Forsaken (The Djinn Wars Book 5) Page 4

  This time as she closed her eyes, the proud, hawkish profile of the djinn she’d spied on earlier floated behind her eyelids. And again she wondered,

  Who are you?

  Chapter Three

  By the afternoon of his third day in Albuquerque, Qadim had cleared nearly a half-mile radius around the hotel he had designated as his new home. He could see the contours of the land better now, where it rolled and where it was flat. The soil was terribly depleted from years of human interference, however, and so he brought in new topsoil and seeded it with native grasses and plants and trees, sending them the nutrients they needed to grow. He would have preferred a landscape of green, rich grass, so different from the barren surroundings he’d left behind in the otherworld, but he knew it would never survive here in this high desert environment, and he would not do what humans had always been far too eager to do — plant according to their own aesthetics, and not based on what the land could support.

  At night he would go out on the rooftop bar with a bottle of wine and watch the blackness all around. Not one light in the city, not one sign of life. Of course, he had expected nothing else. Hasan al-Abyad and the others of his ilk had made sure that no mortal survived their sweeps.

  But overhead were the brilliant desert stars, and soon there would be moonlight as well, for the thin crescent that hung in the sky grew a little plumper with each passing day. The night wind might be cold, but a djinn did not suffer extremes of temperature the way a human might. At any rate, he would endure a little chill to be able to enjoy such a view.

  The only problem with these solitary enjoyments was just that — they were solitary. He wished he had someone to share these evenings with, someone with whom he could discuss his grand plans for the city, but such a wish would most likely go unfulfilled. The women of the djinn tended to be independent, and would have their own lands to watch over, now that his people had come down to settle this world. They might form temporary alliances if it suited them, but he feared he did not have very much to offer. He was beginning to love this land, true. However, that did not mean the women of his people would feel the same way, especially if their own land grants occupied much greener pastures. But while he could admit these truths to himself, he also could not ignore a deep, underlying dissatisfaction with his current situation. He wished he could have someone to share this world with him.

  When he roused himself from bed the morning of the fourth day and stepped through the side entrance to the hotel, he was surprised and not altogether pleased to see Hasan al-Abyad standing there on the small bit of sidewalk Qadim had not yet demolished. He’d decided to leave it intact for now, as it provided something of a frame for the building, a line of demarcation between the hotel’s concrete walls and the open area that now grew with waving grasses and low junipers, manzanita, and mesquite, along with spiky yucca and the odd cross-shaped cactus the humans had referred to as “cholla.”

  The other djinn had his arms crossed on his chest and appeared to be surveying Qadim’s handiwork. Then he turned and surveyed his companion, brows pulling together as he took in his fellow djinn’s attire. After only a day of demolitions, Qadim had decided that his flowing robes and bare feet were not all that practical, and he had looted a few local stores to get the items he required.

  Apparently Hasan was not impressed by the denim pants or work boots or dark T-shirt. With an ironic smile pulling at his full mouth, he said, “It seems you have traded one desert for another, Qadim al-Syan.”

  “Perhaps,” Qadim replied, nettled, although he did his best not to show it. “I am only giving this land back to itself.”

  “How very noble.”

  Since it seemed that Hasan was in no hurry to explain his presence, Qadim added, “To what do I owe the honor of your visit? I did have a number of matters I wished to attend to today — ”

  “Planting more cactus?” There was the slightest suggestion of a sneer in Hasan’s voice, and again Qadim began to bristle. But then the other djinn said, “I wanted to ask if you had noticed anything…unusual…while you were out and about in the city.”

  “Unusual?” Qadim asked, and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Any human activity. I’ve sensed it from time to time, but it never lasts for long, and when I come to investigate, I find nothing.”

  More than once Qadim had wondered precisely what it was about humans that had turned Hasan into such an avenging zealot, had made him focus all his energies on making sure not a one of them survived. They had been poor stewards of this earth, true, but they were gone now, except those few who had been lucky enough to be Chosen.

