She could, but only three at a time. The last two were Mack and Stefan.
Stefan was gazing back toward the battle. The cops and marines were falling back, getting closer every second. The murdering horde was just beyond them.
Mack had the definite feeling that there might be fewer cops and marines still standing than there had been to start with.
The Coast Guard cutter was burning and veered away. A helicopter lay crumpled and sinking beneath the waves.
“You know what I said about you being under my wing?” Stefan said, not taking his eyes from the terrible conflict.
“Of course,” Mack said.
Stefan looked at Mack, and to Mack’s amazement there were tears in his former bully’s cold blue eyes. “I don’t think I can protect you from what’s coming.”
Mack didn’t know what to say. Just then Xiao reappeared, and the two boys climbed swiftly onto her back, Stefan behind Mack.
As they rose into the air, Mack heard Stefan whisper, “But I’ll make them pay.”
It was a wild ride up to the bridge. The bridge is an object that is both delicate and massive. Past one end lay the brown hills of Marin County; on the other end, the green trees and hills of the Presidio park, and beyond it the city of San Francisco.
To one side of the bridge there was the bay with its sailboats and ferries and hulking great cargo ships. To the other side there was the Pacific Ocean, though something new now dominated that familiar view.
As they rose through the air on Xiao’s back, Mack saw the full length of the causeway. The creatures looked small from up here. Small but not harmless. They bristled with weapons both natural and manufactured. Mack saw a creature he’d never seen before, nor imagined in his darkest nightmare: he saw the source of the firebolts that lanced out at helicopters and ships. It was a deep-red, six-legged, twisting, curling, wormlike thing with a head as smooth as a snake’s but for two hornlike protrusions, one on either side. One was red and dripped liquid fire. The other was blue. As the creature moved, it casually crushed Tong Elves and Skirrit. It even dared to push aside the giant Gudridan. And unless Mack was very much mistaken, it occasionally shot out its forked tongue and sucked in a Lepercon.
It was hard to feel sorry for the Lepercons. Mack had had a run-in with them before and didn’t like them one bit.
Jets now flew higher, out of the monsters’ range, and fired missiles that were no longer wasted on the impenetrable barrier but were aimed at the hole Mack and his friends had made. Two missiles arrived without more than a second’s notice and flew right into that opening.
The explosion was incredible and everyone cheered, including the people who lined the rail on the bridge.
“You people need to get off this bridge!” Mack yelled, realizing that they were in great danger. In fact, he told them: “You’re in great danger!”
“Hey, it’s that kid from YouTube!” someone shouted, and pretty soon camera phones were swinging back and forth between Mack and the advancing army of the Pale Queen. Very few people ran away, which was certainly what Mack felt like doing.
Police had not even stopped traffic onto the bridge yet. Of course they were busy, but this, Mack knew, was a disaster in the making.
A disappointed sound went up from the onlookers as the smoke of the missiles’ explosions cleared and showed the monsters still coming.
“Get off this bridge, you idiots!” Mack yelled. “Do you want to die?”
Now, finally, the people on the sidewalk—there’s a sidewalk running along both sides of the bridge, wide enough for four or five people to walk abreast40—headed either toward the city side or the Marin side. They could clearly see that the living stone of the causeway was rising up, curling toward the bridge itself. And it was plain to see that neither missiles nor cannon nor rifles nor Charlie’s speargun could stop the onslaught. The SWAT team and the few marines would be lucky to get out alive.
“Everyone, out!” Stefan yelled, and that had even more effect than Mack’s warning. “Off this bridge!”
“But we have to be here,” a voice said.
There were two people who looked like they might be twelve years old. One was a boy. He was black, tall, gangly, and wearing a T-shirt from the band Rancid over khaki shorts. On his feet: sandals.
It was impossible to miss the fact that he was dressed for some place warmer than San Francisco.
By the same token, it was impossible to avoid noting that the other kid was rather overdressed for the Northern California climate. She wore a hugely puffy down jacket with a hood lined in fur, thick gloves, a scarf, and insulated stretch pants. She had dark goggles pushed up onto her tumbling blond hair. And, strangest of all, she was standing on a snowboard.
The boy had spoken. The girl seemed inclined to just stare.
“Who are you?” Mack demanded.
The boy answered. “I am José. Five minutes ago I was waiting for a bus in Espírito Santo.”
“How did you get here?”