Noam opened his mouth to speak, and one of the soldiers lashed out with his power instantly. Noam felt the snap of burning magic in the air a split second before he reacted, dashing it aside with a shield. It sparked and flared against the asphalt, a white firecracker quickly extinguished.
“Don’t shoot,” Noam shouted, power latching on to the guns before the soldiers could point them at their heads. Noam held his ground. “Don’t shoot—just let us through.”
Let me handle this, he thought toward Dara as loudly as he could. Dara’s silence was answer enough.
Noam didn’t let himself entertain other reasons Dara might be incapable of speech.
The two soldiers nearest Noam glanced at each other. One of them spat dip, strings of brown juice dribbling down his chin. “You’re a threat, and I’m authorized to shoot threats.”
“Yeah? Just try it.” Noam had jammed the bullets in their chambers.
He stepped forward again, fighting back nausea and the pounding in his head. One man pulled his trigger, then swore when nothing happened and tossed his gun aside, lifting a hand to use his power instead.
But it was too late. Noam grabbed his wrist, and the electricity buzzing around the man’s fingertips blinked out. It was grimly satisfying to watch fear bloom in the soldiers’ eyes.
“Who the fuckareyou?” said the man whose wristbone was in danger of being crushed under Noam’s superpotent grip, struggling and failing to pull away.
“We’re Level IV. Lehrer’s students. Where is he?”
The man gestured mutely over his shoulder. Noam glanced toward Dara, who was too dazed to notice.
Noam turned back toward the soldiers. “Well? Are you going to let us in?”
“ID first,” one of them said, not the one whose wrist Noam nearly broke.
Noam reached back into Dara’s pocket and dug around until he found a wallet. Dara’s name must’ve done the trick because the soldiers let them through, someone’s magnetic power pulling back the barbed wire far enough to let Noam and Dara step over the knee-high steel blockade.
“Two blocks north of here,” one of the soldiers told them. “They’re holding against the loyalists near the old theater. Watch your backs.”
They walked away from the riot but in the opposite direction from where the soldiers had gestured—away from Lehrer, away from the screams and gunshots that felt like they followed Noam a half step behind. He didn’t like the way the soldiers looked at them, even behind this barricade. Their gazes lingered too long, fingers on triggers.
Without rioters, the street felt too empty, trash scattered across the sidewalk from an overturned garbage bin and tumbling along in the breeze. Noam hung on to Dara’s arm like that was going to make a difference. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Noam kicked an empty tear gas canister out of the way, and Dara jumped.
“Sorry,” Noam muttered.
“We can’t,” Dara said. He came to a sudden stop, yanking Noam to a halt with him.
At first Noam thought he was going to start up on the quarantined zone shit again, but then he followed Dara’s glassy stare. A platoon marched this way, blue-ribboned soldiers with machine guns trained on a line of loyalist prisoners. Noam opened his mouth to say,It’s fine—they don’t care about us, but then there was a break in the line, and he saw the bodies slumped against the ground. Blood splattered against brick wall.
A fresh group of five facing the firing squad.
“Okay,” Noam said, pushing Dara ahead of him toward the other side of the street. “Okay. Keep walking. Just keep walking.”
His head buzzed with white noise. He kept taking in shallow gulps of air that never seemed to reach his lungs, heat pouring into his veins.
Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.
Noam tripped over a loose brick on the sidewalk, and Dara heaved him up by the elbow. Their eyes met, and as if by silent agreement, they broke into a run.
Someone shouted behind them, but Noam couldn’t make out the words.Run.Everything condensed to that. He barely felt the bullets bouncing off his electromagnetic shield.
“Just go!” Noam shouted at Dara when he turned around to look, shoving his hands against Dara’s back. “Go!”
They sprinted down the next alley, both tapping superstrength to make each stride count. Bullets were one thing, but Noam didn’t want to find out if that platoon had witchings. He sensed more soldiers up ahead, a tank.
“No—no, not this way,” he said, and they changed direction again, up a lengthy street. Without cars and cabs and carts full of fruit and flowers, the road reminded Noam of a long black scar carved into the city’s flesh.
They careened onto the parallel street, Noam on Dara’s heels, and yes,yes—that was traffic far ahead at the intersection. They could lose themselves in the city, catch a bus to the Southpoint suburbs. Then maybe, maybe they’d steal a car, drive until they hit the fence that barred out the quarantined zone. After that, Noam didn’t know, but they’d figure it out. They’d walk all the way to York if they had to.
