Chapter 17
AS I BURST THROUGH THE BURNING DOOR AND land on the melting
brown carpet of the living room, several things race through my mind. Sam.
Henri’s letter. The Chest. Henri’s ashes. I engulf myself purposefully in
flames in order to move easily from room to room. “Sam?” I yell. “Where
are you, Sam?”
Past the living room, I see that the entire back wall of the
house is burning. The house could collapse in a matter of a
minute. I dart into the bedrooms calling Sam’s name. The
bathroom door explodes with my kick. I check the kitchen,
the dining room; and just when I’m about to try the living
room again, I look out the window and see the Chest and a
pile of our belongings, including the laptop, the coffee can
of Henri’s ashes, and the unopened letter, on the lip of the
pool. Something small bobs in the middle of the water; it’s
Sam’s head. He sees me and waves his arms.
I crash through the window and knock over the grill. I dive
into the pool, the flames surrounding me hissing into gray
and black smoke. “You okay?”
“I, I think so,” he says. We pull ourselves out of the water
and stand over everything Sam was able to save.
“What happened?”
“Dude, they’re here. They’re totally here. The
Mogadorians.” The moment he says these words I feel sick
to my stomach. My jaw quivers. Then Sam says, “I saw
them in the front window and then, boom, the house is on
fire. I grabbed what I could… .”
There’s movement on the roof. Between fissures of rising
flames, I see a huge Mogadorian scout in a black trench
coat, hat, and sunglasses marching down the decline, his
feet sinking into the soft tiles with every step. He carries a
long gleaming sword.
I kneel and grab ahold of the Chest’s lock, and it yields
under my glowing grip. Brushing aside the crystals at the
bottom of the Chest, I pick up the dagger with the diamond
blade. Flames dancing from the house reflect in its sharp
edge. To my surprise, the handle extends and wraps itself
around my entire right hand. “Get back,” I say to Sam.
The scout reaches the metal eave of the collapsing roof,
and he drops onto the patio below, his feet cracking the
concrete when he lands. He slices the sword in the air in
front of him and it leaves a glowing trail. I control my breath
and go over the last week of training in my mind.
The moment my feet push me forward, the scout roars
and rushes at me with his trench coat billowing behind him.
I see myself in his sunglasses the second before his sword
swings across my body. I lean back far enough for him to
miss me; but when I right myself, I enter the glowing trail the
sword left behind. Pain attaches itself to my neck and
travels to my waist. I’m knocked backwards and into the
pool.
When my head surfaces I see Sam squaring off with the
scout. His bare hands are up and out; he bobs his
shoulders left and right. The scout laughs and drops his
sword to the concrete, and he then mimics Sam’s fighting
stance. Before I can heave myself out of the pool to help,
Sam drops his weight onto his left foot and circles his right
behind him. His sopping right shoe comes back around
and connects with the scout’s face with a force that
staggers him back several feet.
The dazed scout picks up his gleaming sword. I’m up out
of the pool before he can reach Sam, and I lift my dagger to
block the plummeting sword. The blades meet, and there is
a ball of light so bright I can’t see for an instant. When the
light fades, the scout’s sword breaks at the exact spot my
dagger collided with it. Not wasting the moment of surprise,
I plunge the blade of my dagger into his chest and rip it
downward. He turns to ash and it covers my feet.
The house finally collapses—beams of wood crack in
different directions, windows pop and explode from the
walls—the roof flattening over it all like a book with a
broken spine. A storm cloud appears overhead and a
lightning bolt slices through the sky, landing just on the other
side of the house.
“We have to get to Six!” Sam shouts. He’s right; the
proximity of the lightning can only mean she’s in the middle
of a battle. Or finishing one. With my one free hand, I heft
the Chest up and over the backyard’s brick wall after
making sure the coast is clear. Sam tosses the rest up to
me and I then pull him to the wall’s cement top. We jump
and roll on the moist grass beyond the wall. Securing
everything behind a thick bush, we run around to the front
yard.
In the middle of the driveway, just feet from our SUV, Six
has a scout in a headlock, the muscles in her arms pulsing
in the squeeze. Two more scouts are approaching. One
aims a long, cylindrical tube right at me and a green light
blasts me backwards. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I roll into
the high grass and feel the heat from the house.
When I’m able to open my eyes, I see the scout with the
tube standing above me. I slowly regain some feeling in my
arms and legs; my breathing returns to normal. The handle
of the dagger still encases my right hand. The scout adjusts
a knob on the tube, perhaps going from stun to kill, and then
he steps on my right wrist. I try swinging my legs up and
over me, but they don’t react the way I want them to, still
sluggish from the paralyzing blast I just endured. The barrel
of the tube is set between my eyes, and I think about the
gun Six turned on the drunk man just an hour ago. This is it,
I think. The Mogadorians’ mission is a success. Number
Four, check. On to Number Five.
