We fly into the night, leaving the quaint cabin and its secret tunnels behind.
News trickles in from around the world. Some cities have already fallen as a result of the warships opening fire. Others are holding strong, fighting a protracted cat-and-mouse game against the Mog ground troops, staying one step ahead of warship bombardment. Some armies have pulled back, waiting to launch a counterstrike.
They’re waiting for our help.
“One coordinated assault using the cloaking technology you’ve provided,” Lawson says, once again going over the details. His satellite phone has been buzzing nonstop since we picked up him and the others. “All our allies—England, China, Germany, India, every country with any military capability—we strike back simultaneously, before they realize we’ve cracked their shields. We throw everything we’ve got at them while we’ve still got the element of surprise.”
“And while that happens, we hit West Virginia,” John says. “We take out Setrákus Ra and destroy what he’s built there.”
John looks terrible. The wounds that he suffered at the hands of Phiri Dun-Ra have healed up with the exception of the cuts ringing his neck, but his pallor is still dramatic, the bags under his eyes now deep purple. With all of us crammed into this little ship, John is one of the few people who sits. He looks like he needs it. While he goes over the plan with Lawson, Marina stitches up the deepest of the gashes in his neck. He winces a few times. We didn’t think to bring one of the surviving army medics on board with us. It’s been a while since we couldn’t just heal an injury.
“You know . . . ,” Lawson says thoughtfully, eyeing Sam. “If this young man can talk to machines, he should be able to communicate with the enemy warships. We could use him to bring down their shields.”
Sam’s eyes widen a fraction. “I . . . I’d have to be really close,” he says, trying to be helpful. “And I’m not sure how long it lasts exactly—”
“Like hell you’re going to use him,” I say, interrupting. “Sam’s the only one who’s been able to copy the signal, and you’re talking about flying him into twenty different war zones so he can shout at their ships? Hasn’t he done enough already?”
Lawson stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “It was only a thought. Admittedly, the risk seems greater than the reward.”
“We stick with the plan,” John says. Sam gives me a relieved look. I keep glaring at Lawson.
“If this fails . . . ,” Lawson begins.
“It won’t,” John insists.
“If it does, I can’t speak for every country in the world, but it will be America’s position that if the enemy is unbeatable, we focus on saving lives.”
“You’re talking about surrender,” I say.
Lawson’s lips form a tight line. “Cutting our losses,” he replies. “Living to fight another day. Preserving the maximum number of lives possible.”
John and I exchange a look. If our counterattack fails, we probably won’t be alive to see what comes next anyway. What Lawson does in that bleak future doesn’t much matter.
“Do what you have to do,” John says.
We drop Lawson in an open field outside of Pittsburgh. There’s a military convoy waiting for him, replacements for the squads that died at Patience Creek. The headlights of their Humvees are the only illumination out here. A cool breeze blows across the field, swaying the overgrown grass. Our group—Loric, human Garde, friends, survivors—stand outside of Lexa’s ship. Gradually, the humans begin to drift towards the convoy, the scientists and the handful of surviving soldiers limping that way. Wherever they end up next, it’ll surely be safer than staying with us.
“I’ve got teams standing by at the coordinates you gave me, guarding those alien rocks of yours,” Lawson says. “They’re waiting on you. Once they’re armed, we’ll begin our attack.”
“We’re on it,” John replies.
“How exactly are Earth’s armies planning to take down the warships?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
“Every country’s a little different,” Lawson replies grimly. “From what I’ve heard, China and some others are planning to go nuclear. Most of the EU doesn’t want to risk the fallout, so they’re going with missile bombardment. The hope is that these big hulks of theirs can’t absorb much damage once you’re through the force field.”
“And America?” John asks.
Lawson smiles. “At my suggestion, we’re taking a page out of your book, John. Flying the biggest personnel carriers we’ve got right down their throats, boarding those ships and gunning down every goddamn alien we see.”
“I like it,” I say.
