The streets have turned desolate and empty of people. We are out of the aerie district and in the demolished zone. Miles of burnt-out car husks and wrecked buildings flow by. The wind whips my hair around my face as we drive through the charred and broken skeleton of our world.
We occasionally stop, blending in with the other dead cars. At one point, Obi shushes us, and we hold our breath, hoping nothing finds us. I assume angels have been spotted above and we are camouflaging ourselves.
Just when I think it’s all over, someone in the back shouts, “Look out!”
He points above him. Everyone looks up.
Against the wounded sky, a lone angel circles above us.
No, not an angel.
Light glints off curved metal on the edge of his wing. The shape of the wings are not shaped like a bird’s wings. It’s a giant bat-wing shape.
My heart speeds up with my need to shout out to him. Could it be?
He circles overhead, each pass spiraling him down closer. The spirals are wide and slow, almost reluctant.
To me, it’s a non-threatening look at our truck. But to the others, especially in their adrenalin-fueled state, it’s an enemy attack.
They heft up their rifles and point them up at the sky.
I want to shout for them to stop. I want to tell them they’re not all out to get us. I want to slam into them and mess up their aim. But all I can do is watch as they point and shoot into the air.
The lazy circles turn into evasive maneuvers. He is close enough for me to see that he has dark hair, and now that he’s doing more than gliding, the way he moves seems awkward. As though he’s just learning to fly with his wings.
It’s Raffe. He’s alive.
And he’s flying!
I want to jump up and down, waving and yelling up to him. I want to cheer him on. My heart soars with him even as it is gripped with fear that he’ll fall out of the sky.
The soldiers are not expert enough with their rifles to hit a moving target from that distance. Raffe flies away without injury.
My face muscles twitch a tiny bit in response to my inner joy.
CHAPTER 47
It takes another hour before I thaw out completely. All the while, my mother clenches her hands and prays desperately over my body in the low guttural sounds that is her speaking-in-tongues. They are her unique perversions of words that are undoubtedly disturbing to hear, but she chants them in a cadence that’s somehow lulling at the same time. Leave it to Mom to be simultaneously frightening and soothing, as only an insane mother can be.
I know I’m getting my body back but I just lie there until I can sit up. I start to occasionally blink and breathe normally long before I sit up, but no one notices. Between my sister’s stitched and automaton-like presence at my feet, and my mother’s non-stop prayers over my head, I suppose my still body is the least interesting thing to look at.
The day is dawning.
I never realized what a triumph it was to simply be alive. My sister is with us. Raffe is flying. Everything else is secondary.
And for now, that is enough.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A very special thanks goes out to my terrific editor, Gryphon, whose commitment to the book inspired me. Thanks also to my awesome beta readers Nyla, Jessica, Eric, Adrian Khactu, and Travis Heermann for their amazing and insightful feedback which brought the story up to the next level. Thanks to John Skotnik for catching those last minute copyediting issues and to Peter Adams, photographer extraordinaire, for taking such great author photos.
And of course, a heartfelt thanks to Aaron, whose artistic nurturing and encouragement helped me find the way.