Wanda and Pietro darted away after a final look between us, a silent nod of agreement. There was no saying how long this would take, or long we had before things got worse, so it was best to get moving immediately.
It was Wanda's job to get to the gates and open them with her magic. At this point I knew to call it telekinesis, but 'magic' just sounded cooler. This same magic is what she used to turn the attention away from her, red light flickering in the eyes of the soldiers and witnesses she passed when sneaking the long way around, hugging the edge of the street and coming up against the city walls.
Meanwhile, Pietro went the other way, heading to the front of the protest, where he'd be able to keep an eye on his sister without slowing her down. Two people sneaking around was a lot more noticeable than one, and the silver streak of his speed would only draw more attention. Taking the slow route had not been something easy to agree with for Pietro, but I didn't want to take any chances, since we were already Sokovia's Most Wanted.
As it was, Pietro seemed really into the protest, chanting with everyone else, and I knew he wanted to do more than just stand around and shouting. He wanted to fight.
Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.
Once the gates opened, I suspected the control the Cheka had, with their comparatively small line of men against the massive protest, would finally break. The three of us would escape in the mad rush everyone would have to leave the city. The Cheka would be overrun and no one would know that the three most notorious persons of Novi Grad — maybe all of Sokovia — had escaped.
My job was to be the distraction, should anything bad happened. The idea was a heavy dread in my stomach; I didn't know if I could hold up, should I make myself a target. I'd have to fight. Would I be able to? Would I even stand a chance?
What I was really afraid of, though, was freezing up again, like I had the last time with the Cheka and Komitet. The fact that I was still alive right now was entirely thanks to them. But I couldn't keep forcing my life in their hands, like a helpless kitten with no claws. I shouldn't be the one taken care of. Pietro and Wanda were relying on me .
And I didn't want to fail them again.
Wanda, her head covered in that red hood, crept low as she snuck behind the line of Cheka. No one seemed to have noticed her yet. I was afraid of the possibility that one of the protestors would notice her and point her out, perhaps as a cry for strength, which they'd probably see it as — but it'd only put her in more danger. If the Cheka noticed her first, then that was less people to deal with.
The gates, closed with that massive chain, looked nearly impossible to break. For me, at least. For Wanda, well, it was probably going to be a piece of cake. I lost sight of her at one point, when she hid behind an empty cart, but I saw her handiwork in the swirls of red energy winding its way around the chains of the gate. Each link was about the size of my head, and the entire thing had to be over twenty feet long — it stretched across road between the two guard towers on either side, interlocked with the metal bars of the gate.
The gate itself was made of a combination of steel bars and sheet metal. It was short enough that I could imagine climbing over it, although the barbed wire at the top was a little discouraging. The armed Cheka waiting in the guard towers were also a little concerning, but they hadn't seen Wanda either.
Or so I thought.
I should've guessed someone would notice the noise of a link breaking when Wanda snapped it in two — Crack! It echoed across the square, cutting straight through the noise of the protest. Even I could hear it, from way back where I stood, and it made me jump.
The line of Cheka shifted nervously at the noise and a few glanced behind them. In the very back stood an officer, standing on top of a crate so he could speak over everyone's heads. He had a megaphone in hand, aimed at the crowd, but whatever came out of it was a garbled noise that no one could understand. When he heard the noise, he jabbed a finger at one soldier and directed him towards the gates.
The chain fells, two halves swinging back to their towers and clanging against the brick walls. The guards in their towers peered over the edge and shouted at each other, while the third soldier wandered over, checking each little hiding spot along the way.
Oh, no. I spotted Wanda again, her face framed by her dark hair, peering around some boxes to get a good look at her work — only to spot the incoming soldier and disappearing from sight again.
Already I could tell — she was trapped. Wanda wouldn't be able to get out of there without being seen. Using her magic to escape wouldn't be enough; if she missed out even a second, then someone would raise the alarm.
The gates were mechanized, still shut. I couldn't believe it when Wanda risked another peek out again, aiming to pry the two gates open.
No, no, she was going to get caught. Without thinking, I shouted, some words I couldn't remember later, hoping to somehow distract the Cheka — but the only attention I gained were the people closest to me, mildly annoyed that I wasn't shouting their chant.
It didn't work. I was too far away, especially from the wandering Cheka.
But I was desperate. I called out again, but I couldn't even hear myself this time. My voice was just another tiny addition to the chorus of hundreds. The soldier's eyes just fell past me as his attention was pulled to the gates once more. Wanda darted away with a flick of her red scarf. The man stepped towards the gates. Had he seen her?
No, no, he was turning around. At the same time to the left, the officer had pulled out his pistol, was waving it around as he gave frustrated orders to his men, tried aiming it around, as if it could ward off the protesting civilians. But either they didn't see it or they didn't care, because the march just pressed in closer, pushing the Cheka back.
