Swarm (7 page)

“This sucks. First my phone breaks, and now this. I should sue you guys!”

Ethan swallowed. Maybe the whole permanent-nerve-
damage line was overkill. It'd be bad enough if Sonia posted about a crowd freak-out at the Dish. But if she took them all to
court
 . . .

The voice picked up his uncertainty and went dumb. But Nate's spiel was working, and people were moving toward the door in an orderly way. Sonia drifted along with them, glaring at her hand.

Ethan ducked into the crowd and headed for the light booth. He had to make sure Kelsie was okay.

The weirdness hadn't completely gone. Every step Ethan took felt like it was in the wrong direction. As if someone had imposed a completely different floor plan on the building.

Black spots filled his eyes, swimming in formation every time he moved his head. But he could see Kelsie on the floor of the DJ booth, her arms wrapped around her knees.

Had she caused this whole crowd disaster with some kind of feedback loop?

He climbed up to the booth. “You okay, Kels?”

“Ethan,” she said slowly, like recognizing him took effort. “Did you see them?”

“See who?”

“There were people in here, with powers. They took our crowd away, sucked it dry.”

Just the words made Ethan feel like he was going to puke again—new powers with evil intent. But at least it hadn't been Kelsie.

“
Nate saw them feeding off the crowd,” she said. “It felt like we were being cut to pieces. Crash went after them.”

For a sudden, awful moment, Ethan felt alone. All the other Zeroes had crowd powers—so they'd seen what had happened, had felt it. But all he'd gotten was motion-sick.

“Is that Sonia Sonic?” Kelsie groaned. “Perfect. We're screwed.”

He turned and found Sonia waiting below the DJ booth.

“The exit's too crowded,” she called up. “Hey, were you just trying to get rid of me?”

Ethan turned back to Kelsie. “Gotta deal with this. Glad you're okay. Hey, later we should . . .”

He bit down on his words. This mess had clearly wiped their talk off the agenda—the serious talk about major feelings.

Crap. He was
never
going to tell her.

He jumped down from the booth.

“Is she okay?” Sonia asked.

Ethan nodded. “Come on, let's get you a cab.”

“She's cute,” Sonia said.

A siren sounded outside, and Ethan groaned. Whether it was cops or an ambulance, the voice was probably needed now. Nate had put him in charge of keeping the authorities off their backs.

Of course, Nate had probably never imagined a meltdown quite the size of this.

“Crap! Sonia, we have to get out there.”

“Wounded coming through!” Sonia called through gritted teeth, holding up her wrist.

People parted, and soon they were outside. Ethan sucked in brisk December air, and his head finally cleared. Plenty of the crowd had spilled out already, and there was a police car rolling up.

“Crap,” Ethan said. Everything was toast.

A wall with ears stepped in front of him.

“What the hell happened in there?” the Craig asked. “First everyone goes nuts, then Chizara comes pounding out, chasing down some kids!”

Ethan had never seen Craig's face this pale before. He put a calming hand on the guy's massive shoulder.

“Don't know, Craig. We'll figure it out. You seen any cabs?”

“I can call one. But first,” Craig said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “local constabulary.”

“Don't sweat it. I got this.” Ethan inclined his head toward Sonia. “Get her in a cab and pay. Okay?”

“Leave it with the Craig.”

As he went toward the police car, Sonia tried to follow, but the Craig stood in her way. Ethan didn't bother looking to see who won that contest.

Two officers were getting out of the police car, adjusting their duty belts and looking over the crowd.

Come on, voice. Whatever it takes to get rid of these guys!

One of the officers swept his flashlight across the departing Dish patrons, who looked dazed and terrified, like their whole world had come undone. Exactly the kind of expression cops loved to take an interest in.

Ethan moved in, thinking about how much he wanted them to go away.

“Officers.” The voice sounded so casual, like all three of them were drinking buddies.

The first cop looked Ethan up and down. He was tall, with forearms like hams. “You know anything about this club, kid?”

“Club? It's more like a private party.” Ethan recognized Nate's line from before. Nice of the voice to keep it consistent.

The other cop sidled up to join his partner. He looked mean and tired. “Either way, seems kind of like a disturbance of the peace. Underage drinking, from the looks of it. And some bad trips?”

To Ethan's surprise, the voice took a simple route. “Officers, what's it gonna take to make this go away?”

“Getting straight to business, huh?” the short one said.

Ethan shrugged. The voice always knew what it was doing.

“How about one gee for the inconvenience?” it said.

Shit, that was a lot of cash. Also, Nate was going to be pissed about bribery. And if Ethan's
mom
ever found out . . .

The tall cop turned to his partner. “He serious?”

“How about two grand right now?” the other one said.
“Cheaper than taking the rap for causing grievous bodily harm, say.”

The voice didn't even try to haggle. Which meant there was no point. “Two grand it is. You stay right here, officers. I'll be back.”

Ethan gave them a conspiratorial wink and spun on his heel.

He felt sick. A thousand dollars had seemed impossible, and now it was
two
? There was no way the Dish had that kind of money lying around, not this early in the evening. Nate could get it, but not out of his pocket.

But the smaller cop was right—it was cheaper than lawyers and bail. And there was no telling what these guys were capable of if they didn't get their money. Ethan had to get rid of them before they changed their minds.

Inside, the crowd had thinned out. Ethan elbowed through the stragglers toward Flicker at the bar.

“Ethan. Have you seen . . .” Her voice trailed off.

It took him a second. “Teebo? Nope. But, long story, I need money to bribe some cops. Like, two gees?”

