Before long, I spot Adam’s lantern bobbing through the jungle. He’s moving purposely slow, waiting for me to catch up to him. He doesn’t hear me coming. When I slip my hand into his, in the moment before I turn him invisible, I hear his breath catch and shoulders tense.
“Scare you?” I whisper to him. I pluck the lantern out of his other hand with my telekinesis, going through the same routine that I did with my own.
“Surprised me, that’s all,” he replies quietly. “Let’s go.”
We start picking our way through the jungle towards where Marina should be. I’m careful not to go too fast at first, but Adam has good balance and seems to be keeping up just fine. His hand is surprisingly cool and dry despite the humid jungle air—he’s steady, this whole situation isn’t weird to him at all. I can’t help but breathe out a little laugh.
“What?” he asks me, his voice a whisper in the darkness.
“Just never imagined reaching a point in my life where I’d be holding hands with a Mogadorian,” I reply.
“We’re allies,” Adam responds. “It’s for the mission.”
“Yeah, thanks for clearing that up. Still, it isn’t weird for you?”
Adam pauses. “Not really.”
Adam doesn’t say anything more. I remember something he said back on the flight to the Sanctuary.
“Who do I remind you of?” I ask him as we carefully climb over a fallen log.
“What?”
“Back in the Skimmer, you said I reminded you of someone.”
“You want to talk about that now?” he whispers back.
“I’m curious,” I reply, keeping an eye out for the telltale glow of Marina’s lantern. We don’t see it yet.
Adam is quiet for long enough that I start to think he’s just done talking, like his silence is a reprimand for not staying on mission. I’m about to tell him that I can successfully track one Mogadorian while also carrying on small talk, thank you very much, when he finally answers me.
“Number One,” he says. “That’s who you remind me of.”
“One? The Garde you took your Legacies from?”
His hand tenses up in mine, like he has to stop himself from yanking away.
“She gave her Legacy to me,” Adam snaps. “I didn’t take anything.”
“All right,” I reply. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. I didn’t realize that you actually got to know her.”
“We had a . . . complex relationship.”
“Like, you were in charge of the Mogs stalking her or something?”
Adam sighs. “No. After she was killed, One’s consciousness was implanted in my brain alongside my own. For a while, basically, we shared a body. I guess that’s why I’m not concerned with holding hands or whatever juvenile thing has been making you uncomfortable for the last five minutes. I’ve been really, really close to Garde before.”
Now it’s my turn to fall silent. I never even met Number One. She remains a complete mystery to me, more like a concept. The unlucky one. First up to bat. The first one to get killed. And yet Adam has all this intimate knowledge of her. It’s weird to think that a Mogadorian has given more thought to Number One than I ever did. Not just that, but it sounds like he actually cared about her. Our world just gets stranger and stranger.
“There she is,” I whisper, sparing us any further awkward conversation as Marina’s lantern comes into view.
“Good,” Adam says, sounding relieved. “Now we follow along and wait for Phiri Dun-Ra to take the bai—”
Adam’s interrupted by cobalt-blue blaster fire sizzling through the air, aimed right for Marina’s lantern. Even with all the jungle noise, I can hear Marina scream.
“Shit! Go!”
I release Adam’s hand and sprint through the jungle, using my telekinesis to shove aside the tangled branches and dense blockades of leaves. I’m sure I pick up a few scratches along the way, but that doesn’t matter. The creature sounds around me become loud with panic as I trample through their territories. I’m distantly aware of Adam running behind me, taking advantage of the path I’m clearing.
Up ahead, I can tell that Marina’s lantern has fallen to the ground by the way it throws crooked beams of light through the twisted tree limbs.
Running full throttle, it takes me less than a minute to knife my way through the jungle. I burst into the small clearing where Marina’s lantern is on the ground, just in time to see Marina running her hand over a blaster burn on her upper arm. She glances up at me as she heals the blistered flesh.
“Plan worked,” Marina says casually.
“You’re hurt,” I reply.
“This? Lucky shot.”
