The Power of Six

“How about you, buddy? You ready to get out of this dump?”

Bernie Kosar thumps his tail against the bed.

“So where to, guys?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Six says. “Preferably somewhere warm to ride out the winter. I’m pretty sick of this snow. Though I’m even more sick of not knowing where the others are.”

“For now it’s just us three. Four plus Six plus Sam.”

“I love algebra,” Sam says. “Sam equals x. Variable x.”

“Such a nerd, dude,” I say.

Six enters the bathroom and then exits a second later with a handful of toiletries. “If there’s any consolation in what happened, at least the other Garde know John not only survived his first battle, but that he won it. Maybe they’ll find a bit of hope in it. Our biggest priority now is finding the others. And training together in the meantime.”

“We will,” I say, then look at Sam. “It’s not too late to go back and put things straight, Sam. You can make up any story about us you want. Tell them we kidnapped you and held you against your will, and that you escaped the first chance you got. You’ll be considered a hero. Girls will be all over you.”

Sam bites his lower lip and shakes his head. “I don’t want to be a hero. And girls are already all over me.”

Six and I roll our eyes, but I also see Six blush. Or maybe I imagine it.

“I mean it,” he says. “I’m not leaving.”

I shrug. “I guess that’s settled. Sam equals x in this equation.”

Sam watches Six walk to her small duffel bag beside the TV, and his attraction to her is painted all over his face. She’s wearing black cotton shorts and a white tank top with her hair pulled back. A few strands fall loose around her face. A purple scar is prominent on the front of her left thigh, and the stitch marks around it are a tender pink, still scabbed over. Stitches she not only sewed herself, but also removed. When Six looks up, Sam shyly diverts his gaze. Clearly there’s another reason Sam wants to stick around.

Six bends down and reaches into her bag, removing a folded map. She opens it on the foot of the bed.

“Right here,” she says, pointing to Trucksville, “is where we are. And here,” she continues, moving her finger from North Carolina to a tiny red star made in ink close to the center of West Virginia, “is where the Mogadorians’ cave is, the one I know of, anyhow.”

I look where she’s pointing. Even on the map it’s obvious the location is very isolated; there doesn’t appear to be any sort of main road within five miles, nor any town within ten.

“How do you even know where the cave is?”

“That’s a long story,” she says. “Probably one better left for the road.”

Her finger takes up a new route on the map, heading southwest from West Virginia, traversing Tennessee, and coming to rest on a point in Arkansas near the Mississippi River.

“What’s there?” I ask.

She puffs her cheeks and releases a deep breath, undoubtedly remembering something that happened. Her face takes on a special look when deep in concentration.

“This is where my Chest was,” she says. “And some of the stuff Katarina brought from Lorien. This is where we hid it.”

“What do you mean, where it was?”

She shakes her head.

“It’s not there anymore?”

“No. They were tracking us, and we couldn’t risk them getting it. It was no longer safe with us, so we stowed it and Katarina’s artifacts in Arkansas and fled as fast as we could, thinking we could stay ahead of them . . .” She trails off.

“They caught up to you, didn’t they?” I ask, knowing her Cêpan Katarina died three years ago.

She sighs. “That’s another story better left for the road.”

It takes minutes to throw my clothes into my duffel bag, and as I’m doing it I realize the last time this bag was packed, Sarah had done it. Only a week and a half has passed, but it feels like a year and a half. I wonder if she’s been interrogated by police, or singled out at school. Where is she even going to school since the high school was destroyed? I’m certain she can hold her own, but still, it can’t be easy on her, especially since she has no idea where I am, or even if I’m okay. I wish I could contact her without putting us both in danger.

Sam turns the TV back on the old-fashioned way—with the remote—and he watches the news while Six goes invisible to check on the truck. We assume Sam’s mom noticed it missing, which surely means the police are keeping an eye out for it. Earlier in the week Sam stole the front license plate off another truck. It might help us until we get to where we’re going.

I finish packing and set my bag beside the door. Sam smiles when his picture pops up on the television screen, again on the same news cycle, and I know he’s enjoying his small bit of celebrity even at the risk of being considered a fugitive. Then they show my picture again, which means they also show Henri’s. It rips me apart to see him, even though the sketch looks nothing like him. Now isn’t the time for guilt or misery, but I miss him so much. It’s my fault he’s dead.

Fifteen minutes later Six walks in carrying a white plastic bag.

She holds up the bag and shakes it at us. “I bought you guys something.”

“Yeah, what is it?” I ask.

She reaches in and pulls out a pair of hair clippers. “I think it’s time for a haircut for you and Sam.”

“Oh come on, my head’s too small. It’s going to make me look like a turtle,” Sam objects. I laugh and try to picture him without his shaggy hair. He has a long, skinny neck, and I think he might be right.

