Legacies Reborn (5 page)

“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 subway 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.”

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 some 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.

“Do you have any idea . . . ?”

He trails off, but I know what he's getting at.

“She called me when it all started,” I say. “Told me to go home. Then there was some kind of . . .” I struggle with the word. “Loud noise. An explosion maybe. I'm not sure. I had no idea what was going on. Didn't realize what was happening until I got home and saw your boy John on the news beating up on that big alien guy. Citrus Ramen or whatever.”

“Setrákus Ra.”

“Or
whatever
,” I repeat. “Anyway, I haven't had a signal or anything since then. I'm sure she's fine. She's tough. Well, not really. She's the nicest, most loving person ever. But she's a survivor.”

Sam looks like he wants to say something, but I'm so physically and mentally and emotionally tired that I just hold a hand up and walk away. If we keep talking about this, I'm going to break down.

“Daniela—,” Sam starts.

“Here, nerd,” I say, holding a granola bar I've just found on the ground out to him, cutting him off.

He looks at it for a second.

“Wait. Why am I a nerd? Why does everyone assume that?”

I shrug. “Just a guess. You've got that vibe coming off of you.”

He looks like he's about to protest, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes the snack. “You don't like these?”

“No,” I lie.

I stretch and yawn. Sam does too like it's contagious. I'm so exhausted that I'm wondering if I could use my newfound powers to float myself back to the car where John is.

“We should head back,” Sam says. “Get some sleep. We're no good if our energy's zapped.”

“I can't believe I'm about to sleep in a subway car.” I wonder what Mom would say.

“There's a whole other half of the train we haven't gone through. We can hit it in the morning. Then we should get aboveground and see . . .”

He doesn't finish. I don't ask what he's wondering. I've got too many questions of my own going through my head. Too many grisly images of what might be happening on the surface.

I shake my head. We start back the way we came.

“You were at the UN earlier?” I ask.

“Yeah. It was crazy.”

“How come I didn't see you fighting?”

“Hey, I was doing my best,” he says. “Besides, I didn't
have these Legacies yet. And I haven't exactly trained with guns that much.”

“Legacies?” I ask. “John used that word when we were on the street. Is that what you call the telekinesis and his light-up hands?”

“Yeah.”

I twist my lips a bit. “It's kind of a dumb name. Wait—oh shit—did someone
die
for me to get these? Did I inherit, like, alien ghost powers? That's messed up.”

“Uh, I don't think so,” Sam says. “I mean, I think they're passed down from those Elders I mentioned earlier for John and the Loric, but as far as we're concerned . . .” He shrugs.

“So you don't have any idea why we were chosen?” I ask as we step across the gap between two cars. “What's so special about us?”

He shakes his head, and I can tell that this has been on his mind.

“Man,” he says, “I've been asking myself that all day. Honestly, until we met you I thought I was the only one.” His voice gets a little quieter. “I thought maybe I was being rewarded for helping the Loric.”

“Well, I sure as hell wasn't being rewarded for anything, unless this is some kind of weirdo prize for finally getting my grades up in school.” I think about this for a second. “Guess that really doesn't matter anymore.” Harlem and the diner and my apartment seem
so far away. Was I really sulking over headphones earlier today?

“Whatever the reason, I'm going to use them.” Sam nods as he talks, like he's telling me the most important thing in the world. “Now I can finally help everyone else. I won't be stuck on the sidelines. I can protect my friends. I can protect the
planet
.”

“Right,” I say. John's whole pitch from earlier comes back to me. About how I should use these powers to help him win a war. Sam's obviously on board. “Maybe it'll be you on TV fighting aliens next time.”

He smiles a little bit.

“Maybe. I don't know that I'll ever look like John when I fight, though. He's a hero.” He sounds so genuine when he says it. There's such awe and respect in his voice.

It makes me wonder.

“Are you two, like . . . a thing?”

Sam looks confused for a second. Suddenly he understands what I'm asking.

“We're . . .” He hesitates. “Best friends I guess? We both have . . .” He pauses again. “Girls,” he finally says, a little awkwardly.

I stare at him for a few seconds. Then I shrug. “Because it's totally cool if you are.”

“We're
not
a thing.”

“I know. You both have . . .” I pause dramatically. “Girls?”

Sam rolls his eyes and jumps across into the car we left John in. He's still out, snoring a little.

“It's just a complicated situation. His girlfriend is with her ex-boyfriend right now trying to expose the Mogs. They're the ones who made that video you saw. They've got some mysterious hacker friend on their side who's helping them uncover classified government info. And my . . . the girl I've been . . . Oh man, I'm not sure what Six is doing right now. She's in Mexico looking for a Loric sanctuary.”

“Your girlfriend's name is ‘Six'?” I ask. “Weird.”

Sam looks up at me. “
That's
what's weird to you out of all of this?”

I shrug, and then let out a massive yawn.

“I know,” Sam says with a smirk. “Intergalactic space wars and the fate of the world are so boring.”

“Shut up,” I say, trying not to yawn again.

“With so many tunnels caved in, I doubt anyone's going to be down here looking for us, but we should probably sleep in shifts just in case,” he says. “I'll take first watch and wake you when I start to fall asleep.”

“I guess. You sure you won't just immediately pass out on me?”

“Are you kidding? I've got granola bars and . . .” He pulls a crumpled plastic bag out of the tote. “Someone left their entire comic shop haul down here.”

“Yep. Nerd.”

He kinda grins, then gets a sad look on his face.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “I hope your mom's all right. My dad . . . He was missing for a long time. There were days I thought I'd never see him again.
Logically
it made sense to move on, but I never really gave up hope. Eventually we were reunited. I'm not saying it's the same thing, obviously. But you just have to keep fighting and believing. You have to honor the person who's not there with your actions.” He shakes his head. “Sorry, I'm really tired. I think I'm rambling now.”

“Thanks,” I murmur. “For real.”

I ball up the fake Prada bag and use it as a pillow on one of the benches, turning away from Sam and John, my face almost touching the back of the subway seat. I'm too tired to even care about how gross it is to be lying here. Instead, now that it's finally quiet and I'm not running or foraging for snacks and left-behind electronics, all I can think about is her. The uncertainty. Sam's words repeat in my head. Tears start to come, silent and pooling on the seat in front of me. They take away my last drop of energy, and before I know it I'm asleep.