Lawson nods. He hooks his thumbs through his belt loops and looks us over. Then he nods to himself, like he’s satisfied we’re his best chance. Or resigned to the fact. Hard to say.
“I suppose that’s it,” the general says. “See you all on the other side.”
With that he walks across the field towards the convoy. Caleb, whose twin brother apparently never really existed, moves to follow after him.
“Caleb, wait,” John says.
With a nervous glance at Lawson, Caleb stops midstride and turns back to face the rest of us. He stands next to Nigel and Ran. The Japanese girl is unreadable as usual. Nigel, on the other hand, looks shaken up. All the bluster from before is gone. His ragged Misfits T-shirt still bears the bloodstains from Patience Creek. Even though Marina healed his wounds, this latest taste of combat left more than physical marks on the Brit. Daniela stands next to those two, watching over them. I’m not sure exactly what happened inside Patience Creek, but it seems like the hard city girl has developed some protective feelings for the two other human Garde.
“Our planet’s Elders sent us to Earth to keep us safe, so that we’d one day be ready to fight back and avenge our planet,” John says, addressing the humans. “Today is that day. Where we’re going next, it isn’t a battle that you’re ready for. We’ve trained our whole lives for it. Your training is just beginning. Your day will come.”
Daniela opens her mouth to protest. I catch her eye and subtly shake my head, shooting a look towards Nigel and Ran. She gets the message and stays quiet.
“Win or lose, tomorrow, your world will be a changed place. It’s going to need protectors. Eventually, you’ll need to step up.” John glances at Sam, who stands nearby and manages a smile. “For now, though, I think the future protectors need protecting. We all had charms burned into our ankles that would keep us safe, at least for a time. We can’t do that for you guys, but we can give you something else. . . .”
I’m not sure what John’s talking about until Regal, our hawk-shaped Chimæra, lands on Caleb’s shoulder. The boy jumps, settling down only when it’s clear the bird’s talons won’t pierce him. Regal spreads out his wings and ruffles Caleb’s hair.
Bandit, the raccoon, scratches at Nigel’s leg with his black paws until the Brit is forced to pick him up. Gamera, trundling across the grass in turtle form, ends up staring up at Ran. She bends down to run one finger over his scaly forehead, and, for the first time, I see her crack a smile.
“His name is Gamera,” Malcolm says to Ran. “I named him after a favorite old monster of mine.”
Ran stares blankly at Malcolm.
“He fought Godzilla,” he explains further.
At the very least she must understand “Godzilla,” because Ran rolls her eyes and goes back to stroking the turtle.
The golden retriever Chimæra, Biscuit, the one that Sarah was especially fond of, ambles over to Daniela, happily wagging her tail when Daniela starts to scratch behind her ears. I notice a flicker of something on John’s face; it’s hard to say exactly what in the near darkness, but he seems pleased.
And finally, with impossible agility for a feline of his girth, Stanley leaps into Sam’s arms. He laughs, and, at the sound, a tightness in my chest eases. I’d been so terrified that something horrible had befallen Sam at Patience Creek and that we were going to be apart when it happened
—just like John and Sarah. Only now am I finally able to relax a bit.
“All right, Stanley, all right,” Sam says, holding the heavy, purring cat in his arms. “We can make it official.”
Nine scowls. “You need to rename that stupid cat.”
“These Chimærae will be your protectors until you’ve come to fully grasp your Legacies,” John continues, glancing at Bernie Kosar, who, in beagle-form, sits quietly at his feet. “And then they will be your most valuable allies. One day, hopefully, we’ll be able to help you more, train you like our Cêpans trained us. . . .”
Five, standing off to the side of everyone, chuckles darkly at that. Everyone looks in his direction, Marina’s glare particularly icy, and he edges farther away in response.
“But until that day . . . ,” John continues, and then trails off. He doesn’t know what to say. Or maybe he doesn’t think that day will ever come.
“Kick some ass and do Earth proud,” Nine finishes for him.
