All around us are concrete tanks sunk into the ground that would once have been filled with sewage water, but are now empty. The machinery is all rusted and still, and thousands of birds have made their nests on the roof of the old metal tanks that tower over us.

I don’t hang around, though—I see higher ground ahead, and drag Malachai through the structure and over to the grassy hill. When we reach the top, my heart sinks. We are nowhere near the library; instead we are on the edge of town, only a quarter mile from the Red Zone.

“Dammit, Apple-Moth!” I yell, suddenly filled with anger.

“I’m sorry, friend, I got lost!”

“You got lost and now Malachai might die!”

Apple-Moth’s lights dim until they’re almost gone, and I feel pity and regret welling up in me.

“I’m so sorry, friend,” Apple-Moth says.

“Don’t be,” I reply. “It’s not your fault. I would’ve gotten us just as lost.”

Apple-Moth turns away, as though hiding so I can’t see it cry.

I look out over the city and try to figure out what my next move is.

And then I hear footsteps coming from the wastewater plant. I look down and see three Alt soldiers coming toward us.

“No!” I whisper, trying to duck down, but I know that they’ve already seen us.

I grab Malachai and start pulling him down the other side of the hill. Finally, I pick him up, channeling all my desperation into strength, and run on shaking legs toward the woodland on the edge of the Red Zone.

I can hardly breathe, I’m so exhausted, so tired, but I keep on going, keep on running.

I carry Malachai into the woods, Apple-Moth flying alongside us, but progress is slow. Too slow. The footsteps grow louder; the commands of the senior officers are closer. I’m unarmed and Malachai is unconscious. I try to hide, laying Malachai down behind a bush and crouching beside him.

But suddenly, they are there. Three soldiers, all of them with headlight eyes, staring down at us.

At least it’s not Tyco, I think, looking at each of the human hosts one at a time. At least he doesn’t get the satisfaction.

Apple-Moth glows red and hovers in front of us, trying to protect us with its tiny body.

I shake my head, sweat spilling off me. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

One of the host soldiers steps forward, his eyes lighting up the gloom of the forest.

“Because,” he says, a hint of smug satisfaction in his almost lifeless voice, “we need three of you to re—”

And then his head bulges above his right eye and he falls down dead.

The two other soldiers have no time to react before they too are hit by USW rounds.