The Touch of Heaven

Chapter 7

VI

"Tango's gone. Mint, wake up."

I gradually blinked my eyes open. My specs were still on my face and I could feel my hair in a mess. The last thing I remembered before going to sleep – aside from vague memories of a dream that was now quickly slipping from my memory – was falling asleep with Tango in my arms as The Straight Story ended. It was still dark out. The first thing to jolt me back to reality, aside from the indistinct voice of Jilton in my ear, was the realization Tango wasn't in my arms. I immediately sat up, looking around wildly.

"H-Huh?" I said, still groggy. Jilton was standing over me and I looked up at her, getting up to my feet. "J-Jilton? Am I still at...?"

"Yeah," she said. "You and Tango looked peaceful. Didn't want to rustle you and I was still high as a kite – still sort of am – so I just flung a cover over you two and left Darby and Lavender to fly. When I woke up, Tango was gone and you were still in la-la-land, dreaming of kittens, I can only presume."

I frowned. "They... probably just went back to the apartment?" I said, consciously ignoring how weird it would be for them to wake up without rustling me first.

"That's the thing," Jilton said. "I've spent the last half-hour calling around. Hiked over to both the cafe and their apartment. Even asked Lavender and Darby. They're gone. Tango, Miles, even the other immune they pulled in the other day; nobody's seen them. They just flopped off the face of the Earth like Amelia Earhart."

My heart started to beat faster. "Then w-where are they!?"

Jilton sighed. She sounded relatively defeated and a bit on edge, in contrast to her normally aloof demeanor. "Don't know. Didn't want to wake you up until I was sure they were gone. No point making you worry, but..."

My eyes widened.

Where could they be?

Roughly the same time

It was Celia.

I was still tired, but I was realizing fast this wasn't where I was supposed to be. I looked out the window. It was nighttime, thick dark clouds in the air and snow drifting around the world around us. We weren't in Haven, nor anywhere close to it – the forest was way too f*****g thick and the walls weren't anywhere in sight. Celia was humming an obnoxious little ditty. Doodily-doodily-dee or some s**t like that. It got grating, fast, almost as much as Good Ship Misery – which started to loop through my head again, in between thoughts of my meeting with the Preceptor, the realization of all the s**t that was about to happen, and my current situation – and Celia didn't even seem to realize I was up. I struggled a bit and did my best to make any sort of a vocalization. The only thing that came out was a dry, virtually inaudible cough. By whatever miracle, Celia seemed to hear it. She looked into the rear-view mirror, smiled, and talked back to me.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said. "Have a good sleep?"

I looked at the digital clock above the car's radio. 5:24 AM. I really hadn't slept for that long. I gave Celia a look of "what the f**k" she seemed to see in the rear-view mirror, causing her to laugh. "What's the matter? Got something to say?"

I deadpanned.

"Oh, right," she said, seeming to remember something with a dull grin on her face. "You can't talk. In that case, don't mind me. Enjoy the ride!"

What the f**k was she on about? I paused for a moment, trying to think of some way to pose a goddamned question. I noticed my notebook had been conspicuously taken out of my f*****g shorts – d**k move. Finally, I just looked into the mirror and mouthed "where are we going?" as clearly as I could. Celia finally looked away from the road and into my eyes.

One of Celia's eyes was glowing. Not in the sense that it was just bright or whatever. It was luminescent, strikingly radiant in the morning shadow. I recognized the colors within her pupil, which itself had basically turned into a kaleidoscope of twisting colors. They were the colors I saw not in Heaven, but in Hell – hues and subtle shades my physical eyes strained their hardest to make out.

"Sort of wish you'd been taught more in Mylotheia before we met..." she said. "Oh well. More will come in time. Trust me, mutie, it only gets better from here."

I mouthed my question again, beyond irritated again. Celia shrugged. "Well, we're gonna get out of here, for starters. Hell's gonna come crashing down on that cesspool in a matter of a few weeks."

Oh, joy.

"Don't know where we're gonna go from there," Celia said, "but I know our destination. Couple of wackos talked to me through their Shades in Hell. They call themselves the Sect of the Broken Mind and said they were somewhere in Texas. That's where we need to be – with other immunes."

No.

In a matter of a few seconds, I unbuckled my seat belt, unlocked and opened the door, and threw myself out the moving car onto the road, followed by Celia's surprised yelp. I didn't give one s**t about the war or the prophecy or what-the-f**k-ever. I wasn't abandoning my friends to more eldritch s**t, Heaven or Hell. If it wanted to come back, it'd have to take me first.

I crashed onto the snow-covered side of the road, rolled into the snowbank, and got up, spitting up some blood. Predictably, I'd bruised myself a bit, but it was worth it. With absolutely no regard as to where I had to go or how long it would take, I started running back the way I'd been driven. The sound of Celia's car revving up and changing direction filled my ears. Would running off into the woods be a better chance of survival?

