End of Days (Penryn and the End of Day #3) (28 page)

Some of us watch with quiet sympathy while others look on in horror. But even the most compassionate hesitate to step forward to take on the responsibility of feeding and protecting a helpless kid when everyone is either predator or prey.

Not everybody looks like their heart is being wrenched, though. A few watch the girl with cold, crafty eyes. Any second now, one of them will step forward to claim her.

‘You’re giving away your daughter?’ I ask, stunned.

He shakes his head. ‘I’d never do that. She’s my daughter’s friend who came with us on vacation to California just before the angels invaded.’

‘Then she’s your family now,’ I say through gritted teeth.

The man looks around at the faces around him. ‘I don’t know what else to do. I can’t protect her. I can’t feed her. She’ll be better off with someone else. My only other choice is to just abandon her. I just can’t keep my family alive and her too.’ He wraps his good arm around the crying girl behind him as if wishing he had hid her before he caught everyone’s attention.

‘She’s your family too,’ I say. I’m so angry that I’m shaking.

‘Look, I’ve kept her alive all this time,’ yells the father. ‘But I can’t do it anymore. I don’t even know how I’m going to keep me and my daughter alive. I’m just desperate and doing what I need to do to try to protect me and mine.’

Me and mine.

I think about the dying man Paige found in the department store. What happened to his people? If we scatter now, are we each going to find ourselves dying alone in a dark place with no one to care if we’re eaten alive?

The only thing that man had left was a crayon drawing made by a kid he loved. It dawns on me that in that moment, that kid, Paige, and the dying man were part of a spiderweb connection that spelled family. That’s what saved the man from being eaten alive. That’s what reminded Paige to fight for her humanity.

I finally understand what Obi was telling me. These people – these vulnerable, bickering, flawed people – are my family too. I want to curse Obi for making me feel this way. It’s been hard enough trying to protect my sister and mother. But I can’t watch my own people splinter off and die and maybe tear each other to pieces while they’re at it.

‘We’re all your family.’ I echo Obi’s words. ‘You’re not alone. And neither is she.’ I nod toward the trembling girl standing in the middle of the yard with no one beside her.

‘Take a deep breath,’ I say, trying to sound the way my dad used to sound when I was freaked out about something. ‘Calm down. We’ll survive this.’

People look at me, then at the rest of what’s left of the Resistance. There’s a whole world of emotions swirling in the crowd.

‘Yeah?’ asks one of the fighters. ‘Who’s going to save us? Who’s crazy enough and strong enough to hold everyone together while we ram our heads against this impossible enemy?’

The wind flaps the jackets of the dead around us.

‘Me.’

Until I say it, I hadn’t really believed it.

At least they don’t laugh. But they stare at me for an uncomfortable amount of time.

I shrug. It’s awkward talking about yourself. ‘I know more about angels than just about anyone else alive. I have an . . .’ I remember I don’t have Pooky Bear anymore. ‘I’ve made friends with . . .’ Who? Raffe? The Watchers? They’re going to hunt us like animals. ‘Anyway, I have one hell of a family.’

‘You have brains, and you have a family,’ says a man with a gash on his head. ‘That’s your special power?’

‘We can all go our separate ways and die alone.’ My voice becomes firm, and I try to inject steel into it. ‘Or we can stay together and make our final stand.’

Whether I want to or not, I’m going to lead what’s left of Obi’s Resistance.

‘Instead of scattering and hiding, we’re going to work together. The healthy and strong will help anyone who has trouble moving. We’ll collect as many boats and planes as we can, and we’ll begin getting people across the bay as soon as possible. We need volunteers to drive the boats and help get everybody across.’

I doubt that there are any planes available and, if there are, that anyone will be brave enough to take to the air while there are angels around. But some of these people might know how to pilot a boat.

‘We can’t get everyone across before sunset,’ says someone in the crowd.

‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘We’re going to keep ferrying them for as long as it takes, because some of us will create a diversion and keep the angels occupied.’