After that, Caleb, Nigel and Ran say their good-byes and join Lawson’s convoy. Daniela lingers a little longer. She gives me a big hug, then turns to John and Sam.
“You know, I’m definitely badass enough to help you guys out,” she says. She jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the other humans. “But someone needs to watch out for them.”
John nods, smiling tiredly. “Take care, Daniela.”
“Don’t die,” she responds, then joins the others.
Sam strokes Stanley’s head, an eyebrow raised at John. “I know you’re not expecting me to leave with them.”
“No,” John replies with a shake of his head. “You’re stuck with us.”
Malcolm crosses his arms, looking at Sam. “I’m coming as well. Your mom would kill me if I let you face the end of the world without some form of supervision.”
I slip my arm around Sam’s waist and rest my head on his shoulder. “Seriously,” I say, scolding him. “Call your mom.”
Agent Walker is the last one to join the convoy. She stands in front of our group awkwardly, looking from me to John to Nine. Finally, she sighs.
“I just want to say . . .” She hesitates. “I want to say thank-you. For giving me a chance to fix some of the damage I caused. For . . .” She shakes her head and waves her hands. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Nine says.
“Take care of those kids, Walker,” John replies. “They need someone to watch out for them. Someone who doesn’t want to just use them for their powers. That could be you.”
Walker nods, turns and heads towards the headlights of the convoy. Soon those headlights become taillights, and then we’re alone in the dark field.
Me and Sam. Malcolm and Lexa. John and Bernie Kosar. Nine. Marina and Ella. Five. I’m the one to break the silence.
“Let’s go win this war.”
Yet again Lexa flies us north to Niagara Falls. The ride is quiet and somber, everyone too tired, or too much in their own head, to say much. John falls asleep for what must be the first time in days, Marina next to him, her eyes drawn to the wound on his neck that defies her healing ability. Five chooses not to ride in the ship but rather fly alongside it, a decision I think everyone is grateful for.
Sam and Malcolm use the time to call Sam’s mom. It’s a tearful conversation, one that I try not to eavesdrop on. Across the aisle from me, Nine catches my eye.
“Must be nice to have people to say good-bye to, huh?” he says quietly.
I frown. “Nobody’s saying good-bye to anyone, Nine.”
“Come on, Six. You really think that’s true?”
When we reach Niagara Falls, Adam and Rex have just finished preparing our deliveries. The two Mogs have packed heavy-duty backpacks—courtesy of the Canadians—with cloaking devices picked clean from our stolen warship’s Skimmers. Into those packs we divide the cell phones and gadgets that Sam has talked into copying the cloaking devices signals.
Nine eyeballs Rex. “If I double-check these bags, am I going to discover you, like, sabotaged some of the merchandise?”
Rex runs a hand through his short black hair, uncertain how to respond. Adam steps forward.
“Enough already, Nine,” he says. “Rex is solid. We can trust him.”
“All this, it feels like throwing pebbles at a god,” Rex says quietly, surveying the backpacks. “I only hope it’s enough to make Beloved Leader fall. That . . . that would be something to see.”
“Well, at least he’s optimistic,” Nine says dryly.
All told, each pack has roughly thirty cloaking devices. One pack per war zone.
“Will it be enough?” Marina asks.
“It has to be,” John replies.
Ella directs traffic. She knows the locations of the Loralite stones, the new outcroppings that have blossomed from the earth since we released the Entity. According to Lawson, there should be people waiting at each spot to take our deliveries. From there it’s up to them how they use the cloaking devices. I hope they’ve got solid plans.
“You just need to picture the place you’re going,” Ella explains as we stand in a semicircle around the Niagara Falls stone, the dull-blue glow it emits the only light. “If you have trouble, I can help . . . put an image in your mind. When I was bonded with Legacy, I saw all the stones simultaneously, so I know what their surroundings look like.”
“That’s good,” Sam says, glancing down at the list of locations. “Lion’s Head is a place and not a, uh, actual lion’s head, right?”
Ella looks up at him. “I’ll help you, Sam. Don’t worry.”