It was probably just my remaining tire blurting out any sense of logic, but whatever the hell I was thinking through, I reasoned that diving into the woods was my best chance until I could get Celia off my tail and begin the journey home. As Celia's headlights pierced the darkness, I ran off into the forest in the the shadiest path I could find, and continued running. Shorts, a tank top, and sneakers, I quickly learned, were piss-poor decisions for both the terrain and the weather. The branches of the trees and undergrowth around me scratched the f**k out of my bare skin, snow filled up my socks and made every step freezing cold, and the wintry air bit at me. I shivered and pressed on either way; I could hear Celia's gas cut and the headlights behind me suddenly went out. She was going to follow me into the woods. Unlike me, she had a coat on.

This was a losing battle.

As the sound of branches cracking started up behind me, I could vaguely make out, behind me, another set of headlights pull up onto the side of the road where I was. I didn't like to think of the possibility that Celia might have called help; ugly, deranged fuckers who'd been secretly trailing us, just waiting for the moment I tried to escape and Celia gave the signal. I made a blind move in the dark, caught my leg on a branch, and tripped. An ungodly surge of pain filled my lower right leg as I felt something, a stray, pointed rock or something, go into it and crack the bone. I bit my lip and teared up in pain, gasping for breath. I struggled a bit, crawling forth and turning myself over with another burst of pain to look at my leg. It had been lacerated pretty deep, a bit below the knee, rich scarlet blood oozing out from it and dyeing the fluffy white snow crimson. Any attempt to so much as lightly jostle it resulted in a wave of pain. I winced and looked up at the dark. Celia's silhouette was upon me and her voice came flooding in.

Strangely, it was panicked.

"We gotta get moving! He's almost here! We just need to duck low for a bit and-" Celia finally came into better view, her form shaded in the dark, and her words cut off as she looked at my wound in disbelief. "...Oh, Jes-"

"Celia!"

Another voice suddenly split the dark. Celia's eyes widened and she turned. One second later, she'd been tackled to the ground by another person a distance behind me. There was the sound of a wild struggle between the two and I desperately tried to look up at the fight going on without moving my leg anymore. I could see two shapes struggling against each other and kicking up snow before one finally pinned the other against the ground.

"Stay there or I'll rip your throat out," the dominant figure said, his voice utterly vicious. Celia didn't respond. The figure glared at her for a few seconds more before getting off of her and rushing over to me. Though his face was dark, I recognized him immediately.

Miles.

I thought for a second.

Miles – dorky, worrisome Miles, who lost his s**t over the sight of a mouse – had just threatened to tear someone's throat out?

"Thank God she didn't take you any farther," he said, his face covered in scratches. I didn't know if they were from the branches around us or from Celia. He looked at my leg and went somewhat pale. "Oh, God, we're gonna need to look at that, stat... Can you walk?"

I budged the leg a little, bit my lip again as another flower of pain bloomed within, and frantically shook my head at Miles. I didn't really care why he was here so conveniently. He'd probably just tailed Celia in suspicion. Regardless, I was happy.

Miles sighed and gently took me up, hooking his arm under the shoulder of my intact arm, and pulled me up. "Come on. I'll support you. We're getting out of here."

Miles and I started slowly walking back to the car. I kept my leg a bit off the ground, though even the act of pulling it up ever so slightly hurt like someone was bashing it with a hammer. I looked behind me. Celia was getting up, her kaleidoscope eye the only notable thing in the dark.

"If you're wondering about her," Miles suddenly said, "we're gonna report her. She almost kidnapped you. So she can either take her own car there – one she stole, probably – and get out of Haven, or she can return and face up to the sentence. It's her choice. I'm just glad I decided to follow you."

I knew he'd simply done so. I think this was one of the few times Miles' rabid paranoia for any one thing served us well. Celia couldn't be trusted, either way. As Miles helped me off to the car, I stared at her and she stared at me, until eventually, the gnawing dark consumed the light of her eye. Miles' headlights were still on and his Civic was still running, thank God, so we could beat a hasty retreat. I had a feeling Celia wouldn't be so quick to follow us.

Then again, I also had the feeling this was far from the last time I'd see her.

Miles got me into the car and eased me into the seat. I got the seat belt on – tight as all hell, to be expected – and sat in absolute silence as Miles got back into the driver's seat and started up. The drive back was long and quiet for the first few minutes, snow spattering on the windshield and the only sound my own rapid breathing and the wind outside. Eventually, Miles awkwardly coughed and tapped the radio. It was amazing we had a f*****g signal out here, but alas, an old tune started up.

I was dreaming of the past

And my heart was beating fast

I began to lose control

I began to lose control

I didn't mean to hurt you

I'm sorry that I made you cry

Oh, my, I didn't mean to hurt you

I'm just a jealous guy

John Lennon's unforgettable whistle started over to the laid-back tune of his "Jealous Guy." Miles, awkwardly smiling now the mood had calmed down a bit, looked at me.

"I, uh, like the Beatles," he said. "You listen to them at all?"

I shrugged. I didn't really listen to much music – as much as Lavender said I was missing out on a whole lot. Suppose I couldn't be bothered.

