Tattletale had aimed a handgun at me once, and she had pulled the trigger. In that, at least, she had been playing along. It had been a tool, not a weapon. I had some grievances when it came to her, but that wasn’t one of them.

The Fallen and the villains of Hollow Point? They weren’t playing any games. Powers were used, and a tight cluster of three or four explosions in quick succession were followed by creaking, snapping sounds that might have been trees or a building collapsing.

I heard the sound of wood splintering near me, and I turned my head in time to see the side of a tree crunch inward, as if two axes had bit into it. Bit. The wretch was taking a bite out of the wood.

There were other signs of the wretch’s restlessness nearby. Bark was scraped from trees by hands.

I dropped my forcefield and stepped around a tree until it stood between me and the ongoing gunfire. My back to the tree’s trunk, facing the others, I asked, “You guys okay?”

“I don’t think they’re firing in this direction,” Capricorn said.

“Can you provide some cover?” I asked. “I don’t think anyone’s close.”

“Yeah.”

The orange motes began to dance between trees.

“We move toward the road,” I said. “We’ll cross it, and then we cut toward the settlement.”

“Victoria, you take point. Sveta, put yourself between her and us. Kids, with me. Looksee, watch what your camera is looking at. I don’t want you getting hit by the anti-thinker measures.”

“Uh huh. Tattletale went into a building with some henchmen. She waved at the camera and smiled, which was kind of nice, if you look at it a certain way. Foil, Parian, Hellhound and Imp are leaving and going up your way. If you guys decided you had to run with the guns, you could come back and come after her. That could be good.”

“Brevity,” Chris said. “This is a situation, Looksee, use fewer words.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Let’s stick to the plan,” Capricorn said. He gave me a sidelong look as he said it, and I nodded in response to the unspoken question.

He moved his hand, and walls snapped into existence where the orange motes had been. Their height was such that if I stood straight, I could look over the parts where the spikes didn’t stick up. So long as I crouched, I was clear. I flew low to the ground, the walls to my left, in the direction of the road.

I could hear something that might have been a motorcycle or dirt bike. Others started up. Gunfire answered the revving.

At the end of the wall, I crouched lower to the ground. Flight let me move silently.