Chapter Four
“I WAS THIRTEEN WHEN THEY CAUGHT UP TO us,” Six says when we cross into Tennessee, fifteen minutes after leaving the Trucksville Motel behind. I’d asked her to tell us about how she and Katarina were captured. “We were in West Texas after fleeing Mexico because of a stupid mistake. We had both been completely entranced by some stupid internet post that Two had written, though we didn’t know it was by Two at the time, and we responded. We were lonely in Mexico, living in some dusty town in the middle of nowhere, and we just had to know if it really was a member of the Garde.”
I nod, knowing what she’s talking about. Henri had also seen the blog post while we were in Colorado. I had been in a school spelling bee, and the scar had come while I was onstage. I’d been rushed to the hospital and the doctor saw the first scar, and the fresh burn all the way to the bone of the second. When Henri arrived, they’d accused him of child abuse, which was the catalyst behind our fleeing the state and assuming new identities, another new start.
“‘Nine, now eight. Are the rest of you out there?’” I ask.
“That’s the one.”
“So you guys are the ones who responded,” I say. Henri had taken screen shots of the post so I could see it. He had tried furiously to hack the computer to delete it before the damage could be done, but he hadn’t been quick enough. Two was killed. Somebody else deleted the post right after. We’d assumed it was the Mogadorians.
“Katarina did, simply writing ‘We are here’; and not a minute later the scar appeared,” Six says, shaking her head. “It was so stupid of Two to post that, knowing she was next. I still can’t understand why she’d risk it.”
“Do you guys know where she was?” Sam asks.
I look at Six. “Do you? Henri thought it was England, but he couldn’t say for sure.”
“No idea. All we knew was that if they’d gotten to her that quickly, it wouldn’t take long for them to get to us.”
“But, how do you even know she posted it?” Sam asks.
Six glances at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know; you guys can’t even say for sure where she was, so how do you know it was her?”
“Who else would it be?”
“Well, I mean, I watch the way you and John are so cautious. I can’t imagine either of you doing something so stupid like that if you knew you were next. Especially with everything you know about the Mogadorians. I don’t think you would have posted something to begin with.”
“True, Sam.”
“So maybe they had already captured Two and were trying to draw some of you guys out before they killed her, which could explain why she was killed seconds after you responded. It could have been a bluff. Or maybe she knew what they were doing, and she killed herself to warn you guys away or something. Who knows. Those are just some guesses, right?”
“Right,” I say. But they are good guesses. Ones I hadn’t thought about. Ones I wonder if Henri had.
We ride in silence thinking about it. Six drives the speed limit and a few cars cruise past us. The highway itself is lined with overhead lights that make the rolling hills beyond look spooky.
“She could have been scared and desperate,” I say. “That could have led her to do something stupid, like write a careless post on the internet.”
Sam shrugs. “Just seems kind of unlikely to me.”
“But they could have already killed her Cêpan, and she could have become frantic. She must have been twelve, maybe thirteen. Imagine being thirteen and on your own,” I say before I realize I’m describing Six’s exact scenario. She glances at me, then turns back to the road.
“We never once thought it was a trick,” she says. “Though it kind of makes sense. Back then we were just scared. And my ankle was on fire. Kind of hard to think straight when it feels as though your foot is being sawed off.”
I nod my head gravely.
“But even after the initial fear, we still didn’t consider that angle. We replied, which is what put them on our tail. It was ridiculous for us to do. Maybe you’re right, Sam. I can only hope we’ve grown a little wiser, those of us still left.”
Her last sentence hangs in the air. There are only six of us left. Six of us against any number of them. And no way of knowing how we might possibly find one another. We’re the only hope. Strength in numbers. The power of six. The thought makes my heart pump at twice its normal speed.
“What?” Six asks.
“There’re six of us left.”
“I know there are. So what?”
“Six of us, and maybe some of the others still have their Cêpans; maybe they don’t. But six to fight who knows how many Mogadorians? A thousand? A hundred thousand? A million?”
“Hey, don’t forget about me,” Sam says. “And Bernie Kosar.”
I nod. “Sorry, Sam; you’re right. Eight of us.” And then all of a sudden I remember something else. “Six, do you know about the second ship that left Lorien?”
“A ship aside from ours?”
“Yeah, it left after ours. Or, at least, I think it did. Loaded with Chimæra. Fifteen or so, and three Cêpan, and maybe a baby. I had visions of it when Henri and I were training, though he was skeptical. But so far all my visions have proven true.”
“I had no idea.”
“It took off in an old rocket that kind of looked like a NASA shuttle. You know, powered by fuel that left a trail of smoke behind it.”
“Then it wouldn’t have made it here,” Six says.
