The Fall of Five
Page 4

“What happened to the others?”
My dad’s hands shake a bit. He sighs. “They were all killed, Sam. I’m the last one.”
I stare in the mirror at the haunted look on his face. Imprisoned by the Mogs for all these years; I feel bad asking him to go back to what must be horrible memories.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No,” he replies, resolute, “you deserve to know why I wasn’t—why I wasn’t in your life as much as I should’ve been.”
My dad’s face is scrunched up like he’s trying to remember something. I let him take his time, leaning down to unlace my shoes. My toes are swollen from where I kicked that Mog in the face. I start rubbing them gently, making sure there aren’t any bones broken.
“They were trying to rip things out of our memories. Anything that might help them hunt the Garde.” He pushes a hand through his hair, rubbing his scalp. “What they did to me . . . it left gaps. There are things I don’t remember. There are important things—things that I know I should remember, but can’t.”
I pat him on the back. “We’ll find the Garde and maybe they’ll, I don’t know, have some way to reverse what the Mogs did to you.”
“Optimism,” my dad says, smiling at me. “It’s been so long since I remember feeling that.”
My dad stands up and grabs his backpack. He pulls out one of those cheap-looking plastic cell phones they sell over the counter at gas stations and looks forlornly down at the screen.
“Adam has this number,” my dad says. “He should’ve called by now to check in.”
“It was crazy back there. Maybe he lost his phone.”
My dad’s already punching in a number. He holds the phone up to his ear, listening. After a few seconds of silence, he hangs up.
“Nothing,” he says, sitting back down. “I think I got that boy killed tonight, Sam.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I TAKE WHAT HAS TO BE THE GREATEST SHOWER of my life in that grungy motel bathroom. Even the dark mold that spreads from the drain to the curled edges of the rubber bath mat can’t dampen the experience. The hot water feels amazing, washing away weeks of Mogadorian captivity.
After wiping fog off the cracked bathroom mirror, I take a long look at my reflection. My ribs show, my stomach muscles pronounced enough to give me a starving person’s six pack. I have dark circles under my eyes and my hair is grown out more than it’s ever been.
So, this is what a human freedom fighter looks like.
I pull on a T-shirt and jeans that I found in Adam’s backpack; I have to use the very last notch on the belt to secure the jeans and they still hang loose around my hips. My stomach growls and I pause to wonder what kind of room service a sleazy motel like this might have. I bet the old man behind the front desk would be happy to send over a grilled-cheese-and-cigarette-butt sandwich.
Back in the room, my dad has set up some of his equipment. There’s a laptop open on the bed, a program scanning news headlines running. He’s already trying to figure out our next move. It’s late, well past midnight, and I haven’t slept. Still, badly as I want to hook up with the Garde, I was hoping our next move could be a stack of pancakes at the nearest diner.
“Anything?” I ask, squinting at the laptop.
My dad isn’t paying the program any attention. He’s sitting against the wall, still clutching that cheap cell phone, looking indecisive. He glances listlessly over at the laptop. “Not yet.”
“He probably won’t call until he’s someplace safe,” I say. I reach down to ease the phone out of his hand, but he pulls it away.
“It’s not that,” he says. “There’s another phone call we need to make. I’ve been thinking about what to say the entire time you were in the shower, and I still don’t know.”
His thumb traces out a familiar pattern on the phone’s keypad, like he’s working himself up to actually dialing. I’m so locked into this idea of finding the Garde and fighting the Mogadorians that, at first, I’m not even sure who he’s talking about. When it dawns on me, I thump down on the bed, feeling as speechless as my father.
“We have to call your mother, Sam.”
I nod, agreeing, but not really knowing what I’d say to Mom at this point. The last time she saw me, I’d just been in a fight with Mogadorians in Paradise and run off into the night with John and Six. I think I yelled that I loved her over my shoulder. Not my most sensitive exit, but I really did think I’d be back soon. I never dreamed I’d be taken prisoner by a race of hostile aliens.
“She’s going to be pretty mad, huh?”
“She’s mad at me,” my dad says. “Not you. She’ll just be happy to hear your voice and know you’re safe.”
“Wait—you saw her?”
“We stopped in Paradise before heading to New Mexico. It’s how I found out you were missing.”
“And she’s all right? The Mogs didn’t go after her?”
“Apparently not, but that doesn’t mean she’s all right. It’s been hard for her with you gone. She blamed me and she’s not entirely wrong about that. She wouldn’t let me in the house, understandably, so we had to sleep in my bunker.”
“With the skeleton?”
“Yes. Another one of my memory gaps—I’ve got no idea who those bones belong to.” My dad narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t change the subject.”
