World After (33 page)

My handful of cereal stops midway to my mouth. “Seriously? The place full of crazed, bloodthirsty Neanderthals where we barely escaped with our lives?”

He arches a brow at me. Sucks the peanut butter off his fingers.

I pop the cereal into my mouth and start crunching. “Just because your people are pretty, doesn’t mean they’re not Neanderthals inside.”

“Based on what you’ve told me, I’m guessing that the riot wasn’t what Uri had in mind. Any soldier could have told him that’s what was going to happen. You dangle the apocalypse in front of frustrated warriors unclear about their mission and you have a bit of a tussle on your hands.”

“A bit of a tussle?”

“Too old-fashioned?” He scoops up more peanut butter. He seems to prefer not to mix it with cereal.

“People were torn to pieces. Literally. In bloody, little, horrible bits. That’s not exactly a tussle.”

“And I’m sorry about that but there was nothing I could do to stop it.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds cold and calculating and pragmatic.

“What’s with all the cheering over the apocalypse, anyway? Oh, yay, we get to kill poor helpless humans.” I sound cranky. I dip my handful of cereal into the peanut butter, making sure I leave some of the cereal in it. For good measure, I drop a couple of raisins in it too.

“The excitement over the apocalypse has nothing to do with humans.”

“Could have fooled me.”

He peers into the contaminated peanut butter jar. He throws me an arch look and puts it back down without dipping into it. “Humans are incidental.”

“Killing and destroying an entire species is incidental?” I can’t help but sound like I’m accusing him, even though I know he wasn’t part of the plan to wipe us out.

Or at least, I think he wasn’t personally involved, but I don’t really know that, do I?

“Your people have been doing it to all kinds of species.” He grabs the cereal box.

“That’s not the same.” I grab the peanut butter jar.

“Why not?”

“Can we please just get back to how your people are partying over killing my people?” I scoop out more peanut butter.

He watches me licking the peanut butter off my fingers. “They’re celebrating the possibility of freeing their friends.”

“Angels have friends?” I pucker my lips around my finger, sucking every bit of the treat off it.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and glares at me. “When you fight side-by-side with other warriors, they become your brothers. Every one of us has a brother who has fallen. The only thing that offers any hope for them is Judgment Day. On that day, they finally get their trial.”

“An eternity of punishment comes before the trial?” I’m about to dip my fingers into the jar again when he dumps cereal into it. I’ll have to eat through the cereal before I can lick up more peanut butter.

“The system is purposely harsh to keep everyone in line. It’s what keeps our warrior society together.”

I poke my finger in the cereal-peanut butter mix, wondering if he’s annoyed. “And if they’re judged guilty?” My finger comes out with a dab of peanut butter on the tip. I lick it off, savoring the last of the sweet taste.

He gets up abruptly and starts pacing the room. “Then eternity gets longer.”

I know the answer to my next question, but I need to ask anyway. “And when does Judgment Day happen?”

“At the end of the apocalypse.”

I nod. “Right. The one that everyone’s so eager to have.” Being right never seems to make me feel better these days.

He takes a deep breath and releases it as if needing to blow off steam. “Let’s go find my sword.”

I hate to waste time flying to Pier 39 but both the sword and Mom’s tracker are there. That tracker is still my best bet for finding Paige. Besides, I might get a chance to see if Mom, Clara, and the others made it off the island. If they didn’t, maybe there’s something I can do to help them.

Doc had said that the scorpions would be out somewhere tonight and now I know that Beliel must have orchestrated the locusts’ flyby over the angel death rally. The Alcatraz escape should have either succeeded or failed by now. I can’t even stomach the thought of what might be happening now if it failed.

I quickly find an oversized coat and a pair of tennis shoes that fit me surprisingly well. In the meantime, Raffe picks out a wicked-looking kitchen knife and sticks it in his waistband, sheath and all.

Outside, the fog has lifted, showing a crisp night with the waning moon and stars reflecting off the ocean. Between us and the sea is a beach blanketed by pieces of wood and glass from pulverized houses.

The broken glass reflects the light from the sky like a carpet of flickering fireflies that stretches out as far as I can see. It’s so unexpectedly beautiful that I pause to look at it. How can something so wondrous come out of such devastation?

I glance over at Raffe to see if he’s appreciating the same thing. But he’s watching me instead.

I walk over to him, feeling self-conscious. Flying in his arms earlier was the business of war, and we didn’t have much time to think about anything other than escape.

This time it’s by choice, and I can’t help but think about his strong arms holding me and his warm skin brushing against mine.

I lift my arms like a child who wants to be picked up.

He hesitates for a second, looking at me. Is he remembering holding me in his arms at the old aerie when he thought I was dead? What must it be like for him to hold someone this many times after being isolated for so long?

He lifts me in his arms, cradling me while I wrap my arms around his neck. My cheek brushes against his as he picks me up. Warmth flows from the touch and I resist the impulse to nuzzle.

He runs two steps and we’re in the air, heading toward Alcatraz.

If I hadn’t already flown with him, I’d be scared. I’m above the water with nothing but his arms between me and an icy plunge. But his arms are wrapped tightly around me and his chest is warm. I lean my head against his muscular shoulder and close my eyes.

