The Fall of Five (I Am Number Four)

by Pittacus Lore

  “I didn’t realize you did any thinking.”

  “Okay, fair point, you usually do enough thinking for all of us.” He thrusts the sketchpad at me. “But check this out.”

  I take the sketchpad and start thumbing through the pages. They’re covered with floor plans drawn in Nine’s precise hand. It’s like the architecture of some military base, yet it looks strangely familiar.

  “Is this—?”

  “West Virginia,” Nine declares, proudly. “Every detail I could remember. This should come in handy when we make our assault on the place. I’m sure it’s where that fat jerk-off Setrákus is hiding out.”

  I sit down on the couch, tossing the sketchpad on the cushion next to me. “When I wanted to attack the cave, you were totally against it.”

  “That was after you’d run into a force field like a dummy,” he replies. “I said we needed numbers. We’ve got numbers.”

  “Speaking of which, did you check the tablet this morning?”

  Nine nods. “Five’s staying put for now.” We’ve been keeping an eye on our locater tablet since returning to Chicago. Five—the one Garde we haven’t made contact with—has been on an island off the coast of Florida for the last few days. Before we left for New Mexico, he was in Jamaica. His moving around is standard Loric on-the-run protocol. Finding him, even with the tablet to point us in the right direction, might not be easy.

  “Now that we’ve had a chance to rest up, I think we should make it a priority. The more of us the better, right?”

  “And maybe while we’re searching for Five, Setrákus Ra mounts a full-scale invasion of Earth.” Nine slaps the front of his sketchpad for emphasis. “We’ve got him on the run. We should finish it off now.”

  “On the run?” I ask, staring at Nine. “That’s not exactly how I remember it.”

  “What? He did retreat, didn’t he?”

  I shake my head. “You think you’re ready for a rematch?”

  “You tell me.” Nine curls one of his arms behind him and juts the other out overhead, a bodybuilder pose. I can’t help but laugh.

  “I’m sure he’ll be intimidated by flexing.”

  “It’s more intimidating than sitting around, anyway,” counters Nine as he flops down on the couch next to me.

  “You really think we should go storming West Virginia? After the beating we took at Dulce?”

  Nine looks down at his fists, clenching and unclenching them, probably remembering how close he came to being finished off by Setrákus. How close we all came.

  “I don’t know,” he says after a pause. “I just wanted to give this to you so you know it’s an option, all right? You might not think I’m, like, capable of learning my limitations and shit like that—but, back in New Mexico? I was maybe, just slightly, over my head trying to fight Setrákus alone. Six went off on her own too, Eight got wrecked, and everyone else was getting shot up. But you kept it together, man. You kept us together. Everyone knows it. I still don’t buy your bullshit about being Pittacus reincarnated or whatever, but you’ve got that team-captain vibe. So you do the leading and I’ll do the ass kicking. It’s what we’re best at.”

  “Best? I don’t know—Six is pretty good at ass kicking, too.”

  Nine snorts. “Yeah, she was super-badass in her freaking ceiling cocoon. That’s not the point, Johnny. The point is, I need you to tell me what to punch. And I need you to tell me soon or I’m gonna go stir crazy up in here.”

  I take another look at Nine’s sketchpad. From the look of it, he probably got right to work on these drawings as soon as we returned from New Mexico. For all his bluster, at least he’s been trying his best to come up with a way to take the fight to the Mogadorians. Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck in this rut, unable to sleep, thinking myself in circles alone on the rooftop.

  “I wish Henri was here,” I say, “or Sandor. Any of the Cêpans, really. Someone that could tell us what to do next.”

  “Yeah, well, they’re dead,” replies Nine, bluntly. “It’s up to us now, and you’re always the one with the ideas. Hell, the last time I wouldn’t go along with your plan, I almost had to throw you off a roof.”

  “I’m not a Cêpan.”

  “No, but you’re a freaking know-it-all.” Nine pats me hard on the back, which I’ve come to realize is as close as he gets to real affection. “Quit whining, cut down on the snuggling with your little human girlfriend, and come up with some brilliant plan.”

