“So your sister, is she all right?” asks Obi.
“Yes, I’m sure she’ll be back to herself soon.” I say this without hesitation. Of course she’s all right. What else can she be? What choice do we have? I try to radiate confidence through my voice despite the worry that gnaws at me.
“Tell us more about these scorpion angels,” says our other passenger. He has wavy hair, glasses, and rich brown skin. He has the air of a scholar who’s getting his geek on over a favorite topic.
In my relief to change the subject from Paige, I tell them every detail I can recall. Their size, their dragonfly wings, their total lack of uniformity that’s so unlike lab specimens you see in the movies. How some of them seemed embryonic but others looked nearly fully formed. I tell him about the people trapped in the tanks with them, getting their lives sucked out of them.
When I finish, there’s a pause as everyone absorbs my tale.
Just as I think this question-and-answer session will be easy, they ask about the demon who carried me and dropped me off at the Resistance rescue truck during the aerie attack. I have no idea what to say so my answer to all their questions is, “I don’t know. I was unconscious.”
Despite that, I’m surprised at how many questions they ask about “the demon.”
Was he the devil? Did he say anything about what he was doing there? Where did you meet him? Do you know where he went? Why did he drop you off with us?
“I don’t know,” I say for the umpteenth time. “I was unconscious.”
“Can you reach him again?”
That last question squeezes my heart a little. “No.”
Dee-Dum does a quick U-turn to avoid a backed-up side road.
“Anything else you’d like to tell us?” asks Obi.
“No.”
“Thank you,” says Obi. He turns to look at the other passenger. “Sanjay, your turn. I hear you have a theory about the angels that you want to share with us?”
“Yes,” says the scholar holding up a map of the world. “I think that most of the killing during the Great Attack could have been incidental. Sort of a side effect of the angels coming here. My hypothesis is that when a couple of them enter our world, it’s a local phenomenon.”
Sanjay pricks a pin through the map. “A hole in our world is created which lets them come in. It probably causes some kind of local weather disturbance but nothing too dramatic. But when an entire legion comes through, this is what happens.”
He punches a screwdriver into the paper. The handle and his hand also go through, tearing the map.
“My theory is that the world rips when they invade. This is what triggered the earthquakes, the tsunamis, the weather disturbances—everything catastrophic that caused the majority of the damage and deaths.” Thunder rolls through the gray sky as if to agree with him.
“It wasn’t the angels themselves who controlled nature when they invaded,” says Sanjay. “That’s why they didn’t create a giant tsunami to swallow us up when we attacked the aerie. They can’t. They are living, breathing creatures just like us. They may have abilities we don’t have, but they’re not godlike.”
“You’re telling us that they killed this many people and they weren’t even trying?”
Sanjay rakes his fingers through his thick hair. “Well, they did kill a bunch of people after we killed their leader, but they may not be as all-powerful as we initially thought. Of course, I have no proof. It’s just a theory that fits what little we know. But if you guys can bring back some bodies for us to study, we may be able to shed some light on this.”
“Want me to confiscate some angel parts from the hallways?” asks Dee-Dum.
I don’t joke about how he and his brother are probably dealing in angel parts, just in case it’s true.
“There’s no guarantee any of those parts are authentic,” says Sanjay. “In fact, I’d be surprised if any of them are. Besides, it would be much more helpful to study an entire body.” The shreds of the paper depicting our world lie drooping on Sanjay’s lap.
“Cross your fingers,” says Obi. “If we’re lucky, we might be able to bring you some live ones.”
I feel a flutter of unease. But I tell myself that they won’t capture Raffe. They can’t. He’ll be all right.
The two-way radio on the dash comes alive and a voice says, “Something’s going on at the old aerie.”
Obi grabs the handset and asks, “What kind of something?”
“Angels in the air. Too many to hunt.”
Obi takes a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment and looks toward the city. In most places he wouldn’t have a clear view, but we’re near the water so he has a shot at seeing something.
“What are they up to?” asks Dee-Dum.
“No idea,” says Obi looking through the binoculars. “There are a lot of them, though. Something interesting is going on.”
“We’re halfway to the city already,” says Dee-Dum.
“He said there were too many to capture,” says Sanjay sounding nervous.
“True,” says Obi. “But it’s a chance to find out what they’re doing. And you wanted angel bodies to study. The aerie will be the best place to find them.”
“I think it’s gotta be one place or the other, boss,” says Dee-Dum. “If we go to the airport, it’ll take everyone we’ve got to bag our targets, assuming they’re still there.”
Obi sighs, seeming reluctant. He speaks into the radio. “Change of plans. All vehicles head to the old aerie. Approach with extreme caution. Repeat, approach with extreme caution. Hostiles have been sighted. This is now an observation mission. But if you get the chance, bring back a bird specimen. Dead or alive.”
THE ICY rain pelts my face as we race through abandoned cars in a sea of junk. Well, racing is a strong word for an SUV rolling at thirty miles an hour, but these days that speed is neck-breaking—literally, since I’m perched on the window and hanging on for dear life.
“Tank at two o’clock,” I call out.
“Tank? Seriously?” asks Dee-Dum. He strains his neck to see above the debris cluttering the road. He sounds excited even though we both know that the angels would hear a tank from miles away.
“I kid you not. Looks dead.” My rain-soaked hair drips down my neck and traces a finger of ice down my back. It’s a light rain, as most San Francisco rains are, but enough to seep through everything. The wet chill freezes my hands and it’s hard to hang onto the grab-handle.
“Bus at twelve o’clock,” I say.
“Yeah, that I can see.”
The bus lies on its side. I briefly wonder if it got tilted by one of the earthquakes that shook the world when the angels came, or if it was picked up and tossed by avenging angels when the Resistance hit their aerie. My guess is that it was tossed, since there’s a long crater in the road near the bus with an upside-down Hummer in it.
“Uh, giant crater—” Before I can finish my sentence, Dee-Dum swerves the car. I hang on tight as I’m pitched to the right. For a moment, I think I’m going to smash into the asphalt face-first.
He does a crazy zigzag maneuver before he straightens the car.
“A little forewarning would be nice,” says Dee-Dum in a singsong voice.
“A little smoother driving would be nicer,” I say mimicking his tone. The hard metal of the car door presses against my thighs, bruising my muscles as we bump onto the sidewalk.