  Or the mortals who inhabited the colony at Los Alamos, a town protected from ravaging djinn such as Hasan al-Abyad by the devices of the mad scientist Miles Odekirk. Perhaps the mere notion of their continuing survival was enough to inflame Hasan, to keep him moving over territory that had been cleared long ago when he should be watching over the lands the Council had given him.

  “You find nothing because there is nothing,” Qadim said calmly. “I have walked the streets of this city, and they are empty. I stand on the rooftop of this building” — he lifted a chin to indicate the hotel behind them — “and I see miles and miles of darkness. No light, no movement, the only living things the birds and the insects, and the odd snake or two. Certainly no humans.”

  “But I have felt — ”

  “Forgive me, Hasan,” Qadim cut in, “but I believe your zeal has led you to believe in that which no longer exists. Should you not be tending to your own lands? Where have you settled?”

  “In a place they called Chama, to the north of here. But there is not much to do there, except watch the trees grow.”

  At least Hasan had a forest, instead of this great flat valley ringed by mountains and hills. Perhaps the elders had rewarded him more richly because of his service in hunting down New Mexico’s last humans. It was difficult to say for sure, because they had always seemed indifferent to the fate of the remaining mortals — except when it came to the Chosen. Those particular humans, consorts of the djinn who had selected them from humanity’s few Immune, were sacrosanct. Everyone else, however, was considered fair game.

  “I am sure you will find some way to occupy yourself,” Qadim said. “Perhaps it is time for you to find a woman who also enjoys watching the trees grow.”

  The other djinn grimaced. “And ruin all that peace and quiet? My last liaison was some trouble to me, and so I have no great desire to find her replacement. But thank you for the advice.”

  Qadim could not quite understand that sentiment. Women were always worth the trouble, in his opinion. But he said nothing, only inclined his head, and hoped they were nearing the end of the conversation. He had work to do.

  Hasan seemed to detect his restlessness, for he said, “I will trouble you no more on the subject. If you do hear or see anything, however — ”

  “You will be the first to know.” Whether that promise was entirely the truth, Qadim didn’t know for sure. After his dealings with Julia Innes, he had a rather different view of the human race from what he’d held previously. In the unlikely event that any survivors still hid somewhere here in Albuquerque, he’d be inclined to let them go — and tell them to hurry to Los Alamos, where they would be safe. In fact, he thought he would probably help to get them there; this world had seen enough death. Also, something about the fanatical gleam in Hasan’s eyes bothered Qadim more than he wanted to admit. They had known one another for countless centuries, but his old friend seemed lately to be skirting on the borders of madness.

  But of course he would say nothing of any of that to Hasan. Best to avoid conflict, and let him be on his way to this Chama place, wherever that might be.

  The djinn nodded, then rose from the pavement before blinking out of existence — on his way back home, presumably. All djinn traveled in such a manner, the miles involved mattering very little. There was no real need for Hasan to float off the ground before d
isappearing, but it was an affectation of some air elementals. With any luck, he would see no reason to return anytime soon.

  For now, though, Qadim knew he needed to get to work…and also be glad that no humans were left in Albuquerque to become Hasan’s victims.

  She’d resisted the impulse for as long as she could. Deep down, Madison knew it was crazy to go back to the Hotel Andaluz so she could see what that lone djinn was up to. He didn’t even know she existed. The smart thing to do was stay here in the shelter and hope that whatever he was doing, it wouldn’t take long. Then maybe the city would be hers again. After all, it had only been a few days since she first spied him.

  But his presence nagged at her. She still couldn’t figure out why he’d bothered with knocking down those buildings, unless that was his way at getting back at humanity now that all the actual people were gone.

  Only one way to find out, she supposed. Besides, what was the point in having fate on your side if you didn’t tempt it every once in a while?

