider pulling his steed to a halt at the top of the hill, staring. He wasn’t dumb enough to follow. Lucky us, we were already committed.
“Turn! Turn!” I shouted. The kids weren’t whimpering anymore—most of them were cheering like wild things. The few that had the sense to be scared were screaming, but the screams were almost indistinguishable from the cheers.
San Francisco was built on a series of hills. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time. Some of them are steep enough that sane people won’t drive down them even at a normal pace; they go around instead, using the side streets with gentler inclines. Yet here we were, plummeting down one of the tallest hills in the city at a speed so ludicrous that I was willing to bet we were close to breaking a record. Slowing down would have been suicide. The brakes weren’t good enough, and parts of the car simply wouldn’t stop.
“Turn where?” wailed May. Connor was staring at the street as it unspooled ahead of us, all the blood drained from his cheeks. He looked terrified. I couldn’t blame him.
“Find a smaller hill! Turn!” We could lose some speed by turning. The car probably wasn’t going to recover—the damage to the engine had been done—but we might still be able to save ourselves if we could slow down enough.
May wrenched us hard to the left, and this time the car did lift up onto two wheels before dropping back to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. The shocks weren’t going to like that. The brakes probably weren’t too happy about it either.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” said an unhappy voice from the back.
Privately, I agreed. Out loud I said, “Try to wait, okay? Let us stop the car first.”
“How do I stop the car?” May demanded.
“Start slowing down!” The hill was tapering off, and we’d stopped gaining speed; there was a chance that we’d be able to decelerate enough to keep from becoming a thin metal sheet at the bottom of the hill. Not a good chance, but a chance.
“How do I slow down?”
“The brakes, hit the brakes!” snapped Connor.
“The what?”
Oh, that was not what I wanted to hear. “Take your foot off the gas!”
“Oh!” May nodded and eased off the gas, looking relieved. The car slowed, until we were moving at a speed that had at least a passing resemblance to the legal limit.
“Good,” I said. “Now try the other pedal.”
Connor held his breath as May fumbled for the brakes, found them, and brought the car to a stop in the middle of the street. She slumped forward, resting her forehead against the wheel, and I leaned over Connor to set the parking brake before we could start rolling again. The kids in the back cheered. Connor shuddered and started breathing.
I eyed him. “Wimp.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Are we dead yet?”
“No. The brakes worked.”
“I’m gonna be sick,” said the voice from the back.
“Me too,” said Connor.
“I don’t ever want to drive again,” moaned May.
“Deal,” I said, before adding, “You realize you just saved my life, right?”
“What?” She sat up, staring at me.
“We’d have died if you hadn’t taken the wheel.” I grinned at her. “Good job.”
“I can’t save your life! I’m your Fetch!”
“Yeah, I know. Get in the back.” I nudged Connor with my elbow. “It’s your turn to drive.”
He gave me a sharp look. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?” I shrugged. “I’m still too short to drive. Our other option is May. Do you really want to do that again?”
He looked from my Fetch to me and back, frown deepening in a scowl. Finally, he took off his seat belt, saying, “May, move.”
Flashing a grin, May scrambled into the backseat, settling next to Jessica and Spike.
Connor slid into the driver’s seat and fastened his seat belt, saying conversationally, “You realize I hate you.”
“I know,” I said, and smiled. “I’m okay with that.”
“I didn’t really save your life,” said May.
“I’m okay with that, too,” I said. “Come on. Let’s get these kids home.”
Connor sighed and restarted the car. It wasn’t riding very smoothly anymore, and I was fairly sure the shocks were shot. Oh, well. There’s nothing like a good car chase to start the morning off right. I gave him the directions to Mitch and Stacy’s and fell silent, enjoying the quiet. The kids were exhausted, and Connor and May were too busy hating me to talk. It was nice to have the break.
May was right. She didn’t save my life, because she couldn’t save my life; she wasn’t the one who was going to take it. A Fetch is an omen of death, not the cause.
