What the hell’s going on out there?

The temperature inside the trailer was rising by the moment even as the core glowed brighter and brighter. Did fusion reactors produce harmful radiation? Gordon didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. At the moment, radiation was the least of his worries. He’d settle for not being incinerated.

Tugging on his collar, his face bathed in sweat, he averted his eyes from the glowing core and felt like he was trapped inside a microwave oven. But he couldn’t let himself think about trying to get away. The jammer was still blinking. For all he knew, it was the only thing stopping Bane from triggering the bomb.

He had to buy Batman time.

The din of battle penetrated the lead-lined walls, as though World War Three was being fought on the streets of Gotham.

That sounds about right, he thought. Here’s hoping the angels are winning.

The Bat would not die.

Talia cursed beneath her breath as the agile black aircraft strafed the street in front of her. Strapped into the truck’s passenger seat, she stared at the battle raging all around her. She had to assume that it was Bruce piloting the Bat, which meant that he had somehow escaped from Bane.

And the woman riding the Bat-Pod appeared to be Selina Kyle, alias “Catwoman.” Talia had no idea why the notorious thief had allied herself with Batman, but she regretted not eliminating Kyle earlier.

No matter, she reminded herself. Nothing could prevent Gotham from burning.

The Bat came in for another run. It blasted the road in front of them, forcing the truck to veer right at an intersection. Smoke and flames burst from the flying debris. Against all odds, a random chunk of concrete smashed through the driver’s side window, striking the man in the head. He jerked, then slumped forward onto the wheel, blood leaking from a fractured skull.

The truck careened out of control.

Talia shoved the man’s body aside and took hold of the wheel. She steered the truck back into the center of the lane. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the Bat banking off into the sky, no doubt preparing for another assault.

Just as well, she thought. She preferred to be in the driver’s seat. At least for a few more minutes.

Blake raced back toward bus. Father Reilly had the boys in a huddle outside of it, praying. Soot blackened their faces. He caught snatches of the Lord’s Prayer.

“Father!” he called out. “Get the boys on the bus!”

The old priest gave him a puzzled look.

“But there’s nowhere to go, son!” Nevertheless, he moved to comply.

A navigation unit was built into the dashboard of the truck. Talia kept one eye on the miniature screen as she sped through the glass-and-steel canyons of downtown. Deserted skyscrapers and office buildings seemed to rush past her on both sides. A concrete divider separated the eastbound expressway from the westbound lanes, which lay one level below. A radio kept her in communication with the last surviving escort.