Swarm

by Scott Westerfeld

  “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.

  CHAPTER 11

  ANONYMOUS

  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? I
t 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?”

  “Seriously? Dolls? You could have killed someone!”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” She gave Chizara a makeup-laden eye roll. “What were you planning to do, just let them dance all night?”

  “Yes!” Chizara cried.

  As they spoke, Thibault made his way around to the passenger side.

  The guy looked bored. “Let’s call it even. We messed with you, you messed with us. I mean, what do you think it feels like, getting shut down right in the middle?”

  “Yeah, you couldn’t have waited another minute?” the girl said. “We’d have given your dolls back.”

  Chizara glared at them. “What were you even doing?”

  “What do you think?” the girl said. “Do people not know about the birds and the bees in this shitty town?”

  Chizara stared at them. “That was sex?”

  “That was foreplay,” the guy said. “Wait till you see the news tomorrow night.”

  “Yeah, lotta dolls going to be crying. Sniff.” The girl dabbed at her eye with the back of her wrist. “Now, are you going to start this engine, or do I have to knock your universe silly?”

  Chizara stood tall. “You don’t have a crowd to work with.”

  The girl smiled, tapped her head. “I keep that juice stored up, right here. Just like you do. And if you force me to prove it, I’ll make your crazy permanent.”

  That didn’t sound good, and Chizara looked like she wasn’t going to move.

  Thibault crept closer, ready to grab the girl from behind if she tried anything.

  The guy turned around and looked straight at him. “And that goes for you, too.”

  Thibault froze.

  Chizara stood aside, waved her hand. Something clicked under the hood and then the engine shrieked to life.

  “Thanks for playing!” the girl shouted.

  The guy spun the wheel expertly, pulling the Ford out of the alley. With a rattling engine fart it shot off toward Hill Street. It bucked like a nervous show pony at the corner and swerved out into the traffic.

  “Oregon plates,” Thibault said.

  Chizara grabbed his arm and pulled him along the street.

  “We should follow them. You got any money for a cab?” She skidded to a halt. “Oh, right. You never need cash. And my bag’s back at the Dish. Damn it.”

  “Wait. I do have some.” Thibault pulled the bills from his pocket and gestured after the car. “The money that guy threw on the bar.”

  Chizara stared down at it, then met his gaze. “Um, okay. But that’s not money.”

  He looked down. He was holding out a fan of white rectangles. The paper was the right size and shape for bills, but it was blank.

  He flipped them over and back—they stayed blank. “They were twenties, I swear. That guy slapped them down on the bar in a big wad. He was spending like it was . . . play money.”

  Chizara just stared at him.

  “You had the UV lights going. I saw the security stripes!”

  She nodded. “So it’s not just her.”

  “They’ve both got powers,” Thibault said.

  CHAPTER 12

  MOB

  KELSIE PACKED AWAY HER VINYL with unsteady hands.

  Nate had bought it all for her, laying down a cool two grand in a record store in San Francisco, like money was nothing. That Justin guy had sourced the turntables from a retro website. They were secondhand, finicky and temperamental, the most beautiful and demanding things Kelsie had ever owned. Before tonight they had looked exactly like hope, like an end to everything unloved and lopsided in her past.

  But now the Dish was a wreck. Strings of lights that had spanned the walls lay in glittering pieces on the floor. The few chairs in the club had been smashed, including an old couch of Dad’s. Crushed beer cans and broken plastic cups were everywhere. Ethan was dutifully collecting them in a garbage bag.

  Everywhere was evidence that people had fled, leaving behind coats, sweaters, phones—thrown off or forgotten in the terror. Even with only four Zeroes in the Dish, Kelsie could feel the feedback loop of shock. The invasion of new powers had shaken everything they’d built—the safe haven where they could hone their skills, the trust of their crowd.

  “Let’s go over this from the beginning,” Nate called to everyone from one of the last unbroken bar stools. “From when they showed up here—”<
br />
  “They were at the Office-O first,” Ethan said, pausing with a crushed beer can in his hand.

  Nate turned to him. “When?”

  “Just before I came back. I had to print more flyers, and those two were there. I gave them one.”

  “So inviting Sonia Sonic wasn’t enough,” Flicker said. She was pacing in front of the bar, her worry a cold shiver on the group’s spine.

  “I didn’t know they had powers!” Ethan cried, and then his voice dropped. “But they were acting kinda weird.”

  “Weird how?” Nate asked.

  “They said they didn’t have money, but then they paid for everyone’s shipping. Like, they yelled to people on the street, telling them to come in and get free stuff!”

  Flicker broke in. “And the guy bought beer for the whole bar.”

  “So why throw money around?” Nate asked. “To get the crowd churned up?”

  Even with only four of them there, Kelsie felt his methodical focus in the energy of the room. She grabbed hold of it gratefully, pushed it through to the others. Nate really could be glorious—smart and attentive to everything you told him, like you mattered more than anyone else in the world. What kind of speakers do you need? How sprung should the dance floor be?

  Of course, other times he was more like the ruler of some tiny country, making speeches and building statues of himself.

  The door of the Dish burst open.

  It was Chizara, bright-eyed and panting, like she’d run a mile. The Zeroes’ feedback loop blossomed with her bright, loose energy, and Flicker ran to wrap her arms around—

  Thibault, Kelsie reminded herself. She’d been doing so well remembering him, but now everything in her mind slipped and spun, not connecting right.

  “Did you catch them?” Nate asked.

  “I stopped their car,” Chizara panted. “But that girl threatened me with a lobotomy if I didn’t let them go.”

  “We were going to follow them in a cab,” Thibault said, pulling free of Flicker’s embrace. “But all we had was this.”

  He pulled a sheaf of blank paper from his pocket.

  Everyone stared at him, uncomprehending.