‘Who’s going to do that?’

I think about that for a minute before answering.

‘Heroes.’

53

It doesn’t take long for people to decide whether to stick around and help or to take off and take their chances solo. A third of the people leave after they hear me in the yard. But the rest stay, and that even includes some able-bodied people who could have left.

The healthy ones who stay behind help the injured into cars. Even if they can’t be moved very far, we need to move them out of here, because this is the first place the angels will come tonight.

We’ll have to leave the dead behind. That bothers me more than I can say. Even the Fallen managed to give Beliel a burial ceremony.

‘How far away is the fire?’ I ask the twins as we walk into the adobe-style building that Obi used as his headquarters.

‘The south end of Mountain View was starting to get smoky when we left,’ says Dee. ‘We can check out the surveillance videos and see how far it’s gone.’

Surveillance videos.

‘Can we make an announcement through the surveillance system?’

The twins shrug. ‘We could probably make an announcement through the laptops and cell phones that we use as cameras. We’d have to talk to the engineers to make sure, though.’

‘Are any of them still here?’

‘They never left the computer room,’ says Dee.

‘Can you get them to set that up? Let’s get the word out,’ I say as we walk down the hallway to the computer room. ‘People need to know what’s going on.’

The computer room is cluttered with piles of portable solar panels, cables, cell phones, tablets, laptops, and batteries of all sizes and shapes. The trash can is overflowing with empty instant-noodle packages and energy-bar wrappers. Half a dozen engineers look up as Dee-Dum begins explaining what happened in the school yard.

‘We know,’ says one bleary-eyed guy wearing a T-shirt with a picture of Godzilla crushing Tokyo. ‘We watched it through the cameras around the yard. A couple of the guys left, but the rest of us want to help. What can we do?’

‘You guys are the best,’ says Dee.

It doesn’t take long before the engineers are ready for me to make an announcement. As the last of the camp abandons Paly High, we record my speech so that they can loop the message.

‘The angels are coming at sunset tonight,’ I say into the mic. ‘They’re hunting as many people as they can. The south end of the peninsula has been cut off by fire. I repeat, the south end of the peninsula has been cut off by fire. Go to the Golden Gate Bridge – we’re sending people there to help you cross. If you’re willing and able, come to the East Bay Bridge to distract the angels and give the others a chance at life. We could use all the fighters we can get.’

I take a deep breath. ‘For you gang members out there – how long do you think you can last on your own? We could use some good street soldiers.’ It hits me that I sound like Obi. ‘We’re all on the same side. What’s the point of you surviving today when tomorrow they’ll just come and wipe you guys out? Why not band together and have a real shot? At the very least, let’s go out with a bang and show them what we’re made of. Come join the fight at the Bay Bridge.’

I steel my voice. ‘Angels, if you’re listening, everyone will know you’re shameful cowards if you go after the helpless ones. There would be no glory in that, and you’ll just embarrass yourselves during the blood hunt. The real fight will be at the East Bay Bridge. Everyone worth fighting will be there, and I promise we’ll have a good show for you. I challenge you to come find us.’

I pause, not sure how to end it. ‘This is Penryn Young, Daughter of Man, Killer of Angels.’

That phrase, Daughter of Man, will always remind me of my time with Raffe. Raffe, who will be hunting all of us tonight along with his buddies who I thought could be my friends too. But that’s like a child expecting a hungry lion to be her fuzzy pet instead of being her killer.

I think I sounded confident, but my hands feel frozen and my breath comes out trembly.

‘Ooh, I like the killer of angels title,’ says Dum, nodding.

‘Are you sure this will work?’ asks Dee with a frown. ‘If they go after the Golden Gate—’

‘They won’t,’ I say. ‘I know them. They’ll come where the fight is.’

‘She knows them, man,’ says Dum. ‘It’s cool. They’ll come after us at the Bay Bridge.’ He nods, then frowns as the implications hit him. ‘Wait a minute . . .’

‘Are you sure that people will listen?’ I ask.