  A week ago I would’ve bristled at Nine calling me a whiner and needling me about Sarah. Now, I know he’s just trying to motivate me. This is his version of a pep talk and, embarrassing as it is, I sort of need to hear it.

  “What if I just don’t have a plan?” I ask quietly.

  “That, John-boy, is simply not an option.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  I’M BACK ON THE ROOF OF THE JOHN HANCOCK Center. This time, I’m not alone.

  “We don’t have to talk about it, if you aren’t ready,” I say gently, looking at the huddled form sitting Indian style on the roof next to me.

  Ella has a blanket wrapped around her shoulders even though it isn’t that cold on the roof. Somehow she looks smaller than usual, and I wonder if stress is causing her to revert back to a younger age. Beneath the blanket she’s wearing one of Nine’s old flannel shirts. It comes all the way down to her knees. Lately, it seems like the only time she’s able to sleep peacefully is in the afternoons. She probably wouldn’t have even gotten out of bed at all today if Marina hadn’t gently prodded her to come up here and talk with me.

  “I’ll try,” she says, her voice hard to hear above the wind. “Marina said you might be able to help.”

  Thanks, Marina, I think. I’ve barely spoken to Ella one-on-one since we first met in New Mexico. I guess this is a good opportunity to get to know her better, although I wish it was under better circumstances. I badly want to help her; I’m just not sure I know how—I’m hardly an expert on these visions, or a psychiatrist, if that’s what she needs. This is the kind of talk that would normally be left to a Cêpan, but like Nine reminded me earlier, we’re all out of those.

  I try to sound confident. “Marina’s right. I’ve had dreams before.”

  “Dreams about him?” Ella asks, and by the way her voice drops there can be no doubt who she’s talking about.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “That ugly freak has spent so much time in my head, I should be charging him rent.”

  Ella smiles a little. She stands up, kicking some loose gravel across the roof. Tentatively, I put my hand on her shoulder. She sighs, almost like it’s a relief.

  “It always starts the same way,” Ella begins. “We’re back at that base, fighting Setrákus and his minions. We’re, you know, losing.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I remember that part.”

  “I pick up a piece of metal from the floor. I dunno what it is exactly, a broken piece of a sword maybe. When I touch it, it starts glowing in my hand.”

  “Wait,” I say, trying to piece this part together. “Is that what happened or is this just in the dream?”

  “That’s what happened,” she says. “I was scared and just grabbed the first thing I could. My big plan was to just chuck stuff at him until he stopped hitting Nine.”

  “From where I was standing, it looked like some kind of dart,” I say, remembering the fight, all the smoke and chaos. “A glowing dart. I thought it was something you got from your Chest.”

  “I never had a Chest,” Ella replies sullenly. “I guess they forgot to pack me one.”

  “Ella, do you know what I think?” I’m trying to be comforting, but the excitement is hard to keep out of my voice. “I think you developed a new Legacy back there and we were all too panicked to realize it.”

  Ella looks down at her hands. “I don’t get it.”

  I pick up a handful of the loose stones from the roof and hold them out to her. “I think you did something to that broken piece of sword. And when you hit Setrákus Ra with it, you hurt him.
”

  “Oh,” she replies, not sounding at all thrilled.

  “Do you think you could do it again?” I hold the stones out towards her.

  “I don’t want to,” she answers sharply. “It felt . . . wrong, somehow.”

  “You were just scared . . . ,” I start, trying to encourage her, but when she takes a step away from me, I realize I’ve made a mistake. She’s still shaken up by the fight, these dreams, her Legacies. I let the stones drop back to the roof. “We all were. It’s okay. We can worry about that later. Finish telling me about the dreams.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, and I think maybe she’s withdrawing completely. But, after a moment, she starts again.

  “I throw the piece of metal at him,” she says, “and it sticks inside him. Just like at the base. Except, in my dream, instead of retreating, Setrákus turns to face me. Everyone else—all of you guys—disappear, and it’s just me and him alone in that smoky room.”