He rubs his cheek against my hair.

I know that soon I’ll have to think about Paige, Mom, and Clara. My priorities will be all about survival and getting my family together and keeping them safe from monsters and people alike.

But for now, for just for this moment, I let myself be a seventeen-year-old girl in a strong guy’s arms. I even let some of the what-ifs seep in, the kind of possibilities that might have blossomed between us in the World Before.

Just for a little while.

Before I carefully fold my dreams away into the vault in my head.

I
NSTEAD
OF
flying up the peninsula, we fly across it until we reach the San Francisco Bay. From there, the plan is to fly up the length of the bay, roughly following the peninsula coastline. It’s a longer route to Alcatraz but the fog sits thick over the water, just as we suspected. With all the angels and scorpions in the air tonight, Raffe figured we’d be better off flying over water, and he was right.

The air is damp and the wind is harsh. Despite my coat, Raffe is my true source of warmth, and I can’t help but bask in the feel of his body as we whoosh through the fog.

Raffe cocks his head like he hears something.

He veers to investigate. I have no idea how he even knows we’re going in the right direction in the middle of this cloud, much less how he can pinpoint some minor noise that I can’t even hear, but he does.

We glide out of the thickest fog and skim silently along the bottom tendrils of mist hanging over the bay. The smoky moonlight glows faintly against the oily darkness below.

I hear the muffled sound of engines chugging in the water before I see the boats.

Below us, half-a-dozen boats work their way through the bay. I don’t see Captain Jake’s ferry. Of course, there’s no reason why it should be here, but I can’t help but hope that these are the Alcatraz escapees. These boats are smaller and sleeker but still large enough to carry dozens of people each.

Did Dee and Dum manage to bring together a rescue team?

If so, I’m impressed. That would mean they were able to gather enough boats to hopefully get everyone out in one trip. And it looks like they also smartly decided to take advantage of the darkness and fog by traveling over water instead of land.

Raffe glides down, circling silently near the ships, as curious as I am about what’s happening.

The decks are covered with people huddling together for warmth. Someone must have caught a glimpse of our darker shape against the sky because the engines shut off and the boats float silently through the night. There are men with rifles pointed at the sky, but most of them are not pointed at us, so we must not be very visible. And the best news is that none of the guns go off.

I’m guessing they have orders to shoot only as a last resort since the noise from a single shot could beckon a horde of monsters to them. The boats seem to be doing okay silently drifting through the fog. If this is the Alcatraz escape, they’ve probably been on the water for hours, which means they’ve had their engines off most of the time.

There is no light, motion, or sound anywhere except on the roof of the largest boat that’s leading the fleet. The reflection from the water’s ripples and the moonlit glow of the mist are enough to see that there’s something tied to the roof.

It’s a thrashing scorpion.

Someone hovers over the writhing monster. As we silently glide past, I get a better look.

The beast’s body and tail are securely tied. Its mouth is gagged and making a muffled hiss as it tries frantically to sting the woman who bends over it.

The woman is absorbed in whatever she’s doing and doesn’t notice us. She’s drawing something on its chest. I can’t see her face but there’s only one person she could be.

My mother is alive and apparently uninjured.

Two men holding rifles stand on either side of her. I’m guessing by the bulging arms of one and the yuppie collar of the other that they’re probably Tattoo and Alpha. If so, Mom must have impressed the hell out of them during the escape or they wouldn’t be protecting her as she draws on a scorpion.

We sweep over the boat, but it’s too dark for me to see what she’s writing.

“She’s drawn a heart on his chest in lipstick and is writing ‘Penryn and Paige’ inside the heart,” whispers Raffe in my ear. We circle back on our way to the pier. “Now she’s drawing flowers on his stomach.”

I can’t help but smile and shake my head.

I feel lighter.

And for a moment, I hold Raffe tighter in what some people might mistake as a hug.

P
IER
39
is mostly as I remember it. Broken planks sticking out every which way, demolished buildings, a boat on its side.

Captain Jake’s ferry has been driven into the pier, plowing the planks in a crown of jagged splinters. The ship sits lower than it should, slowly sinking. A spotlight from the deck remains on and throws a ghostly ray of light across the pier.

So not everyone chose to go down the bay to the peninsula. Some must have wanted to take the shortest crossing to the mainland and then scattered. That would make sense if you thought your chances were better on land than on water, or if you had loved ones in the city. But whoever piloted the ship probably wasn’t Captain Jake. Unless he was seriously drunk, which is a real possibility.

We circle above the pier, scoping out the situation. Looters scatter when they glimpse our moon shadow. A couple of them are just kids. Word must be getting around about the valuables left on the pier. I wonder if they have any idea how dangerous it is for them to be here?

As soon as everyone disappears, we land silently in the shadows.

Raffe holds me a second longer than necessary before he puts me down. And then it takes me a second longer than necessary to slide my arms away from his neck and step back from his warmth. Anyone watching us might assume we were a couple kissing in the dark.

The lights illuminate the beams and planks sticking up on the dock. The moist air of our breaths condenses into mist and swirls together as we watch and listen to make sure no one is around.