The Enemy by Charlie Higson

where at least twenty grown-ups had formed into a crude circle.
    There was a shout from above, and a flaming torch arced out into the night, turning end over end and landing in a shower of sparks near the restless circle.
    The grown-ups were thrown into a mad panic, and Arran started to run, charging into them, barging through the mass of bodies to get to the center, smashing skul s to left and right as he went.
    Achil eus came behind, jabbing with his spear. Making sure none of the grown-ups closed the gap.
    Josh was shouting at the grown-ups.
    “Come on, you ugly freaks, come and get it!”
    The boy in the patchwork coat was on the ground, clutching a piece of sharp wood. Arran grabbed him by the arm.
    “Move it!” he shouted, dragging him to his feet. He pushed him toward Achil eus’s team, who formed a protective ring around him. The circle of grown-ups had broken apart and formed into a loose mil ing mob. Arran realized that the way back to the shop was blocked. But then he saw a crazed flurry of activity, and the grown-ups bolted to one side like a disturbed shoal of fish.
    It was Freak. He’d gone berserk. Yel ing and screaming, lashing out with his spear with no regard for his own safety.
    “Leg it!” Arran shouted to Achil eus. “Get him inside!”
    Achil eus’s team made it back to the shop and pushed the patchwork kid through the barricade to where Maxie’s group was waiting.
    “Take him into the shop,” Achil eus said. “Watch him.”
    Arran was looking for Freak. He had lost sight of him in the chaos.
    There he was.
    He’d fal en; a grown-up was on him, his hands at his throat.
    “Achil eus! With me!”
    Arran was running. His lungs on fire. He wasn’t going to make it in time.
    There came a sharp crack and the grown-up toppled over, fel ed by one of Ol ie’s slingshots. Then Arran and Achil eus and the others were there, weapons a blur, and Freak was on his feet.
    He pointed down the road, too tired to speak. Arran looked where he was pointing. He could just make out a fresh mob of grown-ups charging toward them from the crossroads.
    Arran stood his ground, ready for anything. Al his doubts were forgotten. He was focused on trying to stay alive and protect his friends. Achil eus’s fighters were with him, spears bristling as the grown-ups came on like a wave surging on a beach. But at the last moment the grown-ups parted and ran past the little knot of kids. They had no appetite for a fight. Arran quickly saw why. They weren’t attacking, they were retreating.
    Blue and a squad from Morrisons were thundering down Hol oway Road after them, throwing rocks and yel ing.
    Blue spotted Arran and ran over.
    “What’s going on?” he said.
    “You tel me.”
    “There was some idiot,” said Blue, panting, resting his hands on his knees. “He was trying to get in. We chased him away, then found this lot. Never seen so many grown-ups together before.”
    As they were talking, the fleeing grown-ups slowed, stopped, and turned. Other grown-ups emerged from the darkness on al sides. The way back to Morrisons was cut off.
    “You better get in the shop with us,” said Arran, and without another word the two groups ran back over to the barricades.
    Arran was last in. Screaming at Bernie and Ben to close the doors, he squeezed through the gap, an enraged group of fathers hot on his tail.
    Maxie was waiting with her own team, armed with their pikes. They poked them into the faces of the lumbering grown-ups, who squealed and shied away. The gates trundled shut and the kids could hear the grown-ups throwing themselves against the metal in rage.
    Arran tried to say something, but an explosion from outside drowned him out. A burst of leaping flames fil ed the street. Cal um must have launched a bomb from the roof. Bernie and Ben had made the bombs out of fireworks that they’d dismantled and bundled tightly together.
    The initial boom was fol owed by a cacophony of bangs and screeches, whines and whistles, as