Total Eclipse

motor and sent the car hurtling down the deserted, silent street, I turned to watch David.

He disappeared into a mist. Gone.

“Wait,” Kevin said, and twisted around to look. “Where is he? Where did he go?”

“He’s not coming,” I said.

“But—”

“We’ll be okay,” I said again, firmly.

I was, I realized, a damn good liar. I could make everybody believe it, except me.

Chapter Seven

Leaving Seacasket was like living in a jump cut in a movie. One second, the world was still and hushed and silent and perfectly ordered, as if someone had pressed a giant pause button. . . . The next, we were in chaos.

By chaos, I mean it was worse than when we’d arrived. Much worse. The gray vanished, and suddenly the skies were crowded with black, bloated clouds that bloomed constantly with greenish lightning. Wind lashed the car hard and shoved it from one lane to the other, even with the Djinn’s uncanny reaction time. The sides of the road were littered with wrecks, shattered trees, downed power lines. I couldn’t see any electric lights at all in the houses and buildings that blurred past us. I could see occasional smaller lights— flashlights and candles—moving inside, and I wondered how terrified those people must be. All they could do was wait.

All we could do was keep moving.

Cherise reached over the seat to try the radio, but no matter where she dialed there was just pure static, or one of those emergency alert broadcasts telling people to stay in their homes and wait for more information.

I imagined Twitter had probably exploded from the strain, if the internet had survived thus far. Not to mention Facebook.

“Where are we going?” Cherise asked.

The radio hissed, and the slider took over on its own like a transistorized version of a Ouija board. I expected to hear Whitney’s dulcet Southern tones.

I heard David’s.

“Jo,” he said. “All right?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” I said, which was a brave interpretation, given the outside world. “Where are you?”

“Jonathan’s house, with Whitney.”

The station changed, lightning fast. “We are not going to be good roomies,” Whitney cooed. “I already want to kick his pretty ass across the room. I wonder if I can.”

David regained control of the radio. “From here, we’ll do what we can to lessen the dangers around you as you go. Whitney’s going to continue to pilot the Djinn who’s driving you.”

“None of which answers the vital question of where are we going!” Cherise said, hanging half over the seat.

“You’re heading for Sedona,” he said. “But be warned—that entire area is under siege. It’s not going to be easy.”

It never was. “We’re going to need to stop,” I said. “We can’t keep going like this. Rest and food, water and bathrooms. Very important.”

“We’ll find you shelter,” David promised. “Try to rest for now.”

Easier said than done, as the thunder crashed and the lightning struck with the regularity of a strobe light to the eyes, as the Djinn driving swerved to avoid first one unseen obstacle, then another. It was like being back at sea again in a full-force gale.

But eventually, inevitably, even that couldn’t keep me from sliding away into dark, dreamless sleep. Cars have that effect, even dodging, swerving ones, if you get used to it. Weirdly soothing. If the Djinn had been on its own, it could have blipped easily from one spot to another by taking a shortcut through the aetheric planes . . . but with humans it was tricky at best. Even the Djinn who had the most experience and ability at taking humans through the aetheric in physical form, not just spiritual, had a less-than-confidence-building success rate. Say, fifty percent.

So we traveled the old-fashioned way, miles passing under wheels. It was a lot of miles, because we were moving very fast despite the dangerous and unpredictable conditions. I woke up periodically, prodded by anxiety or bad dreams, hunger or thirst, or the more basic bodily functions. Food and drink turned out to be no challenge at all; shops were deserted, and many had already been looted. I didn’t mind drinking store-brand cola if it was all that was left. I tried not to see what it all meant, what all this widespread smoking devastation and desperation meant for civilization as a whole.

Things were falling apart. There were people in small groups, and they ran when we roared by.

The internet on Cher’s mobile phone had gone down in a haze of 404 Not Found errors. Then her mobile had failed, too. And mine. And Kevin’s.

We all had different network providers. I assumed that, too, was not a good sign.

We were just heading into the St. Louis area, from the Missouri side—a long and exhausting ride, with as few stops as possible in places that were only marginally dangerous. I’d hoped that maybe the calmer center of the country might still be holding its own.

I was wrong.

You could see the dull red-orange glow of flames coming from St. Louis a long way off against the cold night sky, and low-hanging, constantly rumbling clouds.

“I hate this,” Cherise said, fidgeting anxiously. She’d been fidgeting a long time, nervous with the crackle of power in her blood and the fear of actually letting it loose. I’d managed to get that through her head, finally, and we’d done long hours of power exercises, with Kevin as her spotter, to teach her how to use the aetheric properly, how to center her power and ground it, how to use it in more delicate ways than sledge-hammering every problem into smithereens, along with everything that wasn’t a problem.

She was actually not sucking at it. I couldn’t help but feel that maybe this was a little bit due to my excellence as a teacher, but it probably wasn’t.

Over the radio, David’s voice said, “I need to prepare you for what’s coming.” That was ominous, because he’d never said that before, and we’d already been through some rough patches on the way. He sounded very sober. “You’re going to come up on some problems in the next ten miles. I’ll direct you on the blockage in the road, but we may have to take detours as things get worse.”

“That’s it? Roadblocks?” I felt a little surge of irritation. “Not exactly news, David.”

“It’s not cars,” he said. “It’s people. They’re desperate, and they’re terrified, and they’re angry. They’ll attack the car if it gets too close. They think they can run to safety, but there is none.”

That was very different, and we all knew it. Cherise asked, in a small voice, “How many people?”

“Right now, there are three main groups,” he said. “Two of them are fighting each other for food and transportation. All together, they number about fifty thousand.”

“Fifty—” Words failed me. I couldn’t even echo the number. I glanced in the back and saw that Cherise was staring fiercely at the radio, tears welling in her eyes. “Fifty thousand people. Refugees.”

“That would imply they have some kind of refuge to flee toward,” David said bleakly. “They don’t. If they try to leave, they’ll get picked off by the storms, the fires, the sinkholes. Animal attacks. And there’s no safe harbor for them, not anymore.”

“The Wardens—,” Kevin began.

“They already killed the Wardens who were trying to help them,” David said flatly. “Mob mentality. Just don’t get close. If you don’t share their beliefs, they’ll kill you, too.”

“What beliefs?”

Kevin didn’t need to ask the question, because we topped the next hill and saw the first of the crowds that David was talking about. They were filthy, ragged, wild-eyed, and armed with rifles, axes, sharp sticks—I didn’t