She hauled herself up the ropes and into the basket, landing in a heap on its floor.
“Thanks, Winston,” she gasped.
He didn’t respond—already he was focused again on his puppets, his mad laughter shrieking over the noise of the propane burner above them.
Once Nova had caught her breath, she wrapped her hands around the edge of the basket and forced herself to stand.
The street below was in chaos. The Puppeteer’s gossamer strings littered the pavement, some still wrapped around children’s throats and wrists, though many of his puppets had been discarded and were crumpled against buildings or in the middle of the street. A number of onlookers were injured, their bodies sprawled out on the sidewalks and streaks of blood trailing behind them as they attempted to crawl to safety. Winston had four children still enthralled, the strings like nooses around their necks as they threw marching band instruments through shop windows, ripped parade floats to pieces, and hurled street food at the Council members who were trying to stop them without actually hurting them.
The Dread Warden, of course, had gone invisible, while Tsunami kept trying to trap the puppets in a frothy tidal wave—except the spellbound children didn’t seem to care that they might drown as they plunged into the wall of water.
Nova searched for Captain Chromium but couldn’t find him in the uproar.
All the while, Winston’s grating cackle echoed through the city. He could have been at a circus for all his apparent glee.
Nova reached behind her ear and turned on the transmitter. “Nightmare checking in. Detonator, Phobia, where are you?”
Phobia’s voice came back to her, even and dry. “Where have you been?”
Nova glanced back to the rooftop, now half a block away as the balloon drifted along the street, but she could no longer see the Renegades or the Sentinel.
“I made some new friends,” she said.
A roar dragged Nova’s attention upward in time to see Thunderbird’s enormous black wings spread out against the blue sky. Her face was twisted with fury, one hand gripping a crackling white lightning bolt.
Nova cursed.
Winston giggled. “Hello, birdie bird!”
Thunderbird lifted her free hand and thrust her palm toward the balloon. The air boomed, shoving the balloon backward. The basket crashed into an office building. Nova ricocheted off the side and landed on the floor again.
Winston hoisted himself up, one hand gripping the upright bar as he pulled on the golden threads around his fingers, making the children below do who-knew-what.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he said with a childish titter. “It isn’t polite to hit. You should say you’re sorry.”
“Release those children now, Puppeteer,” growled Thunderbird, lifting the lightning bolt over her shoulder.
Nova pulled open the duffel bag and grabbed the netting gun. Exhaling, she popped up over the edge, using the basket’s side to steady her aim, and fired.
The ropes entwined around Thunderbird’s body. One side tangled around her left wing and she cried out in surprise. The lightning bolt struck a rope and the whole net lit up, crackling with electricity.
Thunderbird screamed.
Then she was falling, falling. Toward the street, toward the pavement—
Right into Captain Chromium’s waiting arms.
He set her down, then turned his blue eyes skyward. No longer was he smiling. No longer did he look like an overhyped imbecile on a gaudy parade float.
His eyes met Nova’s, and she swallowed.
“What’s happening down there, Detonator?” she said. “We could use some assistance.”
“Puppeteer wasn’t a part of this operation,” came the dry response. “He wants to act on his own, he can die on his own.”
Down below, the Captain grabbed the metal pike he’d been holding earlier. Nova watched as he ripped Ace Anarchy’s helmet from the top and tossed it away. The helmet rolled across the street, coming to rest in a storm drain.
“It’s not just the Puppeteer now,” she said. “I’m up here, too!”
“Good luck, Nightmare. This mission is over.”
The faint crackle over the ear piece went silent.
Captain Chromium hefted the pike over his head, holding it like a javelin, and threw.
Though the balloon was hundreds of feet in the air, the pike did not waver as it soared straight for her.
Nova ducked.
The javelin struck the balloon’s heater with a deafening clang, disconnecting the propane line. The flame spluttered and went out. The pike ricocheted off the metal and fell back down to the street.
The effect was instant. Though the balloon continued to drift from momentum, its upward course began to slow.
Nova looked around. They would have cleared the next set of buildings easily, but with the change of propulsion, she doubted they could make it now. Without the heater warming the air in the balloon, they would soon be sinking, and then crashing, right into the hands of the Renegades.
Winston cocked his head and peered down at Nova. “Uh-oh.”
Nova held his gaze, considering.
If they could lose some weight, they might still be able to clear the next block, gaining enough distance to make a getaway before the Renegades caught up with them.
She turned her attention to the duffel bag, and all her weapons and inventions. All her efforts. All her work.
Winston whined in sympathy. “Sacrifices must be made sometimes, mini-Anarchist.”
Nova sighed. “You’re absolutely right.”
Then she hooked her arm around Winston’s ankles and pulled. He yelped, arms flailing, and toppled over the edge.
Nova didn’t wait for his screams to fade as she hauled herself up onto the uprights and inspected the heater. The balloon barely cleared the rooftop, giving her just enough time to reaffix the propane line. She toggled the lighter switch a few times, and the flame burst to life.
The balloon drifted into the sky.
Nova released a weary, relieved groan and dared to look down at the street.