Alight (The Generations Trilogy #2)(104)

I hold up a hand, telling him to stop. He does, just a step away. Bishop is ready to fight, but in his condition, it’s a fight he won’t win.

“Aramovsky betrayed us,” I say to Farrar and the circle-stars. “The Grownups are on Omeyocan, and he’s working with them. Do you know why he didn’t take you to the battle?”

Farrar looks at me doubtfully. “We’re here to protect the shuttle against Springer attack.”

“You’re here because there is a Grownup waiting to put you in a box, to invade your body and wipe you out, forever,” I say. “They don’t want you getting hurt or killed in the battle. They’ve already murdered Coyotl, Beckett and O’Malley. You were all supposed to be next.”

I see the conflict on Farrar’s face, on the faces of the kids. They are afraid that I am right, but I am not the leader and I broke their trust when I didn’t tell them about the symbols. I also came here with Springers, the creatures they’ve been told are evil demons who want them all dead.

Gaston and Spingate climb down from the spider.



“Hurry up, you boneheads,” Gaston says as he heads up the ramp. “We don’t have time for this.”

Spingate follows him, as does the still-sobbing Borjigin. Farrar watches them go by—he has no idea what to do.

I reach out, take his hand, make him focus on me.

“Farrar, I’m telling you the truth.”

He shakes his head. “Even if you are, I have to follow orders. I have—”

Bishop’s huge fist crashes into Farrar’s jaw. Farrar’s hand slides from mine. He drops, unconscious.

Bishop draws himself up to his full height, shouts commands at the shocked young circle-stars.

“All of you, get in the shuttle, right now, or I will throw you in it. And take Farrar to medical so Smith can look at him. Move!”

The kids rush to Farrar, their previous instructions forgotten in the face of Bishop’s commanding presence. It takes five of them to lift the unconscious man and carry him up the ramp.

I shake my head at Bishop. “I was handling that.”

Bishop shrugs. “Enough talk. We don’t have time for it.”

He limps into the shuttle, leaving me with Barkah and Lahfah.

I gesture to the open door.

“Move,” I say. “Peace.”

Lahfah’s eyes scan the gleaming metal shuttle. Has he been told about these flying machines since he was little? Did his culture fill him with stories about the carnage that machines like this wreaked on his people? Asking him to go inside must be like asking him to walk into a monster’s mouth.

If Barkah thinks the same thing, he doesn’t show it. My brave new friend hops up the ramp.

Lahfah looks to the sky and taps his throat. For some reason, the gesture makes me think of a human sighing heavily in exasperation. He follows his prince up the ramp.



I run into the shuttle, gesture to Lahfah and Barkah to stay in the entryway.

In the coffin room, I see dozens of kids. All the symbols are represented. Of the people my age, I see Okereke, Cabral and Opkick. I don’t see Bawden, Johnson, Ingolfsson or D’souza—they are with Aramovsky’s army, cannon fodder to be used against the Springers.

I look for Zubiri—she’s not here.

And then I see Bello.

My frustration and anger draw down to a single point: her.

“Your fault,” I say. “It’s your fault O’Malley is dead.”

Her eyes go wide—not with fear, but with annoyance.

“The transfer didn’t work on Kevin? That’s too bad, but how in the hell is that my fault?”

On Kevin…

She thinks I’m talking about that wrinkled old monster…Bello thinks I’m Matilda.

Rage engulfs me without warning, hot and tingling and all-powerful. She isn’t really just Bello anymore, she is all the Grownups, she is the reason we have suffered endlessly, the reason my friends are dead.

I rush her, hurdling coffins and kids alike.

Bello shakes her head—a confused What are you doing?—then I am on her. I slam her into the red wall. The back of her head hits hard enough to make the metal thrum. She cries out in pain and surprise. I bend my right arm, whip my elbow at her face—O’Malley’s silver bracelet slams into her mouth.

She falls, spitting blood and teeth.

“You used us,” I say.

I viciously kick her ribs with the toe of my heavy black boot. She lets out a sound that is more hiccup than groan, rolls to her back. Her hands rise up, trying to surrender or ward off the attack—I don’t know which, and I don’t care.



“You were supposed to protect us.”

I drop my knee into her stomach as hard as I can. The wind shoots out of her all at once. Her eyes widen in shock and fear—the fear of not knowing if she will ever draw another breath.

“You wanted to make us just like you.”

I’m vaguely aware of kids screaming, of my fellow circles shouting at me to stop, yet none of them lay a hand on me.

I straddle Bello, pinning her hips to the floor. I punch her in the eye, feel the skin of my knuckles split.

“You are all monsters!”

I rear back, hit her again. Her head bounces off the floor. I hit her a third time, smashing her nose.