“MAFU!” Ambrosia screams.
A car door slams, and a large man in thick armor sprints in our direction, but he isn’t quick enough. The white van is yards away and Levi’s throwing fire like he’s trying to avenge Callum’s name.
“Give us the boy!” Levi bellows.
Ambrosia refuses to humor him and pushes back with a burst of her telekinetic powers. He stumbles to the asphalt, the dark clothing on his flesh scraping against the rough ground. Meanwhile, Mara relentlessly fires bolt after bolt at Matt. Ezra squirms underneath my weight, but I hold him down and use my arm to communicate he needs to stay where he is. Atlas is motionless beside us, fear in his eyes.
I remember the gun stowed away. I should have known better than to believe this would go according to plan. Such is our luck. I reach for it in my backpack, but fear grips me tight. What do I do?
It’s foolish to believe we could have escaped unscathed if Ezra had transformed before our departure. Creating scenario after scenario won’t change what’s already happened, and realistically wouldn’t have avoided this conflict. Horrifically, Levi bounds into the air and rains fire down at us. It is so quick that none of us can react in time.
Ezra emits a bloodcurdling cry. Flames lick up his arm. I smell scorched flesh—it’s nauseating, like leather over fire. Ambrosia pulls Levi back to her and flings him farther than before. The act strains her, evident in the red of her eyes and the drooping of her shoulders. Ambrosia moves on to Mara so Matt is able to do what he can to aid us with water. We’re splashed with it, drenched from head to toe, but it doesn’t matter. All I fear for is Ezra, who continues to elicit small groans of pain.
In the distance comes a roar. I check on Ezra, then crane my neck up the road. Two black vans cruise down the street. As soon as they halt to a stop, soldiers in black file out with automatic guns.
Chapter 39
Ezra
The cauterized skin on my arm screams in agony. Underneath the scorching Utah sun, the pain is unbearably worse. Tears fight to pour out of my eyes while I resist the urge to press on the wound.
“Mafu! Call in for backup!” screams Ambrosia.
She swipes both arms in opposite, horizontal movements, telekinetically tossing several men aside. Conin reaches for me and hoists me from the ground. We’re moving fast, considering. Pustules mark my crimson skin, capturing my attention to the point I almost forget where we are and what’s happening around me. It swelters and cries, pleading for reprieve.
Thax never inflicted anything like this. Tears sting and encompass my vision.
“Atlas, get them out of here. We’ll handle it,” Ambrosia says as she redirects the trajectory of a blitz. Mafu, a large, yet slender, Polynesian man with buzzed hair, arrives, determination in his eyes. He extends an arm to his left. A long, thin plate of metalsoars, then hovers before him. He crafts a makeshift shield and places it before the soldiers sprinting at us in droves.
“Now!”
Fire soars into the sky in a plume of waves, a brutal reminder of the pain in my forearm, which surges with every movement. My uncompromised hand is gripped tightly by Conin’s as Atlas leads us up a hill and back into town. The heavy weight of our backpacks, Conin’s injured ankle, and my burns impede our progress, though stopping is a matter of life or death.
Is returning to town the smart thing to do? Won’t that put other’s lives at risk? My life isn’t worth it any more than the citizens of Eureka, but Conin’s determination says otherwise, and Atlas leads us ahead with no clear trajectory. This is spiraling out of control.
I’m much more aware of the charred layer of skin as we sprint for our lives. There’s a crackle of lightning in the distance. The night we fled Mara Barclay overtakes my vision in a brief flash. Terror courses in my veins, pumping blood to every corner and crevice of this tattered body, fueling me with adrenaline. My throat burns with deep, labored breaths. Gotta keep going.The subconscious will to survive from a masochist. The fucking irony.
Conin winces from the pain in his ankle. I try to communicate he can lean into me with a nudge, but he’s determinedly pushing himself harder than ever. Some of Barclay’s men have broken from the fray, pursuing us. Atlas, Conin, and I navigate the backyard of someone’s home. We turn abruptly left and almost splat into a brick wall. We adjust our course and then proceed ahead as the harsh thuds of boots sounds from dangerously close by. The soldiers trail toward us, but Atlas redirects us down an alleyway.
Ahead is Main Street. That won’t do us any favors. We’re putting so many at risk, but it’s too late—the soldiers behindhave found us and continue with a vengeance. Our trio spills onto the road just in time for Levi Finch to surprise attack from above. He ascends into the air with blasts of flame, then rains down the raging inferno upon us. The three of us scatter and I lose contact with Conin. I can’t see him, but Atlas is at the corner of my eye. He vanishes, then rematerializes on top of Levi’s shoulders, wrapping both arms tight around the man’s throat.
I cry, “Atlas!” just in the nick of time. A blaze builds in the whites of Levi’s eyes. Atlas pops from existence as the mercenary hurdles himself into the air again.
This is one of Conin’s favorite superhero movies come to life—a fucking nightmare. And I’m at the center of it all.
One moment Levi is suspended midair, the next he’s being tugged down by Atlas in one fell swoop. Levi crashes through the glass of a storefront. Barclay’s men file onto the road with barrels raised, while duplicate white vans charge in. Angelics spill outwards from the inside, adorned with the texturized, signature white suits.
Atlas pops and reappears before Conin and I, the lines of his face determined. He’s solid, fierce, as if he was always meant to fight, meant to be one of them: the Angelics. Seeing him like this is jarring compared to the image he gave off in the bunker. His resolve makes it hard to believe he had no idea what he was doing after his grandfather’s passing.
Screams emanate from the small market. Bruised and battered, Levi stands and peers out the jagged window with shards of glass sticking at odd angles along his skin. He brushes them off as inconsequential. Blood drools down his forearms, his palms. Atlas tugs Conin and me aside as Matt erects a water barrier between us and the vindictive mercenary. Eureka citizens hide behind shelves, attempting to escape through the mess of battle. All I feel is the scathing burn and thewrongfulness of innocents dying because we came here in search of safety.
My body shifts into the disguise from the motel.
Let’s see if this works.
I’m being dragged once again. We dodge flying bullets and soldiers eager to get their gloved hands on us. Angelics with a wide range of abilities fend off the soldiers as if they’re swatting flies. Mara and Levi, skilled and overpowered from obvious years of training, make our efforts difficult. Crackled lightning intersperses in the air followed by a loud, threatening detonation reverberating off Eureka’s mountainous walls. Angelics overpower and apprehend Barclay soldiers while the rest interlock in battle.
“No!” screams a woman. Mara, unmasked, throws herself up the alleyway, tiny wires of electricity branching out of her fingers. She stumbles, then fires, and a burst of lightning barely grazes the tips of our hair. The smell of ozone permeates my nostrils. It chars a hole into a wall. We’re running, running, running, and she’s pursuing, but before Atlas thinks it better to teleport and stop her, Mara freezes. She’s flung into Ambrosia’s clutches, though she retaliates with a swift kick to the Angelic’s ankle.
