Now the grungy survivors fight for scraps and harass terrified women. They scurry into the shadows and disappear as soon as they spot us. The only ones left are the most desperate who choose to stay out in the open, hoping to escape the gangs for the few seconds it takes us to fly by.

Below us, a girl hunches over a dead man lying with limbs spread wide. She hardly notices us, or she simply doesn’t care. Here and there, I see light glinting off something in a window, signs that someone is watching us through binoculars, or maybe aiming a rifle at us as we pass.

We must be quite a sight. A cloud of scorpion-tailed, man-sized locusts blotting out the sky.

And in the middle of it all, a demon with enormous wings carrying a teenage girl. At least, Raffe must look like a demon to anyone who didn’t know he was an archangel flying on borrowed wings.

They probably think he kidnapped the girl he’s holding. They couldn’t possibly guess that I feel safe in his arms. That I’m resting my head on the warm curve of his neck because I like the feel of his skin.

‘Do we humans always look like that from above?’ I ask.

He answers. I can feel the vibrations in his throat and see his mouth moving, but I can’t hear him above the thunderous buzz of the locust swarm.

It’s probably good I didn’t hear him anyway. Angels probably think we look like roaches scurrying from one shadow to another.

But we’re not roaches or monkeys or monsters, no matter what the angels think of us. We are still the same people we once were. At least, we are on the inside.

I hope so, anyway.

I glance over at my cut-up sister who is flying beside us. Even now, I have to remind myself that Paige is still the same girl I’ve always loved. Well, maybe not exactly the same.

She’s riding on the shriveled body of Beliel, which is being carried like a palanquin by several locusts. He has blood all over him and looks long dead even though I know he’s still alive. It’s no worse than what he deserves, but there’s still a part of me that wonders at the primitive cruelty of it all.

A gray island of rock appears ahead of us in the middle of San Francisco Bay. Alcatraz, the notorious former prison. There’s a whirlwind of locusts above the island. It’s a small part of the hive that didn’t come when Paige called for help on the beach a few hours ago.