  She made sure the electric bike was fully charged, just in case a sudden burst of speed was required. And she wore a Ruger 9mm at her hip, even though she hadn’t fired a gun in nearly two years and had no idea whether she could hit the side of a building, let alone an avenging djinn.

  Could a bullet even stop a djinn?

  The day was bright and sunny, and Madison blinked as she emerged from underneath the gazebo, then quickly put on her sunglasses. Despite the bright sun, the breeze felt cool, blowing down from the Sandia range to the north and east. A few clouds dotted the sky.

  In all, everything looked picture-perfect as Madison emerged from the side yard and began to pedal down the street. Well, not exactly picture-perfect, she supposed. The front yards of all the neighborhood’s homes were choked with weeds. Cars sat on cracked driveways and slowly rusted while the stucco of the houses began to spiderweb with their own cracks. She wondered how long it would take for the whole city to slowly crumble apart and be reclaimed by the desert. Years? Decades?

  Once she’d determined that the garage at Clay Michael’s house was empty, she’d moved her own beloved Nissan Rogue inside, but she’d never driven it since. The small SUV was far more conspicuous than the electric bicycle that had become her mode of transportation. Besides, gas didn’t last forever, was losing its potency every day, and the abandoned vehicles on the streets made maneuvering difficult. The electric bike was a far better solution, and the power would never run out, thanks to the bank of solar panels on the roof of the house.

  By this time she knew all the best ways to get downtown, the routes that slipped through alleys and hugged buildings. There were still stretches where she had to go more or less out in the open, but that was when she used the abandoned vehicles on the street to her advantage, keeping as close to them as she could as she moved from car to car. The wind blew in her face and tugged a few strands of curly hair loose from its elastic, and oddly, the sensation gave her courage.

  She’d escaped so many times before. She knew she could do it again.

  A little more than half a mile from her destination, however, just after she passed beneath the raised concrete ribbon of Interstate 25, she hit the brakes and came to a skidding stop. Because what used to be the beginning of downtown’s sprawl…wasn’t.

  In its place was a vast open field covered in blowing grass, some of it waist-high. Dotting that improbable grassland were low junipers and the odd cross shapes of cholla cactus, along with artful groupings of desert trees and red rocks, similar to the plantings that used to thrive in the middle of Interstate 40 as you approached Albuquerque from the west. And in the very center of the field that hadn’t been there a few days ago was the blocky outline of the Hotel Andaluz, the ten-story structure sticking out of the plain like the proverbial sore thumb.

  Madison resisted the urge to rub her eyes. Somehow she knew that wouldn’t change what she was looking at. Downtown was…gone. In the distance she could see the outlines of some buildings, but the heart of Albuquerque’s city center had apparently been erased from the face of the earth. As far as she could tell, the open area occupied approximately a half-mile sweep, with the hotel as its epicenter.

  The destruction floored her. Actually, could she even call it destruction when something alive and growing had been put in its place? What she saw before her shouldn’t have been possible, because the plants that now populated the grassland would normally have taken months or even years to grow.

  Something very strange was going on here.

  Her instincts told her that she had to leave. She didn’t see any sign of the djinn whose handiwork this all had to be, but that didn’t mean much. This open, oversized meadow didn’t offer any shelter at all, except for a few juniper trees that might have been tall enough to conceal both her and the bike. In a place like this, she could be spotted from a mile away.

  Then she saw something moving off to her left, something tall, its long, dark hair blowing in the breeze.

  Oh, shit.

  At once she turned the bike around and started pedaling like a maniac, giving the electric motor an extra boost. Its max speed was limited to twenty miles per hour, although she knew she’d coaxed more than that out of it going downhill after she’d disengaged the motor, the only way to make the damn bike move faster than its designers had intended.

  Was it enough to outrun a djinn? But the world’s fastest human had been clocked at something like twenty-eight miles per hour….

