United as One (24 page)

“They got the drop on me,” I say through gritted teeth. “I'm out of the fight for now.”

“They got the drop on all of us,” Walker says with a glare in Lawson's direction. She walks over to my side and helps Sam support my weight. “You . . . you're going to heal, right?”

“Mostly,” I reply. The punctures are only now beginning to close up, oily black residue leaking out of them.

“Is there anywhere safe?” Sam asks.

“We tried to break through their ranks at the garage,” Lawson says, his expression darkening. “Took heavy losses while they kept bringing in reinforcements. They've got a teleporter.”

“Not anymore,” Sam says.

“Did you know about that?” Lawson asks, looking at me. “That they have Legacies?”

“Those aren't Legacies. They're sick copies. Augmentations,” I say. “But no, they're a new thing.”

“They stole that from you,” Lawson says, putting two and two together. “That's what you were talking
about at the meeting the other day.”

“We should keep moving,” Walker puts in.

Lawson shakes his head, still looking at me. “I was not fully informed just how fubared we are.”

“We were doubling back towards the elevators,” Walker says, taking over. “We hoped there would be less resistance.”

“Might be,” I say. “Five just took out a squadron that came down with me. Not sure how many more, but . . .”

We all hear it at the same time. Heavy footfalls bounding down a hallway. Too close.

“There's a big one,” I tell them. “It's hunting. It's—”

“Tearing people apart,” Lawson says. “We saw the bodies.”

Sam glances at Christian. “It probably heard your shot.”

“We need to go,” Walker says. “Now.”

We push on, hustling through one hallway, then zagging down another. The Piken-Mog has our scent, though. I can hear it behind us, getting closer, wailing excitedly.

I realize that I'm the one slowing us down. I glance over my shoulder and see its mammoth shadow moving down the hallway we just left.

“Go,” I tell the others. “Get to the elevator. I'll hold it off.”

I have no idea how I'm going to do that, but they don't need to know that.

“John, don't be stupid,” Sam says. He drags me along, and I'm powerless to stop him.

“You're a brave kid,” Lawson grumbles. “But you're our biggest asset. If we get out of this, we're going to need you.”

The Piken-Mog comes into view about fifty yards down the hall. It roars, excited to finally have us in its sights. The thing, barely more than an animal, beats its thick fists against the scarred flesh of its bulging pectorals.

Lawson turns to Caleb and Christian. “You're up.”

The twins nod in unison. Christian immediately turns around and starts walking right towards the Piken-Mog.

“Stop!” I yell at him, then turn on Lawson. “Are you crazy? You can't just send him to die!”

At first, the Piken-Mog seems confused by this development, some remnant of its trueborn brain registering that this solitary human must be insane. But then, with a line of drool dangling from his under bite, the Piken-Mog charges, bearing down on Christian.

“It's okay,” Caleb interrupts. “Watch.”

Of course I watch. I couldn't look away if I wanted to, even as we back down the hallway. Christian unloads his gun into the Piken-Mog, but the bullets are either
absorbed or deflected by its thick hide.

Lawson grimaces. “Was hoping bullets might do it.”

“
That's
your plan?” Sam shouts, wide-eyed.

The gorilla-sized Mog reaches Christian in seconds and claps his hand over the kid's head. He hoists him up like that and smashes him first against the wall, then against the floor. Christian doesn't make a sound. He even keeps on shooting.

And then, after a particularly sickening slam against the floor, Christian evaporates in a burst of blue energy. The Piken-Mog looks stunned.

“What the—?” Sam exclaims.

Next to me, Caleb begins to glow. His whole body begins to vibrate, blurring, splitting apart.

A second later, there are two more of him. Two brand-new twin versions of Caleb. They blink their eyes, getting their bearings, then look at the original. Caleb nods towards the Piken-Mog, and they sprint into a hopeless battle.

He never had a twin brother. It's a Legacy. He can duplicate himself.

“Two at a time,” Lawson says. “Getting better, son.”

“Thanks,” Caleb replies as we retreat. He looks a little wobbly. Behind us, I hear the Piken-Mog thrashing these newest twins. A glance over my shoulder reveals that they're playing it smarter than Christian did, using hit-and-run to distract the brute. They won't last long,
but they should at least slow him down.

“I have questions for you,” I say to Caleb.

“I figured you would,” he says, not meeting my eyes.

“But all of them can wait, except one,” I continue. “How many duplicates can you create?”

“Not enough,” he replies, swallowing hard. “It's hard. I'm . . . I'm only learning.”

“That beast is shrugging off bullets like they're mosquitoes,” Sam adds. “We need to lose this thing until one of us, uh, until one of us with
every
Legacy can take him down.”

I glance down at myself, looking at my wounds. Closer now. I can feel my power slowly returning. I also feel light-headed on account of all the blood lost.

