The Fall of Five

“We’ve got the home field advantage.”

Inside the Lecture Hall proper, Sarah makes a break for the gun rack and I climb into the Lectern. The first Mogs burst into the room just as I fire up the Lecture Hall’s programming, keying up one of Sandor’s old training routines—the one with difficulty marked insanity. The Mogs aren’t even paying any attention to me just yet, seated behind the metallic console, tapping buttons. They’re more focused on Sarah. Even if they realize she’s not the girl they’re looking for, she’s still the most obvious threat, out in the open and pointing a pair of pistols at the Mogs. Obvious threat and also an easy target.

“Sarah! To your left!” I shout, raising a block of cover from the floor for her to hide behind. She dives to safety just as the Mogadorians open fire.

Smoke starts filling the room from the nozzles along the walls. Some of the Mogs look confused; most are only interested in blasting away at Sarah. A few shots begin ricocheting off the front of the Lectern and I hunker down in the seat, trying to make myself small. I hope this thing is strong enough to withstand some blaster fire. Above the shooting, I can hear the Lecture Hall whirring to life.

A half dozen panels along all four walls slide open, turrets loaded with ball bearings coming into view.

“Stay down!” I yell at Sarah. “It’s starting!”

A crossfire erupts through the Lecture Hall, the Mogs caught in the middle. This drill is meant to help the Garde practice their telekinesis, not maim them, so the marble-sized ammo being shot out of the walls doesn’t travel fast enough to kill the Mogs. Still, it has to sting like hell. Between that and the medicine balls suddenly swinging from the ceiling, I’d say they have their hands full.

I dive out of the Lectern. A ball bearing smacks me hard in the shoulder before I can make it to the ground. My arm is sore, but I manage to press myself flat, watching as the Mogs are bludgeoned from all angles. Seeing me, Sarah sends one of her guns sliding across the floor. I pick it up and crouch down behind the Lectern. Sarah and I have the only two pieces of cover in the room.

We open fire. It doesn’t matter that we don’t have the best aim. The Mogadorians are basically sitting ducks. With all the shooting coming from the walls, they’re starting to panic. Many of them are knocked down to their knees by the turrets or the medicine balls, at which point Sarah and I pick them off. Some make a break for the door. If they manage to stagger that far, all they get for their trouble is a bullet in the back.

Only a minute has passed in the Lecture Hall’s training routine before the room has completely cleared of Mogs. The Garde usually have to endure seven minutes before they get a break during the training portion. I guess they don’t have anyone shooting real bullets at them, though. I reach up and slap the controls on the Lectern until the system shuts down.

“That worked!” Sarah yells, sounding almost surprised. “We got them, Sam!”

As Sarah stands up, I notice a burn mark on the outside of her left leg. Her jeans are torn, the skin beneath them a burned pinkish where it isn’t bleeding. “You’ve been shot,” I exclaim.

Sarah looks down. “Crap. I didn’t even notice. Must have just grazed me.”

As the adrenaline dies down, Sarah limps over to me. I put my arm around her for support and we move as fast as we can out of the Lecture Hall. We grab more guns on our way out. I tuck a second pistol into the back of my jeans just in case I run out of ammo. Sarah drops her spent handgun and grabs some crazy-looking lightweight machine gun, the kind of thing I used to believe didn’t exist outside of action movies.

“You know how to use that thing?” I ask.

“They all work pretty much the same,” she replies. “You just point and click.”

I could almost laugh if I wasn’t so worried about my dad and the comatose John and Ella. We don’t hear any sounds of fighting as we pass through the wrecked workshop, picking our way carefully over the junk we knocked over. The penthouse is eerily quiet. I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad sign.

I poke my head into the hallway. There’s no sign of anyone. The floor is covered with Mogadorian ash, but otherwise all is quiet. The loudest sound is the wind blowing through the building thanks to the Mogs having broken every single window on their way in.

“Do you think we got them all?” Sarah whispers.

In answer, we hear a shuffling noise from the roof that sounds like boots running across it. There must be more Mogadorians still up there and they’ll be massing for a second wave any second now, as soon as they figure out their first group has failed.

“We need to get out of here now,” I say, helping Sarah limp along. We hurry down the hallway.

Bernie Kosar lumbers into view, still in bear form. He looks wounded, his entire right side smoking from blaster burns. He stares at me as if he’s trying to communicate something. I wish I had John’s animal telepathy. He seems sad, somehow. Sad, but determined.

“You okay, Bernie?” Sarah asks.

BK grunts and takes the shape of a falcon. He soars towards the window and out, flying up. He must be going to hold off the remaining Mogs on the roof while we evacuate John and Ella. I realize now what that look BK was giving me meant; he was saying good-bye, just in case it’s the last we see of him. I suck in a deep breath.

“Come on, let’s go,” I say, quietly.

There’s an overturned bookshelf blocking the doorway to Ella’s room. It’s peppered with bullet holes. Obviously this was what my dad used for cover.

