“You’re injured,” Conin argues.
“I’m fine,” Atlas shoots back.
“I can test the range of my telekinesis. Perhaps I can reach some of the men closer to the warehouse,” Ambrosia says.
“I’m afraid I don’t have much water to work with,” pipes up the water-wielder.
“Atlas can create a diversion. In their distraction, we’ll make an advance. We have some ammunition left and we could use Gavin’s ice and Ambrosia’s telekinesis.”
I nod and prepare myself. It’s time I finally carry my weight.
Chapter 80
Ezra
Angela’s soldiers will have to run out of bullets eventually. This isn’t some episode ofThe Walking Dead.
Yells from far away carry to where we take cover.
“They’re here! Leeanne’s group is here!”
Collectively, we breathe a sigh of relief.
Together, we combine our powers and strength to push ahead. Atlas vanishes, then reappears seconds later to tackle a soldier onto the tracks. I stay glued to Conin’s side with a handgun that has a single round left. I need to use it wisely and I need to trust in those around me to keep me safe. We’re few and limited, but together we’re a force to be reckoned with. And with Leeanne’s return, the Angelics might just have a shot at winning this battle.
I’m terrified.
But I’m not alone.
I never was.
Leeanne phases through a slew of gunfire aimed in her direction. She sprints toward a woman clad in the Barclay attireand passes through their body uninterrupted before coming into possession of the weapon the soldier was holding. She tries her luck several more times, handing each firearm to a member of her squad before moving on to the next unfortunate soul to cross her path.
Atlas scuffles with a man who grabs hold of his frame to boot him off. The weapon scatters in the process, but the man isn’t finished with Atlas, who struggles to his feet. He’s kicked repeatedly on the visor, over and over. Atlas’s head lifts, then thuds against the gravel, while the Barclay soldier aims to shatter glass. Conin and I aren’t quick enough. We pick up our pace, a bloodcurdling cry slips from Conin, and I cock the barrel, set to aim.
Yet it’s Gavin who beats us to him. The soldier’s boots freeze in place, icy shards climbing until they reach the padded shins. The man’s head comes next. It’s encompassed in a bulb of pure ice, which snaps apart from the rest of the body. Both figure and head crash into a dead heap. Gavin assists Atlas to a standing position, but Atlas is wobbly on his feet. We reach him a second later. I keep him upright while Conin thanks Gavin, who then returns to battle. We’re in the eye of the storm with little to protect ourselves.
I sling an arm around Atlas’s shoulder, and in my peripheries, the flash of a familiar face makes the entirety of my being freeze. Thax is on the outskirts of the ensuing pandemonium, a deer in headlights. I can’t help but look at him, feel my will and composure freeze. We can’t see each other’s eyes, but I know without a doubt we’re looking at each other.
“Ezra, who is that?” Atlas says.
My mouth won’t function.
“That’s his brother,” Conin whispers.
I failed to mention Thax was here, but I gather nothing from Conin’s expression, which is stony-faced and slack behind thevisor. I will myself to get moving before we’re killed where we stand, but I grind to another halt as Ambrosia careens in front of us to telekinetically toss Thax into the heart of the train station. He breaks through walls and plaster, glass and embers. I don’t take any time to consider what I do next. I bolt for the raging inferno and the building it consumes. Not a single thought flickers in my head despite one single word:closure. Whatever that might be. Whoever lies in the rubble: brother or foe.
This is the end. Maybe we can salvage something before it comes crumbling down over our heads.
“Thomas!” I shout.
My partners shriek my name.
There’s no stopping me.
The flames climb and lick the infrastructure of this tiny station. I fall into place right in front of the hole Thomas’s body created when he went crashing through. I enter and the building groans in greeting. Sparks rain from overhead—the roof starts to cave in. And I yell his name.
“Ezra!” Thomas shouts back.
