Pulse

seen. His secret was safe as they stopped short, hanging in the air ten feet away from Dylan.
    “I’m going to enjoy kicking you through that goalpost,” Wade said. He had always felt threatened by Dylan. The fact that he was spending time with Faith Daniels, the only girl Wade had ever truly loved, made him want to tear Dylan limb from limb.
    “I hear the games were a real success, only not for you,” Dylan said.
    Wade laughed. “Those clowns weren’t worth my time, and you know it.”
    “Why don’t you join us?” Clara asked. She imagined herself beside Dylan, taking on the world together. It was a far more enjoyable fantasy than doing the same work with her brother. “You don’t want to be on the wrong side of what’s coming. We could use someone like you.”
    Dylan half smiled in the darkness. “Killing Drifters is a hobby for you guys. I think we’d have a little conflict of interest there.”
    Wade could sense Clara’s passion for Dylan, and it made him furious. Dylan had taken Faith and sided with the scum of the earth; but Dylan’s ability to charm Clara’s heart made things even worse for Wade, and that was the situation that pushed Wade into action. The goalpost began to sway behind Dylan, then the pole leading to the ground lurched free and spun up in the air. The end that had once been in the ground faced Dylan’s back and fired like an arrow. Dylan somersaulted backward in the air, then steadied himself as he backed up, his long hair tangling into his face as the wind pushed against him.
    “Looks like we don’t have a future together,” he said, lifting the first of six white vans in the air behind him. It was dark, but Clara sensed trouble, turning on the lights around the field with a series of sharp sounds. Dylan ducked, and the first van flew over his right shoulder, slamming dead-on into Clara and catching Wade in the legs as he tried to move. Wade spun wildly out of control, slammed into the ground, and rolled into a standing position.
    He was smiling.
    “This is going to be fun.”
    The van crushed Clara into the ground, but she was up and moving in a matter of seconds, feeling her anger start to burn. When she turned, the second van was already airborne, clobbering her to the ground again. They were punishing blows, but Clara seemed to grow stronger with each one.
    “Now you’re starting to make me mad,” she said. It didn’t cross her mind that Dylan might have a second pulse. She didn’t think it was possible. She’d known about first-pulse Drifters and variants such as Faith—they weren’t common, but they were around. A nuisance she took a lot of pleasure in dealing with. They were, at base, incredibly weak. So what if you could pick up a refrigerator and throw it? If you couldn’t take a punch, it didn’t matter. Eventually, you’d always lose.
    Dylan threw two more vans, picking them up and guiding them to their targets. Wade couldn’t react fast enough, and this time the van pummeled him into the bleachers. Clara put up a hand and forced the van coming at her to change course. She made it fly straight up in the air and left it hanging there.
    “Last chance, Dylan Gilmore. You can come with us; I won’t hurt you.”
    “I think I’ll take my chances without you,” Dylan responded. Clara was shocked when he took control of the van hanging in the air, dropping it with fantastic speed on her brother, who was barely getting up from the blow he’d just taken.
    “Behind you!” Wade screamed, right before the goalpost, which had been lying on the ground behind Clara, slammed into her lower back. It was moving with such speed that it arched her back like a noodle, the two prongs hitting the ground and sliding into the earth until she was pinned against the football field.
    Clara hated the taste of earth. She lifted her face, covered in grass and dirt, and felt the stinging sensation that meant her powers had been slightly compromised. It would take a lot more than a chunk of grass to end Clara Quinn, but she’d played around long enough. If this was how Dylan wanted things to be, then he was about to get his wish.
    “You had your chance,” she said, blowing the goalpost out of the ground with her mind. It sailed over the school and crashed into a building hidden in the distance. She wiped a smear of what she thought was mud from her forehead, but when she looked at it in the stadium lights, she realized it was dirt mixed with her own blood. No one had