“Dad?” I whisper. “It’s clear, let’s go.”

No response.

“Dad?!” I say, louder, a tremor in my voice.

Still nothing. I slam my shoulder hard against the bookshelf, but it’s wedged tight. I feel sick, desperate. Why isn’t he answering?

“Up there!” Sarah says, pointing. There’s a space large enough to crawl through between the bookshelf and the top of the doorframe. I clamber up and over, scraping my knees on the protruding shelves, landing awkwardly on the other side. It only takes seconds, but that’s time enough to imagine my dad riddled with blaster fire, John and Ella murdered in their sleep.

“Dad—?” My breath catches. It feels like time slows down. I stagger towards the bed on wobbly legs. “Dad?”

John and Ella look unharmed, and still in their comatose state, completely unaware of the chaos unfolding around them. And completely unaware that my father’s body is draped across them.

His eyes are closed. He’s bleeding from a gaping wound over his abdomen. Both of his hands are clenched there, like he’s trying to hold himself together. His spent rifle is discarded on the floor, his bloody handprints running up and down the handle. I wonder how long he kept fighting after he was shot.

Sarah gasps as she climbs over the bookshelf. “Oh no. Sam . . .”

I don’t know what to do except take his hand. It’s cold. Tears start filling my eyes. I realize that in one of the last conversations I had with my father, I basically called him a traitor. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

I almost jump out of my skin when my dad squeezes my hand.

His eyes are open. I can tell he’s having trouble focusing on me and realize that his glasses are gone, smashed somewhere during the fight.

“I protected them as long as I could,” my dad says, his voice strangled, fluid bubbling up from inside him and trickling from the corner of his mouth.

“Come on, we’re getting out of here,” I reply, kneeling down next to him.

A shadow of pain crosses his face. He shakes his head. “Not me, Sam. You have to go on your own.”

A howl rises above the fighting on the roof. Bernie Kosar, desperate and in agony.

Sarah touches my shoulder gently. “Sam, I’m sorry. We don’t have long.”

I shrug away from Sarah’s hand, shaking my head. I glare at my dad, tears now running freely down my cheeks. “No,” I hiss angrily, “you’re not leaving me again.”

Sarah tries to squeeze past me and drag Ella’s body out from beneath him. I don’t help. I know I’m being stupid and selfish, but I can’t let him go this easily. I’ve spent my entire life looking for him and now it’s all falling apart.

“Sam . . . go,” he whispers.

“Sam,” Sarah pleads, cradling Ella in her arms. “You have to grab John and we have to go.”

I stare at him. He nods slowly, more blood spilling out from the side of his mouth. “Go, Sam,” he says.

“I won’t,” I say, shaking my head, knowing it’s the wrong thing and not caring. “Not unless you come too.”

But it’s too late anyway. The wire hanging outside the window goes taut as a Mogadorian rappels inside. We’ve taken too long and Bernie Kosar wasn’t able to stop them. The second wave is upon us.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

BUBBLES BREAK THE SURFACE OF THE SWAMP WHERE Nine is still under water. He’s been pinned down there for almost a minute. I take a step towards the edge, wanting to dive in and save Nine, but not sure if Five will let me. He’s watching me closely, an eyebrow raised, like he’s wondering how Eight and I will react.

“Where’s the real Number Five?” asks Eight, his voice low. “What did you do with him?”

Five’s brow furrows in confusion, then he smiles. “Oh, you think I’m Setrákus Ra,” Five says, shaking his head. “It’s cool, Eight. I’m the real deal. No shape-shifting tricks.”

As if to demonstrate, Five reaches down with his free hand and opens the lock on his Chest. He clicks it shut again and glances over at us. “See?” Eight and I remain frozen in place, not sure what to do.

“Let Nine out of the water, Five,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, as far from panic as possible.

“In a second,” he replies. “I want to talk to you two without Six and Nine around to interrupt.”

“Why—why would you attack us?” Eight asks, sounding angry and disbelieving. “We’re your friends.”

Five rolls his eyes. “You’re my species,” he replies. “That doesn’t make us friends.”

“Just let Nine out of the water and we’ll talk,” I plead.

Five sighs and lifts Nine up. He’s gasping for air, his eyes fiery and enraged, still trapped in Five’s strangling grip. Try as he might, Nine can’t find any way loose.

“Not so strong now, huh?” taunts Five. “Okay, deep breath, bro.”

He dunks Nine back under the water.

Meanwhile, Six is unmoving. Her head is cocked at an uncomfortable angle and a huge bruise is forming along her jaw. Her breath seems shallow. I start towards her, wanting to heal her, but feel Five’s telekinesis gently shoving me back.

“Why are you doing this!” I shout at him, tears filling my eyes.

He looks almost taken aback when I yell at him. “Because you two were nice to me,” he says, like it should be obvious. “Because unlike Nine and Six, I don’t think you’ve been brainwashed by your Cêpans into thinking resistance is the only way forward. Eight, you proved that in India, when you let those soldiers die for you.”