Zoe scanned through the mass of humanity on the ground, doing her best to tune out the sounds that simply wouldn’t stop: a several-block radius of voices, the rumble and horns of cars filling up the streets, even the random dog barks in the distance. The wall of noise lacked clues as to where he might be. And the colors, a cloud of reds and whites and yellows, heat signatures of all types overlaid the people in her view. She’d learned to read some of it as intensity and emotion in people, though in this case it worked best sensing outlines at a distance.
Her arms burned, screaming to release the air and guide her down, but she persisted for several more seconds, observing the crowd as more and more people were drawn to her like a magnet.
All except one person, a silhouette in a hood and backpack—the only person walking in the other direction.
Got you.
She tilted her palms back to propel forward. But she failed to burst ahead the way she expected, and instead, her powers wavered, her hearing range fuzzied just a hair even when concentrating.
The hiccup forced her to rotate her body, catching herself before hitting the ground less gracefully than she would have liked, especially with a broad-daylight audience. She stood and realized she’d just managed to avoid colliding with a security guard who’d stumbled out of the bank while rubbing his eyes and holding his head.
“Sorry,” she said to him. He looked up, then recognition flashed across his groggy face, and he started babbling. Zoe stopped him. “Yes, I’m her. Gotta go.”
A quick turn and two steps forward got Zoe nothing but a mob of people, all pointing and screaming her way, everything amplified by her heightened hearing to a point where the simple digital click sound of a camera phone echoed like a train plowing through. From behind, someone spoke in a reporter voice while recording on his phone: “What appears to be a daring daytime heist by the Mind Robber has come full circle, as San Delgado’s Throwing Star has arrived. This battle of the city’s extraordinaries has got everyone’s attention right here, right now.”
A hero pushes forward, she told herself, and her legs churned before she leaped into the air, a soaring arc that drew dozens of eyes on her path across the sky.
The heels of her boots clunked on the asphalt, a few feet from the empty parking spot she’d intended, and thankfully right after a car had passed. A quick glance showed that this remained the clearest path, though she’d lost sight of the Mind Robber. Zoe pushed herself, and while she still moved way faster than the rubberneckers jogging down the street to watch her, it became clear that something dialed down her swiftness and power.
Of course, she knew what caused it. But she shook it off. She’d deal with that later.
The end of the block came fast, the looming shadow of the TransNational Building and the dimming afternoon sun taking away some of her long-distance visibility. But she kept pace, coming to the intersection and leaping.
About two stories straight up. Not her best jump, but enough altitude to locate the outline of a hood and too-large backpack.
She landed, keeping her eyes on the bobbing hood while he ran. His voice carried through the din of traffic and humanity, repeatedly saying “sorry” and “excuse me” to the people in his way.
At least he was polite.
She ran again, dancing between coming and going cars. But at the end of the block, he was nowhere to be seen.
Cars slowed, then pushed past, no longer gawking at the novelty of the Throwing Star. Even passersby did the same, people hustling home or parents crossing their street tugging on the arms of their young children. The children, though, still marveled at her; she told herself to wave at one little boy even though she was generally terrible with kids.
That was unfair. She was generally terrible with human beings.
Zoe reminded herself to focus, and she scanned again. Still no signs of the hood with the backpack.
“Sorry, excuse me” floated through the air. But where?
Zoe looked down.
Straight down. A Metro station.
Of course. She mentally kicked herself. “Got you this time,” she said. “Asshole.”
Old newspaper pages kicked into the air as Zoe rushed to the Metro entrance. She dashed down the stairs and hit a wall of people trying to beat the rush-hour commute all at once.
None of them seemed to care that the Throwing Star was right behind them. Shoulders bumped into her as men and women tried to ram forward, all too busy staring at their phones or looking at their feet to notice that the city’s extraordinary vigilante stood right there.
Zoe was kind of offended.
“Sorry, excuse me,” the Mind Robber said from way within the station—the left platform. Gauging the gulf of people between here and there, Zoe flexed her palms flat and she pushed hard against an invisible pressure, propelling herself upward. The top of her head bonked into the ceiling. Dust that had accumulated probably since, well, the opening of the Metro decades ago, sprinkled on her head and shoulders, and Zoe tried to ignore the odor of soot and garbage that came with it. Instead, she angled her palms to shoot herself forward over the daily workforce, speeding past them toward the interchange at the room’s far end.
“Look out!” she yelled, loud enough to get people’s attention, and she tried to land without stepping on anyone’s toes or bags before dashing through the next intersection, her extraordinary speed slowed by the sheer volume of people. The squeak and groan of a train pulling into the station caught her ear, along with the Mind Robber’s nonstop apologetic refrain—still polite, but more urgent. She considered hovering again, as the view from her five-foot-four-inch frame meant more necks and shoulders than a clear view of the Mind Robber. Instead, she chose force. “Stop him,” she called out.
Apparently, that was the best phrase to grab people’s attention. They hesitated and looked at her, then parted into a path as they gradually realized the Throwing Star was chasing a bad guy. The train doors opened and the Mind Robber hopped on with the quickest of looks back her way.
Her path came to an abrupt end as a half-dozen people stood in Zoe’s way, staring blankly ahead.
He’d stunned them. Melted their brains or whatever he actually did.
Would he try to do that to her?
The train beeped and announced itself. “The doors are closing. Next stop, McCrimmon Square,” the automated female voice droned. Zoe vaulted over the static group and rushed to the platform. The train started to roll, and with each of Zoe’s steps forward, it seemingly matched her acceleration and upped the ante.
Twenty feet. Then fifteen. If she pushed hard enough, maybe she could jump onto the back of the train, punch through the window and climb in that way. The Metro office would probably accept the cost of repair for catching the Mind Robber.
Ten feet. She prepared to go, hands primed to help propel her forward. Seven, six, five...