Toby risked a glance from behind the hood of a Ford minivan that now had a football-sized lump of masonry poking through the windshield. It had been the nearest place to hide. Everybody in the street had fled in panic, although the swirling smoke made it difficult to see very far. “Look!” Toby whispered in awe. The others peered cautiously from their refuge. As the smoke parted the figures formed into muscular men, all wearing the same gunmetal gray and black jumpsuits, with a tornado motif on their chests. They surveyed the street, eyes protected by deep-red-tinged shades. Sleek combat rifles swept around the deserted street. “They have guns,” observed Pete. “What do we do?” In the rush to exercise their powers, the thought hadn’t occurred to any of them that the bank thieves would be armed. Guns meant there was a very real danger of getting killed. “Stay here!” said Emily. “Let the police handle it.” As if on cue, the wailing sirens of a pair of police cars could be heard.
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