It was different than the shootout in the house. That time, Wes had been upstairs, and he had stumbled down the stairwell only to collide with Abel, who was backing out of the living room with blood running down his arm, his desperate eyes fixed on an empty living room. Wes had experienced an initial wave of terror before becoming overwhelmed by the sight of blood and Abel’s frantic whispers to get back upstairs and hide. He had waited, shivering in the dark, until Evie got home.

This time, however, was even more petrifying.

They had abandoned the hotel room as soon as the clerk left. Abel took a spare second to message Dad, but no more. After that, he herded his siblings down a back hallway. Wes let himself be jostled along, making sure he kept a tight hold on Evie’s hand. It was a short, silent run to the kitchen. The stairs led straight to some metal double doors, clouded with age and grease.

Inside, a burly man who must have been the head cook whirled, fuzzy eyebrows knotted. “Whaddya think yer doin’ in here?!”

“Shh!” Abel hissed. “Elias sent me. We need to get out of here right now. We’re being followed.”

The cook’s scowl faded. “I see. Boys, y’know what to do.”

The nearby sous-chefs and kitchen hands sprang into action. Wes couldn’t see well from behind Abel’s shoulder, but a few moments later, a man thrust a small bag full of food items into Abel’s arms. The force of it sent him stumbling backward into Wes, but before he had time to recover, another kitchen hand was pressing an alcohol bottle into Wes’s palm. A rag was stuffed in the opening.

“I saw figures outside,” the grizzled man said, inches from Wes’s face. “Think they’re armed. Light this up on the stove flames just before you go out, and then throw it at their feet. They’ll hang back long enough for you to get a head start. We’ll try to hold back as many as we can.”

“Th-thanks,” Wes said.

“Come on,” Abel said.

The chef was at the door, peeking into the alley. “Go out the window. That side.”

Wes changed direction with Evie and paused behind Abel as he tugged the glass. To his right, he spotted an open flame atop a massive industrial oven. He glanced at the bottle in his hand. The label said ‘Whiskey,’ but it reeked of gasoline. It also said ‘Keep away from flames and children.’

Oh well, Wes thought, dangling the soaked rag over the stovetop.

The rag caught with a burst of silent, blue flame. He fumbled and almost dropped it, but then Evie was straining on his sleeve. He caught himself on the windowsill and clambered outside, holding the bottle at a safe angle. Outside, the temperature took a sharp dive, and the darkness all but blinded him except for the flickering light from the bottle. As soon as his sneakers hit the pavement, there was a shout.

“There they are!” a man boomed.

They whirled. Two huge men barged out of the darkness—Wes caught a glimpse of a gun as they passed beneath a strain of moonlight.

“Run!” Abel barked.

Wes almost forgot about the Molotov until he caught another whiff of gasoline. He glanced at it, realized it was still burning, and panicked. He chucked the bottle as hard as he could straight at the strange men’s legs. It missed by a few feet, but exploded into a small column of flames into the air. For a split second, the men’s surprised expressions became crystal clear in the light.

Evie clenched his hand and ran.

Wes scrambled to keep up with the other two. This wasn’t a casual run around the high school’s track. This wasn’t even the same kind of run they had taken from the house to the grocery store that first night. It was a flat-out, lungs heaving, tumbling so fast they couldn’t even see where they were going type of run. Abel was in the lead, jerking Evie by the arm with every step, who, in turn, jerked Wes’s arm. Everything was a blur of bricks and asphalt and darkness. The men were still yelling.

“Stop right there!” one of them roared.

Wes could feel his heartbeat in his ears. His chest burned. They stumbled into the next street, bathed in glaring neon light, but were running again before he could get any idea of where they were.

They darted around a vendor’s cart just as the men spilled out of the alley behind them. Wes spotted them out of the corner of his eye. In the light, they were just as intimidating as they had been in the shadows—big, brawny men with equally big guns and grimaces. They were dressed in close-hugging black clothing crossed with straps and finished with enormous black boots. And they were fast.

Another street. This one was packed with passers-by out for a nighttime stroll along one of the city’s clubbing streets. Abel showed no restraint in shouldering them aside as he ran for the curb.

“Stop!” one of the men bellowed.

“Just tag ‘em!”

A car whizzed in front of Abel, missing him by inches and laying a volley on the horn. The siblings skidded to a stop, then were moving again. Wes could hear the boots of the two men behind them. More cars were coming. A bus was bearing down on them like a mad bull. The other side was so far away.

Something struck him hard in the back. The ground dropped away, and Evie’s hand disappeared. He slammed into the pavement, rattling his teeth. For a second, he thought the hit-man had punched or kicked him in the kidneys.

Then he saw the blood.

“Wes!” Evie screamed.

Everything went quiet. All the breath vanished from Wes’s lungs. He had been shot. He didn’t know where, or how badly. And he didn’t feel any pain yet. That was bad. Was it bad? It had to be. He grew dizzy.

Abel appeared. “Come on, go, go.”

Wes staggered upright with Abel’s help. He saw big spots of blood where he had been lying. They were still in the middle of the street. Evie had already run to the other side and was shrieking for them to hurry. Abel must have been fueled by crazy adrenaline because he hefted Wes along by the arms as if he weighed nothing. It wasn’t as if Wes could help him. He still hadn’t taken a breath since he was knocked down.

They reached the sidewalk.

“Into the alley,” Abel commanded.

Evie was shaking so hard her knees were actually knocking. She turned without a word and fled to the opening between two nearby buildings. Wes’s own legs were so wobbly he couldn’t support his own weight. He leaned on Abel more and more with every step until they were hidden in the shadows. Then he collapsed.

“Wes!” Abel said.

“H-h-how bad is it?” Evie stammered, somewhere out of eyesight.

Abel was checking him. Wes at last remembered how to breathe and sucked in a lungful of air. A ripple of fiery pain seized his lower back. He clutched Abel’s arm as his brother peeled back his jacket. He heard him exhale.

“Hang on, I… I think you’ll be okay,” Abel said. “It’s not a bullet, you haven’t been shot. But it’s some kind of… device? It’s buried in your skin, I think it latched on with claws.”

“What?” Wes breathed.

“I don’t know. It looks like a bot, or… or a… I don’t know. It’s got a blue blinking light.”

“Is it a bomb?” Evie cried.

“It’s a tracking device,” a voice said from the head of the alley.

The kids jerked their heads up, gasping. A man’s silhouette stuck out against the burning lights of the road behind him. One hand was on his gun, and it was pointing straight at them.