‘Perfect. I’ve got a feeling They Walk Among Us is about to get a lot more hits.’ I pause, reluctant
to get off the phone. ‘The others are waiting for me. I’ve gotta go.’
‘Mark says to go kick some ass. And I love you.’ Sarah catches herself, laughing. ‘Mark didn’t say
that last part. That was from me.’
We say our good-byes and I’m left with that same feeling of longing mixed with dread that I get
after every one of these phone conversations. I trudge back to the SUV. Everyone else is already
inside except for Sam.
‘So you’re putting all of Walker’s documents on They Walk Among Us?’ Sam asks. ‘It’s a good
idea. Like anti-Mogadorian propaganda.’
‘It’s a desperate idea, is what it is,’ I say glumly. ‘No one’s going to be digging through search
results while their cities are getting bombarded.’
‘There’s a comforting thought,’ Sam replies, frowning. ‘But seriously, that’s a lot of heavy reading.
If you’re trying to get people on our side, it shouldn’t just be about the Mogadorians. You shouldn’t
just be trying to scare people. They’ll be scared enough as it is. You’ve gotta give them some hope.’
‘What do you suggest?’
Sam thinks about it for a second, then shrugs. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll come up with something.’
I nod and pat Sam on the shoulder, the two of us climbing back into the car. I know he’s just trying
to help, and that’s why I don’t tell him that whatever he comes up with … it might be too late.
We make it to New York about an hour later. I’ve never been here before and neither have Nine or
Sam. I wish our visit could be under different circumstances. As we inch along in heavy traffic
through a canyon of skyscrapers, I find myself craning my neck to look out the window. Chicago is a
huge city, but the frenetic jostle of pedestrians on the sidewalks here is something else entirely. There are flashing signs advertising Broadway shows, yellow cabs darting in and out of traffic, a hum of
activity all around us.
And these people have no idea what’s heading their way.
As we drive farther uptown towards Sanderson’s hotel, we pass a dude wearing a cowboy hat and
underwear, strumming an acoustic guitar for a crowd of tourists. Nine snorts.
‘Look at this,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘That shit wouldn’t fly in Chicago.’
I lean forward to get Walker’s attention. ‘Are we close?’
‘A few more blocks,’ she replies.
I reach down to make sure my Loric dagger is still fastened securely to my leg. I also touch my
wrist, reflex telling me to check for my shield bracelet, except that it’s gone, destroyed by the
General.
‘Did your guy on the scene tell you how many Mogs we should be expecting?’ I ask Walker.
‘A dozen. Maybe more.’
‘That’s nothing,’ Nine says, pulling on the gloves that Marina gave him. He clenches his fists and I
inch away from him, wary that he’s going to accidentally trigger some kind of weapon. Thankfully,
nothing happens.
‘You’re wearing those into a fight?’ Sam asks, eyeing Nine incredulously. ‘You don’t even know
what they do.’
‘What better way to find out?’ Nine replies. ‘These Loric things, man, they have a way of not
helping you until you’ve given up on them.’
‘Or maybe they’re just for keeping your hands warm,’ Sam suggests.
‘Just don’t do anything stupid,’ I tell Nine, and he stares at me, his expression getting deathly
serious.
‘John, I won’t,’ he says. ‘For real. You can trust me out there.’
I can tell Nine is still carrying around what happened down in Florida and is eager to prove
himself. I just nod at him, knowing he wouldn’t want me to make a big deal out of it. I’m glad he’s got my back.
Walker turns around to look at Sam. ‘These guys shoot fireballs and have magic gloves, apparently.
But what do you do?’
Sam looks momentarily taken aback, and I notice him reach down to touch the scars burned into his
wrists. After a moment’s consideration, he looks Walker in the eye.
‘I’ve probably killed more Mogs than you have, lady,’ Sam replies.
Nine elbows me, and I can’t help but grin. To her credit, that actually looks like the answer Walker
was hoping for. She opens the glove compartment, pulls out a holstered handgun and holds it out to
Sam.
‘Well, I’m officially arming a minor,’ she says. ‘Do your country proud, Samuel.’
A minute later, our driver pulls over to the side of one of Manhattan’s quieter blocks, double-
parking. The other SUV rolls up behind us. Across the street and down the block a bit is the entrance
to a posh hotel. There’s a wide awning out front and a red carpet, a place for guests to turn over their car keys to a valet and drop their bags on to one of the waiting luggage carts.
Except there’s no activity outside the hotel. No tourists strolling the sidewalk, no valets waiting for tips. Nothing. Everything’s been cleared away or scared off by the trio of Mogadorians standing
guard at the door, their coats brazenly open to reveal the blasters hanging from their belts.
It’s like they’re not even bothering to hide anymore.
‘We want to do this quick and clean,’ Walker says to us, hunching low in her seat so she can look
at the Mogs in her side-view mirror. ‘Take down the Mogs and get to Sanderson before they can send
up an alarm, radio for backup, or whatever they do.’
‘Yeah, got it,’ I reply quickly. I pull up the hood on my sweatshirt so that it hides my face. ‘We’ve
done this before.’
‘Let my people lead,’ Walker says. ‘We’ll flash some badges, maybe confuse them. Then you hit
them hard.’
‘Sure, you distract ’em,’ Nine says. ‘But then get the hell out of our way.’
Walker picks up a walkie-talkie and radios to the agents in the second car. ‘You guys ready?’
‘Affirmative,’ a male voice answers. ‘Let’s do this.’
‘Here we go,’ says an excited Nine, and claps his gloved hands together.
The concussion of sound that detonates from Nine’s hands when he claps isn’t quite sonic-boom
loud, but it’s definitely close. It’s like a thunderclap in the back-seat; all of the SUV’s windows
explode outward, and the car even bounces a few inches into the air. The SUV behind us doesn’t fare
much better – its windows also shatter, but inward, spraying the agents huddled inside. The windows
of nearby storefronts break, too, and a pedestrian walking by is knocked clear off her feet. Next to me, Sam is squeezing the sides of his head, looking dazed. For the first few seconds, I can’t hear much
except a low chirping that I soon realize is car alarms going off up and down the block.
I turn to Nine, wide-eyed, and catch him staring at his gloved hands, also wide-eyed. I can’t hear
what he says, and I’m not much of a lip reader.
But I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Oops.’
At the entrance of the hotel, one Mogadorian is down on his knees, clutching his head. The other
two are pointing right at our SUV and raising their blasters.
So much for the element of surprise.
2 0
With the way my ears are ringing, I don’t really hear the first volley of Mogadorian blaster fire. But I feel it. The SUV is rocked to the side as the jagged energy bolts shear across the car’s bulletproof
paneling. Walker huddles for cover behind her door, keeping her head down. Our driver isn’t so
lucky; a blast comes sizzling through the window and hits him in the side of the neck. His flesh is
burned badly and he immediately starts convulsing.
‘Go!’ I shout, unable to hear myself and not sure if anyone else can either. ‘Go!’