“Don’t know. I’m just the lab monkey. Need-to-know-only basis.” He watches me. “Talk to the ferry captain about rescuing the Alcatraz prisoners, then go to the aerie.”
“What if—”
“Whether you can talk the captain into the rescue or not, go to the aerie. The number of people dying here is no worse than what’s happening out there. Your sister is more important than releasing prisoners into a bigger slaughter house, which is what the world will be if we can’t figure out a way to stop it.”
That jars my brain into thinking. “Why is Paige so important?” I can’t help the distrust that laces my voice.
“She’s a very special girl. She may be helpful in our fight against the angels. If you find her at the aerie, bring her back to me. I’ll work with her. I’ll help her if I can.”
“Help her how?”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking half-ashamed, half-excited. “To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I altered the kids in this latest batch in the hope that I might be able to increase our chance of survival as a species. A desperate move in desperate times. The angels would tear me to pieces if they knew about it. But the altered kids got wiped out during the attack on the aerie before I even got a chance to see if any of it worked.”
He paces around the small office. “Now, you’re telling me there’s one left. We need to find her. I don’t really know what she can do, or even if it works the way I think it does. But it’s a chance for humanity. A tiny one but that’s better than what we’ve got now.”
I don’t trust him any more than I trust a rabid angel. But if he can help me find Paige, I’ll go along with his plan for now. “Okay. Help me find Paige and I’ll bring her back to you.”
He looks at me as if he knows I don’t trust him. “Let me make this very clear. We cannot have someone like Beliel in control of your sister. Do you understand? Under Beliel’s control, she could end up being a major instrument of our destruction. You have to lure her away from him. She could be our last hope.”
Great.
Before this all goes down, I could really use another Saturday morning where Paige and I eat cereal and watch cartoons in our condo during the peaceful lull before Mom gets up. Our biggest concern on mornings like those was whether we still had our favorite cereals left at the end of the week or if we’d have to settle for the non-sugar kind.
“If I don’t make it off this island, or if you can’t find me—” Doc pauses as if dwelling on all the terrible things that could happen to him—“it’ll be up to you to figure out what she can do and if she can help people. If your sister can’t help humanity, I’m just an evil doctor doing horrific deeds for the enemy. Please don’t let me be that person.”
I’m not sure I’m the one he’s pleading with, but I nod anyway.
He nods back. “Okay. Come with me.”
Chpater 45
WE WALK out of the heart of the monster factory, down the brick passageway, and into another room. I assume this was once a gift shop by the look of the postcards and key chains on a forgotten stand by the door.
Inside, several human minions mix with prisoners. The minions stand out with their clean faces, groomed hair, and fresh clothes. There’s also an air of confidence about them that the prisoners don’t have.
“Madeline,” says Doc.
A woman with the strong lines and the aging-model looks of a ballet instructor saunters over. Every motion is graceful and fluid, as if she was used to being on stage or on the catwalk. The tight bun of her gray-streaked hair only emphasizes her emerald eyes.
“Can you find a place for her?” asks Doc in a low voice.
Madeline looks me over. She’s not just glancing at me to get a quick impression of who I am. She assesses, taking in my hair, my height, every curve and plane of my face. It’s as if she’s memorizing me, cataloging aspects of my appearance. She glances back at the collection of prisoners.
The prisoners are all female and they stand in pairs. There’s a pair of twins with matching strawberry hair and freckled pink skin. The rest of the pairs are probably not twins, but at first glance, they look like it. A set of curvy women with chocolate skin, a set of skinny girls with honey hair cascading down their shoulders, a set of tall women with Mediterranean eyes and skin.
Madeline looks around the room, then back at me.
“Wrong body type, wrong age,” she says.
The door opens and a man ushers in a pair of teen girls. Dark hair, high cheekbones, petite like me.
“How about these?” asks Doc.
Madeline swings her laser focus onto the girls. Then she looks at me.
“These two are better matched,” says the tanned guy who brought them in, gesturing to the girls beside him.
“We’ll have to make do with this one.” Madeline nods her head toward me.
“You’re going to tell the archangel that this is the best match we could find?” asks the guy.
My skin prickles at the word “archangel.”
“Same coloring, same body type,” says Madeline. “After a makeover and haircut, they’ll look like twins.”
“If they don’t, it’s all of our necks on the line, not just yours,” says the guy.
Madeline looks at Doc who nods.
“Switch them.”
