Chapter 2

Sitting next to her in her folding chair, Monica looked shocked, and Sarah couldn't really blame the other woman. Until the instant when she'd raised her hand and volunteered for the Ghost Ranch mission, she herself hadn't known that was what she truly intended to do.

In the next moment, though, someone in the audience stood.

"I'll go," the man said.

Sarah bit back a groan. Although he'd been sitting on the other side of the auditorium from her, she knew that voice all too well.

Carson Mailer, the guy she'd lived with for six months before she broke things off, knowing there was no way in the world she could spend the rest of her life with him…or even another year.

Or even one more damn day.

Had he volunteered out of some sense of misguided chivalry, thinking he needed to protect her, keep her safe out there in the wilderness?

She kind of doubted it. He certainly hadn't shown much chivalry in the time they'd been together. No, he'd been just nice enough at the beginning to convince her he was worth being with, and as soon as their relationship had been more or less settled, he became demanding and needy, wanting to know how she spent every hour of her day. Not that it was too hard to discover that information, considering how everyone's schedule was dictated by the duty roster and it was public record, but still, she'd never been with anyone like that before, and it drove her crazy.

No, it seemed much more likely to her that he'd volunteered now because he thought going on this expedition together would allow him to spend more time around her, and maybe convince her that she'd made a horrible mistake by walking out.

Fat chance of that happening. The only mistake she'd made had been moving in with him in the first place.

Maybe she should try to back out.

No, that would look terrible. Although she'd done her best to maintain a low profile during her time here in Los Alamos, she still didn't want all these people to think she was a coward.

Before she could even stop to think how she might try to fix this, Lindsay said into her microphone, "Great — we have two volunteers. Can you stay behind so we can discuss logistics?"

Unable to do much of anything else, Sarah nodded weakly, while on the other side of the auditorium, Carson said, voice carrying clear and sure over the crowd, "Absolutely."

Well, that seemed to be that.

There wasn't any real business to be discussed afterward, only Lindsay thanking everyone for coming, while the rest of the people on the council — her husband included — just looked happy that the matter at hand had been settled so easily.

Monica, on the other hand, didn't seem quite so certain. "Are you sure about this?" she asked in an undertone as she and her husband got up from their seats. "I mean, with Carson volunteering, too — "

"It's fine," Sarah cut in, also keeping her voice low…even though she didn't know for sure whether it really was. "We're both adults. Anyway, we won't be working together the whole time. He can go count trout or whatever, and I can poke around Ghost Ranch."

In a way, it would be fun. She'd visited the retreat once when she was a kid and her father had brought her to Abiquiu as part of a weeklong trip exploring the northern parts of the state, and even at eleven, she'd been struck by how beautiful the country there was. It would be good to go back as an adult and explore, to be away from people for a while and maybe…just maybe…find some inner peace.

Maybe that was asking a lot, but still, she couldn't see why a change of scenery might not do her a whole lot of good. Lately, she couldn't help thinking she'd fallen into a rut, one she'd felt powerless to change.

That could be why she'd volunteered without even stopping to think about what she was doing.

Monica nodded, although her expression was still dubious, and then she and her husband joined the rest of the crowd that flowed through the auditorium's doors and into the warm, breezy evening outside. Moving against the clumps of chattering people, Sarah made her way to the stage at the front of the auditorium, where Lindsay and Miles and the other council members had already descended to the floor so they could talk.

Carson hadn't needed to travel as far, so he was already there, chatting with Lindsay and the rest of the group as though he didn't have a care in the world. "Oh, yeah, I used to fish there with my dad and big brother," he was saying as Sarah approached.

As far as she knew, that was a flat-out lie. Like her, Carson was from Albuquerque, but in all the time they'd been together, he'd never once mentioned going fishing with his family at Abiquiu Lake— or fishing anywhere at all, as far as she'd been able to tell. Back in the before times, he'd worked as a retirement fund manager for a big national bank and, judging by the stories he'd told her about going to local clubs on the weekend and flying to Vegas with his buddies when he had the chance, hadn't seemed the slightest bit outdoorsy. Now, of course, he didn't have much choice, since everyone got rotated in and out of assignments that could involve planting crops one week and hauling lumber the next.

She wouldn't call out the lie, though. By this point, Carson had enough experience hiking and being in the great outdoors that she doubted he could get himself into too much trouble while wandering around the Rio Chama or Abiquiu Lake.

"Hi, Sarah," Lindsay said, looking almost relieved to see her approach. After all these years being married to someone as cerebral and no-nonsense as Miles Odekirk, she probably had a low tolerance for Carson's finance-bro schtick. "Thanks for volunteering."

"No problem," Sarah responded, even as she hoped it truly wouldn't turn out to be too much of an issue. Since she didn't want to sound like her ex and start recounting childhood tales of roaming around the area…even if her stories at least were true…she just added, "It's beautiful country up there, and this is a great time of year to go exploring."