I breathe a sigh of relief, then look to Marina’s left where Phiri Dun-Ra glares at us from her knees. There’s a fresh trail of blood dripping through her mess of Mog tattoos and severely pulled-back braids, probably from where Marina clocked her. Phiri’s blaster is in the dirt next to her, out of reach and crumpled beyond use by a telekinetic attack. Her hands and ankles are bound in what I quickly realize to be shackles made from solid ice. Looks like Marina’s getting pretty good with her new Legacy.
Adam arrives in the clearing a few seconds after me. Phiri Dun-Ra’s look of hatred only intensifies when he shows up.
“You got her,” Adam says, and Marina nods, even smiles a little. “You’re all right?”
“I’m good,” Marina replies. “Now what should we do with her?”
“You should kill me,” Phiri Dun-Ra growls, spitting into the dirt in front of her. “The sight of a trueborn consorting with you Loric trash so offends my eyes, I no longer wish to live.”
“Hello to you too, Phiri,” Adam says, rolling his eyes. “What did you do to my Chimæra?”
Phiri Dun-Ra’s eyes light up. “A little trick I learned from the Plum Island scientists with blaster frequencies. Did your pet die? I didn’t have time to check its body.”
“He survived. Unlike you.”
“We aren’t going to kill you—,” I start to say, but Phiri thrashes in the dirt, interrupting me.
“Because you’re cowards,” she hisses. “Do you want to rehabilitate me like this one? Make me into another Mogadorian pet? It won’t happen.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” I say, stepping closer to her. “We’re not going to kill you yet.”
“Did you search her?” Adam asks Marina.
“She was only carrying the blaster,” Marina replies. The rest of Phiri’s outfit is the standard sleek body armor of a Mog warrior. There’s no room to hide a bunch of ship parts.
“Where are the conduits?” I ask her. “Give them back and I’ll at least make your death quick.”
Marina shoots me a quick look, her eyebrows upraised. I put off answering these questions before—what do we do with a captured Mogadorian and how far do we go to get what we need? Torture. The thought gives me a chill of revulsion, especially thinking back to my time spent being one of their captives. It feels like crossing a line, like something they would do to us. It’s different from killing them in battle, when they’re fighting back and trying to kill us too. Phiri Dun-Ra is helpless, our prisoner. But one Mog prisoner is useless and we need to get the hell out of this jungle. I know we shouldn’t sink to their level, but our situation is desperate. How far will threats take us? I wonder.
“Die a slow death, Loric scum,” Phiri spits back at me.
So, she isn’t going to make this easy.
Before I can decide what to do, Adam darts past me and strikes Phiri across the face with the back of his hand. She cries out and topples over onto her side. Phiri is stunned, I realize. She wasn’t expecting the blow. Maybe she was banking on the fact that Marina and I wouldn’t have the stomach for torture. Adam, on the other hand . . .
“You forget who you’re dealing with, Phiri Dun-Ra,” Adam says through clenched teeth. He slides onto his knees in the dirt next to her and grabs her by the front of her shirt, yanking her partially upright. “Do you think because I
’ve spent time with the Garde that I’ve forgotten our ways? You know who my father was. Much to his disappointment, my marks were always highest in the non-combat-related subjects. But still . . . the General found ways to focus my training. Interrogation. Anatomy. Imagine how rigorously the General trained his heir. I remember well.”
Adam reaches one of his hands around Phiri’s head, digging his thumb into the space behind her ear. She screams out, her legs thrashing. Marina takes a step towards the two Mogs, giving me another look. I swallow hard and shake my head, stopping her.
I’m going to let this play out. Wherever it leads.
“I might not share your ideology, Phiri Dun-Ra,” Adam says, raising his voice to be heard over her screaming, “but I do share your biology. I know where your nerves are, where to hurt you best. I will spend the rest of the night picking you apart until you beg for disintegration.”
Adam releases his grip on Phiri, letting her fall back into the dirt. She’s panting, struggling to get in a deep breath.
“Or you can tell us where you hid the conduits,” Adam says calmly. “Now.”