A part of me is worried that Mom will ground me over the phone, and part of me is worried that the sound of her voice will make me want to forget about this whole war and rush home immediately. I swallow hard.
“It’s the middle of the night. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow?”
My dad shakes his head. “No. We can’t put this off, Sam. Who knows what might happen to us tomorrow?”
With that, suddenly resolute, my dad dials the number to our house. He holds the phone to his ear nervously, waiting. I have memories of my mom and dad together—old memories from before he disappeared. They were happy together. I wonder what must be going through my father’s head right now, having to break the news that we’re still not coming home. He’s probably feeling the same guilt I am.
“Answering machine,” my dad says after a moment. He looks almost relieved. Then, he covers the phone with his hand. “Should I . . . ?”
He trails off as the tinny beep of the answering machine sounds in his ear. His mouth works soundlessly as he tries to figure out what to say.
“Beth, this is—,” he stammers, running his free hand through his hair. “It’s Malcolm. I don’t know where to begin—this answering machine may not be the best place—but, I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m sorry and I miss you terribly.”
My dad looks up at me, his eyes watery. “Our son is with me. He—I promise to keep him safe. One day, if you’ll let me, I’ll explain everything to you. I love you.”
He holds the phone out to me with a shaky hand. I take it.
“Mom?” I begin, trying not to overthink what I’m about to say, just letting it go. “I—I finally found Dad. Or he found me. We’re doing something amazing, Mom. Something to keep the world safe that, uh, isn’t dangerous at all, I promise. I love you. We’ll be home soon.”
I hang up the phone, staring down at it for a moment before looking up at my father. His eyes are still shining as he reaches out and pats me on the knee.
“That was good,” he says.
“I hope it was all true,” I reply.
“Me too.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEW DAY’S FIRST RAYS OF LIGHT SLIP between the buildings, beating back the cool night air, turning Chicago’s sky first purple and then pink. From the roof of the John Hancock Center, I watch the sun slowly rise over Lake Michigan.
It’s the third night in a row I’ve come up here, unable to sleep.
We made it back to Chicago a few days ago, the first half of the journey in a stolen government van, the second onboard a freight train. It’s pretty easy to sneak across the country when one of your companions can turn invisible and another can teleport.
I walk across the rooftop, peering over its edge as Chicago starts coming to life. The streets, the arteries of the city, are soon pumped full of bumper-to-bumper traffic and commuters hustling across the sidewalks. I shake my head as I look down at them.
“They’ve got no idea what’s coming.”
Bernie Kosar ambles over to me in beagle form. He stretches, yawns and then nuzzles my hand.
I should feel happy to be alive. We battled Setrákus Ra in New Mexico and didn’t suffer any casualties. What’s left of the Garde—with the exception of the still missing Number Five—are all downstairs, safe and sound, mostly recovered from their injuries. And Sarah, she’s down there, too. I saved her.
I look down at my hands. Back in New Mexico, they were covered with blood. Ella’s blood and Sarah’s blood.
“They’re so close to their world ending and they don’t even know it.”
Bernie Kosar transforms into a sparrow, flies out over the gap between the John Hancock Center and the nearest building, and finally lands on my shoulder.
I’m looking at the humans down below, but really I’m thinking about the Garde. Everyone’s just been chilling out since we came to Nine’s tricked-out penthouse. A little rest and recuperation was definitely in order; I just hope they haven’t forgotten how close to ultimate defeat we came back in New Mexico, because it’s all I can think about.
If Ella hadn’t somehow wounded Setrákus and that explosion in another part of the base hadn’t driven off the rest of the Mogs, I’m not sure we would’ve made it out. If I hadn’t developed a healing Legacy, Sarah and Ella would have died for sure. I can’t get the image of their burned faces out of my mind.
We’ll never get that lucky again. If we go in unprepared the next time we face Setrákus Ra, we won’t all survive.
By the time I come down from the roof, most of the others have woken up.
Marina’s in the kitchen, using her telekinesis to whisk a bowl of eggs and milk while simultaneously wiping some smudges from what used to be a spotless tile countertop. Since the seven of us (and BK) moved in, we haven’t exactly taken the best care of Nine’s fancy apartment.
Marina waves when she sees me. “Good morning. Eggs?”
“Morning. Didn’t you cook last night? Someone else should take a turn.”
“I really don’t mind,” Marina says. She cheerfully pulls a smoothie blender down from a shelf. “I still can’t believe this place. I’m kinda jealous Nine got to live here for so long. It’s so different from what I’m used to. Is it weird that I just want to try everything out?”
“That’s not weird at all.” I help her finish wiping down the counter. “As long as we’re staying here, we should at least start taking turns cooking and cleaning.”