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anyway. Cold balled in Jeremy belly, so bad that he almost threw up. Bigger, he thought. Bigger would be scarier.
    The firefly popped into the air two feet from Mr. Brewster’s magazine, big as a chicken.
    “Holy shit!” The pew rocked and nearly went over as Mr. Brewster scrambled to his feet.
    Nails biting his palms, Jeremy made the firefly dart at Mr. Brewster’s face. It moved sluggishly, dimming to a dull orange. Oh, God, don’t let it fade. Sweat stung Jeremy’s eyes.
    Mr. Brewster yelled and threw his magazine at it. His footsteps pounded up the wooden stairs, and a moment later, the church door thudded open. Jeremy lay flat in the dust as Mr. Brewster ran past him. The ground felt warm, as if the earth had a fever. Shaking all over, Jeremy listened to the footsteps fade.
    Now!
    He scrambled down through the window. A fragment of glass still stuck in the old frame grazed his arm, and he landed on a chair. It collapsed under his weight with a terrible crash. Panting, Jeremy scrambled to his feet. He struggled with the bolt on the storeroom door, bruising his palm. It slid back, and he pushed the heavy door open.
    Dan sat on the floor between shelves of musty hymnals and folded choir robes. The yellow light from the lantern made his skin look tawny brown, like the dust. Dried blood streaked his swollen and bruised face.
    “Jeremy?” Hope flared in Dan’s eyes.
    “Hurry.” Jeremy grabbed his arm.
    Dan staggered to his feet and followed Jeremy up the steps, treading on his heels. Someone shouted as they leaped from the porch and Jeremy’s heart lurched. “That way.” He pointed.
    Dan threw an arm around him and ran, half-carrying Jeremy as they ducked behind the dark Exxon station. They scrambled under the board fence in the back, lay flat while someone ran and panted past. Mr. Brewster? Gray banded the eastern horizon as Jeremy led Dan across the dusty main street, listening for footsteps, stumbling on the rough pavement. They turned left by the boarded up restaurant, cut through a yard full of drifted dust, dead weeds, and a rusting car.
    Jeremy had left Ezra tethered behind the last house on the street. The pony gave a low, growling whinny as they hurried up. Dan stroked his nose to quiet him, his eyes running over the lumpy bulges of the pack.
    “It’s all there, food, water, and everything,” Jeremy panted. “Even the machine. It’s not a very good job. I don’t know how to fix a pack. The ground’s pretty hard along the river, so you won’t leave many tracks. Willow creekbed’ll take you way south. It’s the first creekbed past the old feed mill. You can’t miss it. Nobody lives out that way. No water.”
    “I thought you were coming with me.” Dan looked down at him.
    “I was.” Jeremy looked at the old nylon daypack he’d left on the ground beside Ezra. “I changed my mind.”
    “You can’t stay now.” Dan grabbed his shoulders, hard enough to hurt. “They’ll know you let me out. Jeremy, what will they do to you?”
    “I don’t know.” Jeremy swallowed, remembering his father’s voice on the stairs. “I just got to stay,” he whispered.
    “You’re crazy. You think you’ll make peace with your father?” Dan gave him one short, sharp shake that made Jeremy’s teeth snap together. “You have real magic in your hands. You think that’s ever going to matter to him?”
    Jeremy couldn’t speak, could only shake his head.
    “Hell, my own choices haven’t turned out too good. Who am I to tell you what you have to do?” Dan wiped Jeremy’s tears away, his fingers rough and dry on Jeremy’s face. “Just don’t let them kill your magic.” He shook Jeremy again, gently this time. “He needs it. They all need it.” He sighed. “I’m outta here. Keep making, Jeremy.” Dan squeezed Jeremy’s shoulder hard, grabbed Ezra’s lead rope, and walked away down the creekbed in the fading night.
    Jeremy stood still, the tears drying on his face, listening to Ezra’s muffled