Bestiary

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Sunset Boulevard was predictably snarled, the traffic inching along as policemen, stationed at the major intersections, tried to redirect the cars and keep the lanes moving at all. Carter ached to hit the klaxon again, and then use the limo like a snowplow, just shoving everything ahead of him out of the way; he had no doubt that this car could do it. Everytime he stopped dead, he studied the screens and dials on the dashboard, and eventually he found the phone connection.

“Number, please,” an automated female voice said.

Carter, relieved, recited his home phone number.

But instead of connecting him, the voice said, “Unrecognized caller. Please say your name.”

What would it recognize? Al-Kalli? Or, more likely, Jakob? And did he need Jakob’s last name? — because he had no idea what that was.

Carter tried “Jakob.”

The automated voice did not respond.

He tried “Mohammed al-Kalli.”

But again, there was no reply.

“Please say your name,” the voice finally repeated.

And this time, in total frustration, Carter simply said his own.

“Unrecognized caller. Please say your name.”

Carter gave up. Maybe they had some code name; maybe it could actually recognize Jakob’s voice itself. The blue light, next to the siren, was still silently flashing. What the hell was that, anyway — LoJack?

“Good-bye,” the automated voice chirped.

“Yeah, right,” Carter replied, “have a nice day.”

A cop waved him through a blocked intersection — he managed to go about three car lengths — before he had to stop again entirely. He lowered his head to peer up through the tinted windshield at the sky; the wispy cirrus clouds that he had seen earlier were eclipsed now by plumes of smoke, rising like funnels from every direction. It reminded him of the pictures he’d seen from Kuwait, when the fleeing Iraqis had set the oil wells on fire.

What the hell was going on? Was the whole city of Los Angeles going up in flames? He was reminded of the guys in army fatigues — Sadowski and his pals — who had shown up at the bestiary, and of something their leader had said: “Oh, I’ve got a plan,” or something like that, and then he’d glanced at his watch, as if making sure he was still on schedule. It seemed both impossible and incomprehensible — why would anyone do it? — but Carter had to wonder if what he was seeing was more than random wildfires, started by careless picnickers or kids with fireworks. Was it some insane and orchestrated plan?

He crawled forward, another thirty or forty feet, just as a helicopter swooped overhead; more images of Middle Eastern warfare teemed in his head. And his fear for the safety of Beth and Joey suddenly grew, exponentially. Were they home? Were they waiting there for him? Or had they fled to safety somewhere else?

A fire truck, sirens blaring, maneuvered itself across the intersection, right in front of Carter, and then, with a police escort clearing the way in front of it, started driving along the shoulder toward Sepulveda. The right side of the fire truck was riding up on the sidewalks and curbs, but Carter saw his chance and he took it; he gunned the Mercedes and caught the fire truck’s wake, following along close behind. A firefighter, manning the ladder at the rear, waved him off, shouting, but Carter couldn’t make out what he was saying — though he could certainly guess the gist of it — and he didn’t care, anyway. He was determined to get to Summit View, and this was the only way to do it. Several times cops, too, hollered at him through bullhorns, and once, Carter got so pissed off he purposely hit the klaxon again, a blast louder and more powerful than anything you’d hear from even a sixteen-wheeler. He also noticed that one of the LED screens read INTERCOM ENGAGED. He touched the screen and then said, “Testing.”

His voice boomed out over the jammed traffic lanes.

Oh man. What did this car not do?

“Official business,” he said. “Please clear the way.”

That must have given the cops a surprise, he thought — and at the next corner, they slowed down and fell back to attend to an accident. Carter didn’t doubt that they’d made note of his license plate, though, and that al-Kalli — if he’d lived — would have been hearing from them soon.

Al-Kalli. When Carter thought about what he’d seen not an hour ago — the man’s head rolling, and still sentient, if Carter’s guess was correct, across the dirt floor of the bestiary — he couldn’t believe it; it was as if Carter’s own mind could not process the information, could not accept everything that had happened, and everything he had witnessed, that day.

And though it wasn’t late even now, dusk had come early — the sun was shrouded behind an increasingly dense pall of smoke and cinders. Passengers sitting in the stalled cars that Carter passed looked stunned, terrified. Some had abandoned their cars altogether, and were running down the center lanes, carrying dogs in their arms, or car seats with squalling babies still in them. In the brown grass along one side of the road, he saw several people kneeling around a Hispanic man with a Bible who was leading them, heads down, in prayer; black ash swirled around their heads. Terrible shades, he couldn’t help but think, of 9/11.

