“Okay, but how?” Vane asks. “I’m still not feeling any winds down here, are you? And there’s also that.” He points to three Storms tearing toward us from the other direction.
“We need a distraction,” Solana says, closing her eyes as she snarls a scratchy command.
A ruined draft and a Southerly seep from her skin and coil around her.
“This looks like a terrible plan!” Vane shouts as the drafts launch her toward the Storms. “What are you going to do up there without any weapons?”
“No idea!” she calls over her shoulder. “But I begged the winds for something to make them lose interest in you guys, and I guess this is the answer.”
She waves her arms and hollers insults until the Storms turn to chase her, and she flies toward where Os is fighting.
“You realize she’s basically bringing them three more enemies to fight, right?” Vane asks. “I’m not sure the wind thought this one all the way through.”
I’m not certain either.
But we don’t have time to worry about it.
Four more Storms shift paths and head our way.
We race the opposite direction, but they gain with every step. Aston tries to fight his way back to us, but he’s tackling three of his own. And all the other Gales are fighting battles. Which leaves me with one final, desperate idea.
I’m certain Vane is going to hate it, so I turn my face away from him as I focus on my Westerly shield.
We need help, I tell the loyal wind. I need you to do what you did in Death Valley. If we don’t get more winds, everyone is going to die.
My shield tightens its hold, not wanting to abandon me.
Please, I beg. We need wind more than anything.
The draft sings of impossible choices as it untangles itself.
“Thank you,” I whisper in Westerly. “And hurry!”
“Please tell me you didn’t just do what I think you did,” Vane says.
“It’s our only option.”
“No, there’s still this.” He asks his shield to wrap around me, and the wind blankets my skin. I try to send the shield back, but Vane covers my mouth with his dusty palm. “Please, just let me do this. It’s the only way I’ll be able to concentrate.”
I want to argue—or pull him even closer—but the four Storms chasing us have drawn so near that I can feel their pull dragging us toward their funnels.
My feet float off the ground, and Vane jumps on top of me, rolling us away as soon as we crash. I lose track of which way is up. Everything is tumbling tumbling tumbling—until we crash into a pile of bodies.
A couple of them are still alive, clawing and flailing with their blistered hands.
“Yeah, no thanks,” Vane says, kicking a Stormer away and grabbing another’s black windslicer.
I do the same, and we both point them at the injured Stormers.
“What do we do?” Vane asks. “Kill them so they can’t come after us—and maybe put them out of their misery? Or leave them and not get our hands bloody?”
“I can’t tell,” I admit. “My instincts are all over the place.”
“Mine too.”
Another second passes before he grabs my arms and pulls me east. “I feel like if killing’s the right choice, we’ll know.”
I squeeze his hand harder, taking a second to marvel at how steady he’s become. Despite the horrors raging around us, he makes me feel safe, even when two more Storms angle their paths to head us off.
We screech to a halt, and I feel the draw of two other Storms behind us.
“They’re boxing us in,” Vane shouts as we try to pivot east, only to spot another Storm blocking our way.
“DON’T MOVE!” Aston calls from somewhere to the west.
“EASIER SAID THAN DONE!” Vane shouts back.
We both grapple for a hold to keep us tethered to the ground.
I’m about to lose my grip when yellow flashes through the nearest Storm, and the mangled funnels explode into bellowing mist.
“GRAB THE SPIKE AND TAKE OUT THE OTHER!” Aston orders.
I pull a muscle in my shoulder as I stretch to reach for the spike, but it’s worth the pain when I close my hand around it.
I only have time to check my aim once before I let the weapon fly.
The explosion buries us in rock and rubble, and Vane drags me out of the debris and gets us moving again.
“Where are the other Storms?” he asks, trying to see through the fog of sand.
I tighten my grip on his hand. “I can’t tell, but they sound close.”
“GET DOWN!” Aston shouts. “INCOMING ON YOUR LEFT!”
I dive to the dirt, covering my head.
Five seconds pass.
Then ten.
“ANY TIME NOW!” Vane calls, lifting his head to scan the field.
The wind spike blows past him, striking the rocky ground in a shower of dust.
“DID YOU SERIOUSLY JUST MISS?” Vane asks.
“I TOLD YOU TO GET DOWN!” Aston shouts. “YOU’RE LUCKY I DIDN’T HIT YOUR GIANT SQUARE HEAD!”
“I have a square head?” Vane asks.
I have to laugh, even surrounded by so much misery.
I’m still smiling as I fight my way to the wind spike and let it fly toward the Storm’s main funnel.