I reactivate Apple-Moth, whose battery has charged to 9 percent, enough to get us into the city.

“Hey, friend!” Apple-Moth says when it’s reactivated. “I hope you’re not mad at me! But I didn’t go into full sleep mode when you told me.”

“I’m not mad, Apple-Moth,” I say. “That’s what saved us. If you hadn’t gone back to the library and told everyone else that we were in trouble, we’d probably be dead.”

“So, I did good?”

“You did great.” I look over at Igby. “I’m really glad you didn’t manage to erase Apple-Moth’s annoying personality,” I say.

Igby shrugs. “The stupid thing grows on you.”

Apple-Moth does several backflips and the drone’s lights cycle through a rainbow of colors.

“Listen,” I say, and the drone hovers in front of my face, “I need you to preserve energy. We’re going back to the base—you have to lead the way and keep us hidden from Mosquitoes, understand?”

“Yes, friend!” Apple-Moth proclaims. “Let’s go!”

The journey across the city takes hours.

We have to hide several times from groups of soldiers, but there are no Mosquitoes—they must all have flown up to join the cloud.

All the while I think about Shion, lying dead on a cold hard floor; I think about Molly, the distance between us growing with every step; I think about how close we are to this all being over. One way or another, the end is coming.

When we get within a mile of the library, Pander leads us—once again—into the sewer system.

And, finally, we make it to the ladder.

We climb up, one at a time, tired but happy to be back.

We move through to the main room of the library.

I hear Wren’s quiet moans coming from the storeroom and my heart sinks a little. I had hoped that by now she might be coming around, that the treatment Dr. Ortega had given her and the medication would have helped her.

“Is that … is that Wren?” Malachai asks.

“Yeah,” Igby replies. “Listen, there’s something you should know.”

“Take me to her,” Malachai says.

“Listen, she’s not the same as—”

“Take me to her,” Malachai repeats firmly.

Igby nods, takes Malachai by the arm, and leads the way.

And then Akimi runs up to us. “Come quick,” she says, grabbing Dr. Ortega by the hand.

“What is it?” Kina asks.

“The baby is coming. Those weren’t phantom contractions. Sam’s baby is coming!” Akimi replies, dragging Dr. Ortega away toward the periodicals room.

“Surely not,” Dr. Ortega says, eyes widening. “It’s too soon.”

We’re about to follow, to see if there’s anything we can do to help, when thunder rolls across the sky, so loud and booming that it shakes the foundations of the library.

“Fuck,” Igby says, returning from the storage room, “what now?”