He fumbled at the levers of the wheel until he found the windshield wipers and fluid; as the blades went back and forth, the window at first got sootier and more smeared, but then, with another jet of fluid, it began to clear.

The radio — he finally thought of trying the radio, but when he found it, and got it on, it was tuned to some Middle Eastern music station. Although he needed to keep both hands on the wheel, every chance he got he reached over and played with the controls until he found a news station. But even then the reception was terrible, and staticky. “Fires… Temescal Canyon ablaze, fanned by Santa Ana winds…” There was another burst of static, and then a fire official’s voice saying, “Please stay in your homes unless and until an evacuation order is given.” Carter continued to listen as the announcer read off an endless list of freeways that were impassable, roads that were closed, neighborhoods that were endangered. But nothing, thank God, was said about Summit View — at least so far.

The fire engine had turned off in another direction several blocks before, and Carter now was simply barreling along the shoulder, often with one or two tires off the macadam, and eliciting blasting horns and angry shouts and bullhorned police warnings. Over the car’s loudspeaker, he occasionally repeated his claim of official business, and once — at a particularly tricky juncture — announced that he was the mayor; the powerful black limousine with the fortunately tinted windows made a convincing case.

But when he got to Sepulveda and approached the entrance to Summit View, he found the long driveway blocked by a couple of fire trucks and several police cars. A stream of cars, some of them hastily loaded with stuff, was coming down off the hill and being shepherded toward the Valley. He had to stop short, and a young cop wearing a white paper face mask banged on his closed window with the butt of a flashlight. Carter rolled it down.

“You can’t go up there,” the cop barked, the mask billowing out, “we’re evacuating.”

“I have to,” Carter said, “I live there! My family’s up there!”

“Not anymore they’re not. Everybody’s coming down.” He waved to the left. “Now move it.”

He walked away, but instead of turning in to the file of cars slowly moving toward the Valley, Carter moved forward. The cop saw it and, pulling down the face mask, hollered, “What did I just tell you?”

Carter rolled the window up. The cop was running after him, and in his rearview mirror Carter could see that he was actually unsnapping his holster. Carter was fairly confident that this was a bulletproof car, but that still didn’t mean he wanted to test it.

“Stop!” the cop shouted, and two or three other policemen, dead ahead, got out of their cars to see what was happening. They had parked bumper to bumper, to blockade the right lanes of the drive. Carter would have to go around them. He steered the limousine over the curb, up onto the lawn, and then through the towering palm trees that lined both sides of the drive.

Carter heard a shot, glanced in the mirror, and saw the young cop, feet squarely planted, firing his pistol into the air.

And one of the patrol cars that had been blocking the drive started up after him, bumping over the curb with its lights flashing and siren blaring.

Was all of this for nothing? Carter thought. Was Beth in one of the cars that was already snaking its way down the hillside? He kept shooting glances over to his left, looking for her old white Volvo, but he didn’t see it.

Nor did he see, until it was almost too late, the big green SUV that was barreling down the hillside, trying to circumvent the traffic on the drive. The SUV blasted its horn, and Carter blasted the klaxon in reply, its piercing wail reverberating around the hillside with a frightening echo; the SUV, perhaps startled, veered to the side, so close that it grazed Carter’s side mirror. Carter saw a panicked woman on a cell phone in the driver’s seat, a couple of kids in the back, and then he saw her swerve to miss a tree behind him, and he heard the crash.

She’d run right into the front of the police car; the hoods of both cars were crumpled, and there was a cloud of steam escaping from them both. Two cops jumped out to assess the damage, and Carter drove his own car back onto the main drive. While the lane on the other side of the cement median strip had a dozen or so cars still backed up, the lane going up the hill was clear, and Carter took its turns as if he were on the autobahn. The Mercedes purred, like a pent-up animal delighted at last to run free.

But the air, as he ascended, was darker and dirtier all the time. Smoke from the east was drifting over, and it was as if night was falling by the minute. Carter passed only one or two other cars racing down, one of them an open Miata with a bronze statue of a naked nymph on the passenger seat. Far ahead, he saw a red fire captain’s car, and he could hear the speaker on the top telling people to evacuate now. He cut sharply into a side street, then shot back up through a service drive that led toward the top of the development. Via Vista, his own street, connected with it just a block or two up.

Ash was falling like snowflakes on the immaculate houses and parched lawns and empty streets.