"It is," Lindsay agreed. They were now in the last week of May, well past any chance of snow or frost, even with the weather being kind of strange these past couple of years, wetter, and with summer rains coming earlier than the onset of the monsoons in late June or early July that they were all used to. "But still, we appreciate it. None of us have really poked around up there lately, so it's good to know what we're getting into before we start making serious plans to settle that area."

"Sarah and I will find anything you need to know," Carson said, and slid a glance at her that was almost but not quite leering.

What, did he think she was going to jump into his sleeping bag at the first hoot of an owl or crack of a twig under a coyote's foot?

Possibly. She'd been quiet Sarah around him, the Sarah she'd turned into after the world ended and she'd done everything she could to hide the person she used to be, so he didn't know her very well despite the six months or so they'd spent together.

No wonder he'd been so utterly shocked when she announced that she was walking out. He probably didn't think she had the guts for that kind of maneuver.

"It's too bad none of our people here had pilot training," Miles remarked. "Then we could have done some aerial reconnaissance first. But having you go in on foot will still be invaluable."

She supposed some might have thought that a little strange, that no one out of the thousand-plus survivors who'd made it to Los Alamos could fly a plane. Then again, New Mexico always had been a poor state, with probably a lower percentage of people who could afford to keep a small plane as a hobby. Add to that the Heat's 99.8% — give or take — mortality rate, and then maybe the situation didn't look quite so odd.

"I know it will be fine," she said stoutly, making sure to keep her gaze fixed on Lindsay and Miles, and trying her best not to give Carson any encouragement. "It's not as if no one has gone that way since…well, since."

"But it's still been a couple of years," Lindsay replied. "Which is why we need to do this at all. I assume both of you are okay with setting out tomorrow morning?"

"As long as we're off the duty roster," Carson said with a grin, the kind that should have been ingratiating but sometimes had felt like nails on a chalkboard, even back when Sarah thought she actually cared for him.

"Not a problem," Nora Almeida, who'd been listening to the entire exchange, said briskly. "Since I'm in charge of setting it up this month. I'll make sure both you and Sarah are off the roster for the rest of the week."

"This fact-finding mission isn't going to take that long," Miles protested, but Nora only shook her head.

"Maybe not, but it's probably better to have a buffer in there anyway, just in case. Besides, that's a long way to walk. Even if everything goes smooth as butter, they're going to be tired when they get back."

Her tone was cheerful but firm, and Sarah guessed that even Miles — who was notoriously bad at picking up on social cues — got the message.

"I suppose that's for the best," he allowed.

"Great," Lindsay said. "How about we all meet at City Hall at nine tomorrow morning? I'll give you some maps and a list of things to look out for, and then I'll drive you as far as La Chuachia, where Highway 285 and Highway 84 branch. That's the northwest boundary of the safe zone in Espa?ola. From there, you'll need to go on foot."

"Will we have devices to take with us?" Carson asked. His voice sounded a little too deliberately casual, telling Sarah he wasn't too thrilled about the possibility of facing the wilderness without that extra bit of defense.

"Of course," Miles replied, and Carson appeared to perceptibly relax. "Too many unknowns to have you go out there without them, although the djinn threat does seem to be reduced to almost nothing these days. But we have plenty to spare, so there's no point in taking chances."

That was one bit of good news. As Miles had said, there was no reason to believe any djinn would attack her and Carson as they made their way toward Ghost Ranch or the Rio Chama, but on the other hand, they'd been churning out the things for years now, which meant there were plenty to go around.

"It's too bad the Millerite has such limited use, though," the scientist went on. "Otherwise, we'd each give you a piece to carry with you, since it's much less bulky."

Well, that was true. The devices weren't huge, but even a four-inch cube could take up a lot of space in a backpack when you compared it to a hunk of mineral you could slip into your pocket.

"We'll manage," Sarah said. "But since it sounds like we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, it's probably better if I go home and get to sleep early."

"Good idea," Lindsay agreed. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Avoiding eye contact with Carson — Sarah knew looking at him directly would be a bad idea — she tilted her head briefly in farewell before heading for the door. Even though she walked quickly, it wasn't quite fast enough to prevent him from catching up to her.

"Hey," he said, and she slowed down, knowing that to do anything else would be rude. "I hope you don't mind me volunteering, too."

She glanced up at him, doing her best to keep her expression blank. While she was forced to admit that Carson was one of the better-looking guys in the Los Alamos group, with his dirty blond hair, bright blue eyes, and regular features, now she could only reflect that it was too bad his inside didn't match his outside.

"Why should I mind?" she said carelessly. "I mean, they needed volunteers, and they got two. All good, right?"

He gazed back at her for a moment, probably doing his best to see if he could detect anything in her expression that would signal her words weren't exactly the truth.

