The Fall of Five (I Am Number Four)

by Pittacus Lore

  “Look at that!” Eight shouts to be heard over the boat. I peer over the side to where a massing of lily pads is disturbed by something drifting through the water. At first I think it’s another log, but then I notice the rough scales of a tail swaying across the water and know it’s an alligator. “Keep your hands inside the ride,” Eight yells.

  I watch as the alligator disappears into an outgrowth of trees to our left. I can see why Five thought the Everglades would be a safe place to hide his Inheritance; it’s a maze of tall grasses and muddy water, deserted except for the bugs and the lurking animals.

  We’re traveling down what is basically a road in the water, a place where the dense saw grass and trees that sprout up on either side of us part to allow boat traffic. Not that there’s anyone else out here—we haven’t seen a single human being since picking up our boat from the rental place an hour ago. Even that was just a ramshackle cabin stuck between the end of a country road and the edge of the swamp. We had our pick of three rusted fan boats lashed to the rickety dock. The solitary man living out there, sunburned and smelling like a combination of alcohol and jet fuel, hiccupped his way through a tutorial on boat operation before accepting some cash in exchange for a dog-eared map of the area and the keys to the boat. He didn’t ask any questions, which we were all thankful for.

  It’s the local man’s map that Six is concerning herself with. She’s comparing it to the map of the Everglades that we printed off the internet, the one Five marked with the location of his Chest. She keeps switching between our map and the smudged but more detailed map of local tributaries and bayou backwaters. She holds the papers away from her, annoyed. “I can’t make sense of this,” she grumbles.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nine replies, steering us forward, towards the sunset. “Five said he knows where we’re going. Let him be useful for a change.”

  I glance to the sky, looking for Five. He flew off about fifteen minutes ago, claiming he could better find his Chest from above. The edge of the sky is starting to turn a shade of pink that I’d normally find beautiful, but out here seems somehow ominous.

  “I don’t mean to sound like a chicken,” I say warily, pushing a wet strand of hair behind my ear, “but I seriously don’t want to be out here after the sun sets.”

  “Me neither,” adds Eight, flicking the map in Six’s hands. “Especially if our esteemed navigator doesn’t know how to get us back to civilization.”

  Six narrows her eyes at Eight but doesn’t reply. Nine just laughs. Huge sweat stains darken his shirt and bugs buzz around him incessantly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, Nine seems to be enjoying this—the humidity, the stickiness, the sense of danger. It’s his natural element. “I was thinking we might go camping after,” he says.

  Eight and I groan. If there weren’t alligators drifting around in the water beneath us, I’d definitely take this opportunity to splash Nine. I look to the skies again, keeping my eyes peeled for Five.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I say. There’s no reason not to be optimistic. So far, this mission has run smoothly with no sign of any trouble. I still don’t feel right about leaving John and Ella behind, but the others were right. There’s nothing we could do for them in Chicago. I haven’t quite reached the levels of enthusiasm Nine has, but it definitely feels better to be out here doing something, searching for a way to help our friends and win this war.

  Just as long as we don’t get lost in this swamp. No good could come from that.

  A shadow passes overhead. Five. He hovers over the boat for a moment before gently dropping down beside us. He’s dripping sweat, his white T-shirt soaked through.

  Nine snickers. “Probably gonna lose some weight if we hang down here long enough, huh, big boy?”

  Five grits his teeth, pulling his wet shirt away from his body self-consciously. We’re all sweaty and gross, but for some reason Nine just can’t resist picking on Five. I had dared to hope that maybe the game of capture the flag helped them work out some of their issues, but there’s still tension festering between them.

  “Ignore him,” I say to Five. “Did you find your Chest?”

  Five nods, pointing in the direction we’re already going. “There’s a patch of solid ground about a mile farther. It’s there.”

  Nine sighs. “Why didn’t you just grab the Chest and fly it back here, man?”

  Five smirks at Nine. “You didn’t listen to the plan, did you? We voted that you should handle all manual labor and grunt work.”

  “Huh?” Confused, Nine looks over at Eight. “Is he serious?”

  Eight shrugs, playing along.

  Six makes an exasperated noise. “Just drive the damn boat, Nine.”

  “Aye-aye, captain,” Nine says, wiggling his fingers. “One Chest, coming right up.”

  Six turns her gaze to Five. She’s been more quiet than usual. “Why didn’t you grab the Chest?” she asks sharply.

  Five shrugs. “It’s getting dark and it’s a good place to rest, if we need to.”

  “See?” Nine shouts, delighted. “Camping!”

  “No way,” says Eight, shaking his head vehemently. “Drive this thing faster so we can get out of here.”

  Nine accelerates the boat, spray kicking up over the side as a result.

  I guess where Five leads us could charitably be described as an island. Really, it’s just a pile of mud in the middle of the swamp, the support system for one massive and gnarled tree that looks like it has been growing since the dawn of time. The tree’s roots are so huge and outstretched that Nine has to drive the boat up cautiously, not wanting to get stuck on any of them. We climb out of the boat, our feet squishing through mud and slipping across the uneven protrusions of the tree. There’s a ring of tall grass growing from the water around us and the tree’s branches above are so numerous and thick that the entire little island is thrown into shadow almost as soon as you step onto it. It’s actually almost ten degrees cooler here than it was on the water.

  “This is actually a pretty great spot,” I tell Five.