Tires screeching, Carter wheeled the limo onto Via Vista, where only one row of houses stood along the crest-line, the dense canyon falling steeply away just behind them. All that could be seen of the massive power towers that rose up above the trees and thick brush were the red signal beacons flashing at their top; the Santa Monica Mountains, perfectly visible on most days, were now just an immense black shadow, far away. Carter raced up the hill, past the tennis courts, past the swimming pool, toward the lighted windows of his own house. Beth was home, he thought, Joey was home! He would gather them all up into the Mercedes, along with Champ — he couldn’t forget Champ! — and get the hell out of there, while there was still time!

The car lurched to a halt in the drive, right next to his Jeep, and he leapt out while the engine was still turning off. He ran across the front lawn — he could hear Champ barking inside — and threw open the door.

“Beth! Where are you?”

But there wasn’t any answer. Champ jumped up onto his pants.

“Down, boy!” He pushed the dog aside and raced up the stairs, shouting, “Beth! Beth!” The dog bounded up after him.

He ducked his head into the nursery — the crib was empty — then into the master bedroom — empty, too.

He stopped to catch his breath, then heard a voice — Beth’s, from downstairs — calling, “Champ! Champ!”

“We’re here!” Carter shouted, then ran back to the top of the stairs.

Beth, at the bottom, was holding a leash; her hair was slapped up under a baseball cap, and she was wearing a Getty sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. She looked shocked to see him.

“Where did you come from?” she blurted out. “I’ve been waiting—”

“No time — let’s go,” he said, leaping down the stairs again, three at a time.

“Joey’s in the car, but your Jeep is blocking the drive! I couldn’t—”

He grabbed her tight, kissed her on the top of her baseball cap, and said, “Follow me.”

The door to the garage was standing open. He ran in and lifted Joey out of his car seat.

“What are you doing?” Beth said. “Just move the Jeep out of the way!”

“Trust me,” he said, running outside now, past his Jeep and toward the limo. If any car could get them out of this maelstrom…

He yanked open the rear door and waved Beth and Champ toward it. The dog made a running jump, Beth quickly clambered in, and as soon as she was seated, he handed her the baby. Even Joey, the imperturbable baby, looked concerned; black ashes clung to his blond curls.

Beth didn’t even have time to ask where this car had come from.

Carter threw himself behind the wheel, backed up wildly halfway across the cul-de-sac, then started back down the hill. In the time the car had been out, the soot and ash had piled up on the windshield again, and he hit the fluid and wipers. But the debris was so thick, the wipers could barely move. Carter leaned forward to see ahead, then opened his window instead, and put his head out. It was like a scene from hell.

The sky was filled with clouds of black smoke, lighted from below by the advancing flames. The streetlamps, on light sensors, had all gone on, casting pale golden pools of illumination on the debris collecting around the base of their poles.

Carter fumbled at a few switches again, then found the high beams and turned them on. He had slowed down, looking for the turn back down the hill, when he saw something move, just a few yards in front of the car, and hit the brakes.

At first he couldn’t tell what he was looking at — then he was able to see that it was a kind of animal exodus. In the crosswalk yet! A small herd of deer was skittering across the street, flanked by several coyotes, who were, miraculously, so intent on escape that they weren’t even molesting the deer. A pair of raccoons tumbled over the curb. A skunk followed.

“Why are we stopping?” Beth said, cradling Joey in her arms. Champ barked at the closed window.

“Some deer,” Carter said, before slapping the klaxon control again and sending up a mighty bellow. The deer fled, the coyotes scattered, and Carter started down again.

He hit the klaxon, over and over, to warn away the animals, but then a cloud of smoke and flame suddenly billowed from the eastern hillside, blinding and choking him; he pulled his head into the car, hit the button to close the window, and felt the car lift gently on one side, the undercarriage scraping along cement, before colliding with something he couldn’t see at all, and coming to a full stop.

He tried to reverse, but he could hear the tires spinning.

He jumped out to see what was wrong, and watched as the tops of the palm trees on the other side of the road burst, one after the other, into fiery balls, like puffs of dandelion blowing away in the wind.

The limo had driven right up onto the high curb in front of the pool complex — designed to let parents pull up and easily disgorge a horde of kids — and was perched there, with the left-side tires several inches off the ground. The road below looked dark and impassable… and the pool, though it looked like the black lagoon, was right there.

“Get out!” Carter shouted. “Out of the car!”