Miles nodded, looked at the road for a bit more, then spoke up. "She didn't, like... hurt you, or anything? Because if she laid a finger on you, I'll-"

I frantically shook my head. It was already horrifying and unnerving to see Miles literally proclaim he'd visit physical violence on another as it was; any further provocation was completely unwelcome. Miles sighed.

"Alright..." he said. "I'm so, so glad I saw her when I did. I saw her come out of your community center and go into the one your friends live in. She had you over her arms. Did she drug you or something?"

I shook my head. That was an impossibility, at least as far as I was aware. The last thing I remembered was falling asleep in Mint's arms.

If Celia hurt them, she was as good as dead.

"You don't know how scared I was," Miles continued. "I'm sorry I didn't make it to the party, by the way. I got caught up with some late, late work at the bureau and I didn't get out until an hour back. That's when I saw Celia. I knew she couldn't be trusted. I really did. Immune or not... keeping her in our walls can only result in disaster. I swear it."

I think I largely agreed with him at this point. Still, I was curious about this "Sect of the Broken Mind" she'd mentioned. If Celia was going to result to kidnapping to get what she wanted, I think I'd be more satisfied with simply training with the Preceptor in Mylotheia until I was ready to do whatever. I didn't really question the fact I was apparently supposed to save the world. Mint had already done so, after all, and they didn't really seem to acknowledge the fact that they were a hero much. We stayed quiet for another few minutes. How f*****g far did Celia drive me out?

The night was eerily quiet, the whole drive through. I wondered, inwardly, if we were anywhere near the closest quarantine zone. People were hush-hush about what went on about the quarantined zones and things boiled largely down to speculation, but it was rumored that conditions in the zones were less than stellar. The last time there had been a security breach – quite recently, actually – the escapees had reportedly refused to go back and had all been shot on the spot. Extreme measures, indeed; the more I thought about it, the more I understood how badly Miles had been f****d up when his father was shot. Still, it caused me to wonder. Did the Association know Ash and Chayne were infected with the Phantom? And my father was obviously in an advanced state of infection – did they know he was infected? Was he simply too valuable to spare? More importantly, how would the Association and Tara react when Dad showed up, near-death and obviously infected, to their doorstep?

I was lost in thought for a while, staring out the window. Miles didn't say anything else, obviously thinking about something himself. A few more minutes passed and the trees didn't get any thinner.

As we drove by, I swore I saw a face in the dark. Pale, just barely sticking out of the darkness, his eyes bulging a few inches out of his gaunt skull and staring into my very soul for the second I saw him. The moment he was gone and we drove past him, I immediately felt unclean, like a dirty sponge had been wrung over my heart and made it as filthy as the ass of a horse. I nudged Miles, nervous as all get-out and wishing I could tell him what I saw,

"Huh?" Miles said, taking a moment to look away from the road. He didn't seem to see anything and looked back at me, his expression troubled. "Something wrong, Tango?"

I grunted in irritation and pointed out the window to where that ghoulish face had been. We were long past it. Maybe I'd just seen something. Miles' face scrunched up a bit and he accelerated. I didn't complain. It was a better idea, in any case, to get as far away from whoever or whatever that was than go back and investigate. Chances are they would have mugged, r***d, burned, and stabbed us (if we were lucky, all in that order, too!) anyways. We cruised on in confused silence for another fifteen seconds.

At the sixteenth, something broke the silence of the night.

It was the sound of something revving up. Almost like a chainsaw. That was the s**t that initially came to mind, anyways; I very quickly realized it was the sound of an engine. Specifically, that of a motorcycle, something the goddamned biker gang in Stone Cold would have ridden. A piercing headlight beamed through the night from the trees and a sudden crescendo of angry motorcycle engines ripping and growling sounded around us. I paled a bit. Miles did too on reflection, although I wasn't looking at him so much as my eyes were glued to the sudden concert of flailing yellow-and-white lights around us among the guttural song of the engines. Shapes came from the trees, kicking up a spray of snow and grass and coming onto the road all smooth-like, driving in a perfectly straight line parallel to Miles' Civic. Miles honked his horn in surprise as the shapes – which I could now see as a bunch of motorcycle riders, clad up in beaten-up leather coats and gloves with black kerchiefs slung around their necks and mouths and their wild grimy hair buffeted about by the winter wind – piled around us. I briefly exchanged a terrified glance with one of the riders who came up right to my window. Those pale, almost yellow eyes tipped me off immediately. It was Jango.

Raiders. Had Celia made a deal with them or something?

Jango, for a moment, seemed to analyze the inside of the Civic as Miles furiously did his best to speed up. He didn't so much as regard me after we'd initially looked each other in the eyes, and after Jango was finishing skimming the car, his gaze slithered over to Miles. Miles' eyes came upon his as well, and it was that brief moment of distraction that sent everything to s**t. The two raiders riding adjacent to the left side of the car suddenly slammed against the side of the Civic. Miles wasn't prepared and we skidded out of control as Jango backed up, the world careening out of control into a mishmash of white upon black in the winter night as the Civic flipped over the road and we totaled.

Predictably, I blacked right the f**k out.