The officer paused, his eyes focusing on something to the far left, out of sight. I turned my head, following his gaze. I stood tall enough that I could see over others and spot the distinctive silver mop of hair that was Pietro Maximoff.
His back was turned to the officer, currently engaged in a shouting match with a Cheka soldier trying to subdue a smaller woman. The soldier let her go when Pietro shoved him back into the line.
In front of me, something glinted in the officer's eyes, and he raised his gun.
Far back, the soldier prodded a pile of crates and wooden palettes with his rifle, searching for a hiding spot — too close, too close to Wanda. She wouldn't be able to get away without being seen.
And Pietro had no idea a gun was pointed at his head.
My mouth went dry as my eyes flicked between the two disasters about to take place before me. My mind scrambled for a solution, and I was suddenly surging forward, trying to push my way through the crowd. Pietro was closer, so I instinctively headed for him first.
But it was nearly impossible — there were just too many people. If the space had been clear, I could've ran the ten meters between me and Pietro in less than two seconds — but now they were dragging by as I fought for every inch and fell back two more.
'Pietro!' I called out, but I might as well be shouting to God for all I knew. Pietro was too far away to hear, and even getting myself closer wasn't going to change the volume of the crowd.
He didn't even turn his head. The officer cocked his pistol. I pushed through shoulders and weaved around bodies, but it was no use — I'd never make it in time.
Starting to breathe too fast, my heart pounded even though it felt like I wasn't doing anything. Fighting this crowd was taking too much time, energy.
I couldn't let Pietro get hurt. I had to stop the soldier from finding Wanda. I didn't how to do just one of those things, but I knew I only had a few seconds to stop both.
I had to do something, but I was trapped in the crowd. Helpless.
Still making my way towards Pietro in a mad attempt to get him to hear me — so he could move and save Wanda — I got elbowed in the gut and my foot slipped stepping past legs. I stumbled, fell.
Shi
t! My breath was knocked out of me, and for a second I felt stunned. My gaze dropped towards the ground, and I lost sight of everyone as I caught myself on the cold, cobblestone ground.
Hurried, I forced myself to breathe again, to fight the upset in my diaphragm, even though it hurt, even though it didn't work.
For a second, I panicked. I couldn't fall. I was too late, wasting too much time. I'd never make it. I'd failed.
That's when I saw the rock.
Lying on the ground just a foot away, the rock was roughly the size of a baseball and what I had tripped on early. It gleamed at me, wet in the cold gray light, surrounded by a hundred shifting feet.
And I got an idea.
Air returned to my lungs, and my shoulders rolled smoothly as I reached for the rock. My fingers slid over its slick, smooth surface, weathered with age. I remembered what I had done with the apple Pietro had given me a few days ago — could I do it again?
Rock firmly in hand, I rose to my feet. Picking up my head, I turned away from Pietro, eyes focusing on the officer.
I wound my arm back. I didn't even reconsider my plan.
I knew it would work.
The officer took aim, closed one eye.
The soldier pushed aside a sheet of metal scrap, discovering the scarlet-cloaked girl crouched behind.
I slung the rock.
I watched at it sailed through the air, each second slowed, drawn out, as the black stone made a graceful arc over the heads of the crowd. Several heads turned up, startled, but it was too late. The black stone spun gently, revolving, as it started its descent, falling over the line of Cheka soldiers.
Before striking the officer in the temple.
At the same time, he pulled the trigger.
His head jerked back, completely blindsided. The gun recoiled wildly as he lost his balance, fell, dropped out of side as blood suddenly appeared across his face.
I only had a second to appreciate my work, my good aim.
To my left, Pietro whipped around, startled by the sound — somewhere behind him, someone screamed.
Then pandemonium exploded.
In that split second, between the rock hitting the officer and someone falling in the crowd, everything changed. It was like the start of an avalanche or an earthquake, the gentle shake before the colossal destruction. First came the screams, the sudden crushing jam as the crowd around me backed up, panicked by the gunfire.
It was like the rock was the catalyst —another gunshot rang out only a split second later, as the protest was confused by the scream.
This time, a soldier fell.
And that was it.
That's when the Cheka attacked.
Screams crescendoed as the Cheka opened fire on them, a volley of fire followed by the phalanx charging.
I was caught in the stampede as the protesters started running in a panic — every which way, so long as a Cheka wasn't there. Hands pushed, pulled yanked — clothes, hair, arms, legs — in a desperate attempt to escape.
My visual field dissolved into a confusing mess as everyone started moving, and didn't stop moving. Heads turns, bodies crushed, feet pounded the cobblestones to an entirely new beat now — the chanting replaced by discordant screams and shouting.