Nine raises his hand. “If we do picture an actual lion’s head . . .”
“No,” Ella finishes his thought. “You will not teleport onto a lion.”
I allow myself a brittle smile. They’re joking around; in the face of everything that’s happened, they can still do that.
“Let’s get this done,” John says briskly.
We break up into teams of two to make the deliveries. Nine and Marina. Me and Sam. Since no one wants to pair up with Five and no one wants to be left behind with him, John agrees to go with him. The rest of our group stays behind. Adam and Rex take Malcolm onto the warship to show him some of the controls, hoping that he can help pilot the massive thing when our attack on West Virginia comes.
“Ready?” Sam asks.
“Ready,” I reply, and, holding hands, the backpack of cloaking devices slung over Sam’s shoulder, we touch the Loralite stone and focus on a mental image that Ella telepathically sends to us.
A warm glow of energy washes over us, and a second later we’re both shielding our eyes. It’s early morning in South Africa, and we’re standing on the summit of Lion’s Head mountain. There are man-made cobbles set up here that intersect with manicured gardens—a place for tourists to take pictures. The Loralite stone juts up from right beneath them, cracking the cobbles and displacing the plants. The view here is breathtaking and dizzying. We’re level with the clouds. If I turn to my left, I see crystal-blue ocean, the sun streaking golden across the waves. If I turn to my right, I see the crowded white buildings of Cape Town.
The scene would be peaceful if not for the helicopter idling just a few yards away. Its rotors make a steady whup-whup-whup, trampling over the quiet morning. There’s a group of camouflaged soldiers standing watch nearby. When we appear from thin air, a few of them jump, and a couple point their assault rifles in our direction. Most of them are completely unperturbed. I guess you get used to crazy things happening during an alien invasion.
Two of the soldiers jog over to us and grab the backpack from Sam. They don’t say anything to us, and we don’t say anything to them. Soon they’ve all piled into the helicopter and are off to bring down the nearest warship. Johannesburg, I think.
“I mean, a thank-you would’ve been nice,” Sam complains.
I shrug it off and turn to take in the view. It’s beautiful enough to make me forget, for all of five seconds, just what we’re doing here and the daunt
ing odds we’re up against.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to see the world,” I say.
“You mean in a context when you’re not running for your life or fighting an alien warlord.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sly smile. “I believe you earthlings refer to them as vacations.”
Sam sidles up next to me, and together we gaze out at the ocean.
“Maybe when . . .” He starts to say something, then trails off.
I look over at him. “Maybe when . . . ?”
Sam’s eyes search for his sneakers. “I was going to say that maybe when this is over we could take one of those vacations. I shouldn’t talk like that. Making plans. I mean, with everything that’s happened. Eight, Sarah, Mark . . .” Sam shakes his head. “I still can’t believe it, you know? Can’t even wrap my head around it. These people I grew up with, that I’ve known my entire life. Jeez, the entire world. It’s all turned upside down. We’re probably going to die in a few hours. And I’m thinking about vacations. It feels wrong.”
I run my hand up the back of Sam’s neck, tangle my fingers in his hair and give it a yank. “Nobody’s dying, Sam.”
“Ow. Everybody’s dying, Six. I mean . . . like, everywhere.”
“We’re going to make it,” I say, pulling his face close. “And if you think you’re about to die, Sam, I want you to remember this moment. Remember that we’re fighting for this, for the future. Our future.”
Sam breathes in deeply. “Okay. Okay, you’re right.” He glances over his shoulder at the glowing Loralite stone waiting to take us back to Niagara Falls and then on to our next delivery. “We should get going.”
I tilt my head back and take a deep breath of air—crisp and cool at this height, with just a little tang of ocean.
“One minute,” I say, interlocking my fingers with his. “One minute to look at the world.”
And so we stand there for one minute. Take it all in.
We do the same thing when we teleport into the rolling sands of the Sahara, the air dry and blistering, the outcropping of Loralite like a glowing oasis.