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could walk around like everyone else.
    “We didn’t come here looking for trouble,” she said to the speaker. “Maybe you should think about where this is leading.”
    “Maybe you should give us what you’ve got in the cart,” the other replied. “Then we might let you go.”
    And he drew the weapon from his belt and pointed it at her.
     

     
    “P ANTHER !” Sparrow cried out, her voice sharp with desperation.
    He risked a quick glance over from where he was fighting his own battle. One of the Croaks had caught her from behind and pinned her against a pole. She was trying to bring the tip of her prod around to jolt it, but it was holding her off with one arm while it strangled her with the other.
    He was at her side in seconds, fighting through the two that had been trying to trap him, his prod shedding electrical charges as the tip raked the metal surfaces of a series of trash containers. He slammed its heavy length into the Croak’s head, and it staggered back, releasing its grip. Panther grabbed Sparrow’s arm and pulled her after him, trying to find a clear space in which to run as other Croaks appeared from the shadows. The battle careened down the length of the cross street and into the path of those coming uphill from the waterfront. All at once they were in the thick of the exodus, and there were Lizards and Spiders and more Croaks and street kids, too, all about them. There was yelling and screaming and growling, and Panther couldn’t tell whom he was supposed to be fighting. Sparrow latched on to him as if he were a lifeline, her prod gone and her face spattered with blood and as pale as Chalk’s. He had never seen her look afraid, but she looked afraid now.
    “Hold on!” he shouted over the sounds of the crowd.
    He used his strength and weight to bull his way toward the far side of the climb, seeking a small measure of space in which to catch his breath. He could no longer tell if anyone—or anything—was chasing them. A clutch of Lizards was tearing at a handful of Croaks that had crossed its path and foolishly decided to attack, and the Croaks quickly disappeared from view. To his astonishment, Panther thought he saw Logan Tom off amid a scattering of street kids, but the other disappeared from sight almost immediately. Unable to look further, Panther continued to fight his way through the rush, Sparrow pinned tightly against him, until they broke through and were able to take refuge in a doorway.
    “Frickin’ brainless stump heads!” he shouted angrily. “Hey, I think I saw that guy, the Knight of whatever back there!”
    “Doesn’t matter. The Croaks are still coming!” Sparrow cried.
    He looked to where she was pointing, brushing dirt and sweat from his dark face. A handful of Croaks was pushing through the crowd, eyes fixed on them. “Damn!” he muttered.
    Sparrow grabbed his arm and pulled him up the sidewalk and into another alleyway. Free of the surge of the crowd, they ran down its dark length, found an opening into one of the buildings, and began making their way through a tangle of corridors, dodging piles of broken crates and garbage of all sorts. Sparrow set the pace, running as if she had caught fire, heedless of the strain.
    “Not so fast!” Panther gasped as the pace began to tell on him. He was the one who was tiring now. “Ease off, Sparrow!”
    “Just another block or two until we reach the freeway!” she called over her shoulder. “Come on!”
    They burst out of the building and found themselves back on a cross street not a hundred yards from where the crowd continued its uphill climb. Panther exhaled sharply in relief, and then an instant later caught his breath. The Croaks had reappeared, come out of the crowd like rats out of the shadows, eyes gleaming, claws and teeth sharp and ready.
    Panther glanced down at the readout on his prod. Almost empty. He looked at Sparrow. They could run, but only by going in the wrong direction. If they wanted to reach the