Angelopolis(102)

looked from one end of the laboratory to the other, trying to find a way out. Their prospects didn’t

look good. He pushed against the wall. The Plexiglas was impenetrable. “We’re going to have to

perform some serious Houdini to get out of this.”



• • •

It was only a matter of minutes before Verlaine heard a commotion at the door—Bruno and Yana had

broken into the lab. Verlaine strained to see what was happening, but his view was blocked as

Godwin unfurled a white sheet and threw it over the Grigori twins, as if to protect them. Bruno went

after Godwin as Yana snatched a set of keys and ran to the cage. As she unlocked it, Verlaine grabbed

Evangeline and pulled her free, leaving the others to fight.

They were in the hallway when a great explosion shook the air. Within seconds, smoke and ash

billowed from the lab. An alarm began to sound; it rang through the panopticon, echoing and

distorting. The toxic smell of burning plastic, mixed with the syrupy sweet scent of scorched flesh,

created a noxious and sickening aroma. Verlaine tried to navigate his way through the smoke,

desperate to find a way out. As a second series of explosions went off in the distance—the blasts

stronger, more pronounced than the first—Verlaine knew that they were in danger.

Suddenly, he made out Godwin ahead, running into the fire. He tried to follow, but felt Evangeline

resist.

“We’re going in the wrong direction,” she said, pulling him back.

“How do you know?”

“I can’t feel the presence of angelic creatures any longer,” she said. “I don’t know why, but it’s as

if I’m wired to sense them. There are definitely no Nephilim this way. The panopticon must be in the

other direction.”

They turned around and ran in the opposite direction. Soon the floor began to shake, as if something

nearby were being detonated. As the sound of explosions grew louder, he realized that they were

approaching the very center of the destruction. The hallway opened into the panopticon and, as they

sped past the wide arc of the Level 1 cells, Verlaine found nothing but deserted chambers, many of

them encrusted in dried plasma, its golden hue charred to gray. Verlaine could see creatures across

the panopticon, running toward the tunnels, trying to escape. The prisoners were disoriented and

stunned, assessing their surroundings with wariness, as if they suspected that they had fallen prey to a

cruel test. At the tower, a group of Raiphim formed a mob. They screamed and struck at the tower

with whatever was at hand—metal folding chairs and rods broken from the cots in their cells. A pair

of Gibborim leaped from the railing and swooped down over the scattering humans below, snatching

them up, lifting them into the air, and dropping them to the ground. Men and women lay bloody on the

concrete floor of the moat, some screaming in agony, others unconscious or dead.

Pushing through the smoke, he and Evangeline found a metal staircase that brought them down past

the second- and third-level cells. The smoke grew thicker as they descended; the chaos Verlaine had

witnessed from above grew harder to navigate as he moved into it. Evangeline’s hand was small and

cold in his. He held it tight, as if she might disappear into the smoke.

Together they hurried toward the tunnel exit, stepping over creatures that had collapsed, their

bodies trampled and broken. Verlaine could feel Evangeline hesitate. Men in uniforms lay in pools of

blood on the concrete floor, some with their guns still in hand. The guards had been slaughtered while

fighting to keep the creatures from escaping. The great iron security door began to roll closed.

“They are trying to contain the angels,” Evangeline said.

Verlaine held his hand over his mouth and nose, but it was impossible to breathe without taking in

the thick chemical fumes. Another explosion sent shards of glass through the air. Within an instant, the

panopticon plunged into darkness.

“There go the lights,” Verlaine said. Although he had no way of knowing for sure, he had a terrible

feeling that the nuclear reactors were connected to the panopticon’s power source.

Evangeline’s hand slipped from his grasp. He stumbled forward, trying to reach her. “Evangeline,”

he called, but the noise had become deafening as thousands of creatures stampeded past.

“I’m here, above you,” she said, and he saw, floating in the darkness, a concentration of brilliant

light.

Verlaine blinked, coaxing his eyes to look at her hovering like a hummingbird overhead. The dome

of the panopticon filled with a strange, warm light. It seemed to him as if the sun had been captured

and concentrated into a single point. Evangeline could not possibly be a Nephil, nor a descendant of a