Page 63 of The Godhead Complex
She knew nothing of wars. For years she’d played nice with Nicholas and Mikhail so that tensions never escalated. As she scrambled to avoid the falling debris, choking on the dust, it hit her like its own explosion.
Mikhail.
Somehow, in his Crank-riddled mind, he’d been able to orchestrate this.
Two Guards pushed Alexandra out the back exit. She coughed and gasped for air as they emerged into a city full of flames and destruction. She pulled her cloak tight around her as if it had magical powers of protection.
“Get me to—” But when she turned around it was only Flint behind her.
“They—they . . . ,” Flint stuttered.
“Nevermind! Come on!” She ran, and Flint followed. She tore through the south streets, farther from the child army and farther from the Bergs. She zigzagged and dodged things falling from the sky, cinched her hood around her face so that no one could see it was her—their Goddess—running away from her people. Gunfire rang in every direction. She considered fleeing to the ruins of the Maze, but if she fled below ground it would surely be her burial site.
And so, she ran.
She ran, Flint beside her, weaving between the Pilgrims who chose to stand their ground like maniacs and fight for their land, and between the bodies on the ground that lay already dead. She jumped over a woman on the street, eyes glazed over, who she’d seen earlier shouting for justice.Flaring justice, flaring justice.
The Flare be damned.
The Evolution be damned.
Mikhail be damned.
She saw a black cloak that just for a moment made her think Nicholas had returned from the grave with the armies of the dead, seeking revenge.
Mannus.
He turned to her with the dead stare of a man crippled by terror. He was alive, but his mind seemed on the edge of flight, the escape of madness. And then she remembered.
The boat.
Docked along a southern port from when they’d returned from the Villa.
“Flint, there’s a—” Alexandra stopped at the sight of her faithful servant’s expression, crooked with pain. They locked eyes for just a moment before he gave her an apologetic look and fell. His knees hit the ground, a single red arrow jutting from his neck.
Flint.
All these years, she could never even be bothered to use his real name. His dying eyes searched her face and the greatest shame she’d ever known washed through her every cell.
“I’m sorry . . . ,” she mouthed to him. And then he was gone.
The only thing remaining in all the world was for her to run.
Goddess Alexandra Romanov ran.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
Dispensing Disbelief
Endless training.
Constant threats.
Everything the Orphan experienced in his life had led to this moment, a war that he’d doubted at times would actually happen. But the bullets firing off in the distance convinced him it was real.Would the Godhead even survive an attack like this?No ragtag Alaskan army of Pilgrims could ever be a match for the Orphan Army. Minho continued to lead the group inland, through forest, over hill and rockslide. Far enough to be safe, far enough from the attack until things calmed down.
“How long does something like this last, anyway?” Miyoko asked while looking through the binoculars. Minho knew she wouldn’t be able to see anything. The tree cover was too thick.
“From the history books, wars can last months . . . years . . . decades,” Roxy said. Minho would have to to ask for one of her grandpa’s war stories later, but for now he wanted silence. He needed to hear what was happening in the distance.