“Yeah, that’s what Henri said.”
“Chimæra?” Sam asks. “The same kind of animal as Bernie Kosar?” I nod. He perks up. “Maybe that’s how Bernie made it here? Could you imagine if they all made it? After seeing what Bernie did during the fight?”
“It’d be amazing,” I agree. “But I’m pretty sure old Bernie here was on our ship.”
I run my hand down the length of Bernie Kosar’s back and can feel matted scabs still covering most of his body. Sam sighs, leans back in his seat with a look of relief on his face, probably imagining an army of Chimæra coming to our aid at the last minute to defeat the Mogadorians. Six looks into the rearview mirror, and the headlights from the car behind us illuminate a band of light across her face. She looks back to the road wearing the same introspective gaze that Henri always did when driving.
“The Mogadorians,” she begins softly, swallowing as Sam and I turn our attention to her. “They caught up to us the day after we responded to Two’s post, in a desolate town in West Texas. Katarina had driven fifteen straight hours from Mexico, and it was getting late and we were both exhausted because neither of us had slept. We stopped at a motel off the highway, not all that different from the one we just left. It was in a tiny town that looked like something out of an old Western movie, full of cowboys and ranchers. There were even hitching posts outside some of the buildings so that the people could tie up their horses. It was very weird, but we had just come from a dusty town in Mexico, so we didn’t think twice about stopping.”
She pauses as a car cruises past us. She follows it with her eyes and checks the speedometer before turning back to the road.
“We went to get something to eat at a diner. About halfway through our meal, a man entered and took a seat. He was wearing a white shirt and tie, but it was a Western tie and his clothes looked outdated. We ignored him, even though I noticed the others in the diner staring at him, the same way they were staring at us. At one point he turned and gazed our way, but since everyone else had done the same, I didn’t piece it together. I was only thirteen then, and it was hard to think of anything at that point other than sleep and food. So we finished eating and went back to our room. Katarina jumped into the shower; and when she stepped out, wrapped in a robe, there was a knock at the door. We looked at each other. She asked who it was, and the man answered that he was the motel manager and had brought fresh towels and ice; and without thinking twice, I walked to the door and opened it.”
“Oh no,” Sam says.
Six nods. “It was the man from the diner with the Western tie. He walked straight into the room and shut the door. I was wearing my pendant in plain view. He knew immediately who I was, and Katarina and I knew immediately who he was. In one fluid motion he pulled a knife from the waistband of his trousers and swung for my head. He was fast, and I had no time to react. I had no Legacies yet, no defenses. I was dead. But then the weirdest thing happened. As the knife dug into my skull, it was his skull that split open. I didn’t feel a thing. I learned later they had no idea how the charm worked, that he couldn’t kill me until numbers one through five were dead. He dropped to the ground and burst into ash.”
“Wicked,” Sam says.
“Wait,” I interrupt. “From what I’ve seen, Mogadorians are pretty recognizable. Their skin is so white it looks bleached. And their teeth and eyes . . .” I trail off. “How could you not have known it in the diner? Why’d you let him into the room?”
“I’m pretty sure only the scouts and soldiers look like that. They’re the Mogadorians’ version of the military. That’s what Katarina said, anyway. The rest of them look as much like normal humans as we do. The one who came into the diner looked like an accountant, wearing wire-rimmed glasses, black slacks, and a white short-sleeved dress shirt and that tie. He even had a really dorky mustache. I remember him being tan. We had no idea they had followed us.”
“That’s reassuring,” I say sarcastically. I replay the image of the knife plunging into Six’s skull and killing the Mogadorian instead. If one of them tried the same thing with a knife on me, right now, I would be killed. I push the thought away and ask, “Do you think they’re still in Paradise?”
She says nothing for a minute, and when she finally speaks, I wish she had stayed silent instead. “I think they might be.”
“So Sarah’s in danger?”
“Everyone’s in danger, John. Every person we know in Paradise, every person we don’t know in Paradise.”
All of Paradise is probably under surveillance, and I know it’s not safe to go within fifty miles of it. Or to call. Or even to send a letter, or they’d learn the pull Sarah has on me, the connection we have.
“Anyway,” Sam says, wanting to get back to the story. “The Mogadorian accountant falls to the floor and dies. Then what?”
“Katarina threw the Chest to me and grabbed our suitcase, and we sprinted out of the motel room, Katarina still in her robe. The truck was unlocked, and we jumped inside. Another Mog came charging out from behind the motel. Kat was so flustered that she couldn’t find the keys. She locked the doors, though, and the windows were rolled up. But the guy wasted no time at all and punched straight through the passenger-side glass and grabbed me by the shirt. Katarina screamed, and some men nearby jumped into action.