I watch hundreds of lights in the tube spark to life, swirling
until they become one; just as he puts his finger on the
trigger, Bernie Kosar clamps down on his thigh. The scout
wobbles above me for a second before his head is
separated from his body by a bolt of lightning. It rolls in the
grass right next to mine; our noses touch before the head
crumbles into a pile of ash, and I do everything I can not to
breathe it in. The body above me falls over and covers my
jeans with ash.
“Get up already,” Six yells, suddenly in the exact spot the
scout had been.
Sam appears above me, too, his face stern and dirty.
“We have to leave right now, John.”
The sound of sirens pierces the night. A mile away,
maybe less. Bernie Kosar licks my left temple and
whimpers.
“What about the third one?” I whisper.
Six looks over at Sam and nods. “I got a hold of his
sword and used it against him. Best moment of my life,” he
says.
I’m draped over Six’s shoulder, and she dumps me into
the backseat of the SUV. Bernie Kosar settles himself on
my shins and licks my lifeless right hand. Sam takes the
keys and gets behind the wheel while Six retrieves our stuff.
As soon as we’re on the highway and I no longer hear
sirens, I’m able to relax and concentrate on my right hand.
The dagger’s handle transforms and retreats from my
knuckles and wrist. I drop the dagger in the foot well.
Fifteen minutes later, Six tells Sam to pull over, and we
screech into the lit parking lot of a closed diner. She jumps
out before the car has come to a complete stop, leaving the
door open.
“Help me,” she orders.
“Six, I don’t want to be a dick right now, but I can’t really
move my arms and legs.”
“Dude, just really try. We have to get them off our tail,”
she says. “If we don’t, then you’re dead. Think about it.”
I struggle into a seated position and feel blood circulate
to my legs. I climb out of the car and waver there in my
burned clothes, having no idea what she needs help with.
“Find the bug,” she says. “Sam, keep the car running.”
“Roger,” he says.
“Find the what?” I ask.
“They use bugs to track vehicles. Trust me. They did it
with me and Katarina.”
“What does it look like?”
“I have no idea. But time is short, so look fast.”
I almost want to laugh. There isn’t a single thing in the
world I think I could do fast right now. But nonetheless, Six
goes racing around the SUV while I slowly drop to a knee
and manage to crawl beneath it, flashing my hands on its
undercarriage. Bernie Kosar gets to sniffing, starting at the
bumper and moving his way forward. I spot it almost
immediately, a small circular object no bigger than a
quarter stuck to the plastic cover of the gas tank.
“Got it,” I yell, plucking it off. I pull myself out and hand the
device to Six while remaining on my back. She briefly
studies it, then drops it in her pocket.
“Aren’t you going to destroy it?”
“No,” she answers. “Check again. We have to make sure
there isn’t a second, or a third.”
I crawl back under with my hands blazing, scooting from
the back of the SUV to the front. I don’t see anything.
“You’re sure?” she asks when I stand.
“Yes.”
We get back in and speed away. It’s two o’clock in the
morning, and Sam heads west. With Six’s instructions, he
keeps the SUV between eighty-five and ninety, and I can’t
help but worry about police. After thirty miles, he jumps onto
an interstate and drives south.
“We’re almost there,” she says. Two miles later she tells
Sam to get off the interstate. “Stop! Right here, stop!” Sam
slams the brakes beside an idling semi whose owner is
pumping gas. Six goes invisible and steps out, leaving the
door ajar.
“What’s she doing?” Sam asks.
“I don’t know.”
After a few seconds the open door slams shut. Six
reappears and tells Sam to get us back onto the highway,
this time heading north. She’s relaxed a bit, no longer
holding a white-knuckled grip on the dashboard.
“Are you really going to make me ask what you just did?”
I say.
She glances over. “That truck was on its way to Miami. I
stuck the tracking device on the underside of its trailer.
Hopefully they’ll lose a few hours trailing him south while we
drive north.”
I shake my head. “Should be an interesting night for that
trucker.”
Once we’re past the Ocala exits, Six tells Sam to get off
and park behind a strip mall a few minutes from the
interstate.
“We sleep here tonight,” Six says. “Actually, we’ll take
turns sleeping.”
Sam opens his door and turns his body sideways to
dangle his feet out of the SUV. “Um, guys? I probably
should have mentioned this earlier, but well, I got cut pretty
bad back there and it’s really starting to hurt and I think I’m
about to pass out.”
“What?” I scramble out of the vehicle and stand in front of
him. He pulls up the dirty right leg of his jeans to reveal a
wound above the knee that’s slightly smaller than a credit
card, though probably an inch deep. Dried and fresh blood
cover his knee and shin.
“Good lord, Sam,” I say. “When did that happen?”
“Right before I got ahold of that Mog’s sword. I kind of
pulled it out of my leg.”
“All right, come on, get out of the car,” I say. “Get on the
ground.”
