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The overhead halogens click off at Sam’s command. Now only Mogadorian blaster fire lights the way. Phiri growls impatiently.
I get the sense that Sam is leading us somewhere. I turn my head from side to side, trying to figure out where we are. It’s difficult in the dark, and, in the flashes of light from the blaster fire, all I can make out are a series of identical closed doors.
Over gleeful Mog shouts and blaster discharges, I hear a loud metallic noise, like a heavy bolt being thrown open. Up ahead, a door creaks open. Did Sam just lock himself in somewhere? Did he make it to safety?
Suddenly, the dark hallway gets a lot quieter. The shooting stops. I hear a grunt of pain followed by a noise like a sharp breath being exhaled.
That’s the sound a vatborn makes when it turns to ash.
Phiri Dun-Ra and the Thin Mog exchange a look. We halt as the group leading the way goes quiet.
From the darkness, I hear metal banging against metal. Rhythmic and echoing.
Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.
It sounds like clapping.
With Phiri Dun-Ra distracted, I manage to get onto my knees. I realize now where we are. Those identical rooms on either side of me are cells. Sam wasn’t locking a door.
He was unlocking a cell.
“You seem pretty good at killing, lady,” a familiar voice growls from the darkness.
Phiri Dun-Ra holds her hand in front of her and creates a ball of fire that illuminates the entire hallway. Then she takes an involuntary step back.
Five stands in the middle of the hallway about twenty yards away. He wears nothing but his cotton boxers and an open bathrobe. In one hand he holds a Mogadorian blaster, which he bangs against the side of his head, creating the metallic ringing sound. Every inch of his fleshy frame has taken on the same sheen as the blaster’s gunmetal-gray alloy. In his other hand he holds a Mog warrior by the throat. With a squeeze, Five snaps his neck, the Mog turning to dust in his hand, which Five then smears across his bare chest. The flame from Phiri Dun-Ra’s fireball reflects in his remaining eye, wide and locked in. When he speaks, it’s through an insanely wide smile.
“Let’s see which one of us is better.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MY HANDS GRIP THE BACK OF LEXA’S SEAT AS I lean over her shoulder. Through the ship’s windshield, I see treetops flying by, the roads below a blur. Even in here, the rush of wind across the ship’s hull is loud, a constant shriek.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” I ask her through my clenched teeth.
Lexa half turns from her controls to give me a look, like, Are you really asking me that?
There’s a little red triangle flashing on Lexa’s console. Her speed is too high. She’s going to burn out the engine if she keeps this up.
It doesn’t matter. We need to make it back to Patience Creek. We need to make it there now.
In the copilot seat, BK stands with his front paws on the dashboard. His furry body is pointed straight ahead, back straight, teeth bared. He’s like an arrow aimed at Patience Creek. He knows our friends are in trouble; maybe he’s got some kind of animal sense about the direness of the situation.
We lost our connection with Sam shortly after he told us Patience Creek was under attack. Before the connection was severed, I could hear shooting and screaming, all of it human.
Mogs don’t really scream, I guess.
Once we lost our connection with Sam, we couldn’t get him back on the phone. Worse still, we couldn’t get any of the numbers for Patience Creek to work. Neither could the Canadians when we asked them for help.
And that brings us here. Flying in this goddamn ship towards yet another tragedy.
I glance behind me into the passenger compartment. Nine paces back and forth. He keeps raising his fists like he’s going to punch something, then angrily thrusting them back to his sides. He hasn’t stopped moving since we all climbed on board. I’d yell at him to keep still if I wasn’t feeling the exact same way. Completely useless.
Marina and Ella sit opposite each other. Ella’s eyes are closed, the girl trying to work some telepathic magic. There’s strain on her face and a spot of blood under her nose. Marina catches my eye and gently shakes her head.
“She’s not as strong as she was,” Marina says quietly.
I’ve noticed that the glow of Loric energy that surrounded Ella after she took her header into the Entity’s energy fountain has been fading gradually over the last few days. It looked especially dim after she reactivated the Loralite stone at Niagara Falls. In that meeting with Lawson, she was able to spy on Setrákus Ra telepathically from miles away. Now, trying to reach Patience Creek with her mind looks like a strain.
“What perfect timing,” I say.
Marina reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Sam is going to be fine,” she says.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. You don’t know that.”
“Destiny, Six. Lorien would not have given him those Legacies—him or any of the other humans who have joined our fight—if they were not meant to play an important role in the final battle.”
“You’ve got a lot more faith than me,” I say to Marina bitterly. “It’s all just random, if you ask me. I mean, if Legacies equal destiny, how do you explain a piece of shit like Five? Or Setrákus Ra?”
“I . . .” Marina shakes her head, not knowing how to respond.
Ella opens her eyes, takes a deep breath and snuffs away the blood in her nose. She looks up at me and shakes her head.
“We’re still too far away,” she says. “I can’t reach anyone. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“What about John?” I ask. “Could you track him down?”
“I tried,” she replies. “He’s out of range too.”
I bite my lip to keep from yelling out in frustration. What a terrible time for John to go running off on his own. Not like he could’ve known that the Mogs were somehow going to track us to Patience Creek, but damn it, we need him with us now.
“Can’t you like”—I wave my hand at Ella—“juice up your power? Pull him into a dream like you did before?”
“It doesn’t . . .” Ella frowns and looks away from me. “My brush with Legacy, the power I gained, I guess it was only temporary. I’m returning to normal, and the energy is going back where it belongs.”
I push my fingers through my hair and squeeze my scalp. “So that’s a no.”
A shrill beep from the cockpit gets my attention.
“That’s our warship,” Lexa calls back to me. “They’re trying to open a communication channel.”
We left Adam, Dust and Rex back in Niagara Falls, manning the warship as best they can with a two-person crew. They’re following after us, but in terms of speed, that mammoth ship isn’t able to keep up with Lexa’s little craft.
I hop back into the cockpit as Lexa hits a button that calls up a holographic projection of Adam in one corner of the windshield. He’s standing on the elevated commander’s platform of the warship, and, with nothing but emptiness behind him, he looks small and out of place. I expect him to ask if we’ve gotten any word from Patience Creek. However, as soon as Adam sees me, he starts pressing a button on a console in front of him.
“Guys, I’m going to patch a broadcast through to you,” Adam says gravely, in a rush. “This is going out live right now.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused. The idea that there could be something more urgent than what we’re rushing towards just doesn’t register with me.
“Every warship in the fleet is receiving this,” Adam says. “And from what I can tell, he’s hijacked every still-active satellite to broadcast to the remaining news channels as well.”
“Who—?”
Before I can finish my question, Adam goes to split screen. The new feed causes a hitch in my breathing, and I have to sit down on the arm of Lexa’s chair.
It’s Setrákus Ra. Alive and well.
“Have I not been patient?” h
e asks, his dark eyes staring directly into the camera.
The shot of Setrákus Ra is from the chest up. He sits in an ornate chair that’s best described as a throne. Behind him, I can see the stone walls of a cavern. He wears a bloodred silk shirt with the buttons undone halfway down his sternum. It’s a ridiculous look, but it’s also a message. A message for me.
