In my freaked-out state, I don’t pay enough attention to my footing and I slip on blood.
I catch myself from falling by doing an awkward dance of hand and sword balancing.
Focus.
Do not let the scorpions hurt you twice just because you’re freaking over the possibility.
I shove everything—fear, hope, thoughts—into the vault in my head and slam the door shut before they explode back out. It’s getting trickier to open that vault door.
The only thing in the world now is my path to the prisoners’ container. I rub the sole of my shoe on the ground to wipe off the blood.
For all their hissing and screeching, the injured scorpions stay down. I keep an eye on them to make sure they’re not crawling toward me.
Before I walk into the circle of light, I look around to make sure there are no scorpions, angels, or winged rats headed my way. It doesn’t help that my eyes are already adjusting to the light, making the shadows that much darker.
I dive into the light like I’m jumping into water.
I feel instantly exposed.
Anyone on the pier can see me now. I run as fast as I can to the still-standing light by the metal jail. All the prisoners quiet down as if holding their collective breaths.
The key is not on the standing work light or anywhere near it.
I look back at the flashing lamp that Beliel threw on the pier. The key could have flown off anywhere.
Either I commit to looking for it in this sea of splintered planks, or I give up and make sure Mom and Clara get out of here safely.
Or, I could see if my sword can cut through metal.
It easily cut through bones during my dream training, and it’s supposed to be so special. Before I can think about it, I lift the sword and slice down.
The blade easily cuts through the lock and the gate’s metal tab.
Whoa.
Not bad.
I lift my sword for the second lock. But before I can cut it, there’s a rustling behind me.
I spin with my sword still above me, half-convinced an injured scorpion has crawled over, ready to strike.
But it’s not an injured scorpion.
It’s a healthy one.
It folds its gossamer wings as if it just landed. It stalks toward me, barefoot on its much too human-like feet. Somehow, I might feel better if they had clawed feet or something else that made them look less human.
Two more scorpion angels land behind the first one.
There’s only one more lock. I spin around and chop at it with my blade.
It comes flying off. The chain-link gate hangs open now. All they have to do is roll it up and run.
Instead, the prisoners huddle in the back, frozen in terror.
“Come on!” I slam on the side of the container to shock them into action. “Run!”
I don’t wait to see if they do. I’ve just put Mom and Clara in danger of a horrifying death. I could kick myself for not convincing them to leave without me.
The gate rattles behind my back.
The freed prisoners begin to run, scattering everywhere, their footsteps pounding on the wooden pier.
I run in the opposite direction of Mom and Clara, hoping to draw the scorpions away from them.
Then I hear my mother.
She screams a bloodcurdling screech of terror.
EVERYONE SPREADS OUT, instinctively heading in different directions.
There are only a few monsters and a lot of us. There’s a good chance that some of us will get away.
I run toward a mass of shadows where a pink ice cream sign sticks out of a pile of broken planks. If I can get around it, I might be able to disappear into the jagged shadows.
But before I get there, something smacks my head and drapes over me.
I’m tangled in a net.
My first thought is to slice through it with my sword but I’m now surrounded by the people who were running behind me and there isn’t enough room. The more we thrash, the more entangled we get.
Shadows fall out of the sky. Shadows with insect wings and curling stingers.
They drop in random places. One on top of the shipping container, making a hollow boom. Several land in front of the old row of shops where half a dozen people were heading before a net came down on them too.
Five, ten, twenty. So many that it starts to sound like we’re in a hive.
We’re trapped.
Everyone is sobbing again. This time, the despair is so thick I feel like I’m drowning in it.
Even if I could cut through the netting, I couldn’t cut my way through all these scorpions. I slide my sword back into its scabbard to make it less noticeable.
The net stinks of fish. At first, I don’t think we can walk with it on us, but one of the scorpions grabs the edge of our net and pulls a drawstring. We bunch together as the edge closes around our legs.
The scorpion yanks us along in our net trap like it’s pulling a dog on a leash. Its stinger aims for us, hovering just within striking zone. Another scorpion walks beside us, making it clear by the rhythmic jabbing of its stinger that we should do what it wants.
I frantically look for Mom and Clara, hoping against all odds that I won’t see them.
But there they are, only two netted groups away from me. My mother clutches my teddy bear to her bosom like it’s her long-lost baby, while Clara clutches Mom’s arm like she’ll die if she lets go. They both look petrified.
I feel sick.
Sick from fear. Sick from anger. Sick from the stupidity of what I’ve done.
I came here for my sister and instead I’ve gotten myself recklessly caught. Worse, I’ve gotten Mom and Clara caught too. And looking at the large number of captives on the pier, I didn’t even free anyone either.
Several groups of netted humans converge as we’re herded toward the water. At first, I assume the scorpions are taking us to a new shipping container, but instead of a holding cell, they move us toward a boat.
“Brian!” A young woman under my net reaches her hand out to a guy trapped under another as our two groups get closer.
“Lisa!” the guy calls to her with desperation. They strain against the mesh and stretch their arms as far as they’ll go to try to touch each other.
For a second, they manage to brush fingertips.
Then our group moves past theirs, breaking their touch. The woman starts sobbing, her hand still reaching for him.
Another group gets shoved in front of Brian and he disappears into the crowd, still reaching for her.
THE BOAT is two stories high and has seen better days. The paint is so scraped that I’m convinced the boat must have been lying on its side on the roof of a ruined building before the bad guys put it to use. Somehow, it still manages to float. And it still sports the words “Captain Jake’s Alcatraz Tours” in blue, although with all the scratches, it looks more like “Alcatraz ours.”
The engine starts and we’re treated to a dark plume of exhaust. The smell of gas pollutes the air almost immediately. A human minion must be running the boat. I kind of hope it’s not Captain Jake.
Everyone gets jostled and shoved toward the boat. Scorpions begin releasing us from the nets. We have no place to run, of course, not if we want to live a few more minutes.
As the first captives begin boarding, I manage to get close enough to Mom and Clara for us to shuffle together. Mom hands me the stuffed bear like she’s been keeping it safe for me.