on the ground weren’t so lucky: those nearby were hurled into the air by the blast, and more were injured by flying debris. Trembling aftershocks also took a toll.
Through the dust and debris, I saw Fang’s gang, most of it, outside the plaza. I guessed that Ratchet had sensed what was about to happen, and they were strong enough and fast enough to get to safety quickly.
“Everyone okay?” I barked, and they nodded. Next to me, Maya did a quick head count. No Fang. Or Gazzy. Or Angel. My adrenaline surged.
“What happened?” I said, scanning the ground anxiously. “Gazzy’s
“I’m not sensing poison gas,” Dylan said, “not that that means anything. It might be odorless and tasteless.”
I circled quickly, going lower as the smoke settled. Where the open manhole had been, there was now a huge crater, maybe thirty feet across and thirty feet deep. My heart seized. Where was Gazzy? Angel? Fang?
Suddenly, I saw a smallish birdkid soaring upward, just as another gigantic explosion rocked the street. Shockwaves knocked me back several feet, and I inhaled a bunch of dust.
“Max!” Gazzy’s face was black, his eyes wide and scared.
“Gaz! Thank God you’re okay! Where’s Angel? And Fang?”
Gazzy started choking, forgetting to keep himself aloft, and I drifted down beside him as he landed on the broken granite pavers and rubble. He opened his mouth to speak, but coughed, then tears started running down his cheeks.
“Gazzy! What happened?” I said, but he shook his head, coughing,
Aftershocks rumbled below us again, and I made Gaz take to the air in case of another explosion. He could fly okay, but he looked miserable, and he kept gagging and spitting out dust.
Where was Angel? Where was Fang? I shot a panicked look at Dylan, and he understood immediately, diving down the hole to find them.
Could Angel and Fang really be gone? My brain whirled at the horrible possibility. Gazzy was still wheezing, unable to talk. There were times when I’d thought I’d lost Angel or Fang before. And when Fang left, I never thought I’d ever see him again. But that had felt more like… I wouldn’t see him, but he still existed. What about now? How would it feel if he—
I was swallowing shakily, terrified thoughts piercing my brain like shards of glass. Just as Dylan landed on the street, Fang shot up toward me, coming through the billowing clouds of dust and debris. His shirt was shredded, his face bruised and cut. Like Gazzy, he was covered with soot.
“Gaz! You made it out,” he gasped, when he got closer.
“Angel was right behind me,” Gazzy said. “Right behind me!” He looked around us, everywhere, as if expecting to see his sister making her way toward us.
I flew right up to Fang and clutched him, if only to convince myself that he was really alive.
That intense joy and relief ended in a nanosecond. I pulled back and grabbed his shoulders. “Where’s Angel?!”
“I—don’t—”
“How could you leave her?” I shrieked.
“Max, I—Gaz was almost done and I thought—Angel said—”
I looked into Fang’s face. His dark eyes, usually bottomless, were full of emotion. His face was ashen. My eyes widened and my hands dropped from his shoulders. I let my wings take me backward, away from him, as a silent, searing scream started to rise in my chest. He didn’t say anything out loud, but he told me just the same: he didn’t know where Angel was, and he was afraid that something awful had happened to her.
My breath caught in my throat, and my blood turned to ice. Had she been trapped by the second explosion? It didn’t seem possible. I remembered her small, earnest face, saying, “I can deal with pretty dangerous.”
“Angel, where are you?” Gazzy yelled, turning in circles, bobbing up and down in the sky, then suddenly he crumbled, his face dissolving into tears. My munitions and weapons expert really was just a nine-year-old kid, and he’d just lost his little sister.
And I’d lost my baby.
78
“IT’S BEEN FIVE HOURS, Max.” Dylan’s quiet voice was like sandpaper.