A few brave protestors remained, meeting the Cheka head-to-head, while the rest got away. That just escalated the noise, the fight — I heard gunshots and bangs behind me.
Somehow, I ended up next to a Cheka soldier, in the chaos of what was now a full-blown riot. He wielded a baton, brought it down repeatedly across the back of a man cowering on the ground, his hands raised in surrender. But the Cheka paid no regard, didn't let up even as the man cried for mercy.
Without thinking, I grabbed the baton just as the Cheka raised it over his head again. He made a noise of surprise, but didn't get the chance to look around before I yanked it out of his grip.
In one swift move, I flipped the baton in my hand and slammed it down against the back of the Cheka's knees.
He dropped down. Without breaking flow, I snapped the baton across the back of his head — the man went down with a grunt.
His victim stared up at me in shock, but I didn't hang around to explain. A skinny girl in a bright yellow jacket, taking down a soldier twice her size? I wondered what that looked like to them; There was no time.
Turning on my heel, baton in hand, I headed for the gates. I had to find Wanda and Pietro. I had to make sure they were all right.
And get those damn gates open.
The riot around me only escalated with each passing second. I fought against the crowd, a fish swimming upriver, towards the Cheka and their guns. I was already near the front when the peace broke, so it didn't take long for me.
An explosion behind me made me flinch and glance around, only to see that a car had been overturned and set on fire, shattered glass scattered around and citizens running away. I swiveled my head, spotted a flash of light in the window of a house behind me. A man, not a soldier, returning fire. Had the protesters brought back up?
I saw a bottle launched into the air, a flaming rag attached, before it fell over the heads of the Cheka and exploded. In return, a two rioters went down in a hail of gunfire.
The sight of men dying felt like a punch to the gut. My fingers went numb and for a second I couldn't breathe.
Then a scream jolted me back, and I looked away.
Smoke was filling the air all around me, and through them I saw bright flashes of lights, mini-explosions skittering along the ground. Flash-bang grenades, meant to stun and suppress. The Cheka's efforts only succeeded in making the air thick and bitter, clouding everything and making it difficult to see.
The smoke burned in my nose and made my eyes water, but I didn't slow down as I came face-to-face with another Cheka emerging from the dusty gray haze.
Armed with a ballistic shield and his own baton, the soldier didn't even pause to order me to stand down before attacking.
I saw it coming a mile away. He raised his shield and lowered his head for the charge, raising his baton like he was going to trample me like a rhino — but before he could strike me, I brought up my hand, grabbed the side of his shield, and simply ripped it out of his grip.
'Simply' being the key word here. I had no idea if I was strong enough to do that, but merely acted on my instincts — which, incredibly, were sound. I guess it was obvious, in retrospect, a super soldier with super strength, but I was still getting used to the idea.
At the same time, I sidestepped him and the Cheka stumbled, unbalanced by both the disarmament of his shield and lack of impact.
He cried out as I swiped my foot, tripping him as he passed, and watched as he landed hard on his face.
A shout behind me grabbed my attention before I could finish him off. Swiveling around, I saw the Cheka soldier and the gun, and had only a split-second to react.
I brought up my left arm to cover my face, a typical defensive move — only I'd forgotten I was still holding the riot shield.
I flinched when the bullet hit the glass right in front of my face. It cracked, but didn't break, and the bullet dropped harmlessly to my feet, clattering on the cobblestones.
Dropping the shield slightly, I studied the bullet for a moment before looking back up at the Cheka soldier who fired on me. He, too, looked stunned, and for a second we just stood there, marveling at the fact that I wasn't dead.
The soldier, apparently realizing this was still a problem, remembered himself and began frantically reloading. He never got the chance to fire again.
I was on him in less than a second. Two great strides was all it took for me to slam the shield right into him, knocking him back. I hit him so hard, in fact, that he was knocked off his feet, gun sent out of his hands, and I kept going until I slammed into another Cheka soldier right behind him.
Both went down in a heap, and the three civilians warring with the fourth one gave me a quick nods of gratitu
de before darting off to deal with the next foe.
In that moment, I found myself alone in a small clearing. Smoke rose up like walls around me, and I could just barely see the gates to my right. They were still closed. I had yet to find Wanda or Pietro. I hoped they were still all right.
Then I saw a Cheka soldier trying to break down the door to a storefront. Through the window cowered several civilians - several of whom were kids, no older than me. They tried barricading the door with tables and chairs, but clearly it wasn't enough, as the Cheka had already managed to wedge the door open a few inches.
The kids tried to escape, but they couldn't without leaving the door unguarded. Some were trying to keep it closed with their weight alone. I saw a women, maybe the oldest among them, with blood covering her face. I could hear her shouting even from here, to tell the kids to run while they could.
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