“Before the invasion,” Jonas said, “I couldn’t do anything more than move a coin across a flat surface less than an inch. I couldn’t even flip it. Now, that’s no problem.”
The coin spun on an invisible axis, gaining speed to the point that it looked like a silver ball hanging in the air.
“You’ll have to forgive Jonas,” Edith said. “He’s quite fond of his trick.”
“It’s not just a trick.” Jonas lifted an eyebrow.
The coin shot across the room and embedded in the wall with a resounding crack.
“Imagine a whole handful of coins,” Jonas suggested. “Or a handful of pebbles. It would be the equivalent of a shotgun blast. If I’m right, though, this ‘trick’ can be made even more devastating.”
“You’re going to fight the demons?” Warren asked.
Jonas shook his head. “We don’t want to destroy the demons, Warren. We want to learn to control them. I—and others like me—think there is a lot we can learn from them.” He paused. “That’s what we want to do. But what do you want to do?”
Twelve
IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
A n hour before sunset, not really rested but still groggy from sleeping on and off throughout the day, Simon showed up at the dock. He caught a ride on a truck with some of the other crewmen he hadn’t recognized but who had recognized him.
Snow continued to fall, adding to the thick whiteness that covered the ground. The last rays of sunset splintered through prisms made of frozen icicles that dripped from tree branches.
Simon sat in the back, so cold he was stiff. His breath streamed out in front of him. A short time later, the truck turned to follow the grade that led to the edge of the English Channel. Fog swirled out over the freezing water, as restless as the Channel.
The ship lay at anchor seventy or eighty yards from shore. Men stayed at their posts behind massive machine guns that had been bolted to her decks. Electric lanterns glowed in the darkness, as fragile as soap bubbles.
Seeing the light made Simon feel better. During the last hour, while he’d been shoulder to shoulder with men, he’d started feeling hemmed in, trapped.
After joining the crew in the lifeboat, Simon peered through the fog at the ship. He was constantly aware that an itchy trigger finger would give away their position and attract anyone looking for them.
The ship was long and narrow, a motorsailer that could be powered by gasoline engines as well as wind. It was painted a flat gray and only stood out against the dark water due to the running lights and the sunset. Once the night had turned full dark, Simon was certain that the vessel would scarcely be seen.
Not by human eyes, anyway. The thought was a sobering one.
“We’ve got guns aboard,” Patel told Simon. “Fifty-cal machine guns and two 20 mm cannons mounted fore and aft. And I managed to round up some hunting rifles. Those things will bring down an elephant.” The captain looked grim. “But at best, all they seem able to do against those alien creatures is slow them down.”
Simon didn’t doubt that. Once he was in England, in London, he’d have access to more and better weapons. He was looking forward to that.
Leah Creasey was already aboard Dauntless, which was what Patel’s men had renamed their ship. Their second choice had been Foolishness, but no one wanted to jinx themselves by using that name.
The young woman’s presence there surprised Simon enough that he hesitated briefly before heaving himself over the side. She wore winter clothing and had her arms wrapped around herself.
“My father wasn’t at the refugee camp,” Leah said. “I looked everywhere. I even found Mrs. Baird, she was one of my father’s neighbors. She said he helped get her out a few days ago. But he didn’t come himself because there were too many women and children.”
Simon nodded. Most of the refugees were women and children. “You should have waited,” he said.
She gave him a look that would have blistered paint, and he found that he liked her for that. “Like you waited?” she asked sarcastically.
One of the crewmen called for Simon, then started handing supplies up. Most of the supplies were medical—drugs and bandages, blankets and extra coats, and food. Just enough to help them survive the few hours it took to cross the Channel. Simon handled the boxes easily, stacking them on the deck for other men to carry away.
“We’re the only ones who are staying when this boat leaves England, you know,” Leah said.
Simon hadn’t known.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be over there alone.”
Looking at her, Simon wanted to tell her that there was no guarantee of safety even if she stayed with him. But he didn’t. “I’m sure there will be others there.”
“Perhaps. But how many of them do you think will be willing to go back to London?”
That was something Simon didn’t know. He kept loading boxes and didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to be involved. But he knew that wasn’t how his father had raised him.
“Do you really want to go into London?” he asked. “After everything you’ve seen?”
“I’m sure I don’t,” Leah answered without hesitation. Still, she couldn’t quite keep the quaver of fear out of her voice. “But I don’t have a choice. Not if my father’s still alive.”
Simon started to say something, then stopped himself, realizing that whatever he was going to say was more or less what everyone else had told him. And he wasn’t letting it stop him. Despite his Templar training, his feelings about losing his father—If he’s been lost—weren’t any different than hers. He wasn’t going because he thought he was braver than anyone else; he was going because he was frightened for his father. Just like Leah was.
“And if he’s not alive—” Her voice broke. “Well, then I need to know that, too.”
“All right,” Simon
