Ex-Purgatory, Peter Clines [top ten books of all time .txt] 📗

weeks? We are unsure how long it has been since we fell under Smith’s influence.”

“Think so,” said Cesar. “I mean, it’s tough to tell in here, y’know?”

The wheel spun, the tires squealed, and cars around them dropped away. The Hyundai rushed through a yellow light. Horns went off and their honks faded away before they’d finished.

“You’ve been in the car the whole time?” Madelyn leaned forward between the seats to talk to the radio. She had to squeeze around Freedom’s shoulders.

“Yeah,” Cesar said. “I been following St. George the whole time. I kept trying to talk to you but you kept zoning out on me, man.”

Stealth looked at St. George. “Do you recall any of this?”

“I think I remember zoning out the radio, yeah. Sorry, Cesar.”

“No problem, man.”

The Hyundai swerved into another lane as they headed down a hill and went around an airport shuttle. It straddled lines to slip past a BMW and then the engine growled again. The light just past the bottom of the hill turned red and the car came to a reluctant stop.

“I find it to be unlikely,” said Stealth, “that you found a working model of your old car at the same time Smith altered your memories.”

“Hyundais weren’t rare,” said Danielle. “There’s probably at least a thousand of them in Los Angeles.”

“It’s not a Hyundai,” said Cesar. “We’re in an old Taurus.”

“No,” said St. George. “It’s my old car. It’s a blue Hyundai Accent.”

“Dude,” said the voice on the radio, “it’s a piece o’ shit Taurus. Mostly red, but the passenger door and side panel are all primer. Feels like it got sideswiped and they never hammered it out all the way.”

Freedom looked at the door by his arm.

“Driver,” said Stealth, “what are you seeing right now?”

St. George swore the car lifted itself a little higher on the road. “What do you mean, ma’am?” asked the voice on the radio.

“What do you see on the road ahead of us? How many cars are there on this stretch of road with us?”

“Well … uhhh,” Cesar said, “there aren’t any.”

Freedom glanced at a glossy black Hummer as they swooped past it.

“Please explain,” said Stealth.

“I mean, there’s some wrecks and stuff. Abandoned cars. That what you meant?”

A yellow Volkswagen pulled away as the Hyundai dipped into its lane. A woman on a motorcycle shot them an angry finger as Cesar slipped past and forced her close to the curb. The engine revved and they shot through a red light into a corridor of greenery.

“Donner Pass,” muttered Freedom.

Madelyn touched his arm. “What?”

“Nothing.”

St. George tapped the steering wheel. “So you’re telling me there’s nothing else on the road?”

“Nothing moving,” said the voice on the radio.

They roared out of the green corridor, past a gas station and the Beverly Hilton. The Hyundai cut across two lanes, ran a red light, and made a wide turn past a fountain. More cars honked and a siren wailed to life behind them.

“Cops,” said Danielle.

“Where?” Cesar asked.

“Right behind us,” said Madelyn. “You are busssssssted.”

“There’s no cops,” said Cesar. “We’re the only ones on the road.”

St. George glanced in the rearview mirror. “You don’t see or hear anything out there?”

“I’ve told you, man, it’s not like that. When I’m in here, I’m kind of seeing things by … like, by comfort. The same way, like, when you’ve had a car for years you know if the rear end’s near the curb or another car.”

“It would seem,” said Stealth, “that the Driver’s unique senses in this state allow him a different perception of the world around us, much as Madelyn’s mind allowed her to resist the false memories.”

The Hyundai drove past a crowd of people waiting for a crosswalk. All of them had chalk-colored skin. St. George got only a quick look, but it looked like two of them were missing limbs. Their heads swiveled to watch the car go by.

Cesar said something else, but St. George didn’t hear it. His head whipped around to look at the people on the sidewalk. He glimpsed a dead woman dragging a small, shriveled shape on a child leash, and Stealth bracing herself against the back of the passenger seat.

The steering wheel hit him hard in the chest and snapped off as he folded around it. He heard a crash of glass and saw Freedom catching Madelyn and Danielle. Momentum threw them between the front seats and into his arms. All of them were ringed with sparkles, and St. George realized the small lights were little cubes of glass reflecting in the sun just as he bounced off the hood of the car and was thrown into the street.

He hit the pavement head-first, rolled onto his shoulder, and then his knees cracked down against the road. The car appeared for an instant before momentum flipped him over again. The ground slapped him in the temple, the back, the ankle, the forehead, and then he was stopped by a concrete barrier. He sprawled with his face against it for a few seconds before he slid down. It was very gritty on his cheeks and nose. Some of the barrier crumbled away and fell with him.

St. George stayed on the ground for a moment. The sky was very blue above him. The city was silent. He wondered if he’d broken anything, and then he remembered he was bulletproof and nigh invulnerable.

He sat up. His jeans and the fleece jacket were ripped. His shirt had survived unscathed. He flexed his fingers and brushed some gravel and glass out of his hair, then looked down the road.

Thirty feet away, a dust-covered red Taurus sat on four flat tires. Most of the windshield was scattered over the hood and in front of the car. The passenger side was primer gray and looked lumpy.

He saw Freedom shift in the passenger seat. The officer had a gash where his forehead had hit the dashboard. Madelyn shook her head next to him. St. George didn’t see any injuries on her.

“Everyone okay?” he called out. He rolled up onto his feet and