Mogadorians have pursued us from Chicago.
Although, technically, they wouldn’t have to. There’s already a Mogadorian among us.
Behind me, Sarah stomps her foot. We’re in what used to be the foreman’s office, dust everywhere,
the floorboards swollen and mildewed. I turn around just in time to see her frowning at the remains of a cockroach on the bottom of her sneaker.
‘Careful. You might go crashing right through the floor,’ I tell her, only half joking.
‘I guess it was too much to ask for all your secret bases to be in penthouse apartments, huh?’ Sarah
asks, fixing me with a teasing smile.
We slept in this old factory last night, our sleeping bags laid on the sunken floorboards. Both of us are filthy, it’s been a couple of days since our last real shower, and Sarah’s blond hair is caked with dirt.
She’s still beautiful to me. Without her at my side, I might’ve totally lost it after the attack in Chicago, where the Mogs kidnapped Ella and destroyed the penthouse.
I grimace at the thought, and Sarah’s smile immediately fades. I leave the window and walk over to
her.
‘This not knowing is killing me,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
Sarah touches my face, trying to console me. ‘At least we know they won’t hurt Ella. Not if what
you saw in that vision is true.’
‘Yeah,’ I snort. ‘They’ll just turn her into a brainwashed traitor, like …’
I trail off, thinking of the rest of our missing friends and the turncoat they traveled with. We still haven’t heard anything from Six and the others, not that there’s an easy way for them to get in touch
with us. All their Chests are here and, assuming they could even try reaching us by more traditional
methods, they wouldn’t have the first clue how to find us, seeing as we had to flee Chicago.
The only thing I know for sure is that I have a fresh scar on my leg, the fourth of its kind. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it feels like a weight. If the Garde had stayed apart, if we’d kept the Loric charm
intact, that fourth scar would’ve symbolized my death. Instead, one of my friends is dead in Florida,
and I don’t know how, or who, or what’s happened to the rest of them.
I feel in my gut that Five is still alive. I saw him in Ella’s vision, standing alongside Setrákus Ra, a traitor. He must have led the others into a trap, and now one of them won’t be coming back. Six,
Marina, Eight, Nine – one of them is gone.
Sarah wraps her hand around mine, massaging it, trying to ease some of the tension.
‘I can’t stop thinking about what I saw in that vision …’ I begin, trailing off. ‘We’d lost, Sarah.
And now it feels like it’s happening for real. Like this is the beginning of the end.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything and you know it,’ Sarah replied. ‘Look at Eight. Wasn’t there some
kind of death prophecy about him? And he survived.’
I frown, not stating the obvious, that Eight could be the one who was killed down in Florida.
‘I know it seems bleak,’ Sarah continues, ‘and, I mean, it is pretty bad, John. Obviously.’
‘Good pep talk.’
She squeezes my hand, hard, and widens her eyes at me like shut up.
‘But those guys down in Florida are Garde,’ she says. ‘They’re going to fight, they’re going to keep
going and they’re going to win. You have to believe, John. When you were comatose back in Chicago,
we never gave up on you. We kept fighting and it paid off. Just when it seemed like we’d lost, you
saved us.’
I think about the state my friends were in when I finally awoke back in Chicago. Malcolm was
mortally wounded and Sarah badly hurt, Sam nearly out of ammo and Bernie Kosar unaccounted for.
They’d put it all on the line for me.
‘You guys saved me first,’ I reply.
‘Yeah, obviously. So return the favor and save our planet.’
The way she says it, like it’s no big deal, makes me smile. I pull Sarah close and kiss her.
‘I love you, Sarah Hart.’
‘Love you back, John Smith.’
‘Um, I love you guys, too …’
Sarah and I both turn to find Sam standing in the doorway, an awkward smile on his face. Curled
up in his arms is a huge orange cat, one of the six Chimærae that our new Mogadorian friend brought
with him, drawn to us by Bernie Kosar’s rooftop howling. Apparently, the stick BK took from Eight’s
Chest was some kind of Chimæra totem used to lead them to us, like a Loric dog whistle. We stuck to
back roads on our way to Baltimore, careful to make sure we weren’t tailed. The crowded van ride
gave us plenty of time to brainstorm names for our new allies. This particular Chimæra, preferring a
chubby cat-shape as its regular form, Sam insisted we name Stanley, in honor of Nine’s old alter ego.
If he’s still alive, I’m sure Nine will be thrilled to have a fat cat with an obvious affection for Sam named after him.
‘Sorry,’ Sam says, ‘did I spoil the moment?’
‘Not at all,’ Sarah replies, stretching out one arm towards Sam. ‘Group hug?’
‘Maybe later,’ Sam says, looking at me. ‘The others are back and setting everything up
downstairs.’
I nod, reluctantly letting go of Sarah and walking over to the duffel bag with our supplies. ‘They
have any problems?’
Sam shakes his head. ‘They had to settle for just a couple of little camping generators. Not enough
cash for something big. Anyway, it should be enough juice.’
‘What about surveillance?’ I ask, pulling the white locator tablet and its adapter free from the
duffel bag.
‘Adam said he didn’t see any Mog scouts,’ Sam answers.
‘Well, out of anyone, he’d know how to spot them,’ Sarah puts in.
‘True,’ I reply halfheartedly, still not trusting this so-called good Mogadorian, even though he’s
done nothing but help us since showing up in Chicago. Even now, with him and Malcolm setting up
our newly purchased electronics on the factory floor below, I feel a vague sense of unease at having
one of them so close. I push it down. ‘Let’s go.’
We follow Sam down a rusty spiral staircase and on to the floor of the factory proper. The place
must’ve been closed down in a hurry because there are still racks of musty, eighties-style men’s suits pushed up against the walls and half-full boxes of raincoats abandoned on conveyor belts.
A Chimæra in golden retriever form that Sarah insisted we call Biscuit tumbles into our path, her
teeth clenched around the ripped sleeve of a suit, locked in a tug-of-war with Dust, the gray husky.
Another Chimæra, Gamera, which Malcolm named after some old movie monster, trundles after the
others but has trouble keeping up in his snapping turtle form. The two other new Chimærae – a hawk
we dubbed Regal and a scrawny raccoon we named Bandit – watch the game from one of the
inoperative conveyor belts.
It’s a relief to see them playing. The Chimærae weren’t in the best shape when Adam liberated
them from Mogadorian experimentation, and they still weren’t doing so hot when he brought them to
Chicago. It was slow going, but I was able to use my healing Legacy to fix them up. There was
something inside of them, something Mogadorian, that actually felt like it was pushing back against
my powers. It even made my Lumen flare up briefly, something that’s never happened when using my
healing. Ultimately, though, whatever the Mogs did was washed away by my Legacy.
I’d never actually used my healing Legacy on a Chimæra before that night. Luckily, it worked,
because there was one Chimæra in even worse condition than all our new friends.
‘Have you seen BK?’ I ask Sam, scanning the room for him. I had found him on the roof of the John