Beth kicked her door open, got out with Joey in her arms. Champ leapt out, barking frantically at the falling ash and advancing flames.

“The pool!” Carter said. “Get into the pool!”

The klaxon went off again, and Carter clamped his hands to his ears. He leaned into the front seat of the still running car and turned off the ignition, but the klaxon went on for at least ten seconds more, and that blue light on the dash kept flashing.

By the time Carter ran to the pool himself, Beth was already wading into the shallow end, with Joey held tight against her bosom. Champ waited by the lip of the pool, barking a warning.

“Come on!” Carter urged the dog, jumping in himself; the water was so coated with debris that it didn’t splash, but simply sloshed like muck around him. Carter waded toward Beth and Joey, throwing his wet arms around them both. Champ still hesitated, lying by the side of the pool, front paws extended, whimpering.

The klaxon blared again.

“I thought I’d turned that off,” Carter said, trying to catch his breath.

“What?” Beth said, coughing herself and unable to hear him over the siren.

Joey, his head against her shoulder, stared at his father with an ineffable expression of… what — sympathy? concern? definitely not fear — in his blue-gray eyes. Carter didn’t have much other experience with babies, but Joey struck him, at all sorts of times, as… different. Shouldn’t he be crying now, for instance? Or at the very least, agitated? Even his breathing seemed unobstructed.

The klaxon, blissfully, turned off. But with it gone, Carter could hear the unadulterated whooshing of the Santa Anas, whipped to a frenzy by the encroaching fires, and the crackle and snap of the dessicated foliage on the hillsides across from the pool. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open, and harder to see anything even when he did. Beth’s face looked like it had been coated with that black grease snipers smeared under their eyes; she was blinking at the cinders caught in her lashes.

He put his mouth to her ear, cupped it, and said, “Give me Joey.”

She nodded, and wearily did.

“Now,” Carter said, “you should duck your head under the water, go all the way down, then come up quick. It might clear your eyes.”

She nodded again, took a labored breath, then disappeared under the black surface. When she came back up again, fast, she was shaking her head from side to side, the wet hair flying, and her eyes were tight shut.

“Did it help?” he said.

“Yes… yes. But…” Her gaze traveled over the pool to the street beyond, where the Mercedes still lay stranded on the curb and a sheet of flame, visible even through the pall of smoke, was cascading down the slope, engulfing a two-story stucco house.

Carter wondered if their own house had already gone up, too.

“Do you think we’re going to die here?” she said, baldly, and Carter vigorously shook his head; despite everything, the thought had genuinely not occurred to him. No matter what came next, no matter what happened, he was going to make sure that no harm came to Beth or his son.

“We’ll be okay,” he shouted over the roar of the wind and the fire. “If the fire comes this way, just go down in the water.” He didn’t actually know if this plan would work, but it sounded good in theory… as long as the pool didn’t crack and send the water, with everything in it, flooding down into the canyon.

“Now you clear your eyes,” Beth said, nodding down at the brackish pool. “It does help.”

She reached out her arms to take Joey back, and Carter did lower himself into the water. The deeper he went, the clearer the water felt, and the cooler it had remained; for a few seconds, he lingered there, enjoying the relative silence, the feeling of being clean and unsoiled, the respite from the madness he knew was still swirling above.

But when he came up, wiping his eyes clean, he saw Beth looking out at the hillside with a fixed expression. He looked where she was looking, and then he saw it, too. A hulking black shape, bigger than a rhinoceros but moving as if it were one, lumbering down the hillside. Its scales glistened green, like a salamander’s — the reptile reputedly immune to flames — and it paused, between two ribbons of fire flowing like lava, and waited.

The klaxon burst out again, and the beast lifted its head, roaring. Even through the smoke, Carter could see its bulbous dark eyes battening on the limousine, which lay stranded like a beached whale… or perhaps, in the eyes of the gorgon, an adversary.

With renewed purpose, it bounded down the slope, moving around and through the flames with surprising agility. And as Carter and Beth watched, it went straight for the Mercedes, lowering its massive head and butting the hood with such force that the whole car was pushed up onto the broad sidewalk. The klaxon, either damaged or simply finished with this cycle, went dead, and the gorgon raised itself on its stubby hind legs and roared.

Beth began to shiver uncontrollably, and Carter gathered her close. “I know what it is,” he said, and she looked at him with terrified incomprehension.

What it was, Beth thought, was a picture from The Beasts of Eden, come to terrible and unbelievable life!

