Byron cursed when he saw the blockade in front of the store. Police cars lined the entrance, the police running in all direction, parties being occasionally sent out to search. "How're we going to get out?" said Phoebe, thinking out loud, "There are other exits, right?"
"Yes, but it would be better to assume that those are guarded, as well, perhaps with even more force that this."
"Couldn't we just bust through one of the windows?"
"We could, but the outburst would be sudden, allowing for them to follow us. We might be able to put up a fight for a while, but we would, eventually, be overpowered."
"I don't think so. I could make their guns implode."
"No, your power isn't mature enough yet, and you don't have enough control over it. Besides, they have weapons that aren't metal, as well."
"Thanks," said Phoebe sarcastically, "So we're boxed in. We'll have to fight our way out."
"Not necessarily," said Byron, looking up.
Phoebe tried to follow his gaze, but he was just looking at the ceiling. "What do you mean?"
"These shelves are made of metal," Byron said, "meaning that you can control them."
"Yeah, so? What're we going to do, wheel a five-foot-tall shelf into their cars?"
"The ceiling is supported by metal bars."
Phoebe was silent for a moment, trying to understand what Byron meant. But then…she got it. And the idea horrified her.
"No," she said, looking at Byron, "I am not, no matter what, doing that. I'm not going to bring down the entire building while-"
"You'll be fine," said Byron.
"No," Phoebe repeated, "I might be able to make a few guns collapse, but I am not going to do that."
Byron smiled, "Sure you will."
Of course Mark had been sent to get food. He wouldn't be much use to Byron, anyways. Byron seemed to hate Mark. Why? He was always talking about his 'incompetence' or 'grammatical stupidity'. That's almost all he'd done in the twenty-four hours Mark had known him.
Mark heard shouts near them. "Get down," he said to Stephen, who ducked behind an aisle. Mark stood behind the one next to it, igniting the lighter he had found in Sector Three. This was only the third time he had used his ability, and the second he had used it on purpose. The fire leapt into his palm, traveling up his wrist, yet not consuming his sleeve. He heard soldiers stepping into the aisle, someone giving orders for it to be searched. "Stephen," Mark whispered, getting the guy's attention. "Check what's in the aisle and teleport over here." Stephen nodded. He sneaked a glance around the corner, and, within a half-second of doing so, appeared at Mark's side. "Gas," he said. Mark's eyes widened questioningly. Stephen nodded; he was telling the truth. "Stay behind me," Mark whispered, jumping out from his hiding place. He yelled at the soldiers, who all pointed their weapons in this direction, firing. Before any bullets could reach him, however, Mark threw a fireball into the aisle, not caring where it hit.
Mark couldn't hear anything for a good five minutes. His vision filled with light. The only thing he could feel was Stephen behind him, screaming for his life as the fire engulfed them, but not consuming them, Mark creating a fireproof shield around their bodies taking up all his concentration, fighting to remain conscious against the strain of the explosion.
Byron and Phoebe had just climbed aboard the shelf that was to be their means of escape when the explosion hit, knocking them off. "Phoebe," Byron cried, half-deaf, "Are you all right?"
A reply came back to him, quiet but strong, "Yeah," Phoebe said, "I'm fine. What was that?"
"Mark," Byron said, without having to look into his companion's mind. Byron stood, his legs aching. He looked around the aisle and saw the swarm of police rushing in the direction of the soldiers. "The fire's spreading fast," he said. He walked over to Phoebe, helping her up. She had sprained her ankle in the fall, Byron thought. "Will you still be able to get us up there?" he said.
"Yeah," Phoebe said, wincing as she put her full weight on her ankle. "Just get me back up there." Byron climbed up first; pulling Phoebe up once he got there.
"Focus on this shelf," he said slowly, "It's a part of you. Bring it up, farther." They began to ascend.
"Byron," Phoebe said, eyes closed, focusing, "What happened to Mark?"
"He survived," Byron said, "Or so I believe. Both he and Stephen are safe, for now."
"I can't do this," Phoebe said, straining her ability.
"Yes, you can," Byron said firmly, "Don't worry about Mark, don't worry about Stephen, and don't worry about me. We'll be fine. For now, just focus on getting this thing up as far as you can."
Byron entered Phoebe's mind. He tried to comfort her from inside, tried to calm her mind. In order to be successful, she had to be calm. She had to be content with her surroundings and circumstances.
They rose, higher, higher, higher, until they had nearly reached the ceiling. Someone from down below yelled, and bullets fired. Phoebe jumped, making the shelf jolt, knocking Byron off his feet.
"Don't worry," said Byron, "We're almost there. Now, focus on the metal beams that hold the roof up. Bring them down."
Mark opened his eyes, the lights gone. Stephen was still behind him, clutching Mark's shoulder.
"Dude," Mark said, "Stop. That's weird."
Stephen opened his eyes, and, seeing that the explosion was over, released Mark's shoulder.
"We need to get out of here."
"But what about the food?" said Stephen.
"No time," Mark said, pointing at the soldiers who were coming at them cautiously, their weapons aimed at the two. The loud, low groaning of metal jolted Mark and Stephen, as well as the soldiers. They looked up, seeing a shelf in the air, two people standing on top of it. Mark recognized Byron and Phoebe.
"That's a way to leave, I guess," said Mark, "Do you think you can get us up there?" Stephen looked up, shrugging.
"I won't be able to get there in one jump, maybe two," he said nervously.
"It's the best chance we got," Mark said, "You can take other things with you, right?"
"Yeah," said Stephen, grabbing Mark's shoulder again. "I'll have to teleport a little ways away from the shelf, so we'll come out in mid-air, so don't freak out. As soon as we do, I'll teleport again and get us on the shelf. You ready?" Mark nodded.
"Alright."
And then Mark saw darkness. He was conscious; he knew he saw darkness, so he knew he didn't black out. But, before he could think further on this, light rushed back into his eyes. He was suspended in mid-air. His mind began rushing, panicking. But he got control of it. Soon, he entered darkness again, and was out it another second, on top of the shelf.
"Nice of you to drop in," said Byron.
And then the roof collapsed.
Explosions littered the ground as pieces of the roof fell, colliding with flammable objects. However, the shelf managed to float out, unharmed, and with plenty of food products for the group to take with them.
They landed just outside the store. As soon as they landed, Phoebe opened her eyes, gasped, and fell back over. "What wrong with her?" Mark insisted.
"Calm down," Byron said, "She's fine. She's just used her power to the current greatest possible extent. She's exhausted herself, and she'll need a minute to get back up." Mark nodded, however, from his nervous look; he obviously wasn't fine with this.
Phoebe soon woke up. The group pocketed as much food as they could hold and started running. However, when Byron looked behind him, making sure they weren't being pursued, he saw a familiar, strange face.
Looking at them was the man they had encountered earlier, grinning ear to ear, a box of hot chocolate mix in his hand.