Swarm by Scott Westerfeld, Margo Lanagan, Deborah Biancotti Page B

screaming, I can’t! Nate’s training had brought her that far.
    â€œLook at me, Kelsie!”
    But Kelsie’s eyes were locked in horrible communion with the screen. Above them people were howling now, scrambling along the seat rows. Chizara wanted to howl and scramble too. But if she lost control, she’d crash everything, plungethe theater into absolute blackness, brick every phone, panic everyone so much worse.
    â€œYou’re okay .” She forced the words through gritted teeth, made her terrified self listen. “You can deal with this.”
    Someone tumbled between her and Kelsie, making straight for the exit. Other people followed, jumping the rows, their phones zapping Chizara in the head as they passed.
    Okay, time to deal with this herself.
    She looked up at the beam of light flashing the terror-soaked images on the screen. Her mind followed it back into the projection booth. A tiny bright complex of electronics unspooled those jittery images, syncing them to a dozen rumbling speakers. . . .
    It would be so easy to blot out the whole system in a single swipe.
    Stay calm. Only what’s necessary.
    She didn’t even crash the projector, just doused the bulb. She didn’t blow the whole audio setup, just knocked the optical track sensors offline. Done.
    But it made the theater darker, and the crowd still roared and fought to get away. Chizara found the circuit for the house lighting and sent a surge at it. The lights flickered on for a moment, then popped all at once. Wisps of smoke and tiny showers of glass shards disappeared into darkness.
    Damn. Not enough control. The only light came from the exit signs and people’s phone screens.
    Kelsie’s hand had gone limp. Closed eyes. No expression. Her fear had hunched her down so hard that she’d slid half off her seat, maybe passed out. But the feedback loop was still coursing through her and the crowd.
    She must be caught in a nightmare. Chizara had to get her out of here.
    She slid her arms under Kelsie’s shoulders and knees. The girl was slim, like she burned up everything she ate with dancing.
    Chizara had to force herself toward the front emergency exit. She still saw shadows of images on the screen, a primal aversion lingering behind her eyelids.
    At the exit door she turned and pushed backward against the bar. The heavy door swung out.
    Into daylight.
    A grubby-looking alleyway—but anything was better than the boomeranging fear in the movie theater. Chizara carried Kelsie away, the panic fading into the soft burn of wireless transmissions, normal for downtown Cambria on a Sunday afternoon.
    She looked for a place to put Kelsie down before her knees gave out. As well as wobbling with fear, they ached from the optical and power cables funneling stuff back and forth under the asphalt.
    At the alley’s end was a sidewalk lunch place, closed for the weekend—although an LED sign by its door spelled out O-P-E-N, letter by letter, over and over, with an irritating tickle in Chizara’s brain. Outside the café stood curly iron seats and tables chained to the ground.
    As Chizara carried her in among the chairs, Kelsie began to stir. “What the . . .”
    â€œShh, everything’s okay.”
    The seat farthest from the tickling sign could hold two people. Chizara sank onto it and settled Kelsie beside her.
    Kelsie swayed, blinking at the curly chairs like she’d landed in a parallel universe.
    â€œWhere are we?”
    â€œOutside the movie, remember? You passed out.”
    As if to remind her, the distant emergency exit swung open and a few girls sprayed out, mascara streaked down their faces.
    Kelsie watched them intently. “Oh, yeah. The car trunk.”
    Through the whine of receding phones Chizara felt a scatter of fear-drops hit her psyche. Kelsie was shedding panic like a dog shaking off water.
    Chizara put an arm around her. They were both trembling with