The sun rose over the ruined base. Black smoke rose from the rubble, darkening the sky. The toppled cranes remained where they’d fallen, even though emergency crews had begun the grisly process of carting away the remains (partial and otherwise) of the deceased. Severed steel cables hung in tatters from the edge of the sinkhole. Helicopters circled overhead, observing the devastation below. Survivors were being carried away on stretchers, even as first responders worked overtime to extricate more bodies from the debris. Collapsed gantries and scaffolding had turned the site into an enormous junkyard. Twisted steel beams jutted from the wreckage like abstract grave markers. Sobs and curses filled the air.

Ford wandered directionlessly through the ruins, ignored and forgotten amidst the disaster scene. His face was caked with soot and sweat. He’d discarded his gas mask and helmet hours ago; radiation poisoning had seemed the least of his worries. Every muscle ached and he felt black and blue all over. A loose pair of handcuffs still dangled from one wrist, which stung like the devil. He stumbled clumsily over the rubble, attempting to stay out of the way of the emergency crews. He’d been searching all night for his father without any luck. For all he knew, Joe was still buried beneath the debris.

He spied a crowd of medical personnel tending to another batch of wounded. Unwilling to give up, he pressed his way into the makeshift triage unit. Dozens of casualties occupied gurneys, while the overtaxed doctors, nurses, and medic struggled to cope with the flood of patients. Ford was both appalled and discouraged by the number of victims. He didn’t know where to keep looking for his dad. Joe could anywhere.

Or nowhere, anymore.

No, he thought. Don’t even think that.

He’d already lost his mother on this very same site. He’d be damned if he’d see his father buried here, too. Exhausted and sore, he stubbornly worked his way down row after row of casualties. Ford had seen combat, and the aftermath of suicide bombings, but the widespread suffering on display here still got to him—and left him feeling very afraid. His brain was still trying to come to terms with the reality of the gigantic winged monstrosity he’d witnessed earlier. Bombs and terrorists were one thing. He knew how to protect himself—and others—from them. But a creature like that… how on Earth did you stop it? Was that even possible?

And what was it doing now?