“Hard to sneak out with everybody in tow,” says Alpha.

“There’s no sneaking with that boat,” I say. “Unless you plan to swim with the sharks to get out of here. The more people, the better chance that some of us will make it.”

“If everyone’s running,” says Alpha, “it’s guaranteed a lot of us won’t make it.”

“If we leave people behind, it’s guaranteed that none of them will make it,” I say.

“Girl’s got a point,” says Tattoo.

Alpha takes a big breath and lets it out slowly.

“Cell keys are in the guard room,” says Doc. “Convince the human guards that you’ll free everyone, including them. They’ll get the keys, spread the word, and unlock the cells for you.”

“You’re lying,” says Tattoo.

“I’m not. You think there’s a single person here who wants to be here? You think we wouldn’t all bust out if we could? You just need to convince them their chances of survival are greater with you than against you. That’s the part that’s going to be tougher than you think.”

“Why aren’t you all leaving tonight if the guards are gone?” asks Alpha. “Why wait for us to break everyone out?”

“Because there’s only one boat. And when they leave, it’ll be docked in San Francisco, not here. This is Alcatraz, gentlemen. They don’t need guards. They have the water.”

“Can we swim it?” asks Tattoo.

“Maybe. For the right athlete who has trained for it and isn’t afraid of sharks. Someone in a wet suit and swimming during the day, with a backup team on a boat. Know anyone like that?”

“There’s a way out,” says Tattoo. “Think, little man. Or I’ll make sure you’re the first one to get thrown into the water tonight.”

Doc watches me. I can almost see the gears in his head cranking into overdrive. “I’ve heard the boat driver is locked up on the pier when the boat docks there. I might be able to get this girl onboard.” He nods toward me. “Maybe she can free the driver and talk him into bringing the boat back.”

“I’ll go,” says Tattoo. “I’ll take one for the team.”

“I’m sure you will but it needs to be her,” says Doc.

“Why?”

“There’s a team here recruiting females for the aerie. When they leave, I might be able to make sure she’s included. So unless you’re a young female, you can’t have a ride out.”

Tattoo assesses me. He’s trying to decide if I’ll bolt the second I get to the mainland.

“My mom is here and so is my friend,” I say. “I’ll do everything I can to help with the escape.”

The guys look at each other again as if having a silent conversation.

“How do we know the ferry driver is going to risk his life coming back for us?” asks Alpha. “Is his mom here too?”

“She’ll just have to be persuasive,” says Doc.

“And if she isn’t?” asks Tattoo.

“Then we’ll find someone else to drive the ferry,” says Doc confidently.

“If you’re so sure, why haven’t you done this already?” asks Alpha.

“This is the first time all the creatures and angels have been scheduled to leave. What makes you think we wouldn’t have done it without you?”

The guys nod. “You up for this?” Alpha asks me.

“Yeah. I’ll drive the boat back myself if I have to.”

“It’d be great if the boat doesn’t sink on its way here,” says Alpha.

“Right,” I say. “I’ll talk someone into it who knows what they’re doing.” I sound more confident than I feel.

The alarm shrieks again, echoing off the walls and assaulting our ears.

“Maybe you can get that woman to help you,” says Doc. “She can show you all the exits.”

“Go,” I say. “Get the cell doors open when the time comes. I’ll free the boat captain on the mainland.”

Tattoo and Alpha eye each other, both looking unconvinced. The alarm shuts off again.

“Unless you have a better plan?” says Doc.

The men nod to each other. “You better be telling the truth, Doc,” says Tattoo. “Or you’ll be shark bait by morning. You get me?”

Alpha looks like he’s about to ask if I’ll be all right, but then, maybe remembering where we are, he turns to leave.

“If you see that emergency-exit woman,” I call after him, “tell her Penryn sent you. Take care of her, okay? I think that’s my mom.”

Tattoo gives Doc one last glare and leaves.

Chpater 40

“WERE YOU really telling them the truth?” I ask.

“Mostly,” says Doc as he inserts the video into the rectangular machine below the TV. They both look ancient. Even though the screen is small, the rest of the TV is fat and heavy looking, like something out of one of my dad’s old photos. “It was the fastest way to get them out of here so we can talk about what really matters.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your sister.”

“Why is she so important?”

“She probably isn’t.” He glances at me sideways, giving me the impression that he thinks otherwise. “But I’m desperate.”

