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Shut up. Not the time for that. I push her back with the angel.
When Alice’s face rolls up, I don’t run from it. I examine it from a dozen different angles. Was Medea telling the truth? Is it possible Alice lied to me the whole time we were together? To my surprise, the angel comes up with an answer: “Who cares?”
It’s right. Even if she’s Lizzie Borden, am I going to leave Alice down there?
No.
Am I going to give up a chance to twist Mason’s head off when he sees I’ve rescued her?
No.
Don’t think. Just go. There’s no time. No thought. No consequences. Just a bright flash of pain and then I’m home. There’s nothing but the rush.
When I can see where Crenshaw passes under I-10, I stop, shift into reverse, and drive back a half a block. I can see cop lights in the distance, heading for the officer-down call.
Fuck Bava. Fuck doubt. Fuck everything.
I stomp the accelerator and aim the car for a freeway support midway under the roadway, in the center of the crossroads. I take the plastic rabbit from my pocket and hold it in my teeth.
I hope you’re up there, Mustang Sally. I never prayed to God, but I’m praying to you right now. Please know what the fuck you’re doing.
I’m doing just a hair over a hundred and ten when I hit. Time slo-mos as the car jumps the curb and takes the last few yards airborne.
It doesn’t really hurt when we hit. It’s more like a supersonic body blow as all the air and fluids in my body explode out of me like butcher-shop fireworks. My eyes can’t focus. The world is a liquid blur. I hear the scream and groan of metal as the Crown Vic pancakes against the support. The steering wheel twists upward and turns my skull to cake batter. The front of the car comes apart and a million metal and plastic razor blades rip my skin off the bones. My arms break as I flip over the dashboard and out the window. One knee catches and is torn apart on the way out. I glide over the car hood like an Olympic figure skater and into a whirlpool of flame as the engine explodes.
Time shifts again. Shoots back up to normal speed. I slide through fire and gas and come out the other side a limp ball of flame. My eyes focus long enough to see the freeway support. Funny thing. It doesn’t look like I’m flying at it. It’s like it’s coming for me.
And the world goes away.
THERE’S GidtEÈRIT IN my eyes. When I try to brush it away, I just grind it in more. I roll over so my face is to the ground and run my hand all over my face so whatever’s there falls down and not back onto me. The grit is all over me, like I’ve been rolling around in kitty litter. When my eyes are clear, I work up a little saliva and spit, clearing more grit from the back of my throat.
That’s it. That’s as much as I can do right now. Did I save everything yet? Guess not.
The world goes away again.
WHEN I WAKE up things are a little better. It feels like this thing weighing me down might be my body and not a bag of wet cement. I open my eyes.
The world is a fuzzy indistinct place, like I’m looking at it from inside a vodka bottle.
From what I can make out, I’m still under the freeway. Sunlight streams in from both sides of the underpass. I roll onto my back. My left foot rests on the crumpled front bumper of the cop car. I focus my eyes on that one image. My foot and the car. Slowly, the world comes back into focus.
The car isn’t a car anymore. It’s a big metal cigarette butt a giant stubbed out in a six-lane concrete ashtray. I pull my leg off the bumper and let it drop to the ground. I was expecting a lot of blood, but there isn’t any. I check my arms. No bones sticking out. I feel for the knee I left behind in the car. It’s on my leg right where it should be. My clothes aren’t even ripped. The plastic rabbit is laying in the grit by my head. I pick it up and wobble to my feet. Mustang Sally was right. I went through the Dahlia and came out me again. But where am I?
I’m still at the crossroads. Sort of. This isn’t the underpass from last night. This one is an underpass and nothing else. There isn’t any freeway on either side of it, just cracked hardpan in both directions. The concrete support and the car are half buried in sand, like they’ve been there a hundred years. The sun is so bright out in the open that I can’t see anything. The only thing I’m sure of is that this isn’t L.A. and it sure as hell isn’t Hell.
I go out the far side of the underpass into the light. I have to close my eyes until my eyes adjust to the glare. When I can see, there’s nothing to see, just sand and more sand. Big rippling dunes curving down to little dunes. They go on forever. There’s a miserable path of compacted dirt leading between the sand hills. A few parched and poisonous-looking weeds stick up along the sides of the path. I go back through the underpass and check the other side. It’s the same. I’m in the middle of a goddamn desert. And this side doesn’t even have a little path, so I head back out the other.
When I’m out I grab hold of the rusted guardrail and pull myself onto the Twilight Zone slice of freeway. A road sign is suspended across all eight lanes. One of the support legs has fallen, but it’s still readable. Big white letters studded with reflectors on a green background. Typical California freeway stuff. The sign reads:
WELCOME TO NOD
POPULATION 0
A second smaller sign points to where an exit might have been a million years ago. It reads:
EDEN 10 MILES WEST
The arrow at the bottom points in the same direction as the dirt path. I climb down and start walking.
