Total Eclipse

I woke up with the sun on my face, which felt nice, but the good feeling faded fast as I blinked and looked around, out the car’s windows.

We were still on the road—not a surprise—and I supposed with a Djinn at the wheel we didn’t need to stop for gas. Cherise and Kevin were still deeply asleep. David, however, was awake, and as I moved my head off his shoulder, he reached out for my hand. That felt nice.

What wasn’t nice was the world outside our speeding car.

We were traveling close to the coastline—I could see the gray smudge of the ocean through occasional hills—but what was most noticeable to me was the thick, gray pall of smoke that hung in the air. I could smell it, thick even through the filter of the car’s vents. It gave everything outside an unreal, unfocused look. “It’s snowing?” I said as flakes brushed across the windshield.

“No,” David said quietly. “It’s ash.”

I swallowed. “Can you see the fire?”

“Not yet. But it’s got to be huge to produce this kind of effect.”

The radio suddenly slid channels. I expected more homespun passive-aggressive advice from Whitney, for which I really was not in the mood, but instead it landed on a news station. Even before I started getting the sense of what they were talking about, I could hear the tension in the broadcaster’s voice.

“. . . continues with major flare-ups to the west of I-95, including the Cumberland State Forest area, the Amelia Wildlife Management Area, Masons Corner, Flat Rock, and Skinquarter. There are unconfirmed reports of a major explosion and uncontrolled burn near Chesterfield Court House and the Pocahontas State Park. If you are anywhere in this area, immediate evacuations are under way. Do not remain in your homes; this is an extremely dangerous situation that is overwhelming emergency services. It is only one of several emerging situations that are splitting the resources of our fire, medical, and police throughout the area. Reports are also coming in of significant damage in the Midwest due to torrential rains and flooding, as well as seismic activity along critical fault lines. The Red Cross is—”

Without warning, the voice dissolved into blank, white static. I waited. It didn’t come back.

I reached out and switched off the radio. I couldn’t help it; the feeling of doom was overwhelming. I could hear the suppressed panic in the reporter’s voice; I could feel my own heart pounding uselessly, trying to trigger some kind of survival response.

There was nowhere to run. Not anymore. I was certain that if the broadcast had continued, we would have heard more. A lot more, from all over the country. It was starting in the rural areas, but moving toward the cities, and when it got there . . .

“Faster,” I said aloud, to the Djinn. “Whitney, if you can hear me, for the love of God—”

The radio clicked back on. “You brought this on yourselves,” she said. “Don’t go dragging God into it. You were warned a million times that if humanity got to be too much of a threat, it would get dealt with. Day of reckoning, Joanne. It’s here. Should have spent more time listening to those preacher-men—not that any of that would have headed it off, I suppose.”

She sounded annoyed, verging on pissed off, and I shut up. She was, indeed, the only real help I imagined we had in the bullpen, and it wasn’t a very smart strategy to alienate her.

Satisfied by my silence, apparently, Whitney edged more speed out of the howling engine, and we fled into a dim, surreal day.

Judgment Day.

About an hour later, my phone pinged. It hadn’t rung, but I supposed the connections were bad and getting worse as more and more panicked callers took to the cell phone skies to find their loved ones.

It wasn’t a call; it was a text, from Lewis. It said LOST PARTS OF WASHINGTON STATE—WILDFIRES OUT OF CONTROL. LARGE LOSS OF LIFE.

I swallowed. He wasn’t telling me to ask me to do anything; I knew that. He just had to tell someone. Lewis was, right now, the man at the top, listening to all the litany of horror. It had to go somewhere. I supposed it might as well come to me as bleed- off. We were all going to need counseling before this was over, provided there were any of us left, and of course provided there were any mental health professionals left standing.

The next text said, HEADING FOR SEATTLE. LAST STAND FOR FIRE WARDENS IN THE AREA. WILL UPDATE.

I stared at it for a long, silent moment, then texted back, UNDERSTOOD.

I did understand. I knew why he was texting me, what he wasn’t saying to me, all those fragile and silent things that both of us knew would never be acceptable in the light of day. My fingers hovered over the keys, and I almost added, LOVE YOU, because I did, desperately, like the brother and friend he had been to me these past few years. But I knew what he felt was different, and stronger, and I didn’t want to give him false hope and wrong impressions.

So instead I said, BE CAREFUL, and sent the message.

David, watching me, said, “It’s bad.”

“Lewis and the Wardens are trying to save Seattle,” I said. “It’s not good.” I realized that the pixels on that phone screen might be the last thing I had to remember Lewis by, and a lump formed in my throat. I swallowed it, blinked away stinging in my eyes, and thought, No, it isn’t. We’ll get through this. We always find a way.

Looming up out of the misty haze in the distance was a tangle of metal. Some kind of crash, leaking black smoke, but no visible flames.

It was a bus, flipped on its side. It had collided head-on with a car—I think it had once been a car, anyway. Nothing was moving in either vehicle.

“Slow down!” I said. The Djinn ignored me. “Stop! You have to—”

We flashed by the wreck at the speed of light as the Djinn expertly drifted around the debris and found open road. Not enough time for me to get all the details, but enough, and it felt like my stomach was trying to crawl out through my throat.

“No survivors,” the Djinn said, in that eerie chorus-like voice. “No stops.”

Cherise and Kevin were wide awake now in the back, but neither of them said anything. When I looked back, they were clutching hands and avoiding looking anywhere. David said nothing, either. His face was disturbingly blank.

“But—” I couldn’t let it go.

David touched my cheek. “He’s right. Wherever we’re going, we have to get there. We can’t stop. Not for anything. I know you can’t accept that, so I’ll take the responsibility, all right? We don’t stop, not even if you scream and hate me.”

I gulped. “I wouldn’t—”

“Yes, Jo, you would. What if that had been a school bus? What if you’d seen crying children?”

I couldn’t answer him. I knew he was right about me, and I knew he was right about everything, and it hurt. Badly.

“Whitney,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

Her voice came out of the Djinn’s mouth this time. “Unfortunately,” she said.

“Put me back to sleep,” I said. “I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to see any of it until I can do something.”

David put his arm around me and pulled me close. I let my head fall against his chest.

I was just dropping off when I saw an old man stagger out of his car, which was half off the road, and fall on his side. We passed him by in a flash. Did I see that? Yes, I did. I know I did.

“Stop,” I said. The Djinn once again ignored me. “Whitney, I’m not telling you again. Stop this car!”

“What for?” she asked, bored and resentful. “So you can go play Low- Rent Nightingale? You said we need to get to the Oracle. I’m doing my best.”

“Please,” I said. “Please stop the car. I’m begging you.”