Good luck with that. If nothing else, her early training had made her extremely good at keeping what she was thinking well away from her face…unless she wanted it to show, of course.

The nonchalant act must have worked, because after a second or two, he shrugged and said, "Yeah, it's all good. See you tomorrow morning."

He turned and exited through the door, clearly wanting to be the one who ended the conversation.

Too little, too late. Whatever he did now, he'd never be able to completely forget that last winter, she'd been the one to walk away from him.

The land here was beautiful. Breathtaking rock formations that shaded from rust red to sand to striking ochre, with a green river bottom to the west and blue skies dotted with clouds above. In the distance, Abdul could see the flat-topped rock formation known as Cerro Pedernal, once beloved by the human artist Georgia O'Keeffe.

Ghost Ranch itself…well, he could see why the elders had been somewhat concerned that he had chosen this place as his new home.

To a human, the ranch would have seemed normal enough. Modest, of course, with its series of low-slung buildings and odd little nooks and corners, specifically designed so that one might easily find a place to be quiet and meditate. However, djinn had much loftier notions of what constituted a proper house, and Abdul had to admit to himself…even if he would never make such an admission to anyone else…that this place was going to require a great deal of work to make it habitable.

Small buildings dotted the property, many of them obviously used as guesthouses back when the place functioned as a retreat. None of them were at all suitable for his purposes, although he refrained from knocking them down. Perhaps at some point, he would still decide to do so, but for now, it was better to go to the only structure he thought at all viable as his future residence, an L-shaped building situated well away from the main campus, with a spectacular view of Chimney Rock in the background.

In the otherworld, djinn residences towered many stories, reaching into the brooding sky with fanciful spires and turrets, but Abdul knew at once that such a structure would not work in his new home and would obstruct the very view that was the main part of the reason why he had come here in the first place.

No, the outer appearance of the building would remain much the same, albeit with all the dirt and abrasions and scars from almost five years of vacancy swept away. Inside, though, it was utterly different, with the mixture of wood and Saltillo tile floors changed to all solid oak, the kitchen hugely enlarged, and the living area made much bigger as well, encompassing several of the former bedrooms so its dimensions might better suit his tastes.

All this was done in the djinn way, of course, with not even a snap of his fingers required to make the necessary changes. The furniture was upgraded as well, although he kept the style similar, plain dark oak and simple lines, with Navajo rugs on the floors and wrought iron fixtures hanging from the ceiling. No reason to fight the pueblo aesthetic of the place, or he might as well have taken an empty Bavarian castle for his use rather than this lonely slice of northern New Mexico.

With all that accomplished, he summoned a glass of wine and walked out into the courtyard so he might take a seat in one of the tall Adirondack chairs placed there. They faced south, directly toward the Pedernal, and he thought it would be good to sit there and breathe in the air and allow himself to relax into the space.

He was not the first person to have had this idea, of course; the chair he lowered himself into was merely a replacement for the battered ones that had been placed in this spot long before the Heat came along and changed the world forever. No one who had ever seen this view would want to do anything other than sit here so they might admire it at their leisure.

It was very quiet, with only the rustle of the wind in the grass and the far-off cry of a hawk to tell him all this was real, rather than an extremely detailed picture. Despite the near-silence, he could feel how intensely alive this place was, from the scent of sun-warmed earth in his nostrils to the bright blooms of the orange-hued penstemon wildflowers growing only a few feet away from where he sat.

So very different from the otherworld. Nothing grew there, save the plants the djinn had carefully cultivated in their palaces and courtyards, knowing that the terrestrial flora would surely die if it were ever exposed to the harsh conditions of that other plane. The sky had been an unsettling miasma of shifting colors, rather than this cool, serene blue.

Abdul breathed in and then breathed out again. Yes, this was good. He might have fought the elders, might have done his best to cling to a world the rest of them had abandoned, but now that he was here, he wondered why he had been so stubborn. It was not as though there was anyone living anywhere close to here, no one who would intrude on his solitude.

No one who would come near to poke and prod at the burden he had been forced to carry eternally.

Yes, there were the djinn and their Chosen in Santa Fe, but they had no reason to come to Ghost Ranch. Likewise, the community of surviving humans in Los Alamos might have spread into Espa?ola, and yet Abdul doubted they would have any need to explore this part of the world. There had been some agriculture here, true, spread along the valley of the Rio Chama. Still, probably not enough to pique their interest, not when they had so many matters to occupy themselves so much closer to home.

He lifted the glass of wine to his lips and drank slowly, savoring the taste of dark fruit and the warm, rich earth that had nourished it. Perhaps it was something of a pity that this wine would never be made again, for the people who had grown the cabernet grapes and bottled this particular vintage had perished nearly five years earlier. Then again, he could re-create it whenever he wished, so he would not allow himself to be too saddened by the thought.

However, he somehow knew that whatever he conjured wouldn't be quite the same.