“You’ll be incognito,” Six replies.

“Well, I don’t want to be incognito. I’m Variable x.”

“Stop being a wuss,” Six says.

He scowls. I try to be upbeat. “Yeah, Sam,” I say, peeling off my shirt. Six follows me into the bathroom, ripping the packaging away from the clippers as I bend over the tub. Her fingers are a little cold, and goose bumps sprinkle down my spine. I wish it was Sarah who was holding my shoulder steady and giving me a makeover. Sam watches from the doorway, sighing loudly, making his displeasure known.

Six finishes, and I wipe away the loose hair with a towel, then stand and look in the mirror. My head is whiter than the rest of my face, but only because it’s never seen the sun. I think that a few days in the Florida Keys, where Henri and I lived before coming to Ohio, would fix the problem in no time.

“See, John looks tough and rugged like that. I’m going to look like a turd,” Sam groans.

“I am tough and rugged, Sam,” I reply.

He rolls his eyes while Six cleans the clippers. “Down,” she says.

Sam obeys, dropping to his knees and bending over the tub. When she’s done, Sam stands and flashes me a pleading look.

“How bad is it?”

“You look good, buddy,” I say. “You look like a fugitive.”

Sam rubs his head a few times and finally looks in the mirror. He cringes. “I look like an alien!” he exclaims in mock disgust, then glances at me over his shoulder. “No offense,” he adds lamely.

Six collects all the hair from the tub and drops it in the toilet, careful to flush every strand. She coils the cord of the clippers into a neat, tight loop, then slips it back into its bag.

“No time like the present,” she says.

We strap our bags across her shoulders and she grabs them both with her hands, then makes herself invisible, causing the bags to disappear as well. She rushes out the door to take them to the truck without being seen. While she’s gone I reach up into the far right corner of the closet, toss aside a few towels, and grab the Loric Chest.

“You ever going to open that thing or what?” Sam asks. He’s been excited to see what’s inside ever since I told him about it.

“Yeah, I will,” I say. “As soon as I feel safe.”

The motel door opens, then closes. Six reappears and glances at the Chest.

“I won’t be able to make you and Sam disappear and that. Only what I hold in my hands. I’ll run it back to the truck first.”

“No, that’s okay. Take Sam with you, and I’ll follow behind.”

“That’s stupid, John. How are you going to follow behind?”

I pull on my hat and jacket, then zip it and pull the hood over my head so that only my face shows.

“I’ll be fine. I have advanced hearing, like you,” I say.

She eyes me skeptically and shakes her head. I grab Bernie Kosar’s leash and clip it to his collar.

“Only until we get to the truck,” I tell him, since he hates walking on a leash. On second thought, I lean down to carry him since his leg is still healing, but he tells me he’d rather walk himself.

“Ready when you are,” I say.

“All right, let’s do this,” Six says.

Sam offers his hand to her a little too enthusiastically. I stifle a laugh.

“What?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nothing. I’ll follow you as best I can, but don’t get too far ahead.”

“Just cough if you can’t follow and we’ll stop. The truck is only a few minutes’ walk from here, behind the abandoned barn,” Six says. “Can’t miss it.”

As the door flings open, Sam and Six disappear.

“That’s our cue, BK. Just the two of us now.”

He follows me out, trotting happily with his tongue dangling. Aside from quick bathroom trips to the small plot of grass beside the motel, Bernie Kosar’s been cooped up like the rest of us.

The night air is cool and fresh, carrying a scent of pine, and the wind on my face brings me instantly back to life. As I walk I close my eyes and try to sense Six by combing the air with my mind, reaching out and feeling the landscape with telekinesis, the same way I was able to stop the speeding bullet in Athens by grabbing everything in the air. I feel them, a few feet ahead of me and slightly to the right. I give Six a nudge and she startles, her breath catching in her throat. Three seconds later she shoulders into me, nearly causing me to fall. I laugh. And so does she.

“What are you guys doing?” Sam asks. He’s annoyed with our little game. “We’re supposed to be quiet, remember?”

We make it to the truck, which is parked behind a dilapidated old barn that looks as though it’s ready to collapse. Six releases Sam’s hand and he climbs into the middle of the cab. Six jumps behind the wheel, and I slide in next to Sam with BK at my feet.

“Holy crap, dude, what happened to your hair?” I goad Sam.

“Shut up.”

Six starts the truck and I smile as she steers us onto the road, flicking on the headlights when the wheels touch the asphalt.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I was just thinking that, out of the four of us, three are aliens, two are fugitives with terrorist ties, and not a single one of us has a valid driver’s license. Something tells me things might get interesting.”

Even Six can’t help but smile at this.