The creature bellowed again, and then, perhaps smelling the water, used its jaws to rip the iron fence posts up from the ground. With its legs splayed out to either side, it calmly trampled over the wreckage.

Had it seen them, Carter wondered? Had it picked up their scent?

The creature came to the lip of the pool, and instead of lapping at the water, it knew enough to plunge its thick snout well below the debris and drink the less polluted water that lay below.

Champ, still crouching on the hot cement at the lip of the pool, stood up, tail raised, and barked loudly.

Carter prayed the creature, with its head still down in the water, wouldn’t hear. But when it raised it again, Champ let loose with another angry challenge, and the beast swung its ponderous head from one side to the other, taking in everything that lay before it… including Carter, Beth, and Joey, still huddled together in the water.

“Stay low,” Carter mumbled to Beth. “Move slowly, toward the deep end.”

Maybe the beast wasn’t a swimmer.

But then it lifted one front paw in the air, laid it on the surface of the water, and lowered it slowly, until clearly it had touched bottom. With its head turned to keep track of Carter and his family, it dropped the other front leg into the water, then, satisfied, plunged its enormous body into the pool like a gigantic crocodile scuttling off a riverbank. The displaced water rose like a tidal wave, carrying Beth and Joey up over the rim and onto the cement, while Carter was thrown against the wall beneath the diving board. The dirty water gushed over his head, and he sputtered for breath. The beast swam toward him — one stroke would bring its fangs within easy reach — and Carter hoisted himself up and out of the pool. He glanced over — Beth was carrying Joey and racing for the poolhouse — and Carter, instead of following, waved his arms and made sure to keep the gorgon’s attention focused on him.

“Here!” he shouted. “Keep looking here!”

The cement was blazing hot, and slick with wet, sizzling cinders, but Carter ran around the rim of the pool, past the gorgon, which immediately changed course, and then onto the fallen railings. He had to dance through them, careful not to snag his foot or break an ankle.

“Catch me!” he hollered, without turning around, then hurried around the sidewalk to the driver’s side of the limo; the car was now perched on all four tires again.

The klaxon went off, nearly shattering his eardrums, as he piled into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him. The car was so well armored and insulated that the noise, once inside, was tolerable… but barely.

And for once he was glad to have the klaxon blaring. It was what must have allowed the gorgon to follow him here in the first place; maybe he could use it now.

He started the car, revved the engine loudly, and waited for the beast to take the bait.

Which, seconds later, it did. Through the side window, Carter saw it planting its broad, clawed feet on top of the iron fence posts and coming for its enemy, the car. Black water was streaming off the creature’s flanks and matted fur, and its long tail lashed back and forth, blowing the smoke and ash away like a fan.

Carter flicked on the headlights and flashers — anything to make himself more of a provocation to the gorgon — and then, when the beast was almost upon him, he let the limo roll down the sidewalk, between the lampposts on one side and the burning hedges on the other. He could see the gorgon in his rearview mirror now, nimbly tracking him.

Carter waited for a spot where the curb was lower, and then jerked the car off the sidewalk; it jounced down onto the littered street, its headlights sweeping across a panorama of burning trees and swirling smoke. All the houses to the east were wrapped in flames, and as he watched, the chimney of one collapsed in a tumble of bricks and dust.

The gorgon had followed him into the street, its baleful glare unwavering, picking its way through the fallen branches and scorched leaves. Carter, though he could barely see through the filthy windshield, sped up… wondering all the while, what should he do now?

The klaxon, which had been blissfully off for a minute, blared again, that blue light on the dashboard relentlessly flashing. For all Carter knew, the car was also being tracked by satellite. Jesus, he thought, al-Kalli had probably outfitted it with machine guns, but he had no idea where they were or how to operate them.

All he knew was that he was leading the monster away from his family.

He prayed that the poolhouse would provide a refuge.

But then the gorgon roared again, in answer to the klaxon, and he saw it, in his mirror, scurry forward on its splayed legs. It was angry — did the car’s siren sound like a challenge from some primeval opponent? — and he feared it was about to attack.

He was right.

