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pistol. They were each, I saw, riding a Schwinn Stingray—the coolest thing going these days, a muscle bike with V-back drag bars and a banana-shaped, low-ride saddle. The nearest rider, an older kid wearing a leather jacket and dark sunglasses, grabbed me and pulled me up onto the back of the bike’s long seat.
    â€œHang on!” he commanded.
    I gratefully wrapped my arms around his waist.
    Dead Cop made one final grab for me. The cyclists all fired at once, soaking him. He tumbled to the street, twitching spastically.
    Then we pedaled away with surprising power, making a sharp left turn onto 10th Street and heading north, leaving the chaos and carnage behind us.
    â€œNothing to it!” Helene called, grinning at me from the back of another bicycle, her brown hair flying behind her.
    Despite everything, I grinned back.
    Because there had been nothing to it. Whoever these people were, they were good!
    We navigated the Philly streets at a breakneck pace, making sudden, sharp turns that took us down narrow roads and through back alleys. Within minutes, we’d left behind the skyscrapers of Center City, entering instead an urban neighborhood that seemed to include little more than warehouses, factories, and vacant lots.
    I’d never been in this part of the city before. There was less traffic, and the shadowed streets grew darker. And there were homeless people everywhere—some huddled in doorways; others meandering along the sidewalks.
    With a final turn, we spilled onto Green Street. Several yards up ahead, a plywood ramp led from the street down into the entrance of a dilapidated underground parking garage. The six-story building above was splattered with red warning signs, its windows boarded up.
    This building condemned by the City of Philadelphia. Trespassers will be prosecuted!
    The bikes buzzed down into the parking garage like bees returning to their hive.

Chapter 6
    Haven
    Beyond the ramp, the light diminished, and the cyclists began wheeling their way down a long, spiraling concrete tunnel. I glanced behind us just in time to see the ramped entrance closing somehow.
    â€œWill?” Helene called. “You okay?”
    â€œYeah!”
    Then my driver added, “Chill out, Helene. I’ve got your boyfriend!”
    Some of the other riders laughed. I felt my cheeks redden.
    The girl with dreadlocks spoke. Her Japanese sword had been returned to a black sheath that she wore on her back. “Shut it back there, and get ready for the jump!”
    â€œJump?” I asked.
    â€œJump,” my driver replied.
    A moment later the tunnel abruptly straightened, running for a final fifty feet before hitting a solid brick wall. In front of the wall, someone had erected a wooden bike ramp.
    â€œUh—” I began.
    The dreadlocked leader hit the ramp first. With a cry of sheer abandon, she and her bike took flight, colliding with the wall at terrifying speed—
    â€”and vanishing.
    The wall seemed to ripple a little bit but then settled right back.
    I stared in disbelief. Off to my left, I heard Helene laughing. “Faster, Burton!” she exclaimed, smacking the boy’s helmet. “Watch this, Will!”
    She and Burton made their jump, and exactly the same thing happened—the brick wall just kind of swallowed them up.
    â€œHow…? What…?” I stammered.
    â€œIt’s magic, kid!” my driver replied. Then with a final, powerful kick, we followed the rest of the cyclists up the ramp and into empty air.
    I squeezed my eyes shut, but there was no crash. Instead something like stiff plastic brushed my face and then we were on solid ground again. Warily I opened one eye.
    We were in a brightly lit room as big as a soccer field. The ceiling looked fifty feet high, lined with pipes and hanging fluorescent lamps. Along the walls, plywood partitions had been erected, closing off small sections from the rest of the open space. The floor was gray-painted