OAKHAVEN
We rocketed down the dark exit tunnel just as massive slabs of concrete began falling from the ceiling behind us.
The transport burst out of the tunnel entrance and into the open morning air, airborne for a terrifying second before slamming back onto the dirt road outside the city perimeter.
"Look!" Leo said, pointing out the rear window.
We all leaned back to look through the glass.
The Spire, the majestic, terrifying tower of white glass that had dominated the skyline of Oakhaven for generations, was smoking from top to bottom. The giant weather-control grid overhead—the artificial blue sky that had kept us in a fake paradise—was cracking apart. Huge panels of glass and metal were falling