“I might not share your ideology, Phiri Dun-Ra,” Adam says, raising his voice to be heard over her screaming, “but I do share your biology. I know where your nerves are, where to hurt you best. I will spend the rest of the night picking you apart until you beg for disintegration.”
Adam releases his grip on Phiri, letting her fall back into the dirt. She’s panting, struggling to get in a deep breath.
“Or you can tell us where you hid the conduits,” Adam says calmly. “Now.”
“I’ll never—” Phiri is cut off, flinching as Adam stands up. He’s suddenly lost interest in her.
He saw the same thing I did. The way Phiri Dun-Ra’s eyes flicked towards a moss-covered log at the edge of the clearing. Adam walks over to the log while she squirms around in the dirt, trying to keep her eyes on him. On closer inspection, the log is rotten, hollowed out by termites. Adam plunges his hand inside and tugs out a small duffel bag. Phiri must have shoved the bag in there before attacking Marina.
“Aha,” he says, giving the bag a good shake. Inside, metal parts clang together. “Thanks for your help.”
Marina and I exchange a relieved look, even as Phiri screeches out her latest taunt.
“It doesn’t matter, traitor,” she says. “Nothing you do matters anymore!”
That gets my attention. I give Phiri a not-so-gentle kick in the back to make her roll over and look at me.
“What does that mean?” I ask her. “What’re you saying?”
“War came and went,” Phiri replies, laughing at me. “Earth is already ours.”
My stomach drops at the thought, but I don’t let it show. We have to get out of Mexico and see for ourselves.
“Are the parts intact?” I ask Adam.
“She’s lying to you, Six. It’s what she does,” he reassures me, maybe detecting a tremor of nervousness in my voice. He tosses down the duffel bag and crouches over it.
“What should we do with her?” Marina asks me. She focuses on Phiri Dun-Ra for a second, reinforcing the ice shackles that have begun to melt.
I’m considering my answer when Adam grunts, yanking on the zipper that appears to be stuck on something. When the zipper comes loose, something inside the duffel bag clicks, like a timer being armed.
“Watch out!” Adam screams as he shoves the bag away from him. Everything happens so fast. I see the ground rise up in front of the duffel bag and realize that Adam is using his seismic Legacy to try shielding us. With an orange flash of light and a loud pop, the bomb inside the bag detonates right in front of him. Chunks of dirt and deadly shrapnel fly through the clearing. I’m thrown to the ground from the concussion blast. I can feel fresh pain in my leg—a jagged piece of metal, probably ship parts, is lodged in my thigh.
Above the ringing in my ears, I can hear Phiri laughing hysterically.
Chapter SIX
A HEAVY WEIGHT FALLS ACROSS MY LEGS, DRIVING the shrapnel sticking out of my thigh even deeper. It’s Phiri Dun-Ra. She has fresh lacerations on her face and arms, the results of her own improvised bomb. Her wrists and ankles are still bound by the ice manacles, but that hasn’t stopped her from throwing herself on top of me. I’m still stunned from the blast, so I don’t react as quickly as I should. Phiri headbutts me in the sternum as she worms her way across my body.
“Now you die, Loric trash,” she says maniacally, still giddy over the success of her booby trap.
I’m not sure what her plan is here—maybe to bite me to death or smother me with her body, but I’m not so out of sorts that either of those things is going to happen. With a quick burst of telekinesis, I swipe Phiri Dun-Ra off me. She tumbles through the dirt, rolling across glowing bits of scorched duffel bag. She tries to get herself onto her feet, screaming in frustration as her bonds get in the way.
She’s silenced when I kick her across the face as hard as I can. Phiri flops to the ground unconscious.
“Stay with me!”
It’s Marina’s voice that snaps me out of my rage or I’d probably kill Phiri right there. I spin around and see her bent over Adam.
“Is he . . . ?!”
I limp across the clearing, forgetting that there’s a six-inch piece of jagged steel protruding from my thigh. I ignore the pain. Adam’s in much worse shape than I am.
I stagger around the small hill of earth Adam was able to construct in the few seconds before the explosion. It absorbed a lot of the shrapnel, but not enough. The bomb still basically detonated right in front of him, so Adam took the brunt of the blast. He’s on his back now, Marina leaning over him, and I cringe at the amount of damage he’s taken. His entire midsection is blown open, like he’s been scooped out. He should’ve dived out of the way instead of standing there like a human shield. Stupid Mog, trying to be a hero.
Amazingly, Adam’s still conscious. He can’t speak; all the strength he can muster seems to be going into breathing. His eyes are wide and scared as he sucks in wet, rattling breaths. His hands, soaked with his blood, are curled into tight fists.
“I can do this, I can do this . . . ,” Marina repeats to herself, not hesitating at all as she lays her hands on Adam’s grisly wound. Looking over her shoulder, helpless, I realize how sadly familiar this situation must be for Marina. It’s like Eight all over again.
As Adam’s breathing becomes more and more ragged, I watch as his insides begin to knit themselves back together under Marina’s touch. And then something disturbing happens—there’s a crackle and hiss, like a fire starting, and a piece of Adam’s midsection briefly sparks before disintegrating into that familiar Mogadorian death ash.