Flicker straightened slowly. “Um, did you talk to Nate about
bribing cops
?”

“Nope. But it's kind of too late for Glorious Leader to weigh in. They're already waiting.”

“Shit.” Flicker sighed. “Normally, you'd be screwed. But some guy bought for the whole bar.”

“Sweet,” Ethan breathed. At last something was going well tonight.

“More like weird. Felt like he did it to be mean.” Flicker shook her head. “It didn't make sense.”

Ethan didn't want to know. “So give us two gees of it?”

He lent her his eyes, dutifully watching as she scraped the cash drawer into a paper sack.

“No idea how much is in there,” she said. “Think it's enough?”

He let the voice answer, pleading with it for the simple truth. “It'll make them go away.”

Hmm, that wasn't completely reassuring. But at least it meant the cops would be okay with the money for now.

“The guy didn't even look that rich,” Flicker said thoughtfully. “More like he just wanted to throw away money.”

“To throw away money,” Ethan repeated, remembering the couple paying for strangers' shipping at the Office-O. “Did he have a shaved head and a girlfriend in a black frilled skirt?”

“Half-shaved.” Flicker nodded. “Somebody you invited?”

“I guess. Anyway, I gotta go deal with this.” He hoisted the bag and went back outside.

The cops were at their car. The tall officer took the bag without looking at Ethan and shoved it under his seat, like bribery was a fast-food order he was picking up.

“Nice doing business with you, kid.” He swept a gaze over the Dish crowd. “But keep these tweakers off the street.”

Ethan kept his mouth firmly clamped shut. Let the guy think what he wanted. So long as he left them alone.

As the cops drove away, Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching.

Sonia was gone, and Craig gave him a thumbs-up. Yeah, great. They'd hear from her soon enough, either in a post about crowd madness in an illegal nightclub, or in a court of law. But it wouldn't take Sonia to make this disaster famous. People were taking pictures, calling friends.

Nobody was going to forget the night the Dish turned into a zombie free-for-all.

THIBAULT RAN HARD AFTER CHIZARA
. He had longer legs, but he could barely keep up.

Beyond her, passing streetlights lit up the tiny girl and the tall guy as they fled between the warehouses. This was the only road that cut across the rail line up to Hill Street—it was like they'd planned an escape route.

Were they local? No, Thibault would have spotted them before. They weren't exactly wallflowers.

Powers, he reminded himself. They had
powers
.

But what the hell kind of powers
were
they? It had been scary enough losing control of his own body. But worse was how his mind had slipped. For a moment he'd stared straight at Flicker and forgotten who she was.

What kind of power made the
rest
of the world forgettable?

Thibault leaped over a yawning pothole. He wished Chizara hadn't scared them off. He could've followed them, found out where they lived.

Instead they were having to run them down. And a black girl chasing two dressed-up white kids? Through the Heights, at night? Any cop cruising by would escalate the situation faster than Thibault could intervene.

Now they were running down Morton Road, broken streetlights and gang tags flowing past on the dim walls. After four months living at the Dish, Anon knew the neighborhood. Syringes glinted and cigarette butts speckled the puddled ground. Pairs of sneakers hung by their laces from wires overhead.

The warehouses were giving way to smaller blocks of cheap apartments. Guys were clumped on corners and stoops, and from the balconies grandmas and worn-out grandpas in fleece jackets watched Chizara pound by. The smell of sewers vied with cigarettes.

The street forked at the burned-out corner store, and their quarry took the longer way. Thibault cut right onto the shorter, ran two blocks, and skidded out in front of them.

He threw up his arms and braced for the collision that would bring them down.

But the guy spotted him right away, leaned in, and shouldered him aside. Thibault went stumbling back, his breath knocked out. He flailed for the passing girl, but her ringed fingers knocked his hand away.

Weird. They'd seen him so fast, even in the darkness.

Also, ouch. Those rings were spiky.

Chizara ran past as he flexed his hand. She threw him a fraying look over her shoulder.

“Nice try! Come on, there they go!”

Running on, Thibault glimpsed the gleam of a boot buckle as the tall guy dodged down an alley. Ha—that alley went nowhere.

By the time Chizara and Thibault reached the corner, an engine was roaring and clamoring between the narrow walls. Thibault slowed, but Chizara overshot, caught in sudden headlights.

Her feet pedaled and she nearly fell, but she recovered, flinging her arms out wide.

A shiny black Ford convertible lurched out of the alleyway, headed straight at her.

But Crash raised a hand, and the gnashing of locked-up brakes joined the screech of tires. The engine choked and died as the car's chrome grille stopped just short of Chizara's knees. A cloud of exhaust drifted across her, and Thibault smelled the stink of rubber.

Nope. These two weren't locals—this car did
not
belong in the Heights. It was hugely long, like 1960s long. Its silver trim gleamed against the black, and its interior was all bloodred leather, impeccably restored.

The guy swore, turning the keys uselessly.

His girlfriend just looked irritated.

“Quit it, would you?” she said to Chizara. “Don't you know that's bad for the engine?”

Chizara didn't answer. She looked as stunned as Thibault felt.

These two weren't surprised by her power. Not at all.

The guy spoke up. “Look, give us our car back, okay? Or my girl messes up your head.”

So
she
was the one with the power. Was the guy just some rich boyfriend?

Chizara recovered her cool, laid a hand on the steaming hood.

“Messing with me won't fix your car. It stays a doorstop until you tell me something. Where do you guys get off, playing with powers in
our
club?”

The girl twinkled her fingers at Chizara, her silver rings gleaming. “Oh, you had plans for those dolls?”