‘Oh, they’ll listen,’ says Dee. ‘If there’s one thing that us humans are good at, it’s gossip. Word spreads – and everybody’s heard of you.’

‘They’ve heard of your mom and sister too,’ says Dum. ‘But that’s another story.’

‘They’ll come,’ says Dee. ‘You’re the only leader we’ve got.’

54

I get into an SUV big enough to have two backseats. I slide into the back and notice the soft leather, the tinted windows, the first-class stereo. Things we took for granted that we’ll never have again.

Paige is flying in the arms of one of her three locusts, while Mom is riding on a bus with a bunch of cult members who swear they had nothing to do with my kidnapping. I don’t know what to make of them, but if I were going to worry about the safety of anyone on that bus, it’d be them, not my mom.

My recorded announcement tells people that we have a plan. But we don’t, not really. All we know is that some of us will distract the angels at the Bay Bridge while everyone else crosses the channel spanned by the Golden Gate Bridge.

I squeeze into the backseat with the last remaining members of the old council that Obi was putting together. One is a woman who managed global distribution for Apple, and the other is an ex-military guy who calls himself the Colonel.

The Colonel keeps throwing suspicious glances at me. He’s made it clear that he doesn’t believe a word of the wild stories going around about me. And even if any of it is true, he still thinks I’m a ‘mass hallucination preying on the desperate hopes of the people.’

But he’s here to help as best he can, and that’s all I can ask for. I just wish he’d stop giving me those looks that remind me that he could be right.

Doc and Sanjay slide into the seats behind us. It’s not surprising that the two of them get along since they’re both researchers. Sanjay seems to have no worries about being seen with Doc.

The two council members objected to Doc being here, but no one else has Doc’s knowledge of angels and monsters. Doc’s bruises look just as bad as the last time I saw him, but there are no fresh ones. People are too busy surviving to mess with him right now.

The twins slide into the driver’s and passenger’s seat in front of us. They have newly dyed blue hair. It’s not entirely blue but streaked and splotched over their blond as if they didn’t have enough time to do it right.

‘What’s up with your hair?’ I ask. ‘Aren’t you worried you’ll be spotted by angels flying above with all that blue?’

‘War paint,’ says Dee, fastening his seatbelt.

‘Except it’s in our hair instead of on our faces,’ says Dum, starting the engine. ‘Because we’re original like that.’

‘Besides, are poisonous frogs worried about being spotted by birds?’ asks Dee. ‘Are poisonous snakes? They all have bright markings.’

‘You’re a poisonous frog now?’ I ask.

‘Ribbit.’ He turns and flicks out his tongue at me. It’s blue.

My eyes widen. ‘You dyed your tongue too?’

Dee smiles. ‘Nah. It’s just Gatorade.’ He lifts up a bottle half-full of blue liquid. ‘Gotcha.’ He winks.

‘
“Hydrate or Die,” man,’ says Dum as we turn onto El Camino Real.

‘That’s not Gatorade’s marketing,’ says Dee. ‘It’s for some other brand.’

‘Never thought I’d say this,’ says Dum, ‘but I actually miss ads. You know, like “Just Do It.” I never realized how much of life’s good advice came from ads. What we really need now is for some industrious soul to put out a product and give us a really excellent saying to go with it. Like “Kill ’Em All and Let God Sort ’Em Out.
”
’

‘That’s not an advertising jingle,’ I say.

‘Only because it wasn’t good advice back in the day,’ says Dum. ‘Might be good advice now. Attach a product to it, and we could get rich.’ He turns and arches a brow at his brother, who turns and arches an identical eyebrow back.

‘So does anyone have a good survival strategy, or is there no hope for getting out of this nightmare?’ asks the Colonel.

‘We came up with a big, fat zero. I don’t know how we’re going to survive the blood hunt,’ says Dee.

‘That wasn’t the nightmare I was referring to,’ says the Colonel. ‘Death by stupid comments is what I was talking about.’