Eve Silver - Push

I reach for my weapon cylinder. Jackson stills my hand. He’s right. There are too many people, too much potential for collateral damage. We need to figure out a way to draw the Drau off.

The crowd surges, a tide of bodies, pushing everyone as close as packed sardines.

Jackson pulls his knife from the pocket of his vest and, under the cover of the crowd, gets the Drau in the gut. It stumbles but doesn’t go down; then it breaks away and streaks off, the tide parting to let it through. Jackson holds his knife flat against his thigh, the black blade barely visible against his black pants.

Another Drau zips among them, not even trying to avoid the crush of bodies. Someone cries out, but I can’t see who, or why. People step back, clearing a path, sensing now that there’s a threat here, that the streak of light isn’t a cool show or an amazeballs costume.

It’s something else. Something frightening.

“They’re heading for the back,” Jackson says against my ear.

I nod and follow as he starts to move, our way blocked by bodies, some dancing, some frozen as they start to clue in that something’s terribly wrong.

A few people yell as another Drau tears through, cutting the crowd in two. It lifts its hand, its jellylike weapon smooth and sleek. A spray of bright droplets arcs down like fireworks on everyone in a five-foot radius.

I try to push through, to get to the Drau. Too many bodies block my way.

The Drau fires again.

Mouth rounding in shock, a girl stumbles, hands pressed to her chest. She pulls her hands away and stares at her palms, blood from her wounds dark against her pale skin. She screams, pulls in a breath, screams again.

I can hear her over the music.

She needs to get out of here. They all do.

Jackson’s a step ahead of me. He pockets his knife. He points to the left, the direction the Drau went, indicating that I should follow.

There are doors at the back of the auditorium that open to the hallway that leads to the gym. That’s where they seem to be heading. I have no idea why, and no chance to ask.

Jackson turns and pushes back the way we came, through the crowd to the double doors. He anchors them open with the little rubber wedges. Then he grabs the closest girl and yells something at her that I’m too far away to hear, but whatever it is, she listens and grabs a couple of other girls. Jackson shoves them through the open doors and moves to the next group. He’s organizing, leading. Of course. That’s what he does.

I’m torn between going after the Drau and helping get people out. I decide to do both, guiding people toward the doors as I move in the direction Jackson sent me. If we don’t get these people out, there’s going to be a massacre.

I grab a boy’s arm, yelling to make myself heard. I don’t even know what I say, but he gets the general message and heads for the doors.

People are pushing and stumbling, some trying to get to the doors, some in the far corners still dancing, oblivious to the danger.

The music turns off and there’s a second of comparative silence before Ms. Smith comes on the loudspeaker and tells everyone to leave, stay calm, fire drill–style. Then voices fill the void, footsteps, cries, shouts. The teachers start guiding people out, funneling students toward the exits.

I clamber up on a table that’s against the wall, searching for the Drau. They’re gone. Vanished. Then . . . there . . . a flash of light near another set of exit doors, the ones that lead to the corridor that leads to the gym, exactly the direction Jackson pointed me in.

I see Carly, Dee, and Kelley on the far side of the room, near the exit. I can’t focus on them for long. I’m just grateful they’re getting out.

I scan the crowd, looking for Luka. I spot him after a few anxious seconds, and catch his eye as he turns.

He works upstream, against the crowd, until he’s next to me. I hop down from the table, grab his hand, and we move, sticking close to the wall, avoiding the main flow of bodies that stream toward us.

“Jackson?” Luka asks, his voice pitched to carry over the noise.

“He’ll find us. He knows where we’re heading.”

“Which is?”

“Wherever the Drau are heading,” I yell back.

“What about Tyrone?”

We pass a set of back doors just as a couple of kids shove them open and run outside. More follow, and there’s a mass exodus. No way anyone’s getting in through those doors. If we’d been one step slower, we’d have been carried out with the flow.

I gesture at the next set and Luka gets the message. We push through the crowd faster now, trying to get the doors open and get the rest of our team inside. Someone slams my shoulder and I hit the wall, my breath forced out in a whoosh. I stagger, get my balance, still holding tight to Luka’s hand.

We keep going. Too late. By the time we get there, the doors are open and kids are pushing their way outside. Tyrone and Lien and Kendra aren’t getting in this way.

I get pushed and shoved. My hand tears from Luka’s. I can’t see him. I’m being dragged toward the doors by the sheer momentum of the group. It’s all I can do to stay on my feet and not get dragged under. As I near the door, I grab the metal bar and hold on as tight as I can. Inch by inch I drag myself from the swarm toward the edge. My arms scream. My hands slip on the metal.

One hand slides free.

I tighten my grip with the other, struggling to hang on. If I get dragged out, I don’t know how I’ll get back in. I can’t leave Jackson and Luka in there, alone against an army.

My knuckles ache as my fingers are pulled . . . pulled . . . I can’t hang on.

I cry out as my hand tears free.

Luka grabs my wrist and hauls me to the side.

“Close,” he says.

“Too close,” I say, panting like I’ve run ten miles.

Luka turns his head and meets my gaze and by silent agreement, we push on, aiming for the spot I last saw the Drau. We grasp each other’s wrists to decrease the chance that we’ll be pulled apart again.

People are screaming, pushing. The orderly evacuation has devolved to a mob, spurred by flashes of light that erupt in different spots. The Drau, creating mass pandemonium on purpose.

I think of the girl caught in the spray of light, her chest scored open, her hands bloody. I know what it feels like to be hit by a Drau weapon. Is she okay? Did she make it out? Have the Drau killed anyone yet, sucked their energy out through their eyes, leaving them a dried-out husk?

Please let Carly be safe. And Kelley and Dee and Maylene. Everyone.

There’s Ms. Smith trying to keep people calm. And Mr. Shomper, shuffling along, directing students. I’m afraid for him. He’s so old and fragile. But despite his rumpled, stooped form, he maintains an air of calm, and kids listen when he points them to the exits. He’s like an island in a storm.

A blare of sound joins the general cacophony. Someone’s pulled a fire alarm. Great.

Flashes of light catch my eye. I turn, only to have another flash appear. I turn again and realize the Drau are running circles around us at impossible speeds. Like we’re cattle and they’re herding us.

Horror claws at me. I can’t let it slow me down.

Luka and I slam through the double doors on the far side of the auditorium.

With a clang, they shut behind us.

We pause, breathing hard. The doors bang open. Jackson strides through, favoring his right leg.

“Are you hit?” I ask.

“No. Luka, give me a hand,” he says, and reaches for his fly. I get it then. My sword is hampering his gait.

“What the hell, bro?” Luka asks as Jackson drops his pants, then he sees my sword and gets with the plan, helping Jackson get it unbuckled. Luka and I settle the sheath between my shoulder blades while Jackson rebuttons his pants.