Other flashes showed rocks at the beach. Sand that made it hard to walk.

She remembered seeing kids. Two, at a distance. They ran away when they saw her. But maybe they weren’t real. Maybe they were just ghosts because Brittney wasn’t totally sure that anyone she saw was real. They looked real on the surface—their eyes and hair and lips were all familiar to her. But at times they seemed to have lights coming out of them in wrong places.

It was hard to know what was real and what was not. All she could know was that Tanner appeared sometimes, just beside her. And he was real.

The voice in her head was real, too, the voice that told her to serve him, to obey, to follow the path of truth and goodness.

Then Brittney remembered feeling that the evil one was close. Very close. She could feel his presence.

Oh, yes: he had been here.

But where had she been? She asked her brother, Tanner. Tanner was looking a bit messy, his wounds all too visible.

“Where am I, Tanner? How did I get here?”

“You rose, an avenging angel,” Tanner said.

“Yes,” Brittney said. “But where was I? Just now? Just before. Where was I?”

There was a noise at the end of the block. Two people walking. Sam and Taylor.

Sam was good. Taylor was good. Neither was allied with the evil one. They didn’t seem to see her. They trailed blurs of ultraviolet light behind them, like a slime trail.

“Did you see him, Tanner?”

“Who?”

“The evil one. Did you see the demon?”

Tanner didn’t answer. He was bleeding from the awful wounds that had killed him.

Brittney let it go. Indeed she’d already forgotten that she’d asked a question.

“I have to find the Prophet,” she said. “I must save her from the evil one.”

“Yes.” Tanner had assumed his other guise, his angelic raiment. He glowed beautifully, like a golden star. “Follow me, sister. We have good works to perform.”

“Praise Jesus,” Brittney said.

Her brother stared at her, and for just a moment it seemed he was smiling. His teeth were bare, his eyes red with an inner fire. “Yes,” Tanner said. “Praise.”

TWENTY

15 HOURS, 12 MINUTES

THE GAS STATION was dark. Everything was dark.

Zil looked up at that sky. Stars shone. Amazingly bright and sharp. Black night, brilliant, eye-piercing white stars.

Zil was no poet, but he could understand why people got sort of mesmerized by stars. Lots of great, important people must have looked up at the stars when they were on the edge, getting ready to do the things that would mark them forever as great.

Too bad these weren’t real stars.

Hank appeared, like a ghost. He was with Antoine. Zil saw others in the darkness beside the highway, already gathered. Milling together, scared, nervous, most ready to run like rabbits probably.

“Leader,” Hank said in an intense whisper.

“Hank,” Zil answered, his voice reassuringly calm.

“The Human Crew awaits your orders.”

A murmur of many voices. Scared sheep bleating together, trying to keep their courage up.

Lance was there. “I checked it out. Four of Edilio’s soldiers. Two of them asleep. No freaks, as far as I could see.”

“Good,” Zil said. “If we move fast and get the element of surprise I doubt we’ll even have to hurt anyone.”

“Don’t count on it,” Hank said.

“Whatever happens, it’s meant to be,” Turk said.

“Fate.”

Zil swallowed hard. If he showed any weakness it would be over. “This is the beginning of the end for the freaks,” he said. “Tonight we take Perdido Beach back for humans.”

“You heard the Leader,” Turk said.

“Let’s go,” Hank said. He had a shotgun as big as he was hanging on his shoulder. He slipped it off and ostentatiously clicked the safety to “off.”

And then, they were on the move. Walking fast. Zil in the lead with Hank on one side and Lance on the other and Antoine waddling along with Turk in the second row.

No one spotted them as they emerged up onto the highway. Or as they marched in quick-step past the battered old sign showing gas prices.

Past the first pump before a voice cried out, “Hey!”

They kept moving, breaking now into an exhilarating run.

“Hey! Hey!” the voice cried again.

A boy, Zil didn’t know his name, was yelling and then a second voice was shouting, “What’s happening?”

BLAM!

The sound was deafening. A dagger of yellow fire from the blast.

Hank’s shotgun.

The first boy fell back hard.

Zil almost cried out. Almost yelled “Stop.” Almost said “You don’t need to…”

But it was too late for that. Too late.

The second soldier raised his own gun, but hesitated. Hank did not.

BLAM!

The second soldier turned and ran. He threw his gun down and ran.

More voices yelling in fear and confusion. Gunfire. Here. There. Wild blasting, everyone who could, explosions of light in the dark.

“Cease fire!” Hank yelled.

The firing continued. But it was all coming from Zil’s own side now.

“Knock it off!” Zil shouted.

The explosions stopped.

Zil’s ears rang. From far off a pitiful voice cried. Cried like a baby.

For a long moment no one said or did anything. The boy who lay on his back made no sound. Zil did not take a closer look.