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‘Before you say anything,’ she begins, not even saying hello, her voice shaky, ‘I just want you to know that I’m okay.’
‘What happened?’ I ask, trying to keep that first rush of panic out of my voice. I can hear the sound of traffic in the background. Sarah’s in a moving car.
‘We went into town for supplies and had a run-in with some Mogs,’ Sarah says, still catching her breath. ‘I guess they tracked us down somehow, not too happy about the They Walk Among Us thing. Don’t worry, we’re all fine. Bernie Kosar handled them.’
‘Are you somewhere safe?’
‘We will be soon,’ she replies. ‘Mark’s hacker buddy GUARD gave us directions to his home base in Atlanta.’
Mark had some details about GUARD in one of his emails to Sarah. He’s another conspiracy junkie, like one of those guys from the old version of They Walk Among Us. But he’s also an excellent hacker and, according to Mark, has access to a surprising amount of information. It makes me a little nervous that Sarah and Mark are headed to meet him without us knowing his identity.
‘What does Mark know about this guy?’ I ask.
Sarah repeats my question to Mark. I can’t quite make out his reply over all the noise from the road.
‘Mark says he’s probably some nerd hiding out in his mom’s basement,’ Sarah repeats dryly. ‘But that he’s a “solid dude” and that we can trust him.’
I roll my eyes at Mark’s scouting report. ‘That’s heartening. Just in case, I’m going to text you the location of somewhere safe. It’s a base in Washington that we took over, loaded with government guys who are on our side. If you need somewhere to run to, you could head there.’
I hear two engines rumble to life behind me. I turn around to see all of Walker’s agents piled into the cars. Nine and Sam still stand outside our SUV, waiting for me. Nine makes an impatient wrap-it-up motion.
‘What’s going on there?’ Sarah asks me. ‘On your way to do something stupid but possibly world saving?’
‘Pretty much,’ I reply, allowing myself a faint smile. ‘Did you get those documents I sent you?’
‘Yeah,’ Sarah replies. ‘We’ll have a chance to upload them once we’re in Atlanta.’
‘Perfect. I’ve got a feeling They Walk Among Us is about to get a lot more hits.’ I pause, reluctant to get off the phone. ‘The others are waiting for me. I’ve gotta go.’
‘Mark says to go kick some ass. And I love you.’ Sarah catches herself, laughing. ‘Mark didn’t say that last part. That was from me.’
We say our good-byes and I’m left with that same feeling of longing mixed with dread that I get after every one of these phone conversations. I trudge back to the SUV. Everyone else is already inside except for Sam.
‘So you’re putting all of Walker’s documents on They Walk Among Us?’ Sam asks. ‘It’s a good idea. Like anti-Mogadorian propaganda.’
‘It’s a desperate idea, is what it is,’ I say glumly. ‘No one’s going to be digging through search results while their cities are getting bombarded.’
‘There’s a comforting thought,’ Sam replies, frowning. ‘But seriously, that’s a lot of heavy reading. If you’re trying to get people on our side, it shouldn’t just be about the Mogadorians. You shouldn’t just be trying to scare people. They’ll be scared enough as it is. You’ve gotta give them some hope.’
‘What do you suggest?’
Sam thinks about it for a second, then shrugs. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll come up with something.’
I nod and pat Sam on the shoulder, the two of us climbing back into the car. I know he’s just trying to help, and that’s why I don’t tell him that whatever he comes up with … it might be too late.
We make it to New York about an hour later. I’ve never been here before and neither have Nine or Sam. I wish our visit could be under different circumstances. As we inch along in heavy traffic through a canyon of skyscrapers, I find myself craning my neck to look out the window. Chicago is a huge city, but the frenetic jostle of pedestrians on the sidewalks here is something else entirely. There are flashing signs advertising Broadway shows, yellow cabs darting in and out of traffic, a hum of activity all around us.
And these people have no idea what’s heading their way.
As we drive farther uptown towards Sanderson’s hotel, we pass a dude wearing a cowboy hat and underwear, strumming an acoustic guitar for a crowd of tourists. Nine snorts.
‘Look at this,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘That shit wouldn’t fly in Chicago.’
