City of Dust

Chapter Thirteen

The redwood forest looms in front of us. The trees were massive pre-Turning—post-Turning they are skyscrapers. Trunks as wide as houses burst out of a forest floor carpeted in pine needs, giant ferns the size of small cars, and bones. To be fair, they were squirrel bones and not human, but it was not something I wanted to see so soon. The trees are so tall that I cannot even see their tops, everything vanishing into the mystery of the sky.

Off to the left, the crater can still be seen through the small gaps between redwoods. The road is relatively debris-free, with only a few branches crossing our way. Tire tracks have marked a clear path through the forest, with only a few thin trails leading off of the main thoroughfare.

"Is that a truck?" Kayleigh asks, pointing above our heads.

I tilt my chin up. A hundred feet in the air is the battered carcass of a big rig; the cab's nose is smashed into the trunk of the tree and the trailer is pushed together like an accordion. Large branches stab through the metal like soft cheese. The back doors dangle open, drifting back and forth in the breeze that plays through the lower limbs.

My heart gives a traitorous thump. Gritting my teeth, I shove the sliver of fear into the back of my mind where it belongs. We should be all right, I reason, because we're smaller and make far less noise than a tractor-trailer.

But even I have to admit that it's hard being confident when you realize that the tractor-trailer was pulled a hundred yards off the road and then thrown into a tree.

"It is," I tell the kid as dryly as I can manage. But I pull the Winchester from its holster and lay it across my lap. Winston flicks an ear back at me but continues at his normal pace.

As the hour crawls on, the road continues its gradual departure from the crater. In short order, I cannot see the ocean nor hear the roar of the falls as water spills into that bottomless pit. We are well and truly in the forest now. An eerie sort of darkness sets in—not the true dark of night, but the kind of false dark that's only possible in a forest of skyscraper trees.

My eyes dart back and forth, looking for any movement that might herald danger. Occasionally, I look at the kid; her knuckles are white as she clutches the rounded saddle horn, reins dangling loosely from her fingers. The crossbow hangs on the left side. While I might keep the Winchester unholstered, I don't trust that the crossbow won't misfire and kill either me or Winston, so I told the girl to not touch it.

Winston takes a step, then draws back. His ears prick up and his head immediately swings to the right. Instantly, the Winchester is in my hands, pointing into the deep shadows.

"What—?" the girl exclaims before I cut her off with a sharp thrust of my hand.

Kayleigh's mare picks up on the tension and tosses her dished head, wide nostrils flaring. My outstretched hand snaps down on the reins, but the mare's hindquarters dance around and knock into Winston.

A low growl rumbles in Egon's throat. The enfield turns in a tight circle, the hair on the back of his cream-colored neck standing up.

Winston's eyes roll and the big bull suddenly jumps forward. The sudden movement jerks me backward in the saddle; with one hand on the Winchester and the other on the girl's mare's reins, I'm nearly pulled to the ground.

A rustle in the giant branches brings my head up. I have just enough time to aim the Winchester one-handed and pull the trigger. Dull red-brown blood rains down on my head like a fine mist; where the blood touches exposed skin, it burns like splatters of hot oil. I yelp and swipe at my face with my sleeves, desperate to scrape it off. Kayleigh screams and the mare jerks free of my grip. Before I can do anything, the mare rears; the girl tumbles over backward and hits the forest floor, almost at the same time as a body falls from the trees.