The soldiers have no time to react. All they can do is lift their blades. Some of them point their guns at me, but I slide into a crouch, one of my wings shielding me from their barrage of bullets. I seize the first soldier by the collar and fling him aside; I grab his fallen blade and swing it viciously at the second soldier.
From behind them comes the gnashing of rotting fangs. Ghosts.
They don’t target me, but turn their attention on the Strikers who have come with us on the mission. I narrow my eyes, bare my teeth, and hurtle into them.
Near the end of the train tracks, an explosion rocks the earth.
The blast is so powerful that I feel the heat scalding my back.One of Adena’s bombs.I guess they didn’t catch all of them.
Screams erupt from the gate, where the patrol has been thrown back. Flames roar against the entrance’s frame. Silhouetted against the chaos is Adena herself, running alongside Tomm and Pira as they draw near to the train car of prisoners. I glimpse a flash of Aramin’s uniform darting through the grass.
Knives are in my hands, cutting through skin and flesh before I am even aware of my own attack. I spin through soldiers and Ghosts alike in a whirlwind of blood. The blades of my wings slice through the air until they strike bodies. I wince at each impact, but the pain fuels me now, and the threat of death pushes me to keep moving.
Some of the Ghosts are newly formed. They look more human thanthe others, their forms smaller but their rage fresh, their bodies flush with strength from the intense agony of breaking down. I grit my teeth, hating the look of them. It’s like looking at a person who is no longer a person. Like watching the soul of your sister rot before your eyes.
Soldiers are pouring toward us from every direction now. There are far too many of them for us to face. They seem not only to know that we would stage this attack, but that I would be among them.
We have lost this battle. The others have to get out of here.
I push off from the ground and charge into a patrol of soldiers heading for the others. A bullet hits my shoulder and rockets me backward. I grimace and look in the direction of my attacker. It’s Caitoman himself. His hit can’t penetrate the steel under my skin, but it leaves a small wound anyway. I whirl to focus on him.
Far at the other end of the train, I see Jeran sliding the train car door open and slicing through the ropes of the first prisoner he sees.
I raise my voice at him. “Jeran!” I scream. “Retreat! Retreat!”
Jeran’s eyes flicker toward me, but his jaw is set as he ignores me and goes back to freeing the prisoners. I curse. Damn bleeding hearts.
Caitoman shoots at me again. I dodge a second time, but now I can tell that they are less interested in the prisoners and more determined to keep me from escaping. I am the real prize. I narrow my eyes and dart into the crowd of soldiers, cutting anyone down in my path. But there are so many of them now.
“Strikers!” I shout again and again, blindly.“Retreat!”
From the corner of my eye, I see Jeran ushering some of the prisoners toward the woods. A few of them have broken past the train station and are heading straight into the forest. Jeran whirls as some of the Ghosts lunge toward them. He switches one of his blades for a gun in the same fluid movement.
Then he freezes in his path. His eyes are fixed on the first Ghost hurtling toward him. All the color has drained from his face.
My eyes flicker to the beast that has caught his attention. It was clearly transformed recently—still bearing some resemblance to the old man it once was, though its lips are already ripped and bleeding from the larger, jagged teeth growing in its mouth. Its skin has begun cracking in places, all the way down to the red muscle.
It looks familiar. And an instant later, I realize who it is.
This was once Jeran’s father.
My head whips back to Jeran. “No!” I shout. “Move!” I crouch as if to rush to him, but I know I’m too far away to reach him in time. In my panic, I switch to Karenese.“It’s not your father!”
But Jeran doesn’t move. His face is locked on his father’s, and his body is frozen in terror.
In that expression, you see the boy he must have once been, cowering under the cruelty of the Senator, bearing the abuse quietly. You see the same fear on his face that you’d seen in the Grid.
Jeran takes a hesitant step backward. All his Striker training seems to have left him. He drops his gun and remaining blade and raises his hands toward his face as if in self-defense. His father—the Ghost—lunges at him with jaws open.
Adena comes out of nowhere. She barrels hard into Jeran, knocking him out of the Ghost’s path and clear to the ground.
At the same time, Aramin jumps down from the top of the train to land in a crouch before Jeran and Adena. His teeth are bared in a snarl; a blade shines in each of his hands.
He gives the charging Ghost a grim smile before rushing at it.
I’m forced to tear my gaze away as more soldiers try to fence me in. But even from the corner of my eye, I see blood spray. I don’t know whether it’s from the Ghost or from Aramin. From the top of the trainshoots a net. I dart out of the way barely in time and turn toward the others again in another attempt to join them.
That is when the shadow falls over me. I know in the pit of my stomach who it is before I raise my eyes.
