Sunwing by Kenneth Oppel

of air, and his ears popped. He swallowed and looked at Chinook, both of them too frightened to speak. The vibration deepened, so that it seemed to be coming from the marrow of his very bones. The whole container hummed.
    They were moving, not just the cage, but whatever it was around them. Shade got the sense of something with immense strength, moving slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. The cage tilted, and instinctively, Shade shot out his wings for balance.
    All the other bats had fallen into a terrified silence, some mumbling under their breath, maybe prayers to Nocturna. But Shade’s mind was blank, and he was ashamed of himself. Should be thinking, should be doing something. But all he could do was stupidly wait for what would follow.
    Then suddenly the vibrations calmed, and Shade felt a strangely familiar weightlessness.
    “We’re flying,” he said.

A IRBORNE
    Marina clung to the outside of the flying machine as it angled into the night sky. She knew her claws couldn’t hold out much longer against the wind. It tore at her body, screaming in her ears. An inch away, there was a small indentation in the metal hull, and maybe if she could reach it, it might shield her. If she moved, she might lose her grip—but if she didn’t move, she’d surely be blown off.
    She tensed and lifted her left claw. Instantly the wind ripped her loose, pelting her backward through the sky. She heard one of the machine’s fins shriek past her head, almost cutting her in half. Tumbling, she saw the flying machine, already so far away from her, climbing higher.
    “No!” she cried, spreading her wings and chasing after it. No bigger than a bird now, its lights twinkled on its belly, carrying Shade away. An anguished gasp escaped her mouth, as if her last breath were leaving her lungs. She looked at the flying machine until it disappeared, and recognized a wracking loss she hadn’t known since her own mother and father had chased her into exile.
    Gone, gone, he was gone.
    Wings stiff, she let gravity pull her back down to the earth in a slow spiral. She’d seen everything: Shade being struck by the Human’s metal stick, and trapped in one of the troughs. From the ceiling, she’d seen his body pass beneath the glass, shunted by busy hands. She’d caught glimpses of metal being fastened to his body. She’d heard him cry out. Then he’d dropped into the large container. A Human had sealed it, picked it up, and carried it toward a door. She’d followed, slicing through the closing door into the winter twilight.
    There were lots of Humans with containers, carrying them through the snow to a long road at the end of which rested the huge flying machine. She’d hung back, afraid, as they’d loaded the containers inside the belly of the machine.
    Coward, she now told herself miserably. He befriended you when no one else would; gave you a new home with the Silverwings. Should’ve gone inside the flying machine. Then at least you’d be traveling with him instead of watching him disappear.
    South, that was the direction it was traveling, due south.
    Beneath her was the Human building, glittering coldly in the dusk. No magical bat song swirled around it now, nothing beckoned her. It was just a big pile of stone and metal, like all their other buildings.
    Free, she thought bitterly, I’m free now. But she’d never felt less free. Tell Ariel, tell Frieda, that was the only thought she could latch on to. She had to get back inside. They all had to leave now, she was sure of that. Frieda would know what to do. They could go south, catch up with the plane, find Shade. Yes, that’s right. Find Shade.
    She recognized the stretch of roofline they’d flown over when they’d first arrived, and after several minutes, caught sight of oneof the entrance portals. She dove toward it, then pulled back, afraid. If she went through, she’d never get out. She had to be able to get out.
    She glared at the building, hating it.
    She