“Great Lord in Heaven.”
I look up, startled, at the new voice. It's another angel in a lab coat. I get a quick impression of fresh blood soaking his white coat and gloved hands before two more angels push through the door behind him. Both of the new ones also have blood on their coats and gloves.
I almost don't recognize Laylah with her golden hair pulled back in a tight bun. What is she doing here? Isn’t she supposed to be performing surgery on Raffe?
They all stare at me. I wonder why they would be staring at me rather than at my blood-splattered sister when I realize that I still have my sword stuck into the lab angel. I’m sure they have no trouble recognizing the sword for what it is. There have to be at least a dozen rules against humans having an angel sword.
My brain frantically searches for a way out of this alive. But before any of them can start making accusations, they all look up at the ceiling at the same time. Like the lab angel, they hear something I don't. The nervous looks on their faces don't reassure me.
Then I feel it too. First, a rumbling, then a trembling.
Has it been an hour already?
The angels look toward me again, then turn and bolt toward the double doors that the delivery guy used.
I didn't realize I could feel even more unnerved than I was already.
The Resistance has started their attack.
CHAPTER 40
We need to get out before the hotel comes crashing down. But I can’t just let those people get sucked dry by the scorpion-angels. Dragging the ladder to each tank and slowly pulling out each paralyzed person could take hours.
I pull my sword out of the lab angel. I run over to the fetal columns in frustration, holding the sword like a bat.
I swing the blade into one of the scorpion tanks. It’s mostly to let out my frustration and I don’t expect it to do anything other than bounce off.
Before I can even register the impact, the thick tank shatters. Fluid and glass explode onto the concrete floor.
I could get used to this sword.
The scorpion fetus unlatches from its victim. It screeches as it falls. Then it flops and writhes on the glass shards, bleeding all over them. The emaciated woman crumples to the bottom of the broken tank. Her glassy eyes stare into the air.
I have no idea if she’s alive, or if she’ll be in better shape once the venom wears off. This is the best I can do for her. The best I can do for any of them. All I can hope is that somehow, some of them will recover enough to get away from here before things become too explosive, because I can’t drag them up the stairs.
I run over to the other tanks that are holding victims and smash them, one after another. Shards of water and glass spray all over the basement lab. The air fills with the screeching of thrashing scorpion fetuses.
Most of the monsters in the surrounding tanks wake and twitch. A few react violently and slam against their glass prisons. They are the ones that are more fully formed, staring at me through the veined membranes of their eyelids with the understanding that I am preying upon them.
While I’m doing this, a tiny part of me considers running without Paige. She's not really my sister anymore, is she? She's certainly not helpless any longer.
“Ryn-Ryn?” Paige is crying.
She calls to me as if unsure whether I would take care of her. My heart constricts like an iron hand is squeezing it as punishment for thinking of betraying her.
“Yeah, sweetie,” I say in my most reassuring voice. “We have to get out of here. Okay?”
The building shakes again and one of the stitched-up corpses topples. The little boy’s mouth opens when his head hits the floor, revealing metal teeth.
Paige looked that dead before she started moving. Is there any chance this kid could be alive too?
A weird thought pops into my head. Didn’t Raffe say that sometimes, names have power?
Did Paige wakeup because I called her? I scan the bodies leaning against the wall, at their shiny teeth and long nails, their discolored eyes. If they’re alive, would I wake them if I could?
I turn away and smash my blade into another tank. I can’t help but be glad I don’t know the kids’ names.
“Paige?” My mother walks over to us as though in a dream. She crunches over broken glass and weaves to avoid the thrashing monsters as if she sees this kind of thing regularly. Maybe she does. Maybe in her world, this is normal. She sees them and avoids them, but she’s not surprised by them. Her eyes are clear, her expression cautious.