“I think I’ve broken every single rib. Every single goddamned rib,” he gasps.

I can hear the sound of his snapped bones popping back into place from here, and I can feel my own ear zipping itself back to the side of my head.

“We have to keep moving,” I say, my voice equally as gravelly as his.

I drag myself to my feet and help Malachai to his. I try not to show the panic I’m feeling as I see that three segments have now lit up in his eyes.

“Apple-Moth, time?” I call out, and the drone floats into the air beside me.

“You’re alive!” the drone wails happily, spinning loops in the air. “You’re alive, alive, alive!”

“Yes, we’re alive, Apple-Moth,” I grunt, the pain just starting to evaporate. “What’s the time?”

“It’s 11:09, friend,” Apple-Moth says, colors flickering rapidly, blue to green to pink to orange.

Eleven minutes, I think. Eleven minutes until it’s too late!

The sound of Happy’s voice blaring out into the afternoon reverberates around us, commanding its soldiers to track us, to follow us and find us and bring us back.

I pull Malachai along with me as I stumble into the tall grass behind the Arc.

We move deeper, making the most of the small amount of time we’ve gained from luring the soldiers to the top of the enormous building before making our escape.

I hear the sound of running water and we half stagger and half fall down an embankment and into a shallow stream. And still the voices grow louder behind us.

My wrist clicks back into place as I look frantically around for a place to run, a place to hide.

And then I see a large sewer outlet pipe pouring a steady stream of gray water out toward the lake. A way down. A way into the tunnels.

Remembering Malachai’s Panoptic camera, I quickly unclip the Alt body armor, take off my T-shirt, and wrap it around Malachai’s head. I then put the body armor back on, wondering all the time if it’ll matter, because time is running out and those robotic eyes will come online any minute.

“Come on,” I say, pulling Malachai toward the pipeline.

We climb up into the foul-smelling tube and run, crouched over so far that it’s hard to breathe.

As soon as we’re in the pipeline I think about Sam’s words the last time I was in the tunnels—you do not want to get lost down here. But there’s no choice; we have to get back to the library.

I can hear Malachai’s breath behind me, ragged and hoarse.

“Apple-Moth,” I say, and the little drone appears in front of my face.

“Yes, friend?”

“Can you light the way?”

“No problem!”

A bright light illuminates the tunnel, and I can’t see the end of it; it just goes on and on.

“Luka,” Malachai grunts.

“Just keep moving,” I tell him, trying to ignore the choking sensation in my lungs.