They ran, leaving the agents on the roof behind them with no way down. They turned a corner, then another, and slipped into an alley and out the other side, onto another busy street. The city was a maze, and all they had to do was get lost in it.
They slowed to a jog, panting. Rocky was a few paces in front of James.
“I think we lost them,” Rocky said.
“Maybe, but we shouldn’t slow d—aghhh,” a hand suddenly grabbed James from behind, wrapping around his collar. It stopped him in his tracks and pulled him down hard. His back hit the pavement, and the air flew from his lungs. An SIA agent loomed above him. Rocky turned and faltered.
“Go!” James managed to get out as the SIA agent dragged him to his feet.
But instead, Rocky launched himself at the man, knocking James free and taking the agent to the ground. They grappled each other, fists flying as they rolled in the dirt. James stumbled back, rubbing his neck, unsure of what to do.
Another agent appeared around the corner. He halted at the sight of the two fighting in the dirt. He glanced at James, then back down at Rocky, and his hand went to his side. He was grabbing something, reaching for a black object at his hip.
“No!” James shouted as the man unholstered the gun. Without thinking, James charged him, driving his shoulder into the soft flesh of his side and performing a tackle even Rocky would be proud of. They both went down hard, but before James could celebrate, the man somehow wriggled free of his grip. He smashed his hand against James’s cheek. James’s head snapped to the side and his vision turned black.
Next thing he knew, he was thrown roughly down on the sidewalk, his hands cuffed behind him. Rocky landed next to him, his face bloodied and his previously bruised eye once again swollen shut.
“We got them,” one of the agents said from above. James struggled to turn his head, but he couldn’t move. His cheek was pressed against the hot cement, and he felt a warm trickle of blood moving through his hair. It dripped onto the sidewalk, forming a small pool under his chin. His head pounded, and there was a faint ringing in his ears.
One of the agents picked him up from behind, forcing him to his feet. A black van pulled up next to them, its windows tinted. Two men held the doors open, while the other two pushed James and Rocky toward the vehicle. The busy street seemed to have completely cleared out in the commotion. James tried to resist as they neared the van, but he was easily shoved forward, then picked up and thrown into the back. Rocky landed next to him with a thud. The doors slammed shut behind them, and they were alone.
“Are you alright?” James asked as he struggled to sit up with his cuffed hands. His thoughts felt slow, sluggish. He noticed a smear of blood where the back of his head had touched the side of the van. Not good.
“Yeah,” Rocky groaned, closing his eyes and resting his sweaty head against the wall. “I almost had that guy, but then the others showed up.”
The floor shook as the van began to move. There were no windows in the back, so James couldn’t see where they were going. Probably back to the hotel to be interrogated by Roche.
“We’re screwed, aren’t we?” Rocky spat a gob of blood onto the floor.
“Yeah,” James said. He slid slightly on the smooth floor as the van turned a corner. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”
Rocky shook his head, smiling meekly through his bleeding lip. “Not this again. It was my choice. I’m sorry we didn’t make it to your brother.”
The world seemed to blur at the edges, and James squinted. Was he concussed? Maybe. It was hard to think straight. But despite the confusion, he felt the deep disappointment of defeat. They had lost. Roche would interrogate them, and it wouldn’t be pretty. How far was James willing to commit to deny till you die? He glanced at Rocky, who was gingerly feeling his ribs. He remembered what Roche had said the first time he’d interrogated James. We can’t hurt you much. But your friend? He’s expendable.
James couldn’t allow Rocky to be hurt more than he already was. He knew then that he was trapped. He could either let his best friend be hurt or sell out Derek and the Supers. As they both sat there, bruised and bleeding, it honestly wasn’t a tough choice. James and Rocky were Normals, and they’d done more than should be expected of two people with no powers. Not just two people—two kids. A sudden surge of bitterness filled James’s throat. If the Supers couldn’t handle Roche and the SIA, then they shouldn’t be calling themselves Supers. What were they playing at, anyway, hiding away, searching for some fanciful stone? They killed people in New York, then ran away like cowards, with no explanation. James felt stupid for following Derek’s clues. Where had it gotten them? James and Rocky were here, on the other side of the world, so where were the Supers?
The entire van shook.
Shouts rang out from the front and the engine revved. James and Rocky were both thrown back as the van picked up speed.
What was that? James stared wide-eyed at Rocky. Neither of them spoke.
The wheels screeched below them, and Rocky was thrown into James with a yelp as the van took a sharp turn. The next moment, they were both thrown back the other way. James faceplanted into the opposite wall of the van.
“Ouch!” he said, rubbing his forehead. His hand came away bloody. “What are they doing?”
The van shook violently again. Rocky and James slid back and forth as the van turned left and right like a slalom. Suddenly, there was a