He’s not making much sense, but I don’t care as long as I can see the video. He presses a button on the machine below the TV set.

“That thing really works?”

He scoffs. “What I wouldn’t give for a computer.” He fiddles with the dials and buttons on the old TV.

“It’s not like anyone is stopping you. Computers litter the Bay Area, ready for the taking.”

“Angels aren’t exactly a fan of man’s machines. They prefer playing with life and the creation of new and hybrid species. Although I get the impression they’re not really supposed to be doing that.” He says this last part in a mumble, like he’s talking to himself. “I’ve snuck some equipment in but the infrastructure on this rock was far from state-of-the-art to begin with.”

“The stuff out there looks pretty cutting edge.” I nod toward the window. “Way more than what was in the aerie basement.”

Doc raises his eyebrows. “You saw the aerie basement?”

I nod.

He cocks his head like a curious dog. “Yet, here you are. Alive to tell me about it.”

“Believe me, I’m as surprised as anyone.”

“The aerie lab was our first,” he says. “I still clung to the old ways back then—the human ways. It required test tubes, electricity, and computers, but they wouldn’t let me have a lot of what I needed. The angels’ resistance to human technology hampered me in ways that made that lab into some kind of 1930s Frankenstein basement.”

He presses PLAY on the video machine. “Since then, I’ve grown to like the angelic ways. They’re more elegant and effective.”

A grainy, gray picture of a dismal room appears on the screen. A cot, a bedside table, a steel chair. It’s hard to tell if it used to be a jail cell for solitary confinement or sleeping quarters for a sad bureaucrat.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Somewhere along the line, somebody installed a surveillance system on this rock. Not surprising, considering it was a busy tourist attraction. I added sound in some of the rooms. The angels obviously don’t know they’re being watched, so don’t go around announcing it.”

On the screen, the metal door of the room slams open. Two shirtless angels shuffle in holding a giant between them. Even through the grainy video, I recognize the demon Beliel. He has a bloody bandage wrapped around his stomach.

Behind them is another angel who looks familiar. I can’t tell the color of his wings in the grainy video but I’m guessing it’s burnt orange. I remember him from the night Paige was taken, the night he and his buddies cut Raffe’s wings. He holds little Paige in one arm like a sack of potatoes.

Her face is uncut and her legs dangle, atrophied and useless. She looks tiny and helpless. This must be the night Paige was kidnapped.

“Is that your sister?” asks Doc.

I nod, unable to say anything.

Burnt angel tosses Paige toward the shadowy corner of the room.

“You’re sure you want to see this?” asks Doc.

“I do.” I don’t. I want to throw up at the thought of anything that might have happened while I wasn’t around to protect her.

But I have no choice. I’m compelled to watch the rest of the video.

Chpater 41

THE BLURRY blob flying into the corner resolves into my sister again when she lands with a thud. I cringe as she bounces off the wall and crumples on her useless legs.

A tiny squeal of pain escapes from her, but no one in the room seems to notice.

Burnt angel has already forgotten about her as he lifts Beliel’s legs. They toss him onto the cot. Beliel comes down onto the squeaking springs. He looks dead. I wish it were true.

Behind them, my baby sister drags herself further into the shadowy corner and cringes there. She pulls up her legs with her hands to curl them against her chest in a fetal position as she watches the angels with huge, terrified eyes.

Beliel’s unconscious head lolls at an uncomfortable angle against the metal bar that serves as a headboard. All they’d have to do is pull him down a little and he could lie in relative comfort. But they don’t.

Another angel comes in with a plate of sandwiches and a large glass of water. He lays the food and water on the bedside table. While he does that, two of the angels exit, leaving Burnt and the delivery guy.

“Not so bossy now, is he?” says Burnt.

“I wonder how deep that cut went into his stomach muscles?” says the one who brought in the sandwiches. “You think he can reach the food?”

Burnt casually pulls the rickety table just out of Beliel’s reach. “Not any more.”

The angels give each other sly grins. “We brought food and water like we’re supposed to. Is it our fault if he can’t sit up and reach it?”

Burnt curls his lip like he wants to kick Beliel. “He’s got to be the bossiest, nastiest, most self-important reject I’ve ever had to work with.”

“I’ve worked with worse.”

“Who?”

“You.” The angel laughs as he shuts the door behind them as they leave.

Page huddles in the dark, apparently completely forgotten. She must be getting hungry and thirsty herself.