  He didn’t see you, she told herself. True, she’d only gotten a glimpse of him, but it seemed to her he’d been looking in the other direction, away from her. If that was true, then she had a fighting chance. And in a minute or two she’d be safely back within streets and buildings that still existed, and she could give him the slip then…if she even needed to.

  The sound of footsteps pounding behind her sent her heart into her throat. Looking back could quite possibly slow her down, but she had to know.

  He was there, bursting through a patch of waist-high grasses before emerging onto the pavement of Central Avenue. Incongruously she noted that he appeared to have traded his flowing robes for a pair of jeans and a dark green T-shirt. But she couldn’t risk more of a glance than that, had to keep going, no matter what.

  “Wait!”

  His voice was deep and resonant, even when calling out to her. For some reason, she was surprised that he spoke English. This time, she didn’t look back. She’d already slowed herself down by stealing that first glimpse. A grim smile tugged at her lips, though, even as terror lent strength to the legs pumping away on the bike’s pedals.

  Did he really think that she’d stop just because he asked her to? She’d seen what happened to humans when djinn caught up with them.

  Familiar pavement was once more under her bicycle’s tires. Madison couldn’t sigh in relief, though, because all her breath was being used up to force the bike to speeds for which it had never been designed.

  He was still behind her, though — she could hear his booted feet churning away at the street’s surface. For a second she wondered why he hadn’t taken to the air to pursue her, but then she remembered how he’d lifted his hands and the earth had shaken. He was an earth elemental, not a being of air. Quite possibly he couldn’t fly at all.

  Please God, she thought. If this was a footrace, she might have a real chance at getting away from him.

  She jinked down Walter Street in the hope that the sudden movement might throw him off. But no — those implacable footsteps still sounded behind her. At least they were behind her, though. He was fast, but he was no Olympic sprinter.

  Avenida Cesar Chavez was coming up fast. Should she head over there and hope to lose him in the sports complex with its stadiums? No, too many open parking lots. It was probably better to cut over on Gibson, even if that meant overshooting a bit and having to come up at home base in a “soft underbelly” approach. At least that way she could zig and zag through narrow residential streets. She knew
the area, and he didn’t.

  She hoped that would be enough.

  Dodging abandoned cars, she cut a sharp left onto Gibson and kept going. The problem was, so did the djinn. An ordinary man would probably have begun to get winded by now, but the sound of his footfalls never flagged. She made another of those abrupt left-hand turns onto Indiana Street, tires squealing. Actually, she could feel the bike skid beneath her before it caught again and kept going.

  Her heart still seemed to be sticking in her throat, so it really didn’t have anywhere else to go after that near-miss. And soon she’d have to make a decision, because by this point she was only a quarter-mile away from Clay Michaels’ former house and its backyard bomb shelter. Risking a quick glance down at the gauges, she saw that pushing the bike to its limits had drained the battery far more quickly than usual. Should she use up all the charge left in the bike for one final burst of speed in the hope that she’d get there enough ahead of the djinn that she could lock down the shelter and keep him out? Maybe should she take another detour and pray that she’d lose him far enough away from the house so he’d never be able to find her.

  Neither option seemed particularly appealing. And a second glance confirmed that there just wasn’t enough battery left for her to lead the djinn on a wild goose chase through Albuquerque.

  Shit. Shit.

  She all but stood on the pedals, pumping away, lending her own energy to bolster the bike’s flagging resources. This time she did risk a look back, just because she needed to know how much of a lead she had on him. It already had been a good hundred yards or so, and now the gap seemed to widen slightly. Good, but not good enough.

  Come on, come on, she urged the bike, even though at this point it was as much her own energy as the bike’s battery that pushed it forward.

  As she yanked the handlebars to turn down onto Sandia Court, the bike slid for real under her. Madison could feel it going, knew there was no way to prevent it from falling. The best she could do was go limp and pray she’d be able to roll with it and get to her feet before the djinn caught up with her.