She turned, looking back over the rubble and down the street where the crowds flowed dense into a tight stream. She felt certain the building number on the other side of the rubble had been—

It hit her. As solidly as the bomber had hit the building she was looking for. Molly looked down at her feet. Her destination was right below her, caked up in the treads of her flightboots.

“No flanking way,” she muttered. She scanned the crowd for anyone in Navy black as the Wadi nudged her chin with its head. “It’s okay,” she told her. Molly held her hand up and rubbed the Wadi’s neck with her finger. “Everything’s gonna be fine,” she lied.

That’s what she loved about having a pet. You could lie to them and they didn’t know any different. Somehow, saying what she knew to not be true made her feel better. It dissipated the bad sensations inside, just as the wind had removed from the morning sky all signs of the downed shuttle. Its great column of white liftoff smoke had hung over the city during her run into town, but now it was gone, scattered across the winds like so many forgotten Callites.

Molly saw no sign of Navy officials, but that was hardly surprising. She wouldn’t be shocked to discover they had made scarce before the façade of their building had done the same. Her last remaining option for help felt like a poor choice; the town’s sheriff had seemed a tad incompetent the last time she’d turned to him in need, or at least not very eager to help her out. But Molly couldn’t think of any alternatives.

She looked around, trying to get her bearings straight. The small town of Bekkie felt huge all of a sudden—there was just so much going on. People running to and fro, clutching precious items against their chests; fires being fought; lights flashing; flames flickering. Behind it all were her friends in danger, the love of her life and her father gone from the universe, her mom telling her to get ready to be alone again, Saunders and his crew and all they’d been through, and so many Callites sent off to their death.

As Molly turned in place, trying to locate the steeple of the great church in the center of town, she felt like her surroundings turned at a different rate than herself, as if the world spun on her while she stood still—and likewise stood still while she spun. Through a haze of smoke, she finally located that central spire of the great church and used it to locate herself. To center herself. She scampered down from the rubble and set off at a jog through the twists and turns of unplanned alleys.

The Sheriff would be able to help her, she told herself. She put one hand on the Wadi’s back so it wouldn’t use its claws, and hoped he didn’t feel the same way about Callites as he had about pets.