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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.
