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aliens attacking the goddamn city. I’m not slowing down until that ship is a speck in the rearview mirror.”
    The other guy standing beside him looks at me with shifty eyes. I can see him wondering if he’s going to have to push me back to the rear of the bus. If I’m going to be a problem. Over his shoulder, through the cracked windshield, I see a sign for the Holland Tunnel whiz by.
    â€œI don’t wanna have to make this a thing,” I say.
    â€œThen don’t ,” the driver responds.
    â€œDamn it,” I mutter.
    I could try to brake the bus myself, but I’m afraid I’d slam on the pedal too hard and send us careening off into the Hudson. So instead, I lock eyes with his friend so that he knows exactly what I’m doing. Then I push one hand out. If I concentrate hard enough, I bet I can break the cracked window and control the glass or plastic or whatever it is that the windshield is made of. Show off my power. The people might think I’m a crazy alien, but at least they’ll listen to me. They’ll have to go—
    â€œHold on!” a voice shouts from the back of the bus. At first I think she’s talking to me—that she’s somehow figured out what I’m about to do—but then I realize it’s the woman with the emergency radio. She rushes towards the front, warnings pouring out of her mouth.
    â€œThe Holland Tunnel is out too.” I can hear a man’s voice crackling through the radio in her hands the closer she gets. “It sounds like all the tunnels in the city are either blocked or collapsed. The bridges are the only way out. There’s a big evacuation site at the Brooklyn Bridge they’re telling people to go to if their homes have been destroyed.”
    â€œAre you sure that’s right?” someone asks, voice shaking. “Maybe the tunnel’s been cleared up since then or—”
    The bus suddenly jerks, brakes squealing as we slow down rapidly. I turn my attention back to the front and see that a few blocks ahead of us the highway is littered with abandoned cars. Some of them are smoking. Others have been overturned. Flames reflect off the water of the Hudson River.
    Something bad happened here.
    â€œDamn it,” the driver says. “Damn it, damn it, damn it .”
    It gets quiet in the bus except for the sound of the man on the radio. Static keeps interrupting him as he talks about how none of the other boroughs have been hit yet, only Manhattan. Then suddenly everyone’s talking, trying to figure out what to do.
    The woman with the radio stares at the driver. “What do we do now?”
    He shakes his head a little as he goes over his options in his head. Finally, he puts his foot on the gas again, and we all jerk back as the engine revs.
    â€œWe’re heading for the Williamsburg Bridge,” he says.
    â€œBut the Brooklyn Bridge is where—,” the woman starts.
    â€œYeah, which means the streets down there are probably a shit show. We’ve got to get out of the city and that’s our best bet. Once we’re across we can cut down through Staten Island to Jersey and get as far away aswe can. I doubt Staten Island’s on their hit list.”
    He doesn’t wait for a response, just takes a sharp left turn and barrels down a side street, threatening to tip the bus over again.
    I try to go over geography in my head as we cut through narrow streets with names instead of numbers. I don’t know this part of the city well at all, and it’s not like I can use the map on my phone since there’s no signal. I try to make sense of things. Tunnels are out. An evacuation spot off the Brooklyn Bridge. Mom’s work wasn’t too far away from that. It’s possible she might have headed that way.
    But she wouldn’t have just gone off to Brooklyn and left me with Benny, right?
    My head starts to pound again, jumbling my thoughts and making it hard to