“I’ll never—” Phiri is cut off, flinching as Adam stands up. He’s suddenly lost interest in her.
He saw the same thing I did. The way Phiri Dun-Ra’s eyes flicked towards a moss-covered log at the edge of the clearing. Adam walks over to the log while she squirms around in the dirt, trying to keep her eyes on him. On closer inspection, the log is rotten, hollowed out by termites. Adam plunges his hand inside and tugs out a small duffel bag. Phiri must have shoved the bag in there before attacking Marina.
“Aha,” he says, giving the bag a good shake. Inside, metal parts clang together. “Thanks for your help.”
Marina and I exchange a relieved look, even as Phiri screeches out her latest taunt.
“It doesn’t matter, traitor,” she says. “Nothing you do matters anymore!”
That gets my attention. I give Phiri a not-so-gentle kick in the back to make her roll over and look at me.
“What does that mean?” I ask her. “What’re you saying?”
“War came and went,” Phiri replies, laughing at me. “Earth is already ours.”
My stomach drops at the thought, but I don’t let it show. We have to get out of Mexico and see for ourselves.
“Are the parts intact?” I ask Adam.
“She’s lying to you, Six. It’s what she does,” he reassures me, maybe detecting a tremor of nervousness in my voice. He tosses down the duffel bag and crouches over it.
“What should we do with her?” Marina asks me. She focuses on Phiri Dun-Ra for a second, reinforcing the ice shackles that have begun to melt.
I’m considering my answer when Adam grunts, yanking on the zipper that appears to be stuck on something. When the zipper comes loose, something inside the duffel bag clicks, like a timer being armed.
“Watch out!” Adam screams as he shoves the bag away from him. Everything happens so fast. I see the ground rise up in front of the duffel bag and realize that Adam is using his seismic Legacy to try shielding us. With an orange flash of light and a loud pop, the bomb inside the bag detonates right in front of him. Chunks of dirt and deadly shrapnel fly through the clearing. I’m thrown to the ground from the concussion blast. I can feel fresh pain in my leg—a jagged piece of metal, probably ship parts, is lodged in my thigh.
Above the ringing in my ears, I can hear Phiri laughing hysterically.
CHAPTER
SIX
A HEAVY WEIGHT FALLS ACROSS MY LEGS, DRIVING the shrapnel sticking out of my thigh even deeper. It’s Phiri Dun-Ra. She has fresh lacerations on her face and arms, the results of her own improvised bomb. Her wrists and ankles are still bound by the ice manacles, but that hasn’t stopped her from throwing herself on top of me. I’m still stunned from the blast, so I don’t react as quickly as I should. Phiri headbutts me in the sternum as she worms her way across my body.
“Now you die, Loric trash,” she says maniacally, still giddy over the success of her booby trap.
I’m not sure what her plan is here—maybe to bite me to death or smother me with her body, but I’m not so out of sorts that either of those things is going to happen. With a quick burst of telekinesis, I swipe Phiri Dun-Ra off me. She tumbles through the dirt, rolling across glowing bits of scorched duffel bag. She tries to get herself onto her feet, screaming in frustration as her bonds get in the way.
She’s silenced when I kick her across the face as hard as I can. Phiri flops to the ground unconscious.
“Stay with me!”
It’s Marina’s voice that snaps me out of my rage or I’d probably kill Phiri right there. I spin around and see her bent over Adam.
“Is he . . . ?!”
I limp across the clearing, forgetting that there’s a six-inch piece of jagged steel protruding from my thigh. I ignore the pain. Adam’s in much worse shape than I am.
I stagger around the small hill of earth Adam was able to construct in the few seconds before the explosion. It absorbed a lot of the shrapnel, but not enough. The bomb still basically detonated right in front of him, so Adam took the brunt of the blast. He’s on his back now, Marina leaning over him, and I cringe at the amount of damage he’s taken. His entire midsection is blown open, like he’s been scooped out. He should’ve dived out of the way instead of standing there like a human shield. Stupid Mog, trying to be a hero.
