One plank fell into the ditch. Another struck the pavement and broke. The plummeting objects made heads turn, which was my intent. The black of my costume had collected a frosting of white that made it a little less obvious.

Anger sharpened my focus. I didn’t use my aura as I landed, knee and one foot on the ground, hands helping to add some spring to the impact and reduce the noise.

It wasn’t enough to keep some of the people from seeing me. That was where the sharper focus counted. Two in front of me, one off to the left, two off to the right.

The lone guy to my left that had noticed me turned to his friend, who was leaning over the back of one vehicle, shooting.

My target.

Flight gave me speed and velocity that I wouldn’t have had while running. The people in the middle and at the far right of the group turned weapons on me. One fired and landed a hit in the moment before I threw myself at the guy on the left and put the unaware between them and myself. One more gunshot among many.

No aura—them being off balance was good, but them being blindsided was better. I had my choice of where to hit him, and I had to dismiss all of the training Gilpatrick had imparted. A strike to the back of the neck, to the temple or throat could do too much harm.

The heel of my right hand met the right corner of the jaw, where it connected to the skull, the blow timed so my arm extended and added to the impact beyond just what my flight offered. With speed, timing, and a target that was turning his head, I was ninety percent of the way to connecting it the way I’d wanted.

Ninety percent earned me a gristly feeling as my hand smashed the soft area between jaw and skull, pain in my hand and pain down my forearm with the force of the impact.

He collapsed on top of his friend, who’d been shooting and not paying nearly enough attention to the warning.

The guy to my right reacted. I threw myself and my elbow at him. I aimed for his jaw, hit his teeth instead. I saw a moment of blood against grit teeth, saw him reacting by twisting his head around and reaching for a weapon shorter than the rifle he held, and hit him again. He wouldn’t simply stagger in pain and retaliate, this time.

Hurting people without the benefit of a forcefield hurt. Every impact had its equal, opposite reaction. I was hitting people hard, but that energy transmitted itself into my hand, into my elbow.