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.