The bullet aimed at my back never reached me. I threw my hands up over the back of my head, ducking, expecting to feel something—the rip of flesh, the stabbing bite of a bullet. It never came.

          The footsteps of the guys behind me faltered and slowed, and I slowly turned. The bullet was frozen in midair, pointed at where the back of my head had been a moment earlier. The thugs were still fifty feet behind me, staring at me, their eyes wide behind the kerchiefs hiding their noses and mouths.

          “The hell?” the one in front stammered, lowering the gun he’d just fired at me.

          “You’re one of them,” another guy growled.

          I backed up a step and watched the bullet—still smoking—fall and clatter to the ground. The thugs turned and ran, my backpack forgotten. Trembling, I stumbled backward into the wall of the alley. I lifted my hands, staring at them, searching for some evidence of whatever had happened. My blood hummed and my hands shook, the tan skin of my arms rippling with goose-bumps.

          What, I thought, have I done?

          Breathing hard, I walked to where my wallet lay on the cracked asphalt. I bent to pick it up, dusting off the worn leather absently. I didn’t know how I’d done it, but I’d stopped a bullet. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to fight off the feeling of dread growing in me. My breath came in jagged huffs, my skin warm and tingling. The tiny metal cylinder sat on the pavement before me, gleaming bronze in the sun.

                                                               *

          All across the country, people had developed these strange abilities. Telekinesis, controlling water or fire, healing wounds with a touch. No one knew why or how—some quirk of genetics, or mutation, or even miracles, as some people called it. But it had affected maybe half the population, and for every story of someone forming a strange ability, there was a story of a disappearance.

            A woman who’d drawn the water out of a drowned dog’s lungs with her gift never showed up to work a few days later and was declared missing. A man trapped under a steel beam lifted it from his body and walked away from the wreckage, never to be heard from again. Aiden, at ten years old, could practically perform miracles and was stolen from his home for it.

           Some people regarded these events as miracles or martyrdoms, steps furthering our evolution as humankind. Others saw it as an infestation. A plague.

                                                               *

          I didn’t make it to class. I hurried back home and disappeared upstairs.

          “Finn, honey?” my mom called. She poked her head into the stairwell, her dark curls framing her face as they escaped from her ponytail. “What are you doing home?”

          “No reason,” I said, surprised that my voice didn’t shake. “Didn’t feel well.” I gave her a small, wary smile, and she returned it. I ducked into my room, across the hall from where Aiden’s room still sat untouched, ten years after his disappearance.

          I tossed my backpack onto my bed and slumped into my desk chair. The cool breeze came in through the window screen, tousling my hair. It was as brown as my skin, falling over my forehead. I rubbed my eyes as the events in the alley replayed in my head.

          What had I done to the bullet? It had stopped in midair, a few feet from its target. Was this ability of mine to stop bullets? Something else? I squashed my excitement as soon as it rose to the surface of my thoughts.

          Aiden had developed the ability to heal, like he’d done with his scraped knee and my broken arm. I remembered my amazement at his gift; the happiness with which he’d glowed as he grinned at me. But he’d been stolen away because of it. His ability was magic, a curse, a target on his back, a death sentence. If I had some kind of ability too… No. No, I couldn’t think about it. My stomach dropped just thinking about it. I interlocked my fingers behind my neck, lowering my head and squeezing my eyes shut. This had to be just a nightmare…

          Null Enterprises hadn’t always taken credit for the kidnappings. It wasn’t until it was a common consensus that peoples’ strange, mysterious gifts were blights on the world that Null admitted its involvement. And Aiden’s wasn’t the only kidnapping. The people who possessed abilities were taken from their homes all over the country. And to most people, they were taken for the greater good—to eradicate the disease that had seeped its way into the population. That was Null’s mission, after all: to cure the world of all its ailments.

          There was a resistance group. They called themselves the Defiants. Catchy, if not lofty considering they were discovered and raided about every week by the police. Supposedly though, every one of the resistance fighters was someone with an ability. They were secretive about their goings-on, only showing up in the news when another hideout was found. To hear the newsfeed tell it, the Defiants were nothing more than a gnat buzzing in the peoples’ ear.