Amazingly, Adam’s still conscious. He can’t speak; all the strength he can muster seems to be going into breathing. His eyes are wide and scared as he sucks in wet, rattling breaths. His hands, soaked with his blood, are curled into tight fists.
“I can do this, I can do this . . . ,” Marina repeats to herself, not hesitating at all as she lays her hands on Adam’s grisly wound. Looking over her shoulder, helpless, I realize how sadly familiar this situation must be for Marina. It’s like Eight all over again.
As Adam’s breathing becomes more and more ragged, I watch as his insides begin to knit themselves back together under Marina’s touch. And then something disturbing happens—there’s a crackle and hiss, like a fire starting, and a piece of Adam’s midsection briefly sparks before disintegrating into that familiar Mogadorian death ash.
Marina cries out in surprise, pulling her hands away.
“What the hell was that?” I ask, eyes wide.
“I don’t know!” Marina yells. “Something’s fighting me, Six. I’m afraid I’m hurting him.”
The second Marina’s healing stops, Adam’s still-open wound begins bleeding again. He’s getting pale. More pale than usual, even. His hand scrabbles through the dirt and gropes for Marina.
“Don’t . . . agh, don’t stop,” Adam manages to gurgle, and when he does I can see that there’s dark blood in his mouth. “Whatever happens . . . don’t stop.”
Steeling herself, Marina again presses down on Adam’s injury. She squeezes her eyes shut and concentrates, fresh sweat dripping down the sides of her dirt-smudged face. I’ve seen Marina heal a lot of injuries before, but this is definitely the most effort I’ve seen her expend. Adam’s body slowly begins to regenerate, until another section of his insides sparks and disintegrates, looking like the fuse of a bomb burning up inside him. When that’s over, though, the rest of him heals normally.
It takes a couple of minutes, but Marina finally gets Adam closed up. She falls backwards onto her butt, breathing like she’s just finished sprinting, her hands shaking. Adam remains on his back, running his fingers over the skin of his abdomen that minutes ago wasn’t there. Finally, he props himself up on an elbow and looks at Marina.
“Thank you,” he says, locking eyes with her, his face a mixture of amazement and gratitude.
“Don’t mention it,” Marina replies, catching her breath.
“Um, Marina . . . would you mind?” I gesture to the piece of metal still sticking out of my leg.
Marina groans from the exertion, but nods, maneuvering around so she’s on her knees in front of me. “
Do you want me to pull it out or . . . ?”
Before she can finish, I yank the jagged piece of shrapnel out of my thigh. A fresh spurt of blood trickles down my leg. The pain is bad, but Marina quickly numbs it with a blast of cold before using her healing Legacy to close me up. Compared to putting Adam back together, it takes no time at all.
When she’s finished with me, Marina immediately looks back at Adam. “What was that when I was healing you? Why was it so hard?”
“I . . . I don’t know, exactly,” Adam replies, staring into the distance.
“You started to disintegrate a little,” I say. “Like you were dying.”
“I was dying,” Adam says. “But that shouldn’t happen to me. The vatborn warriors you’ve faced turn to ash because they’re made entirely from Setrákus Ra’s genetic experimentation. Some trueborn, like me, receive modifications that would cause them to disintegrate when they die. I haven’t received anything like that, though. At least . . .”
“Not that you know of,” I finish the thought for him.
“Yeah,” Adam replies, looking down at himself like he suddenly doesn’t trust his own body. “I was in a coma for years. It’s possible my father might have done something to me. I don’t know what, though.”
“Whatever it was, I think my healing burned it out of you,” Marina says.
“I hope so,” Adam replies.
All three of us fall silent. With the medical emergencies averted, it becomes clear just how badly we’ve screwed up. I walk over to the scorched patch of dirt where Phiri Dun-Ra’s explosive went off, kicking around tattered bits of duffel bag and misshapen hunks of metal. The bag was probably filled with conduits, but I don’t find anything even slightly salvageable.
We are now totally stranded here.