I lean forward to get Walker’s attention. ‘Are we close?’
‘A few more blocks,’ she replies.
I reach down to make sure my Loric dagger is still fastened securely to my leg. I also touch my wrist, reflex telling me to check for my shield bracelet, except that it’s gone, destroyed by the General.
‘Did your guy on the scene tell you how many Mogs we should be expecting?’ I ask Walker.
‘A dozen. Maybe more.’
‘That’s nothing,’ Nine says, pulling on the gloves that Marina gave him. He clenches his fists and I inch away from him, wary that he’s going to accidentally trigger some kind of weapon. Thankfully, nothing happens.
‘You’re wearing those into a fight?’ Sam asks, eyeing Nine incredulously. ‘You don’t even know what they do.’
‘What better way to find out?’ Nine replies. ‘These Loric things, man, they have a way of not helping you until you’ve given up on them.’
‘Or maybe they’re just for keeping your hands warm,’ Sam suggests.
‘Just don’t do anything stupid,’ I tell Nine, and he stares at me, his expression getting deathly serious.
‘John, I won’t,’ he says. ‘For real. You can trust me out there.’
I can tell Nine is still carrying around what happened down in Florida and is eager to prove himself. I just nod at him, knowing he wouldn’t want me to make a big deal out of it. I’m glad he’s got my back.
Walker turns around to look at Sam. ‘These guys shoot fireballs and have magic gloves, apparently. But what do you do?’
Sam looks momentarily taken aback, and I notice him reach down to touch the scars burned into his wrists. After a moment’s consideration, he looks Walker in the eye.
‘I’ve probably killed more Mogs than you have, lady,’ Sam replies.
Nine elbows me, and I can’t help but grin. To her credit, that actually looks like the answer Walker was hoping for. She opens the glove compartment, pulls out a holstered handgun and holds it out to Sam.
‘Well, I’m officially arming a minor,’ she says. ‘Do your country proud, Samuel.’
A minute later, our driver pulls over to the side of one of Manhattan’s quieter blocks, double-parking. The other SUV rolls up behind us. Across the street and down the block a bit is the entrance to a posh hotel. There’s a wide awning out front and a r
ed carpet, a place for guests to turn over their car keys to a valet and drop their bags on to one of the waiting luggage carts.
Except there’s no activity outside the hotel. No tourists strolling the sidewalk, no valets waiting for tips. Nothing. Everything’s been cleared away or scared off by the trio of Mogadorians standing guard at the door, their coats brazenly open to reveal the blasters hanging from their belts.
It’s like they’re not even bothering to hide anymore.
‘We want to do this quick and clean,’ Walker says to us, hunching low in her seat so she can look at the Mogs in her side-view mirror. ‘Take down the Mogs and get to Sanderson before they can send up an alarm, radio for backup, or whatever they do.’
‘Yeah, got it,’ I reply quickly. I pull up the hood on my sweatshirt so that it hides my face. ‘We’ve done this before.’
‘Let my people lead,’ Walker says. ‘We’ll flash some badges, maybe confuse them. Then you hit them hard.’
‘Sure, you distract ’em,’ Nine says. ‘But then get the hell out of our way.’
Walker picks up a walkie-talkie and radios to the agents in the second car. ‘You guys ready?’
‘Affirmative,’ a male voice answers. ‘Let’s do this.’
‘Here we go,’ says an excited Nine, and claps his gloved hands together.
The concussion of sound that detonates from Nine’s hands when he claps isn’t quite sonic-boom loud, but it’s definitely close. It’s like a thunderclap in the back-seat; all of the SUV’s windows explode outward, and the car even bounces a few inches into the air. The SUV behind us doesn’t fare much better – its windows also shatter, but inward, spraying the agents huddled inside. The windows of nearby storefronts break, too, and a pedestrian walking by is knocked clear off her feet. Next to me, Sam is squeezing the sides of his head, looking dazed. For the first few seconds, I can’t hear much except a low chirping that I soon realize is car alarms going off up and down the block.
I turn to Nine, wide-eyed, and catch him staring at his gloved hands, also wide-eyed. I can’t hear what he says, and I’m not much of a lip reader.
