We have struck back.
We have declared war on any being that dares to think they can wipe us out without a fight. No matter how celestial, no matter how powerful they are, this is our home and we will fight to keep it.
The victory is far from perfect. I know that many of the angels have escaped with only minor injuries. Maybe a few have been killed, but the rest will heal quickly.
But to look at the people celebrating, you’d think the war has been won. I understand now what Obi meant when he said this attack was not about winning over the angels. It was about winning over the humans.
Until now, no one, certainly not me, believed there was even a chance at fighting back. We thought the war was over. Obi and his resistance fighters have now shown us that it’s just beginning.
I never thought about it before, but I’m proud to be human. We’re ever so flawed. We’re frail, confused, violent, and we struggle with so many issues. But all in all, I’m proud to be a Daughter of Man.
CHAPTER 46
The sky glows with a blend of bloody red and soot black. The bruised light gives a surreal glow to the charred city. The soldiers have stopped shooting, although they continue to scan the skies as if expecting to see an army of demons bearing down on us. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of machine-gun fire echoes down the streets.
We continue to weave through dead cars. The people in our truck talk excitedly in hushed voices. They’re so pumped up, they each sound ready to take on an entire legion of angels all by themselves.
They still stay as much on their side of the truck as possible. It’s a good thing they’re so excited and happy; otherwise, I’m afraid they might just burn us all at the stake. In between the chatter, they keep glancing our way. It’s hard to say whether it’s my mother in her speaking-in-tongues prayer trance, or my sister with her disturbing stitches and vacant stare, or the dead body that is me that keeps them glancing our way.
The pain is fading. It’s starting to feel more like I was hit with an economy car running a stop sign as opposed to an eighteen wheeler on the freeway. My eyes are beginning to come a little under my control again. I suspect some of my other muscles are thawing too, but my eyes are the easiest to move, if you call shifting a fraction of an inch moving. But it’s enough to tell me that the effects of the venom are wearing off and that I will probably be okay.
The streets have turned desolate and empty of people. We are out of the aerie district and in the demolished zone. Miles of burnt-out car husks and wrecked buildings flow by. The wind whips my hair around my face as we drive through the charred and broken skeleton of our world.
We occasionally stop, blending in with the other dead cars. At one point, Obi shushes us, and we hold our breath, hoping nothing finds us. I assume angels have been spotted above and we are camouflaging ourselves.
Just when I think it’s all over, someone in the back shouts, “Look out!”
He points above him. Everyone looks up.
Against the wounded sky, a lone angel circles above us.
No, not an angel.
Light glints off curved metal on the edge of his wing. The shape of the wings are not shaped like a bird’s wings. It’s a giant bat-wing shape.
My heart speeds up with my need to shout out to him. Could it be?
He circles overhead, each pass spiraling him down closer. The spirals are wide and slow, almost reluctant.
To me, it’s a non-threatening look at our truck. But to the others, especially in their adrenalin-fueled state, it’s an enemy attack.
They heft up their rifles and point them up at the sky.
I want to shout for them to stop. I want to tell them they’re not all out to get us. I want to slam into them and mess up their aim. But all I can do is watch as they point and shoot into the air.
The lazy circles turn into evasive maneuvers. He is close enough for me to see that he has dark hair, and now that he’s doing more than gliding, the way he moves seems awkward. As though he’s just learning to fly with his wings.
It’s Raffe. He’s alive.
And he’s flying!
I want to jump up and down, waving and yelling up to him. I want to cheer him on. My heart soars with him even as it is gripped with fear that he’ll fall out of the sky.
The soldiers are not expert enough with their rifles to hit a moving target from that distance. Raffe flies away without injury.
My face muscles twitch a tiny bit in response to my inner joy.
CHAPTER 47