THE GUNFIRE MAKES MY EARS RING LONG AFTER it’s stopped. Smoke rises from the end of the barrel, but Crayton wastes no time and drops the gun’s clip and snaps another in place. Heaping mounds of ash have given the air a thick haze. We stand waiting, Ella and I behind Crayton. He keeps the gun raised, his finger hovering on the trigger. A Mogadorian climbs into the entryway with a cannon of his own, but Crayton fires first, cutting him in half and hurling him backwards. The Mogadorian explodes before he hits the wall. A second jumps into view, wielding the same flashing weapon that tore my shoulder downstairs, but Crayton disposes of it before any light comes forth.

“Well, they know where we are now. Come on,” he yells, rushing forward and down the stairs before I can offer to float us out the window. Ella and I follow, still holding hands. Crayton stops after the second curve of the stairwell, pressing his fingers to his eyes. “There’s too much ash in my eyes. I can’t see anything,” he says. “Marina, take the lead. If there’s anything up ahead, yell and get the hell out of the way.”

I keep the Chest tucked beneath my left arm and Ella stays in the middle, holding my hand and Crayton’s. I lead them down and out the broken oak door just as the tower above us explodes.

I scream, ducking down and pulling Ella with me. Crayton instinctively begins firing. The gun unloads a rapid stream of ammunition—eight to ten bullets per second—and I can see an entire group of Mogadorians drop. Crayton stops firing.

“Marina?” he asks, nodding his head forward without seeing me.

I turn and study the hallway, thick with ash. “I think it’s clear,” I say; and the second the words leave my mouth, a Mogadorian leaps out of an open doorway and fires, sending a flashing white meteor raging towards us too bright to look at. We drop just in time, and the white death misses us by a hair. Crayton quickly lifts the gun and returns a barrage of bullets, killing the Mogadorian instantly.

I lead us forward. I have no idea how many of them Crayton just killed, but the ash stands thick on the floor, covering our feet and ankles. We pause at the top of the steps. Light from the windows comes through the fading ash, and Crayton has cleared his eyes. He takes the lead position, clutching the gun tightly to his chest while staying hidden behind the corner. Once we turn, all that separates us from the door leading outside are these steps, a short hallway, the back of the nave, and the main vestibule. Crayton takes a deep breath, nods his head, and then turns, dropping the barrel of the gun, ready to fire. But there’s nothing to fire at.

“Come on,” he grunts.