John Smith.
Maybe he knows what’s going on. Maybe he knows why I can suddenly move stuff by waving my hands around.
I take a step forward, into the light coming out of his palms. It feels warm. Which had better not mean it’s got radiation or some weird alien stuff in it that’s going to make me sick one day. My eyes have to readjust again. When they do, I can make out the other figure coming up to John’s side. He’s kind of a scrawny, indie-band-looking sorta dude. Not John, though. He’s tall and buff, even though he looks younger now that he’s in front of me and not on the news.
He’s probably the most famous person in the world right now. Other than the aliens. It’s kind of weird that he’s standing there looking at me like I’m a surprise.
“You’re him,” I say, taking a few more small steps forward. “You’re the guy from TV.”
He turns off his flashlight hands and gets a weird look on his face. I can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed to see me.
“I’m John,” he says.
They ask me some questions about other people being in here with me, but I’m pretty sure they aren’t talking about any of the robbers. Both the guys look at me like I’m about to pull a knife on them or something. Then I show them that I’ve got powers too, by floating the gun from the alien I smashed against the wall over to me.
That definitely changes their expressions.
They seem surprised. Not about the powers themselves, but that I have them. I’ve seen John do some crazy stuff on TV, and he and his buddy just took down a whole squad of monsters from space plus their ship. I wonder if they know why I suddenly have telekinesis—their word for what I can do.
I try to make sense of everything as we talk. I’m a human, but I’ve got the same powers John and his friend have. Benny didn’t have them. None of the other scared people I met tonight have them. But I do. Which means that either I’m just the luckiest—or maybe unluckiest, I don’t really know yet—girl in the city, or there’s a reason I’ve been turned into a superhero. It seems like someone or something chose me specifically. I just can’t figure out why.
It’s time I got some answers.
“So, um, can I ask why you picked me?” I raise my eyebrows and look back and forth between them. The scrawny guy’s mouth just hangs open like I’ve asked him to fly me to the moon. John’s eyebrows are scrunched together.
“Picked you?” he asks.
Yeah, fool, as in why do I have alien powers?
A bunch of questions fly out of my mouth, but neither of them seems to have any idea why I’m a mutant now. So what gives? If they don’t know, then who would?
John’s got other things on his mind.
“It’s not safe here,” he says. He looks so earnest, eyes all big as he nods. “You should come with us.”
It’s not like I can just follow these guys. I still have to find Mom. Besides, if they’re out fighting aliens—Mogs, as they call them—that means joining up with them would probably put me on the front lines of this attack. I’m not exactly thrilled by this idea.
“Is it gonna be safe wherever you’re going?” I ask.
“No. Obviously not.”
“What John means is that this particular block is going to be crawling with Mogs any minute now,” the lanky one says as he starts walking away from the bank, looking really skittish. Watching him makes me start to worry, like maybe he knows something I don’t.
“Your sidekick’s nervous,” I say to John.
“My name’s Sam,” the other guy says.
“You’re a nervous guy, Sam.”
I bite the insides of my cheeks, trying to make heads or tails of what I should do. They’re right; we probably shouldn’t be hanging out where a whole squad of bad aliens just got blown away. Even though they don’t have any answers for me, they’re the closest thing I’ve got to any sort of explanation of what’s going on. And they’re obviously powerful—they took down a ship. Maybe they could actually help me get to Mom.
And there’s something about John. It’s hard to explain, but I feel drawn to him. It’s got nothing to do with his piercing eyes or cheekbones—the dude’s totally not my type. It’s something else, on a deeper level. I feel connected to him somehow. When he talks about doing good and fighting, I hear my earlier words to Jay in my head.
But when he starts talking about me helping him win some war and finding some buddy of his, I realize how far away they would take me from Mom. I don’t even know these guys. It’s not like I can trust them to help me out if I say I’ll join them.
Besides, I know it hasn’t been all that long since these Mogs appeared out of nowhere and ruined everyone’s lives, but the military is probably gearing up to take back the city right now. They’ll be flying in on jets and parachuting down into Central Park by the thousands, guns blazing.
“Seriously?” I ask. “I’m not fighting any war, John Smith from Mars. I’m trying to survive out here. This is America, yo. The army will take care of these weak-ass dust aliens. They got the drop on us, that’s all.”
John looks confused about this—I’m getting the feeling he’s not exactly someone that others say no to a lot. I’m betting some people really fall for his whole Superman routine. But before he can argue with me, there’s an explosion somewhere a few blocks away. I’m almost knocked down by it. Car alarms start going off on the street. Over the rooftops, I can see a bunch of smoke rising into the air.
My grip tightens around the Mog weapon I’ve still got in my hand. John starts in on his pitch again, trying to tell me how it’s my duty to help them and that I should go with them to Brooklyn or something. Everybody is trying to force me out of the city, but I’ll worry about a safe zone when I know I’ve done everything to find Mom. Outside, explosions keep going off. I point a finger at John. A little bit of my telekinetic energy pushes him back, which seems to shut him up.
