I can’t help but smile. ‘So, now we’re going to an underground government base?’
‘I certainly hope so,’ Nine says, shutting down the computer. He practically takes a bow, so pleased with himself for figuring all this out. ‘Although it’s supposed to be insanely secure and completely impossible to get into. And that’s why it’s the perfect place to hide our ship.’
‘Or to hide the random aliens you find during the course of your travels,’ I add.
It feels as if everything has been turned upside down since I woke up. We quickly get moving, piling the weapons, our Chests, and the supplies in the elevator. BK barely squeezes in with us as the elevator doors close. Nine surprises me with how gentle he sounds when he addresses the closed doors, ‘You were a sweet home, Chicago. I hope I see you again.’
We descend rapidly. ‘Hey, man,’ I say. ‘Remember, our real home is so much cooler.’ He doesn’t say anything, but I see his shoulders relax.
The elevator doors open into an underground garage. We pause and carefully look around before we start to unload. With the coast clear, Nine and I throw the bags over our shoulders and BK follows. As we turn a corner, I see we’re headed for a car hidden under a dusty tarp. After the luxury of the apartment, I can only imagine what must lurk beneath it. I can picture a yellow Ferrari, or something equally flashy. Or maybe it’s a white convertible Porsche or even a black Lotus.
Nine must have read my thoughts. He winks at me and yanks the tarp off to reveal our ride. There, in all its glory, sits an old, beat-up, beige Ford Contour. Not exactly the pimped-out ride I was expecting, but bling is now the least of my concerns; this thing doesn’t look like it’ll even start.
‘Are you serious?’ I ask, not even bothering to hide my disgust.
Nine looks at me innocently, even though he clearly knew what I was expecting. ‘What? You were hoping for a Camaro?’
‘Not exactly. But I was hoping for something with less rust spots. Something that looks less determined to die,’ I say.
‘Shut up and get in, Johnny,’ he says, tossing his bags into the trunk. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.’
22
I wake to the sensation of rocking back and forth. Everything hurts. My whole body feels fried by the sun: my throat, my skin, my feet and my head. My lips are so dry and burned, I can’t even put them together. My eyelids are the worst of all, and they refuse to open, no matter how desperately I want to see where I am. The rocking and swaying continues and it dawns on me I must be in a moving vehicle. A wave of nausea rolls over me. I try to lift my hands to my head, but that’s when I discover they’re tied down. So are my legs. Now I’m wide awake, and I force my eyes open and look madly around, but all I see is darkness. I close my eyes again. The desert sun must have left me blind.
I try to call out for help, but all I can do is wheeze and cough. My ears pick up an echo, and I concentrate on the air around me. I cough again, just to hear the echo once more. It’s enough sound to understand I’m in a tight space, and that the space around me is made of metal. It feels like I’m in a coffin, and I almost wretch.
That’s when I start to panic. What if I’m not blind? What if I’m really dead? I can’t be. I am in way too much pain to be dead. But I feel buried alive.
My breath starts to come fast and furious when a man’s voice stops my panic attack cold. It’s loud and electronic, coming through a speaker. ‘Are you awake?’
I try to answer him, but my throat is too dry. I tap my fingers on the bench and realize it’s metal, too. A few seconds later there is a noise to my right, and I can sense something has been placed near me.
‘There’s a glass of water and a straw beside you. Take a sip,’ the man says.
I turn my head and find the straw with my mouth. The skin on my lips cracks as I try to close them around the straw. When I take a sip of water, I can taste the metallic tinge of blood and I hear a low humming in my ears. It’s the same hum I heard at the gate. The box I’m in must be flowing with electricity.
‘What were you doing at that gate?’ The man asks. Every time he speaks, I am struck by how neutral his voice is. It isn’t friendly, but neither is it threatening.
‘Lost,’ I whisper. ‘I was lost.’
‘How did you get lost?’
I take another sip before saying, ‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know. I see. Your number is six, is it not?’
I cough and choke at the question, mentally chewing myself out for doing so. I’m usually cooler than this, but my mind is completely cooked by the sun. If he wasn’t sure of the answer before, he is now. I resolve to get a grip, to stop making stupid mistakes.
The voice is back. ‘Well, Number Six. You’re pretty famous around here. The footage from the high school in Paradise and the way you took down those helicopters in Tennessee was impressive. And then there’s the incredible show you put on in D.C. last week, breaking John Smith and Sam Goode out of a federal facility. You are quite the little warrior princess, aren’t you?’
I’m still stuck on how he could know who I am; now he’s talking like he had front-row seats to my life? My body sways hard to the left, and I realize I must be in a moving vehicle that just took a turn, taking me who knows where. I push against the strap over my forehead – nothing happens. I try using my telekinesis, but as soon as I even start to focus my thoughts pain rolls through my stomach so bad I almost throw up again.
‘What you need to do is relax. Trying to fight isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’re dehydrated and most likely have heat stroke. You’re going to feel pretty sick for a while.’
‘Who are you?’ I manage to ask, painfully.
‘Agent David Purdy, FBI,’ he says. I feel slightly better knowing I’m in the hands of the U.S. government, not captured by the Mogs. I couldn’t go through that again, knowing what was coming, especially now that the charm that protected me the first time has been broken. With the FBI, my chances of survival have just skyrocketed. No matter how aggressive they are, they aren’t monsters. All I need right now is a little patience; the opportunity to escape will come. Purdy doesn’t know that, probably assumes it can’t be true. Right now, I’ll just follow his advice. Relax. Rehydrate. Wait. I might as well see what else he’s willing to tell me about what he knows about me, what he knows about all of this.
‘Where am I?’ I ask.
The speaker squeals before Agent Purdy answers. ‘You’re in a transport. It’s a short trip.’
Again I try to use my telekinesis to undo my leg straps, but I’m still too weak and the attempt makes me nauseous again. I take another couple of sips of water to give myself time to think. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘We’ve got a reunion planned for you with a friend, or maybe I should say a friend of John Smith’s. Do you call him John? Or, do you call him Number Four?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say. I pause before answering. ‘I don’t know anyone named John Four.’
All of a sudden, I remember what happened back in the desert, just before I blacked out at the gate. I felt half out of my mind, so much so I wasn’t even sure the helicopters landing close by were even real. I remember hearing Ella’s voice. No. I didn’t just hear her voice; we spoke to one another. She asked, I answered. Given the fact that it’s the FBI who has me, it’s a pretty good bet there really were helicopters. If those were real, maybe I did communicate with Ella. Has a new Legacy kicked in? Just when I needed it most.