Angels take to the sky, avoiding the sixer. The words angelic pestilence are whispered in the air along with the whoosh of wings.

Every winged creature flies off the bridge, away from the infected angels and locusts. But only the winged ones can get away from the sixers.

If Doc is right, we humans are immune to this plague. But we’re certainly not immune to a sixer killing us by force.

‘Penryn!’ Raffe calls to me from above, floating on his snowy wings. ‘Jump off the bridge. I’ll catch you.’

I rush over to the edge of the bridge where my mom is. Maybe the Watchers can catch her and whoever else is willing to jump. Luckily, my sister is in the air, far enough away to be safe.

An angel who hovers too close to the bridge screams. He convulses in the air as he begins crying blood tears.

Another sixer climbs over the edge of the bridge near Mom. She runs toward the center of the bridge like everyone else. How many of these monsters are there? I scramble to the side, yelling for my mom to head for a different part of the bridge.

‘And his number is six hundred threescore and six,’ says Uriel from the air, his voice booming through the panic. If he’s surprised by the plague, he’s not showing it.

As I near the edge of the bridge, I see more of the bay. The bloody seawater is peppered with sixers swimming toward us.

Two more climb over the edge. All around us, more sixers reach up and climb on top of each other to get on the bridge.

Six hundred sixty-six. It’s not just the number tattooed on their foreheads. It must be how many of them there are.

I look up.

Raffe floats above me.

The angel just below him begins to writhe in pain. His nose begins bleeding.

I wave to Raffe to get away. ‘Go!’

Raffe hovers. Two of his Watchers grab his arms and drag him up.

All around, people run every which way. Guns fire. Screams everywhere.

‘I’ll save your Daughter of Man’s head to graft onto one of the beasts,’ says Uriel to Raffe. He’s flying well above us where he has a good view of the slaughter.

Sixers pour in from every edge of the bridge.

We humans back into the center as they lumber toward us. I have my knives out, but they might as well be toothpicks pointed at an army of grizzlies.

‘Penryn!’

I look up to see Raffe watching me with anguish in his eyes as his Watchers hold him at a safe distance from us.

Raffe grabs the dried fruit hanging off his neck and brings it to his lips.

He bites into it.

It bursts between his teeth, oozing what looks like thick blood down his lips.

Chapter 67

67

The bitten fruit smokes.