Flames and smoke billowed from the destruction, and the hose team fought to stay on their feet, aiming water at the structure, trying to keep the fire from spreading. Water sprayed wildly in the wind.
Then the ground rumbled again, and the sidewalk around the hydrant fractured. Water shot from the ground in a massive fountain. The fire hoses lost pressure and died.
Another rumble. The grass cracked and split again, stretching off into the darkness. The front yard seemed to be shifting in pieces, rolling like the sea. The house behind them creaked and threatened to collapse like the first. The fire trucks on the road bounced and shifted. People were yelling now, fear in their voices. Her radio was going crazy as people called orders and updates. She couldn’t make sense of any of it.
Another house across the court collapsed. Firefighters ran to escape the flying debris.
More wind blasted her cheeks, bringing smoke and ash.
And then, out of nowhere, one of Michael’s brothers skidded to his knees beside her.
One of the twins. She had no idea which. His clothes were filthy too, his skin darkened with soot.
She put a hand on his arm to push him back. “Gabriel—”
“Nick,” he corrected her. He grabbed Irish’s arm. “Stop.”
Irish didn’t stop—though his efforts lacked the fervor of his initial attempts to save Michael’s life. Hannah could read it in his expression. It had been at least three minutes.
The ground rumbled and shifted again. Irish swore and fought to keep his balance. “Kid, you need to get out of here before that house falls.”
“It’s his brother,” Hannah said. Her voice broke. “Nick—Nick, I need—”
“Stop. Both of you stop.” Nick’s voice was rushed and panicked. He grabbed Irish’s arm again and almost shoved. “I said stop.”
Irish stopped. Time seemed to hold still, the earth shifting below them, the wind slamming into them.
“Just stop,” Nick said again, his voice more steady. Wind whipped at their clothes and made Hannah shiver. The house behind them gave another loud creak. “Wait.”
She stopped. Held her breath.
For an instant, she thought maybe Nick knew something they didn’t, that all Michael needed was his brother’s presence and he’d sit up and ask what was going on.
Michael didn’t move.
Stupid, she told herself. She knew the limits of the human body as well as anyone else. Her eyes wanted to fill, but she could hold it together for his little brother.
Nick put a hand on his brother’s neck. “Michael,” he said softly, his words somehow carrying over the wind. “Mike. Wake up.”
Irish looked at her over Nick’s head. He shook his head.
“Nick,” she said, putting a hand over his. “Nick, the smoke—it works fast. His lungs may be too badly damaged—”
Nick sucked in a deep breath and pressed his mouth over his brother’s before she could even finish that thought.
Michael’s chest rose from the pressure and fell when Nick drew back.
And then rose again.
“He’s breathing!” Hannah grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. Irish reached for his neck.
Michael’s eyes opened. He squeezed them shut and blinked a few times. His arm jerked out of her hand.
“Take it easy, man,” said Irish. “We’re just—”
Michael shoved him away and fought to get off the ground. Irish and Oscar tried to hold him there.
“Let me go. Let me go.” His voice was like crushed stone, rough and painful to her ears. He sounded disoriented and afraid. “Someone was in the house. My brothers—” His voice broke. “I need to get my brothers. I need to get them before they’re found.”
“Hey. Mike.” Nick put a hand on his shoulder and got in his brother’s face. “We’re okay. Look at me. We’re okay.”
Michael went still. The rumbling earth slowed and went still. “Nick. Hannah.”
“Yeah. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
“Gabriel?”
“Everyone is okay.”
For the longest instant, Michael just stared at them, the wind blowing fiercely between them. His eyes shifted past his brother, to the destruction of the houses on the court, to the fire hydrant spraying water high into the air. Fires still burned everywhere, and emergency lights flickered off everything.
He glanced at his own house, barely standing.
Then his face crumpled and he threw his arms around his little brother’s neck. “Not okay, Nick. It’s not okay.”
Nick let him hold on. “You’ll make it okay, Michael. Just breathe.”
And just then, thunder cracked overhead. The sky opened up, and rain poured down, putting out every last lick of flame.
Michael sat on a stretcher inside one of the ambulances, but he had no intention of letting them take him to the hospital. Thanks to the downpour, his clothes were soaking wet again and he was freezing. Someone had offered him a wool blanket, but he’d refused.
His brothers had taken them, though. They were sitting in the back of another ambulance, waiting.
He needed to get them and leave.
He had no idea where to go.
The rain had stopped the blazing fires around the court, but it still rattled against the roof of the ambulance. Michael could see cracked pavement from here, lines of fractured asphalt weaving between the rescue vehicles left on the court. Rain wouldn’t do much to repair this kind of damage. He’d caught a glimpse of one collapsed home and didn’t have the guts to look at the others.
His whole life, this was what his parents had been worried about. This was what the Guides were worried about.
He’d never caused this much destruction. He’d never lost control to this extent.
Then again, he’d never been so close to death, either. Looking at the damage, he didn’t want to consider how bad it must have been for his powers to take over without his knowledge.
He didn’t want to see the destruction. He might not have started the fires, but his earthquake had completed the disaster. He didn’t want to see them bagging bodies and towing disabled trucks. He didn’t want to hear crying from the few survivors, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see who’d survived—because it would make him think of those who hadn’t.
Maybe someone could close the back door of the ambulance.
Hannah sat on the little bench in front of him, trying to shine a light in his eyes.
He brushed her hand away. “Hannah. I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yeah, what do I sound like?”
“Like you have gravel instead of lungs. Look at me.”
He didn’t want to look at her. He wanted to snap and tell her to get the hell away from him before he hurt her, too.
But then her hand caught his chin, and just like every other time she touched him, he couldn’t move. He’d gone so long without a gentle touch that even now, after six weeks, some small part of him still couldn’t believe that she wanted to touch him.
Her