Our group takes a few sharp turns through the twisty subterranean hallways. I think we've doubled back at this point. We pass bodies, places where battles took place, but no one is alive. There's a good chance we're the only ones left.

Soon, we hear the thumping footsteps again. The snarling, the knuckle dragging.

“Bastard doesn't give up,” Lawson says.

I try to fire up my Lumen as a test, but again my body clenches in agony. Every ounce of me needs to be dedicated to healing right now.

We turn another corner and—

“Shit!”

A line of vatborn Mogs with their blasters pointed in our direction block the entire hallway. Walker, still under one of my arms, shoves me hard to the side and brings up her rifle. As I fall towards the floor, knocking into Sam as I do, the agent sprays down the entire line of Mogs. Chunks of them ricochet through the hallway.

The Mogs are frozen in stone.

“What the hell?” Walker says.

“You really saved our lives there,” Sam says.

“Shut up, Goode.”

I look around. “Daniela was here, if—”

A roar from behind us. The Piken-Mog again barrels into view.

“Through here!” Caleb yells, already helping Lawson squeeze between two stone Mogadorians. “These should at least slow him down.”

I'm not so sure about that. The Piken-Mog is charging hard, its shoulders lowered. It'll plow right through us and those stone Mogs. It's now or never. Damn the pain. I start to build up a fireball in my hands, even though doing so makes my whole body clench up.

“Get down!” someone shouts.

I duck my head just as a silver beam of energy streaks from behind the Mog statues and hits the Piken-Mog. It spreads across his massive frame, slowly wrapping him in a stone covering. He's frozen about ten yards from us, fists raised in the air, mouth open in a bloodthirsty cry.

Done using her stone-gaze, Daniela rubs her temples like she's got a splitting headache. Seeing me and Sam, she cocks her hip and raises an eyebrow.

“Is this, like, my official role with you people? Monster stoner and saver-of-asses? Because . . .” Daniela trails off as she sees the kind of shape I'm in. “Goddamn, man.”

“Yeah, thanks for the help,” I say, squeezing her shoulder as I climb through her wall of statues. Daniela is scuffed up like everyone but overall in pretty good shape. There are stone Mogs everywhere in this hallway. She's been wearing out her Legacy.

“Oy, you made it,” says Nigel. He and Ran are huddled in between some Mog statues, using them as a hiding spot. The British kid is pale, the wounds he suffered against Phiri Dun-Ra still bleeding heavily.

I nod, feeling guilty, like I let them down. Too much death here. Too much destruction.

“Come on,” I say. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

Patience Creek has gone quiet. Without anything chasing or shooting at us, our ragtag group makes the elevator without a problem. It still works, although we have to spend some time clearing out a couple of bodies. There are a lot of those. And not enough survivors.

We head to the lowermost level first and find Malcolm, along with a few scientists, Agent Noto and the five Chimærae. All the animals made it through the
fighting with nothing worse than some singed fur and, in Bandit's case, a mangled tail. Everyone, humans and Chimærae alike, look downright exhausted.

After that, we start to search the other floors. We don't encounter anything but death until we reach the uppermost level, the one where Lawson previously kept his control center. There, we're drawn to the sound of televisions tuned to what sound like a dozen terrified newscasts.

Five stands in Lawson's office, his back to the door, watching the news on the wall of screens. He extends his blade when he hears us coming but quickly sheathes it once he realizes that we aren't Mogs.

“She got away,” Five says simply, sounding frustrated. “They had a staging area a few miles south of here in the forest. Took off when they realized the tide was turning. I know how they operate. They'll be back soon with reinforcements.”

Sam and I enter the room cautiously while Five speaks, the rest of our group waiting outside. Five wears a set of fatigues that he either found lying around Patience Creek or stripped off a dead soldier. I guess the latter is more likely considering the blood splatters on the camouflage.

“You going to try locking me up again?” Five asks, looking at me over his shoulder.

“No,” I reply.

“Good.”

Sam and I come to stand alongside Five, the three of us staring at the monitors. The Mogadorian bombardment has begun. We're looking at footage from at least ten different cities, all of them being slowly erased by warship fire. My eyes bounce from catastrophe to catastrophe, eventually settling on the Arc de Triomphe as it crumbles down the middle, its two pillars breaking apart against each other.

“This planet is toast,” Five says.

Sam ignores him and looks at me. “What now, John?”

“We throw everything we have at them,” I say immediately, glancing in Five's direction. “Everything. And we either end this war, or we die trying.”

WE DON'T HAVE TIME TO MOURN OUR DEAD. OUR
friends, and the ones we barely got a chance to know. We don't have time to grapple with how many lives were lost, our responsibility for that.

It's probably for the best.

By the time we land Lexa's ship outside of Patience Creek, the massacre is over. We're just in time to help the survivors escape. We don't want to be here when the Mogs send in reinforcements. There are other battlefields that need our attention.

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?”