  Ella wraps her arms around herself, shivering. “He pulls the dart out and he smiles at me. Smiles at me with those horrible teeth. I’m stuck standing there like an idiot while he walks over and touches my face. Like, caresses it with the back of his hand. His touch is ice cold. And then he talks to me.”

  I feel like shivering too, actually. The thought of Setrákus Ra strolling up to Ella and putting his disgusting hand on her, it turns my stomach.

  “What does he say?” I ask.

  “Um,” she pauses, lowering her voice. “He says, ‘there you are’ and then, ‘I’ve been looking for you.’”

  “And then what happens?”

  “He—he gets down on his knees.” Her voice drops to a chilled whisper. “He holds one of my hands in both of his, and he asks me if I’ve read the letter.”

  “What letter? Do you know what he’s talking about?”

  Ella hunches the blanket tighter around her shoulders, not looking at me. “No.”

  I can tell by the way she answers that Ella isn’t being totally honest. There’s something about this letter—whatever it might be—that’s shaken her up almost as much as these visions of Setrákus Ra. From her description, I don’t know if these dreams are like the ones I’ve had, like the one where Setrákus showed me Sam being tortured to try baiting me into fighting him, or if it’s like Six suggested and these nightmares are simply a result of all the really awful things Ella’s been through lately. I don’t want to press her any further; she already seems close to tears.

  “I wish I could tell you I could make the dreams go away,” I begin, finding myself doing my best Henri impression, “but I can’t. I don’t know what causes them. I only know how painful they can be.”

  Ella nods, looking disappointed. “Okay.”

  “If you see him in a dream again, just remember he can’t hurt you. And when he tries to hold your hand, you punch him right in his ugly face.”

  Ella cracks a smile. “I’ll try.”

  I’m not sure if anything I said really helped Ella, but one detail from our conversation sticks with me. Whatever she hit Setrákus Ra with, I’m sure that it was the result of her developing a new Legacy. She charged up that projectile and, somehow, it hurt him, or at least distracted him enough that we were able to get our Legacies back. Now I just need to convince her to try doing it again, and hopefully figure out exactly what this new Legacy can do. If it worked once, maybe it will work again. If I’m going to put together a plan to finally kill Setrákus Ra, I’m going to need every weapon we have at my disposal.

  I head down to the Lecture Hall, hoping to find something in my Chest or in Nine’s arsenal that might help draw out Ella’s Legacy. I remember when Henri used the warming stone on me to help me first gain control of my Lumen. I wonder if something like that would help Ella.

  I’m deep in thought when I hear the muffled sound of gunshots.

  I flinch automatically, hunching down, my hands growing hot as my Lumen switches on. It’s instinct. I know the difference between Mog blasters and Nine’s gun collection, which some of the others have taken to practicing with. I also know we’re safe here, at least for now; if the Mogs knew where we were, all of us together, their assault would be a hell of a lot noisier than one gun going off. Even considering all that, my heart is still pounding and I feel ready for a fight. I guess Ella isn’t the only one jumpy from the battle in New Mexico.

  I push my way through the heavy double doors of the Lecture Hall, my hands glowing dimly because I’m still a little on edge. I’m expecting to find Nine twirling a gun outlaw style into its holster, killing time by shooting up paper targets.

  Instead, I find Sarah squeezing off the last round from a small handgun. The bullet tears through the shoulder of a paper Mogadorian hanging at the far end of the room.

  “Not bad,” says Six as she pulls off a pair of noise-canceling headphones. She’s standing next to Sarah, watching over her shoulder. Six uses her telekinesis to pull the paper Mog closer. Most of Sarah’s shots ripped through around the edges, or caught the Mog in the arms and legs. One, however, tore through right between his eyes. Sarah pokes her finger through that hole.

  “I can do better than this,” she says.

  “It’s not as easy as cheerleading, huh?” Six asks good-naturedly.

  Sarah unloads her spent cartridge and jams home a fresh one. “You’ve obviously never tried a full layout twist.”

  “I don’t even know what that is.”

