I loop my arm around hers and hold her tight to my side, showing her the motion, as if we’re running the obstacle tire course at school. She plants her next foot firmer and the switching comes more naturally. Her coordination improves at lightning speed as I chant with her.

“That’s it. Now go! As fast as you can. Get out of here.” I turn back once more, with the distinct feeling something’s off.

The girl.

Where’s the girl with the shaved head? It’s a ton of us, but I’d expect to spot her. She’s the only kid in the bunch.

I spot the tiniest blip in the distance. There she is, ankle deep in some hole in the street, wincing. I rush over. “It’s okay. Arm over my shoulder.”

She holds on tight and I wiggle her ankle, which is turned in the complete wrong direction, out of the hole. She bites down, her nails digging into my back, but she doesn’t utter a sound.

“Almost.” I yank again; the smell of my flesh burns my nose. Her foot gives. I pull her up over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and take off in the direction of everyone else.

When I catch up with them, the group has outrun the trap. They sit pressed against the side of a building at least a mile from where we triggered the trap. A mile of running scared. Bodies hang over one another, panting, worn-out. Shoes are in pieces; heels are calloused and bloody. I walk, wincing with each step. At least I can walk. Many are struggling to stand.

“It looks like the trap was set for one point five square kilometers radius,” Bri says, studying a round gadget in her bag. “North would have gotten us out of the hot zone much quicker.”

Her words cut like a dagger. She sets a hand on my shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. Seriously.” She tucks away the device and is latching her bag when Zora comes up. Her leg is bleeding, and her feet are covered in blisters.

“There’s an access point to the Web this way,” she says. “We should get off the streets as soon as we can. Traveling underground is probably safer.”

I nod in agreement, tucking away my shame.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO