The dirt road seemed to last for ever, but as the sun came up they finally turned south onto Highway 45. This part of Mexico looked almost identical to the New Mexico landscape they’d just left behind: hard, dry ground scattered with juniper bushes and cactuses, with rugged-looking mountains rising in the distance. Alex grimaced as they passed a billboard: the familiar image of an angel with wings and arms outspread. La Iglesia de los Ángeles, it read.

Dusty pickup trucks passed by, driven by men with dark hair and white straw cowboy hats. Though no one gave Willow a second glance in her helmet, Alex knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until they were holed up in the Sierra Madre, as far away from the Church of Angels as possible. It was a lot more remote up there, in what they called el monte: the wild.

And then he could start trying to recruit people, and train them.

The dread Willow had sensed the night before touched him again with its clammy fingers. Get a grip, he thought, irritated with himself. You have to do it; you’re the only one left. If he didn’t get some other AKs trained – didn’t somehow get a camp set up and then hopefully other camps too, until they had a network of them up and down the continent – then humanity could just kiss itself goodbye in a few years.

Even so, Alex’s hands tightened on the Shadow’s handlebars as the wind rushed past. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to fight the angels – god, apart from being with Willow, it was the only thing he did want. He’d willingly give his life; he’d do it a dozen times over, if it meant defeating the angels in this world. He just didn’t want to be responsible for the lives of a whole team too. His brother’s death shuddered through his mind. Yeah, he’d already shown how great he was at covering someone’s back, hadn’t he? And if one of his decisions killed someone—

Alex pushed the thought away, hoping that Willow wasn’t picking up on any of this crap. There wasn’t anyone else who could be in charge, so he’d deal with it. End of story.

The sun beat down on them as it rose higher, chasing the clouds away until the sky was an almost painful blue. He drove until about ten o’clock that morning, wanting to get a few hours between them and the border before stopping. Finally, near the outskirts of Chihuahua, he saw a roadside taco stand and pulled over. He killed the engine and did a quick scan. Good – no angels nearby, at least.

“What do you think, is it all right to stop here?” he said to Willow as they got off the bike.