  Watching this scene play out, I feel suddenly and inexplicably nervous. Admittedly, there’s something about her waving a gun around that makes Sarah hot in a dangerous way that I’d never really considered. But it also makes me feel guilty, like I’m the reason she’s stuck here taking target practice instead of being back in Paradise, living a normal life. Plus, there’s the fact that I haven’t mentioned kissing Six to Sarah, or even talked about it with Six, and now here the two of them are, hanging out. I know I should come clean about that to Sarah. Eventually. When she’s not carrying a loaded weapon, maybe.

  I clear my throat, trying to sound casual. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Both girls turn around to look at me. Sarah smiles big and waves with the hand not holding the gun.

  “Hey, babe,” she says. “Six was just helping me learn to shoot.”

  “Yeah, cool. I didn’t realize that’s something you wanted to do.”

  Six gives me a strange look, like who wouldn’t want to learn to shoot? An awkward moment passes between us, where I’m feeling almost mad at her for giving Sarah this lesson without my permission. Not that Sarah needs my permission to do anything. The whole situation has me feeling flustered, and I must look it, because Six eases the gun out of Sarah’s hand. She clicks the safety on and holsters it.

  “I think that’s good for now,” Six says. “Let’s do some more tomorrow.”

  “Oh,” replies Sarah, sounding disappointed. “All right.”

  Six pats Sarah on the arm. “Good shooting.” Then, she fixes me with a tight smile that I’m not at all sure what to make of. “Later, guys,” she says, and breezes past me out the door.

  Sarah and I stand in silence for a moment, the lights of the Lecture Hall buzzing overhead.

  “So,” I begin, awkwardly.

  “You’re being weird,” she says, eyeing me, her head tilted to the side.

  I pick up the paper Mogadorian, examining Sarah’s handiwork while I figure out what to say. “I know. Sorry. I just never took you for the armed and dangerous type.”

  Sarah frowns at me. “If I’m going to be with you, I don’t want to be a damsel in distress.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Come on,” she snorts. “Who knows how long I would’ve rotted in New Mexico if you hadn’t shown up? And then, I mean, John, you pretty much brought me back to life.”

  I slide my arm around her, not wanting to think about Sarah at my feet, nearly dead. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  She shrugs me off. “You can’t say that
for sure. You can’t do everything, John.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I’m starting to realize that.”

  Sarah looks up at me. “You know, I thought about calling my parents today. It’s been weeks. I wanted to tell them I’m all right.”

  “That’s not really a good idea. The Mogadorians or the government could be monitoring your house for phone calls. They could be tracking us.”

  The words sound so cold and I regret them almost right away, how quickly I’m slipping into paranoid-and-practical-leader mode. But Sarah doesn’t seem offended. In fact, it looks like it’s exactly what she expected me to say.

  “I know,” she says, nodding. “That’s exactly what I thought, and it’s why I didn’t actually go through with it. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here with you guys and fight. But I don’t have any Loric superpowers. I’m just dead weight. I want to practice shooting so I can be more than that.”

  I grab Sarah’s hand. “You are more than that. I need you here with me. You’re pretty much the only thing keeping me from completely melting down.”

  “I get it,” she says. “You’re going to save the freaking world and I’m going to help you. That whole saying about behind every great man there is a great woman? I can be that for you. I just want to be a great woman with excellent aim.”

  I can’t help but laugh, the tension between us breaking. I lift Sarah’s hand and kiss it. She wraps her arms around my waist and we hug. I don’t know what I was so tied up in knots about; having Sarah here just makes everything seem easier. Coming up with a battle plan to take down the Mogadorians? No problem. And as for that one kiss with Six, it just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

  Eight teleports into the room with a puff of displaced air. He’s wide-eyed and excited, but turns sheepish when he sees us.

  “Whoa,” Eight says. “Sorry, I didn’t expect canoodling.”

  Sarah snickers, and I glare jokingly at Eight. “This better be good.”

  “You should go to the workshop and see for yourself. I’ve gotta go get the others.”