Scarlet heard the clicking of gears and the humming of electricity as the hatch began to open, revealing the welcoming interior of the ship. Pulling herself onto her feet, she’d just grabbed Wolf’s ankles when she saw a man loping toward them at a sprint, his nostrils flaring, lips pulled taut against his fangs. He was one of the men who had first taken her to her cell.
A ping, a thunk, as a dart buried itself in his forearm. He roared and increased his speed for two steps before his anger faded and he fell forward, face slamming onto the pavement.
“Almost there,” said Cinder through her teeth, picking up Wolf’s dropped wrists.
More howling greeted them from the roads and alleys and shadows, great loping figures appearing out of the darkness.
Scarlet’s back and legs ached and her palms were slick as she struggled to retain her grip on Wolf’s ankles. “They’re coming!”
“I noticed!”
Scarlet fell, crashing onto her knees. She looked up at Wolf’s unconscious face, at the panicking girl, and frustration welled up inside her. She forced herself to stand again, though her legs were no stronger than unbaked dough.
Then the man was back, shoving her toward the ship. “Go!” he yelled, and grabbed Wolf’s ankles.
“Thorne! You’re supposed to be flying the ship, you dunce!”
Scarlet turned toward the ship’s open hatch. “I can fly! Just get him inside!”
She ran, though her mind screamed at her for leaving Wolf behind. Her muscles burned, her head pounded with the rush of blood. She could only focus on putting one foot in front of another. Ignoring the burning. Ignoring the sharp stabbing pain in her side. Blinking away the sweat. One. More. Step.
Something sliced across her back. She heard the rip of fabric, a loud thump, and then something grabbed her ankle. She screamed and collapsed at the bottom of the ramp. Fingernails buried themselves into the flesh of her calf and she cried out in pain.
Whistle. Thud.
The hand released her.
Scarlet kicked the man in the jaw before scrambling up the rest of the ramp, into the gaping hull of the ship. She flew into the cockpit and stumbled into the pilot’s seat. They hadn’t bothered to stop the engines and the ship rumbled and purred around her. Her motions were automatic. She could barely see for the salty sting of sweat in her eyes. Her heartbeat felt like horse’s hooves trampling her chest.
But her fingers knew what to do as they breezed over the panel.
“Captain? Cinder?”
Startled, she spun back toward the door, but there was no one there. “Who’s there?”
A momentary silence, then: “Who are you?”
Scarlet swiped the sweat from her forehead. The ship. The ship was talking to her.
“I’m Scarlet. We need to get ready for takeoff. Can you—”
“Where are Thorne and Cinder?”
“Right behind me. Is this ship equipped with auto lift?”
A series of lights lit up on the panel. “Auto lift and auto magnetic stabilizers.”
“Good.” She reached for the thruster output control and waited to hear the sound of footsteps on the ramp.
A drop of sweat slid down to her temple. She gulped, harshly, failing in her attempt to wet her sandpaper throat.
“What’s taking them so long?” Swiveling the chair around, she threw herself toward the cockpit entrance and peered past the cargo bay.
Wolf’s prone body was laid out not a dozen steps from the end of the ramp, and there were Linh Cinder and her friend, standing back to back.
They were surrounded by seven Lunar operatives, and the thaumaturge.
Forty-Two