“My stepdad got roasted by those pale scumbags and now I’m out here looking for my mom, alien guy. She worked down here. You saying I should drop all that and join your army of two, running around my city that you played a part in getting blown up? You saying the friend you’re looking for is more important than my mom?”
Another explosion outside. Sam says something, but I’ve got my eyes locked on John’s and don’t really pay attention to his friend. Then there’s movement in the sky that I catch out of my peripheral, and I turn to see the big-ass ship floating into view. Some kind of energy starts to charge up on a cannon-looking thing sticking out of the bottom of its hull.
We’re totally in its target zone.
“Hell with this,” I say and start running away from the ship. Famous alien superhero or not, I’m not going to stand around with John Smith and get blown up.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU’RE GOING?” SAM YELLS.
I glance over my shoulder. The two of them are trailing me by a few yards but catching up. What is it about me today that makes people think I’m the one in charge?
“What?” I turn my attention forward again. “You guys are following me now?”
“You know the city, don’t you?”
Goddamn alien tourists.
An explosion rocks the street somewhere behind us. I glance back to see that Sam and John are okay, but half the block is nothing but smoke, dust and debris now. The bank is gone. Just, not there anymore. This is some next-level shit. The city’s getting demolished.
I gulp down my worry and focus on moving.
“We need to get off the street!” John shouts.
Sure. No problem. I’ll just pry up a manhole cover or something.
I spot a green subway lamp a block over.
“This way!” I yell back, taking a left and cutting across the street.
The smoke and debris roll past us, and I cough through it, until we’re off the main avenue and onto a side street where the buildings block most of it. Eventually, we make it underground at one of the Bleecker Street su
bway entrances. We’re inside for only a few seconds before the whole station starts to shake. At least this stop is empty—though that’s not exactly comforting. The vibrations intensify, and I don’t waste any time hopping the turnstiles. I head for the 6 since that tunnel will take me in the right direction. I think. It’s hard to map out routes in my head while I’m afraid that the subway is going to explode around me at any second.
Tiles fall off the walls. Pieces of ceiling rain down. John and Sam follow behind me, yelling for me to go faster, deeper into the station, as if I’m not running as fast as I can already, taking an entire flight of subway stairs in just a few steps. When we finally get to the tracks, I hesitate for a second, thinking of my mom’s warnings about getting hit by a train and of electrified rails. The kind of things she’s drilled into me since I was a kid. Only I’m guessing she never imagined I’d be in a situation where a subway station was literally falling down around me because of some damn alien warship. I jump down. There’s a splash when I land. The tracks are full of liquid that rises over my shoes, and I hope to God that it’s just water. At least I guess the third rail is out because I’m not electrocuted. The boys follow behind me, and John’s flashlight hands come back on to light our way and scare a fuck-ton of rats.
“Oh, gross, gross, gross,” I repeat to myself as I keep running into the tunnel. Everything around me is shaking. It feels like the earth is going to swallow us.
And it kind of does.
There’s a crack above me. I look up just in time to see a giant piece of cement falling down on top of me. I scream, covering my head.
But I don’t die. When I look up again, my nose is a few inches away from a slab of tunnel ceiling that’s just hanging in the air. I think for a second that maybe I’m the one doing this somehow, but then I look back and see John. He’s on his knees in the gross water and it looks like he’s being crushed, muscles all straining like the weight of the world is on top of him.
“We have to hold up the ceiling!” Sam shouts. “We have to help him!”
His hands go up in the air and I see a hint of relief flash on John’s face.
I look down the tunnel. I can’t see the other end, but I know if I just keep going I’ll eventually be close to the Brooklyn Bridge. Then it’s just a little more running until I’m on Wall Street. Till I’m with Mom.
I could just go. Could leave these guys behind. Maybe they’d be okay without my help.
But a thought I’ve been trying to silence rings in my head.
You don’t know that she’s alive.
It’s true. I know it is. I just don’t want to consider it. But it’s getting harder to ignore, when there are aliens obliterating entire buildings in front of me. When I’ve seen everything that I’ve witnessed in the last few hours. And as I look back and lock eyes with Sam—his expression frantic, veins bulging in his face and neck—I know I can’t abandon these two. It’s not what Mom would want me to do.
Besides, I owe them one.
I raise my hands above my head, pushing up with my telekinesis. I can feel a little bit of give in the cement as my strength is added to theirs. The pounding in my head comes back, and I bite my lip, trying to ignore it.
John takes a few rasping breaths as he moves forward, until all three of us are standing close together. Behind him, some of the tunnel—or, more likely, the whole street above—falls with a splash.
“Walk . . . walk backwards.” Dude sounds like he’s about to pass out. “Let it go . . . slowly.”
We go one step at a time, trying to keep the tunnel reinforced with our telekinesis. It’s heavy at first, but with every move it gets worse. Almost unbearable. My arms get all wobbly. My brain feels like it’s going to explode.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I keep repeating.
