Okwembu can’t see Hale any more. The tracer vanished when her path took her along the wall of the bridge tower. It doesn’t help that the deck is shrouded in drifting smoke, obscuring the Phalanx gun. Half of the planes are on fire, their fuselages hanging in shreds.
The bridge behind her is silent. No one speaks. They’re all staring out of the windows, their faces illuminated by flickering screens.
Okwembu tries to control her breathing. There’s no way Hale survived that. Nobody could. Not even a tracer would be able to outrun—
The gun starts to move again.
The barrel raises itself in short jerks, as if the operator isn’t quite sure of the equipment, still trying to get the hang of it. Prophet is muttering under his breath. “Engine’s gonna save us,” he says, more to himself than to anyone else. “The Engine will keep us safe.”
Okwembu reaches out, gripping his arm. “You have to shut the gun down. Right now.”
He stares at her blankly, as if he doesn’t know who she is.
“The Phalanx gun,” she says. “How do we shut it off?”
He shakes his head. “It’s manual control,” he says. “Only Curtis can do that.”
Okwembu looks back out of the window. The Phalanx gun is turning in a slow circle, the barrel moving upwards.
Aiming for the bridge.
“Get out!” Okwembu shouts. She throws Prophet to the side, launching herself towards the doors. “We have to get out now!”
And Riley Hale opens up.