Before he could maneuver around the trunk of a flaming palm tree, the gorgon had suddenly scrambled forward, and with strength Carter could never have imagined, launched its massive body into the air. The roof of the limo was suddenly crushed by its bulk — the interior light exploding, the windows shattering into a rain of glistening shards, even the sound of the klaxon, though still going off, muffled and shrill. In any other car, Carter thought, he’d be dead by now, but the reinforced chassis still held together well enough for him to scrunch down in the seat, his head grazing the roof and his damp hands gripping the wheel. The creature was on top of the car, and had already batted one massive paw through the missing window on the passenger side. Its claws, as big and yellow as ancient ivory tusks, sliced at the leather upholstery, feeling, no doubt, for its adversary’s innards. A creature like this was used to disemboweling its prey, and then waiting patiently for the blood loss to render it defenseless. If the victim was still clinging to life while the gorgon began eating it, that was all to the good; a gorgon liked its meat to be as fresh as possible.

But Carter knew something else about it, too: It would cling to its prey no matter what. It would never loosen its hold, or relinquish its kill to some other predator.

And in that he might have found the answer he was looking for.

The road dipped ahead, and Carter could see there the turnoff he’d been looking for, the path back down the hill and out of the development. But now he drove past it — he could hear the gorgon above his head, growling with rage and hunger, only a few inches of armored steel keeping it from crushing him — and gradually began the ascent toward the other end of Via Vista.

A wall of flame descended the eastern hillside, but the western side, at least up here, was not yet burning; the canyon was dark and deep and, though covered with a haze of smoke, it had not yet caught fire. Carter increased his speed, the gorgon still managing to envelop the limousine in its deadly embrace, its tail dragging like a heavy chain on the pavement. It slowed the car, but not so much that Carter, switching gears, couldn’t pick up steam as he drove toward his goal — the cul-de-sac, just like the one at his end of the street, that lay ahead.

He suddenly felt the sleeve of his shirt rip, and he saw a long, hooked talon making another swipe at his arm. The roof of the car crumpled even more — the gorgon must have shifted its weight — and the driver’s-side door groaned and then popped out onto the pavement, clanging and clattering as it fell away down the street. Carter glanced up and out, and at that moment the monster lowered its head to try to peer inside.

Its mouth was open, revealing rows of serrated teeth, interrupted only by two saberlike fangs that hung down from the upper jaw; they were gleaming with saliva, and one was broken off at the tip. The unblinking eyes were so large and convex Carter imagined he could see himself reflected in them.

But what did the gorgon, a ruthless predator nominally extinct for 250 million years, make of all this? Clinging to the crushed chassis of a limousine, with a human — Carter had no doubt the creature could smell his flesh and the blood pounding in his veins — harbored inside? Was it really able to think at all — or was it just acting on instinct, driven like a shark to kill and eat, to flee from the danger of a raging fire, to attack and devour all enemies?

Carter certainly hoped that last one was true — that the gorgon would do anything to make sure this gleaming black beast would die in its grasp. The klaxon sounded again, more subdued by the mutilated metal, and the gorgon bellowed — exultantly, it seemed, to Carter. It thought the enemy was dying, that the fight would soon be over.

But not too soon, Carter thought — not too soon!

He gunned the engine again, enough to pick up even more speed, but not enough to shake the gorgon loose. He wanted to keep the beast right where it was, enjoying the death throes of its prey. He raced up the hill, the siren blaring, the gorgon roaring, and headed for the crest of Summit View, the cul-de-sac where everything stopped; beyond it, below it, lay nothing but the canyon.

Twice he had to swerve around fallen debris, and once around the smoldering wreck of a sports car, but the monster’s tail seemed to serve as a kind of rudder, keeping the beast on board and the limo on track. The roof strained and squealed, then burst its rivets and caved in another few inches. Carter, nearly horizontal in the broken seat, could barely operate the steering wheel and gas pedal. But the end of the street was fast approaching; he could see the last lampposts lighting the way.

Carter leaned toward the left, planted his foot on the floor where the missing door had been, and as he saw the black, empty crest ahead, he pressed on the gas pedal, then braced himself for what might be his last act on earth: Head low, arms tight, he threw himself out of the racing car, flying into a pile of burning brush, then tumbling and turning and falling through the smoke and ash and glass. He felt a shoulder pop from its socket, heard a bone crack, but even as he rolled away he was able to catch a glimpse of the Mercedes, its red taillights glowing, as it shot toward the cliff with the gorgon ripping at the steel and its head raised in triumph.

As Carter banged up against something hard, the breath was knocked from his lungs; he saw the car plow through the low metal barrier at the top of the street, and then sail off the edge of the cliff. The gorgon’s tail swung high in the smoky air as the creature — and its doomed prey — plummeted into the canyon below.

Then, before he could even catch another breath of the scorched air, everything went hazy, dim, and finally… black.