“We’re going down!” Jonas yelled.

They had made it over Mr. Sweet’s death zone but their luck had failed now. The line of gutted houses that marked the end of Dead Man’s Land was looming up in front of the Liberator and Jonas knew that they were going to hit them, hard. Struggling with the wheel and lashed by the rain, Jonas felt as if he was the captain of a sailing ship about to run aground. Along the length of the deck, everyone grabbed hold and did what they could to protect themselves from the inevitable impact. Some of the women and children were screaming, but not Molly, Jonas noticed. She looked on him with absolute trust in her young eyes.

Hope I don’t let you down, sweetheart.

They had lost far too much height, and one of the Feathered Men must have been lucky and slashed one of the steering cables. No matter how hard Jonas swung on the wheel, the Liberator was hardly responding, while the engines continued to power them forwards – straight towards the line of roofs.

The nose of the balloon missed the knife-edge of the tiles, but the wooden gondola underneath was too low. Jonas threw all of his weight at the controls, trying to give the Liberator some uplift.

It wasn’t enough.

The gondola struck the roof with a bone-jarring jolt which threw everyone staggering forwards. Then the Liberator ploughed on, sheering up waves of roof tiles on either side, crashing through chimney stacks and sending them tumbling. The gondola itself began to splinter as it smashed against the wooden beams of the roof, threatening to tear the entire house apart beneath them. And still the Liberator would not stop.

“Brakes!” Jonas yelled, and two lads at the aft of the gondola responded as they had been taught, throwing out the anchors. The anchors did even more damage to the row of roofs, smashing down through the tiles before catching on beams. The chains rattled and then pulled taut.

The Liberator finally screeched to a stop with a jerk that knocked the passengers to their knees.

Jonas let out a long breath. “Is everyone alright?”

But then the Liberator jerked again. Its nose was suspended in mid-air, hanging out into empty space. Only the back half of the airship was settled on what remained of Holloway Road, held up by the anchors.

The Liberator lurched and began to tip forwards. From the rear, Jonas could hear the anchors straining against the beams that were all that kept it from falling. There was also an ominous hissing that could only mean one thing.

“Everybody off!” shouted Jonas. “Before the gas catches! Go! Go! Go!”

Rope ladders rattled down to the safety of the street. The Watchers and the more able-bodied passengers made human chains. Children and infants were passed hand to hand; the older, frailer escapees were lowered over the side in slings. They had to get down to the ground and out of the blast radius. If this much gas caught fire, the explosion would be devastating.

Soldiers in the street below, awaiting their chance against the Legion, were quick to react. They bundled the escapees away from the danger, passing small children down the line to safety.

Last to leave the gondola, Jonas slung Molly over his shoulder and headed for the side of the airship. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the propeller still spinning uselessly, its blades striking against the brickwork with each revolution. The world slowed around Jonas. He could see the propeller clearly, saw it chip against the stone, saw the spark as it flew up into the gas cloud…

Jonas turned his back to the ship, pulling Molly in close to him as he threw himself into a dive, even as the balloon exploded.

“God help us,” he muttered as a wave of orange flame rolled over them.

Cradling Molly like an infant, Jonas found himself crashing through a hole in the roof, then tumbling through a second hole in the lath and plaster ceiling. The explosion raged overhead, a molten ball of fire. But its brilliant life was short, dying the moment the gas was all burned up.

Jonas blinked, surprised that he was still able to. He was white with plaster dust, and his nostrils itched with an acrid smell which could only be his own charred hair. Molly was beneath him. And beneath Molly was a musty old mattress. It had saved their lives.

“Gosh,” said Molly.

“Quite,” said Jonas.

They staggered down the stairs of the abandoned house and out into a hive of activity.

The army had been encamped all around the city for weeks, coming as close as they dared while Sweet still held the threat of the axe over Queen Victoria’s neck. Now Jonas saw tears of relief from the escapees as the soldiers gathered them up, covering their shoulders with blankets, handing them mugs of steaming tea. It was a bittersweet victory; so many families had been separated when the Wall went up. So many loved ones were still trapped on the wrong side.

Jonas slipped a cartridge into the broad brass muzzle of his flare gun to let his own family know that he was fine. Then he aimed it into the sky, pulling the trigger. The charge sizzled away and then the night blistered red as the signal flare ignited. It was a message to the Watchers: mission accomplished.

