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The air screamed past her ears. Her short hair blew straight back. Her cheeks vibrated, her eyes stung. Breathing was a struggle as she gasped at hurricane winds.
The world around her became a smear of color, objects flying past at speeds her brain could not process. Streaks of light without definite form.
She knew from experience that her feet would need to be iced down afterward to stop the swelling. She’d already popped two Advil in anticipation.
She was fast. Impossibly fast.
But she was not faster than a speeding bullet.
She risked a glance back.
The bullet was gaining. She could see it, a blur, a small gray blur spiraling after her.
Brianna dodged right, just half a step.
The bullet zoomed languidly by.
Brianna chased it, but it hit the dirt—not really anywhere near the target—while Brianna was still a dozen feet back.
She dropped speed quickly, used the upward slope to slow herself gently, and came to a stop.
Jack was three hundred yards away. The whole race had lasted just over a second, though it had felt longer in Brianna’s subjective experience.
“Did you do it?” Jack shouted.
She trotted back to him at a pace she now thought of as pokey—probably no more than eighty or ninety miles an hour—and laughed.
“Totally,” she said.
“I couldn’t even see you. You were here. And then you were there.”
“That’s why they call me the Breeze,” Brianna said, giving him a jaunty wink. But then her stomach reminded her that she had just burned up the day’s calories. It rumbled so loudly, she was sure Jack must hear it.
“You know, of course, that a breeze is actually a slow, meandering sort of wind,” Jack said pedantically.
“And you know, of course, that I can slap you eight times before you can blink, right?”
Jack blinked.
Brianna smiled.
“Here,” Jack said cautiously. He handed the gun to her, butt first. “Take this.”
She stuffed it into the backpack at her feet. She drew out a can opener and the can of pizza sauce she’d saved up. She cut the lid from the can and drank the spicy slop inside.
“Here,” she handed the can to Jack. “There’s a little left.”
He didn’t argue but tilted the can up and patiently waited as no more than an ounce of red paste slid into his mouth. Then he licked the inside of the can and used his forefinger to spoon out whatever he hadn’t been able to reach with his tongue.
“So, Jack. Whatever happened to you getting the phones working again?”
Jack hesitated, like he wasn’t sure he should tell her anything. “They’re up and running. Or will be as soon as I get the word from Sam.”
Brianna stared at him. “What?”
“It was a pretty simple problem, really. We have three towers, one here in Perdido Beach, one more up the highway, and one on top of the ridge. There’s a program that checks numbers to make sure the bill has been paid and so on, so that the number is authorized. The program isn’t in the tower, obviously, it’s outside the FAYZ. So I fixed it so that all phones are authorized.”
“Can I call my mom?” Brianna asked. She knew the answer, but she couldn’t quash the bounce of hope in time to stop herself from asking.
