“They’re coming, friend, we have to move!” Apple-Moth says, zipping back and forth through the air.

“I know,” I grunt as I scramble over Malachai, hooking my arms around his chest. I try to drag him deeper into the pipeline.

Apple-Moth flies over, grabs Malachai by the hair, and tries to help me drag him—but it’s no use. There’s no way we’re moving fast enough to outrun Happy’s soldiers.

Then Malachai begins to stir.

“Malachai,” I whisper, crouching beside him, “can you walk?”

“I’m not one of them?” he asks, his voice raspy and full of pain.

“No,” I tell him, “you’re still you.”

“I’m blind,” he says, sounding neither pleased or displeased.

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

“Stupid fucking question,” Malachai barks back. “It hurts. It hurts like hell, but I think I’m in shock right now, because it’s bearable.”

“Can you stand? The Alts are coming, and we need to get you to a doctor.”

Malachai nods and gets shakily to his feet. I watch as a disturbing amount of blood seeps from his right eye socket into the T-shirt.

I put my arm around him, and tell Apple-Moth to light the way again, and we stumble through the sewer pipe for what feels like a very long time, until finally it connects to larger stormwater tunnels and we can stand up straight again.

“Apple-Moth,” I say, and the drone turn toward me, dazzling me with its beam.

“Yes, friend!”

“Do you know the way back to the—” I almost say library, but catch myself before I reveal the location of our hideout to Malachai’s Panoptic microphone. “Back to the base?”

Apple-Moth turns slowly around, scanning his surroundings. “No. Not one hundred percent, but I could try.”

“It’ll have to do,” I say. “Lead the way.”

Apple-Moth glows green, and begins to move cautiously through the old tunnels, turning first one way, changing its mind and then turning another.

We follow the drone for what feels like twenty minutes, when, finally, I whisper, “Apple-Moth, how much farther?”

“Umm,” the drone replies, turning toward me and then away, “not long now!”

The drone’s voice is so unsure that I already know we’re lost. I’m about to yell at it when Malachai falls to the ground behind me.

“Malachai,” I call, running over to his collapsed form.

Apple-Moth comes over. “He’s alive.”

“Where’s the nearest exit?” I ask, knowing that we have to get our bearings.

Apple-Moth scans the area. “Umm, it’s two minutes that way, but don’t be mad if we’re not right beside the base. I was getting there.”

Apple-Moth leads us in the direction of the nearest exit. I pull Malachai along and progress is slow, but finally we make it to another sewage outlet pipe and drop down into an ancient, abandoned wastewater treatment plant.