Against the odds, the Liberator had brought them to the real London, beyond Mr. Sweet’s reach. Through a gaping hole in the wreckage of Holloway Road, Jonas looked back across the wasteland of the death zone. It was painful to see the acres of rubble where people’s homes had been demolished to ensure that Legion guards had a clear line of fire.

As if on cue, first one, then a barrage of bullets zinged through the air. Jonas shielded Molly with his body as the sky whistled with death. The Legion was using snipers to pick off anyone who strayed into their line of fire.

“Look out,” he said, pulling Molly down behind a mound of broken bricks for cover. Daring a peek over the top, Jonas could see figures on the Wall, outlined by the oil fires still burning behind them. A row of guns flashed and seconds later the bang reached them, along with the deadly cargo.

Jonas held Molly’s head in his hands, covering her ears. Poor kid, he thought. She had seen so much hardship already in her young life. No mother. A father who died, leaving her alone. Then a new start with the Watchers, beginning as a game of happy families, but ending up as a war. She was frozen cold too, soaked to the skin. He looked at her, seeing the trust in her big blue eyes, and was filled with a flash of longing for his own two boys, Ben and Nathaniel, both still inside the Wall.

“Ready, aim, FIRE!” barked an officer, and the soldiers unleashed their own volley in retaliation from within their makeshift barricade of half-demolished buildings.

Jonas knew that he had to find a more protected hiding place for both their sakes. Still shielding Molly with his body, they crawled back into the shell of the house they had fallen into and huddled together in the corner behind a mound of broken stone and fallen beams. Jonas was very aware of a ragged hole in the wall, where rain and bullets could reach in and get them. It wasn’t the best defence in the world, but it would have to do.

They both shut their eyes while gunshots exploded all around them.

Jonas only opened his eyes when he heard another sound. Scrabbling. Scratching. Nearby, in the wreckage of the house itself. Jonas went rigid. It was the noise of claws against stone. He held Molly tight. Had a Feathered Man survived the destruction of the Liberator?

Whatever it was, it was getting closer.

Trying not to alarm Molly, Jonas reached out and clasped a broken brick. He wouldn’t let Molly be taken easily.

Now there was a second sound. Low. Animal.

Laboured breathing, punctuated by yelps of pain.

Come on, show yourself. Let’s get this over with.

A shape struggled over the debris and Jonas found himself staring into an ugly face. The eyes bulged. The mouth was wet with drool. The breath was repulsive.

Molly’s face lit up. “Can I keep him?” she asked, scooping the bulldog up. It yelped and then broke wind contentedly as it settled in her arms.

While the bullets flew outside, the bulldog snuggled into Molly, responding to her petting with enthusiastic licks of her face. The poor creature had only three legs, although the stump had long since healed. How it came to be out in the death zone was anybody’s guess.

“What will you call him?” Jonas asked.

“Clover,” she answered with a smile. “Because he’s so lucky.”

He looked into Molly’s wide doe-eyes. How could he say no?

Outside, the fighting was intensifying. The whole house was shaking around them as bullet after bullet struck. Then a voice boomed out over the battlefield.

Jonas felt his marrow turn to ice. It was the voice of Mr. Sweet, addressing them through a speaking trumpet.

“Have you forgotten my promise…? Attack my city and your queen shall die.”

There was a collective intake of breath from the soldiers at the mention of Her Majesty.

“Throw down your guns immediately or I shall give the order to my executioner. One, two, three…”

Reluctant orders rang out down the line. “Ceasefire!”

Jeers went up from the Legionnaires on the Wall, filled with cruel obscenities.

Jonas made to cover Molly’s ears but the girl was gone.

“Molly!” he called. “Where are you?”

“I’m out here,” Molly replied. “Clover ran off and I went to get him.”

She had crawled out through the hole in the wall, Jonas realized. The girl had wandered into the death zone.

“Stay there,” said Jonas firmly. “I’m coming to get you.”

Conscious that the Legion might shoot them any time they chose, Jonas got down on his hands and knees and climbed out after Molly. His heart was racing. Sweet’s men had littered the death zone with traps; they were both risking their lives for the sake of a dog.

“I’ve found him!” Molly called. She looked delighted in spite of the fact that she was drenched to the skin again.

Jonas made his way across the rubble towards her. She was a full twenty feet away, standing absolutely exposed on the ruins of another house.

Suddenly, the expression on Molly’s face went from joy to terror.

“I think I’ve done something wrong,” she said softly.

“It’s alright, Molly,” Jonas reassured her. “You’re not in trouble.”

“I am,” said Molly. “I stood on something and now it’s going tick, tick, tick…”