Six shoves her head under Sam’s armpit and helps him
to the ground.
I open the back and retrieve the healing stone from the
Chest. “Better hold on to something, man. This might …
sting.” Six offers her hand, and he takes it. The second I
press the stone to his wound he writhes in agony as every
muscle tightens. It seems like he’s going to pass out. The
skin around his wound turns white, then black, then to the
bright red color of blood; and I immediately regret
attempting to use the stone on a human. Did Henri ever say
it won’t work on them? I’m trying to remember as Sam lets
out a long-winded groan that empties him of air. The outer
edge of the wound seals inward and then disappears
altogether. Sam relaxes his grip on Six’s hand, and he
slowly regains his breath. After a minute he’s able to sit up.
“Man, do I ever want to be an alien,” he finally says. “You
guys get to do way too many cool things.”
“You had me worried there for a second, buddy,” I say.
“Wasn’t sure if it would work on you since some of the other
stuff from the Chest doesn’t.”
“Me either,” Six adds. She leans over and kisses him on
his dirty cheek. Sam lies back down and sighs. Six laughs
and rubs her hand over his head of stubble, and I’m
surprised by how much jealousy bubbles inside me.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” I ask.
“I want to stay right here,” he says. “Forever.”
“You know what? We were pretty lucky we were out on
that walk,” Six says after we settle back into the SUV.
“You’re right,” I say.
Sam places his right cheek on his headrest so he can
look at both of us. “Why were you guys out walking in the
first place?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Neither could Six,” I answer, which
technically is the truth, but it doesn’t take away the guilt. I
know that Sarah is the girl for me, but I can’t seem to stop
these new feelings I have.
Six sighs. “You know what this means, right?”
“What?”
“They’ve probably opened my Chest.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“No, I don’t. But after I grabbed that rock from your Chest
and it started pulsing and hurting my hand, I haven’t been
able to shake the feeling I got from it. And it just now came
to me that it probably has something to do with my Chest.”
“They’ve had your Chest for three years now,” I say. “So
you think it’s possible for them to open the Chests without
us, without us being dead?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? But I have this feeling
that they got into mine and that when I touched that stone it
somehow led the scouts to our house.”
“Why send so few?” Sam asks between yawns. “I mean,
why not wait for reinforcements before attacking?”
“Maybe they got scared and panicked?” Six offers.
“Maybe one of them wanted to be the hero,” I say.
Six rolls down her window and listens. When she’s
satisfied, she says, “Regardless. Next time there will be
more of them. Pikens and krauls and whatever else they
can throw at us.”
“You’re probably right,” Sam whispers. He’s drifting off.
“I’ll tell you one thing. This being on the run is really wearing
me down.”
“Try doing it for eleven years,” I say.
“I think I’m a little homesick,” he mumbles.
I lean forward and see that in his lap he’s holding his
father’s old glasses, the ones with the thick lenses he used
to wear in Paradise.
“It’s not too late to go back, Sam. You know that, right?”
He frowns. “I’m not going back.” It’s with far less
conviction this time around than when he had first said it in
the North Carolina motel. “Not until I find my dad. Or until I at
least learn what happened to him.”
His dad? Six mouths to me, confused.
Later, I mouth back.
“Fair enough,” I say. “We’ll figure it out eventually.” I turn
back to Six. “So, where do we head tomorrow morning?”
“Now that it seems they opened my Chest, I guess we’ll
see where the wind carries us. It hasn’t let me down yet,”
she says in a wistful sort of tone, then glances over at me.
“Did you know that if it wasn’t for the wind and my need for
caffeine one night in Pennsylvania, the night before the
attack in Paradise, I’d have never gotten there in time?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I was drifting through the Midwest, sensing you guys
were in Ohio or in West Virginia or Pennsylvania after I
found some news online of what I thought was probably the
handiwork of Mogs in Athens near that college; but after a
few weeks of coming up empty, I was certain I’d lost your
trail. I figured you guys had taken off for California or
Canada by that point. So there I was, standing in the
parking lot of this strip mall, tired and lost, practically broke,
when this huge gust of wind ripped past me and blew open
the door to a coffee shop on my left. I thought I would refuel
and get back out there and figure something out, but in the
corner of the shop was an open computer for customers. I
bought a large coffee and started searching the internet.
Sure enough, I found an article about the house on fire that
you jumped out of.”
I’m embarrassed to know how easy it was to find me. No
wonder Henri wanted to keep me home or at school all the
time.
“If it wasn’t for that gust of wind opening that door, I would
have probably ended up in a diner instead, sipping coffee
until daylight. I wrote down all the information I could find on
you guys and then I ran down the street looking for an allnight
copy place. That’s when I sent the fax and the letter
with my number, to try to warn you guys or, at the very least,
to tip you off so you could brace yourselves until I got there.
And I arrived just in the nick of time.”
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