John whispers some kind of encouragement, but I’m concentrating so hard on not getting crushed that I hardly hear him. I glance over at Sam, who looks like he’s having just as bad a time as me. We keep walking, little by little, letting bits of the tunnel fall when we’re a safe distance away. At some point, it actually starts to feel easier. I think my mind muscles must have suddenly bulked up before I realize that we’re just finally getting far enough into the tunnels that we’ve managed to outrun the collapse.
Finally, we can stop holding up the ceiling. When I let go, I feel sick. I’ve totally overexerted myself. I take a few shaky steps to the side of the tunnel and lean against it. The last bit of lunch in my stomach comes up, splashing in the filthy water at my feet.
John takes a few steps towards me. As shitty as I feel, he looks even worse. Sam’s by his side in a flash, struggling to hold the guy up.
“Oh man, is he dying?” I ask.
“However much ceiling we were holding, he was probably carrying four times as much,” Sam replies. “Help me with him.”
I hesitate for a moment, trying to make sure that I’m not going to collapse, before I pull John’s arm over my shoulder, the duffel bag butting up against his side. He’s sweaty and gross and I try not to grimace—or think about how gross I probably am by now too.
“He just saved my life,” I murmur.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “He does that kinda thing a lot.”
We only get a few steps farther into the tunnel before John’s flashlight hands turn off. Then he goes slack.
“Oh fuck, he’s dead,” I say.
“No,” Sam corrects me. “He’s just passed out. Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know! This morning I didn’t even know there were aliens, jeez.”
We trudge on. The tunnel is dark, but I manage to take out my phone and turn the flashlight on, which lets us see a little ways in front of us. At least the collapse must have scared off all the rats. It’s a small miracle.
John weighs a ton, and if it weren’t for our combined strength, I doubt Sam or I would be able to drag him far. But we do, somehow. We pass what I think is the Spring Street station. It’s hard to tell because the station platform is completely caved in as well. Destroyed. I don’t say anything when we pass by it, just shake my head and focus on keeping my legs moving.
“Do you have any idea where we are?” Sam asks a few minutes later.
“Uhhh . . .” I try to envision subway maps in my head. “Maybe under Little Italy? Or Chinatown? I think the Canal Street station is next.”
“Crap.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I think we were over here earlier. We were heading the other way. To Union Square.”
“Long ways from there, now.”
Sam just grunts in reply.
Eventually we come to a spot where a bunch of tunnels run side by side. There’s a train that looks like it must have stalled out or jumped off a track. Whatever happened, it’s abandoned. And dry.
“Let’s rest in there,” Sam suggests, and I don’t know that I’ve ever been so happy to get on a train before.
We lay John out on one of the benches and then just stand there catching our breath. My whole body is tense. My arms and legs shake from overuse. The drumming in my head is getting worse.
“Well,” Sam says finally. “We should probably let him rest for a little while.”
I move my phone’s flashlight to Sam’s face like I’m in some kind of cop show. He winces, raising a hand to block the light.
“I guess it’s just us,” I say, dropping my duffel bag to the floor of the train. “And I’ve got lots of questions for you, Sam the Martian.”
CHAPTER NINE
IT TURNS OUT SAM’S NOT AN ALIEN.
John Smith, though . . . he’s a different story.
“So . . . ,” I say, trying to wrap my head around everything Sam has said. “He really is a good alien.”
“I just told you everything I know about him,” Sam says. “If you’re not convinced that he hasn’t been tainted by the dark side yet, I don’t think you ever will be.”
“Why didn’t you guys tell everyone about all this sooner? Recorded s
ome better commercials maybe. Put on, like, a protest or something.”
Sam turns to me, squinting his eyes.
“Do you really think a protest would have stopped them?”
“No, but at least we woulda been prepared for this shit. We could have nuked them in space or something.”
He shakes his head. “You were listening when I said some of the government is in on this, right?”
“Damn,” I mutter. “Guess you got a point.”
We’re a few subway cars away from where we left John sleeping like a rock. Benny used to pass out that hard sometimes—though it was always from too many beers—and would be completely immovable until morning. I’m guessing John’s not waking up anytime soon either. As weak as my body feels, I can’t say I blame him.
I carry a knockoff Prada purse slung over my shoulder. Sam’s got a tote that says “Music Is My Bag” on the side. Scavenging was Sam’s idea. He said it was in case we had to make a speedy exit and didn’t have another time to loot the train, but I think he was just hungry—which, after having hurled earlier and spending most of my night running, I totally understand. Luckily for us, whatever happened to this train caused a lot of people to leave their shit behind. I’ve already found some meal bars, little hundred-calorie packs of cookies and even a few bottles of water. Not to mention a couple of phones—which is great, because my battery is dead. No luck on finding a mobile charger or something yet. Not that I’d get any signal all the way down here, even if the network was up.
“You’re heading down to Wall Street, right?” Sam asks. He’s on his hands and knees fishing a plastic bag out from under one of the seats.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s where my mom works. She waits tables. Sometimes bartends. The restaurant’s nice as hell. Lots of rich bankers.”
“That’s cool.”
“I guess.”
He stands back up and looks at me all serious-like.