“It’s called a Maradak, by the way,” Risky said, her voice unsurprisingly slurred by the fact that her mouth was dribbling liquid fire. “And it eats only one thing. Liver.”
There were cries of “Ewwww.”
Then Risky added, “Human liver.”
And then the terror started for real. There were screams and cries and fleeing. Mack’s parents raced back to their car and sped off—without their popcorn!
“You’re dying first,” Risky said, glaring at Camaro. “I thought I already had you killed once.”
“I’m not so easy to kill,” Camaro said.
Camaro should have run. Any normal person would have run. But Camaro was not one of those cowardly bullies; she was like Stefan: pretty darned brave, really.
So she put up her fists.
Risky put up her claws, teeth, bulging reptilian muscles, and eye protrusions that dripped fire and ice.
The Destroyer frowned.
Camaro knew she was about to die. She would need a miracle to get out of this jam.
The last miracle she’d seen was Mack moving the Eiffel Tower.
Risky roared, a sound that shook the earth and bruised the air.
And for some reason, in that moment of terror—yes, Camaro felt terror—the thing that came to mind was the last thing Mack had said in the last YouTube video.
“Fla-ma ik ag San Francisco!”
Twenty-five
Hurricanes are amazing things. Hurricanes can be killers, as can earthquakes. Neither is a joke, that’s for sure.
And suddenly the San Francisco Bay Area was getting hit with both at once. Because as incredible as it may seem, the power of the Magnificent Eleven, armed with the words of Vargran and the enlightened puissance, could bring on a hurricane. And at the same time the terrible evil power of the Pale Queen, causing solid rock to heave itself up out of the sea to form a bridge, was making the earth shift and groan and shudder and shake.
People were hurt that day.
People were hurt. And that is a terrible, terrible thing. If you feel like crying for the people who were hurt, well, good. Because we should cry for people who are hurt.
But Mack couldn’t stop the earthquake, and the hurricane was the only way he could think of to stop the attack of creatures who would have rampaged unchecked through the city and then the state and country and finally the world.
It was a necessary evil. But a necessary evil is still an evil.
The storm came on in a gray wall a thousand feet high. It made everything else seem small and weak and insignificant. It came on at 110 miles an hour.
“Hold on!” Mack cried.
“Grab the railing, get your heads down, and hold on!” Stefan cried, adding useful detail.
The storm did not touch the mile-long parade of fell creatures. They were protected by the Pale Queen’s invisible force field. But the storm had an odd effect anyway, because the vacuum created by the onrushing wind sucked hundreds of them out of the open end of the barrier, like sucking them through a straw.
Lepercons, Tong Elves, Skirrit, Bowands, and even mighty Gudridan were sucked out and thrown up into the air, and flew like flailing, bellowing cannonballs at the Golden Gate Bridge.
A Bowand hit the vertical cable directly above Mack’s head with such force that the creature was cut in two and both halves flew on.
Mack had a grip on the railing but the wind was so strong he felt his fingers slipping. Sylvie lost her grip and was rescued by a lightning-quick grab from Jarrah.
“This is insane!” José cried, and Mack only heard him because José was gripping the same two feet of railing.