World After (Penryn & the End of Days 2)

He assesses the two girls, then takes one by the arm and ushers her out.

The cold part of me says don’t ask. As far as I can tell, it’s to my benefit. And it could help my sister. “You’re holding someone hostage?”

One of these days, I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut.

“We’re all hostages here,” says Doc. “I’m doing what I can to keep someone alive. ”

That sinks in.

I take him aside and whisper, “If the prison break doesn’t go down the way it’s supposed to, will you see that my mother is safe?”

“Your mother, the lady running around triggering the alarms?”

I nod.

“I don’t think I can promise that. ”

Surprisingly, I feel better about his answer than if he had promised to take care of her because it’s more honest.

“Will you try?”

He doesn’t look happy about it.

“Paige will listen to her, too. ” Not entirely true considering some of the things my mother tells us to do, but no need to get into details with him.

He thinks about it, then nods. “I’ll try. ”

That’s as good as I can expect.

“And there’s a woman named Clara—”

He shakes his head. “I’m not a magician. I can’t make the hell that is Alcatraz go away. One is all I can promise to try to keep safe. ”

He steps back from me and takes Madeline aside. They whisper in the corner, giving me a chance to absorb the situation.

The dark-haired teenager steps closer to me. She’s my height. We have the same figure and the same shade of dark hair and eyes.

Matching pairs of girls.

Archangel.

An image of Uriel the politician walking through the aerie’s club with his matching terrified women comes to mind.

I instinctively reach to stroke my bear-sword, trying to get some comfort from the soft fur, but there’s nothing there but empty air.

Chpater 46

THE FERRY RIDE to San Francisco is as quiet and gloomy as the one that took me to Alcatraz. The big difference is that humans are guarding us instead of scorpions.

Madeline and her crew go around

asking the two dozen of us if we can sew or design costumes, or if we know how to make jewelry. If we answer yes, they write stuff down on their clipboards. I don’t know how to do any of these things but they don’t seem to care.

I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since my last ride on this ferry. It’s dawn now. The sky is tinged with what I always thought of as rosy pink, but this morning it looks more like the color of a fresh bruise.

I try to see if I can talk to the captain, but the guards firmly redirect me to the bathrooms. On my way back, I find a pen and paper on a clipboard hanging on the wall in the stairwell. So I spend the rest of the ride writing down what I want to say to the boat driver, just in case I have to slip him a note instead of being able to talk to him.

I carefully word my argument to try to be as persuasive as I can. When I’m done, I fold the paper and slide it into my pocket, hoping I won’t need it. It’ll be much better if I can persuade the driver in person.

Once we dock, we walk out into the sunlight, unable to believe we’re free from Alcatraz. The scorpions that were injured on the night we were captured are nowhere to be seen. Blood streaks across the splintery dock and into the early morning shadows.

Our human guards don’t veer from their intended course even though there are no scorpions or angels around.

“Why don’t you run?” I can’t help but ask one of the guards.

“And do what?” he says loud enough for all the prisoners to hear. “Fight to scrounge for scraps in the garbage bin? Not be able to sleep because I’m so afraid angels will hunt me down?”

He looks around at all the prisoners. We all look unsure, tentative, and lost. “Angels might hurt others but not me. Their creatures get out of my way when I walk by. I eat three full meals every single day. I stay warm and protected. And you can too. You’ve been chosen. All you have to do is follow instructions. ”

He must have been a spin doctor in the World Before, the way he turns my simple question into a propaganda moment. I notice he doesn’t say he’s free.

The piles of weapons, bags, and other precious items that were left on the pier look like they’ve been hurriedly picked through and are scattered near the dock. The only things that remain are the weakest of weapons, upended bags, and toys. I scan the stuff until I see the two things I’m looking for.

Mom’s tracker lies beside a purse, looking like a clunky cell phone. And Raffe’s sword lies near it, just where I left it, half-hidden under a rummaged backpack with clothes spilling out of it. The teddy bear that still hides the sword stares at the sky as if looking for Raffe to fly down and rescue it.

Huge relief floods through me. I run to grab the tracker and sword, hugging the bear like a long lost friend.