Page 135 of Aviatrix

“What exactly do you want her for?” I press.

Lark nudges me again. Two more steps.

We move.

Frances and her agents follow, now fully exposed, no longer under the trees.

I don’t look up. I don’t need to.

“We want what everyone wants,” Frances says coolly. “Power.”

“Power?” I snarl. “Or control?”

That’s when I hear it.

The faintest whir of an engine.

I know that sound like the back of my hand.

Gary.

He flies overhead and, in one clean, precise sweep, takes them all out. Frances. The three agents.

Gone.

My ears ring.

No time to react.

No time to breathe.

We run.

My heels sink into the soft earth as I scramble for footing. Lark keeps a steady hand on my arm.

“There!” he shouts, pointing ahead.

I spot her. VAL’s matte black hull shimmering beneath a patchy cluster of trees. Shadow-sleek and smooth, and nothing like Rourke’s sharp-edged gray copies. She’s the original. The one they’re trying to emulate.

The Secretary of Defense actually came through. I might have to send Jan a thank-you card.

If we make it out alive.

“Where’s Amber?” I ask, spinning to scan the area.

Lark speaks into his mic. “Where are Ivanov and Amber?”

A voice crackles back. Lark’s grip softens slightly. “You’re sure?”

“Where are they?” I press.

“Space Command airlifted them to the Pentagon,” he answers. “Ivanov says she’ll get her back to Camp Obsidian by the end of the day.”

“That’s good, Lark,” I say, breath catching as we stop under the cover of a maple tree.

Lark’s eyes flick to the sky, scanning the open stretch above us.

“We’re going to have to sprint like our lives depend on it,” I say.