Shadow of the Sun (Timeless #1)

Chapter 11: Run

We were on foot, running through the undergrowth in the woods, the light fading too quickly. Andrew wanted to fly, but I told him times had changed and the skies weren't safe anymore. He didn't answer, only followed in my wake—so silently I had to turn several times to see if he was still there.

He eventually took my hand, realizing I couldn't hear his soundless steps. Electricity buzzed between us, but he didn't pull away. His hand was warm, dry, and very agreeable compared to the soaked nature of my skin.

A road came into view. We stayed in the cover of the shadows, our back against a large tree. Headlights appeared, reflected on the wet road, and a semi-truck barreled past. Andrew gasped, and his hand squeezed mine to near crushing.

"It's just a truck," I said, my voice inflecting my pain.

His grip relaxed. "That is not what they took them away in." His golden eyes were wide, though his voice was steady.

"Truck is kind of a relative term."

He nodded. "Ehno's anxious. He doesn't understand this world. Are we in another dimension?" He asked this so confidently, with such seriousness, that I couldn't laugh. It was clearly not a joke.

"No. You've been...dead," I said.

He didn't react the way I thought he would've. His gaze roamed the wooded area, as if searching for any threats, before his eyes landed on mine. "How long?"

"Maybe two-thousand years."

"What's the year?"

"2009."

"Not two-thousand years," he said.

"Oh." I leaned around the tree to see if any police were driving our direction. The road was a two-lane state highway. "How many years then?"

He was inches from my body, and heat radiated off his skin. I wanted to melt into his radiance. A current zipped between my fingers, and I hid them behind my back. That was going to be embarrassing.

"A few hundred, give or take." He shrugged.

He'd only been dead a few hundred years? How was that possible? His corpse dated to at least two-thousand years. Carbon dating was not so flawed it would be off by eighteen-hundred years. Perhaps an angel's genetic makeup didn't conform to normal scientific standards. Fascinating.

I wanted to keep asking questions, but I knew we needed to leave. Soon this place would not be the safe haven it was now. My eyes closed briefly as I inhaled a gulp of air, then I slid out from between Andrew and the tree.

"Follow me," I said.

He did without question.

"We need to get away from here. Especially now they know you're alive." I paused. Something had just hit me like a ton of bricks. "Hey." I stopped mid-stride. "How did they know you were alive to begin with?"

Andrew looked down at me, his body towering over mine. He was probably well over six feet tall to my five feet six inches. "Ehno says they were tipped off."

My eyes narrowed. "And how does Ehno know they were tipped off?" It just didn't make any sense. The plane was in mid-crash when the angels awoke and came to our rescue. Who would've had the time—or the thought—to call the FBI? "It just doesn't make sense."

"Ehno's gifted." Andrew's voice was gentle. "Some would call him a psychic. It's an unusual talent, and he doesn't have any control over it. He sees things or knows things. Past, present, and future."

"Did he see your death?" I blurted without thinking, then mumbled, "Sorry."

His gave fell out of focus. "I..." He deliberated for a minute. "I cannot remember."