The guy’s face darkens. “Just because he’s got your husband holed up in a jail cell doesn’t mean you can trade our lives for his whenever the good doctor snaps his fingers.”
“Daniel, please just do as you’re asked.” Madeline’s voice is commanding with a hint of threat.
Daniel takes a deep breath. Everyone stares at us, feeling the tension.
He assesses the two girls, then takes one by the arm and ushers her out.
The cold part of me says don’t ask. As far as I can tell, it’s to my benefit. And it could help my sister. “You’re holding someone hostage?”
One of these days, I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut.
“We’re all hostages here,” says Doc. “I’m doing what I can to keep someone alive.”
That sinks in.
I take him aside and whisper, “If the prison break doesn’t go down the way it’s supposed to, will you see that my mother is safe?”
“Your mother, the lady running around triggering the alarms?”
I nod.
“I don’t think I can promise that.”
Surprisingly, I feel better about his answer than if he had promised to take care of her because it’s more honest.
“Will you try?”
He doesn’t look happy about it.
“Paige will listen to her, too.” Not entirely true considering some of the things my mother tells us to do, but no need to get into details with him.
He thinks about it, then nods. “I’ll try.”
That’s as good as I can expect.
“And there’s a woman named Clara—”
He shakes his head. “I’m not a magician. I can’t make the hell that is Alcatraz go away. One is all I can promise to try to keep safe.”
He steps back from me and takes Madeline aside. They whisper in the corner, giving me a chance to absorb the situation.
The dark-haired teenager steps closer to me. She’s my height. We have the same figure and the same shade of dark hair and eyes.
Matching pairs of girls.
Archangel.
An image of Uriel the politician walking through the aerie’s club with his matching terrified women comes to mind.
I instinctively reach to stroke my bear-sword, trying to get some comfort from the soft fur, but there’s nothing there but empty air.
Chpater 46
THE FERRY RIDE to San Francisco is as quiet and gloomy as the one that took me to Alcatraz. The big difference is that humans are guarding us instead of scorpions.
Madeline and her crew go around asking the two dozen of us if we can sew or design costumes, or if we know how to make jewelry. If we answer yes, they write stuff down on their clipboards. I don’t know how to do any of these things but they don’t seem to care.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since my last ride on this ferry. It’s dawn now. The sky is tinged with what I always thought of as rosy pink, but this morning it looks more like the color of a fresh bruise.
I try to see if I can talk to the captain, but the guards firmly redirect me to the bathrooms. On my way back, I find a pen and paper on a clipboard hanging on the wall in the stairwell. So I spend the rest of the ride writing down what I want to say to the boat driver, just in case I have to slip him a note instead of being able to talk to him.
I carefully word my argument to try to be as persuasive as I can. When I’m done, I fold the paper and slide it into my pocket, hoping I won’t need it. It’ll be much better if I can persuade the driver in person.
Once we dock, we walk out into the sunlight, unable to believe we’re free from Alcatraz. The scorpions that were injured on the night we were captured are nowhere to be seen. Blood streaks across the splintery dock and into the early morning shadows.
Our human guards don’t veer from their intended course even though there are no scorpions or angels around.
“Why don’t you run?” I can’t help but ask one of the guards.
“And do what?” he says loud enough for all the prisoners to hear. “Fight to scrounge for scraps in the garbage bin? Not be able to sleep because I’m so afraid angels will hunt me down?”
He looks around at all the prisoners. We all look unsure, tentative, and lost. “Angels might hurt others but not me. Their creatures get out of my way when I walk by. I eat three full meals every single day. I stay warm and protected. And you can too. You’ve been chosen. All you have to do is follow instructions.”
He must have been a spin doctor in the World Before, the way he turns my simple question into a propaganda moment. I notice he doesn’t say he’s free.
The piles of weapons, bags, and other precious items that were left on the pier look like they’ve been hurriedly picked through and are scattered near the dock. The only things that remain are the weakest of weapons, upended bags, and toys. I scan the stuff until I see the two things I’m looking for.
Mom’s tracker lies beside a purse, looking like a clunky cell phone. And Raffe’s sword lies near it, just where I left it, half-hidden under a rummaged backpack with clothes spilling out of it. The teddy bear that still hides the sword stares at the sky as if looking for Raffe to fly down and rescue it.
Huge relief floods through me. I run to grab the tracker and sword, hugging the bear like a long lost friend.