  Five’s chest puffs out a little at the rare compliment. “Yeah. I camped here one night. This old tree is amazing. Figured I wouldn’t have any problems finding it again.”

  “Congratulations,” grumbles Nine, swatting at a bug on his neck. “So where’s your damn Chest?”

  Five leads us right to the base of the tree. Under our feet is a complicated lattice of roots; it’s like the tree is a fist plunged into the earth and the roots are its fingers, mud squeezing out from in between the tree’s tight grasp. Five kneels down under a knot of roots, a place where they’ve bunched up a bit, almost like a knuckle. He reaches underneath the roots where a soft pocket of mud waits.

  “It’s under here,” Five says, feeling around. “Almost got it.”

  The mud makes a wet sucking noise when Five pulls the Chest free, as if it’s reluctant to give up our prize. Five kneels in front of it, wiping muck off the familiar wooden surface.

  Eight taps on my shoulder and points to a place where the tall grass is parting. I can see the flat head and yellow eyes of an alligator, maybe the same one as before. “Looks like someone’s hungry,” Eight jokes.

  “Is he following us?” I ask, partly kidding around, but also a little creeped out. I inch closer to Eight.

  “Lots of gators down here,” says Five absently, hefting his Chest up.

  “You talk to animals, don’t you?” I ask Nine. “Tell that beast we don’t want any trouble.”

  “Maybe I’ll keep it as a pet. Or make a sweet-ass coat out of it,” Nine replies, squinting as he focuses on the approaching animal. Something in his face suddenly changes. “Hold up—”

  A second alligator’s head appears next to the first, and then seconds later a third head also emerges from the muck. At first, I think we’re being stalked by a pack of gators, if such a thing is even possible. But then the three heads rise out of the water as one, a thick scale-covered neck connecting them a
ll to a single body. The scales disappear beneath a soaked coat of oily black fur on the beast’s torso, droplets of water violently shaking loose as it stretches a pair of leathery bat wings. It ends up standing almost fifteen feet tall on a pair of almost humanoid legs. It hunches forward, six pairs of jaundiced eyes staring at us hungrily.

  “Look out!” shouts Six, just as the creature flaps its wings and takes to the air.

  The creature looms in the air over me. It’s funny the things you notice in a moment like that. The monster’s feet are huge, curled talons extending from each foot’s three toes as well as from the heels. But the pads of the monster’s feet look almost soft, a pair of S-shaped scars carved into the tissue there, like some Mogadorian scientist signed his work.

  I see all that in the moment before it tries to stomp down on me.

  “Watch out!” Eight grabs me around the waist and we teleport backwards. The mutant gator’s clawed toes shear a chunk out of the root I was standing on.

  “How the hell did they find us?” Nine snarls, extending his pipe staff.

  “I don’t see any Mogs,” I shout, spinning around, trying to take in the entire swamp. “Could it be alone?”

  “I’ll go ask it.”

  Nine charges in. The beast snaps at him with one of its three mouths. Nine brings his pipe-staff up and jams it right into the closest mouth, knocking out a couple of yellowed fangs. With one head roaring in pain, the monster lashes out with a wing, forcing Nine backwards.

  Five drops his Chest on the ground and unlocks it. Six grabs his shoulder. “What the hell?” she yells. “You didn’t see this thing when you scouted?”

  “It came from underwater. How could I see it?” Five’s voice is calm, he doesn’t seem rattled at all, unlike how John described him in their last battle. “Don’t worry,” he continues. “I’ve got just the thing in here.”

  “A little help?!” Nine shouts as he jumps away from one of the monster’s snapping mouths.

  Eight teleports right above the creature’s three heads. He kicks it hard in one of its snouts, then teleports away so he’s side by side with Nine. The thing lets loose a frustrated roar, flapping its wings and trying to take to the air. Nine and Eight separate, trying to flank the beast.

  As Five rummages through his Chest, Six thrusts her hands in the air. “Marina, watch my back while I do this.” I hear the first droplets of a rainstorm working their way through the foliage.

  Five pulls some kind of leather sleeve out of his Chest. He slides it over his forearm. When he flexes, a sleek one-foot blade extends from the underside of his wrist. Five grins. “Missed you,” he says to the sleeve contraption, the blade sliding back down when he flexes again.

  “Let’s hurry up on that lightning, Six!” yells Nine. The monster is bearing down on him. It’s everything he can do to get his staff up, deflecting a series of bites from the trio of fanged mouths. Backpedaling blind, Nine trips over a branch and goes toppling onto his butt. The beast is about to leap right on top of him when Eight shape shifts, assuming the form of a massive half-man, half-boar, one of the avatars of Vishnu, I presume. He grabs the creature by its alligator tail and yanks it backwards, keeping it from devouring Nine.

  The beast swivels around and sinks its teeth into Eight’s shoulder. He bellows through his boar snout and his form begins to flicker. I can see he’s having trouble keeping his concentration with the pain from the bite.

  “Eight!” I scream. I want to go to him, to heal him, but I can’t leave Six while she’s focusing on creating a storm.

  “Go help him,” she says through gritted teeth. “I’m good to go.”

  I race forward, intent on getting to Eight. Before the flying gator can take another chunk out of him, a lightning bolt slices down from the heavens. It strikes the creature and knocks it flat, the thing convulsing and smoking. It’s raining harder now, Six really amping up the storm.

  Nine is back on his feet. He barrels forward while the beast is still struggling to get its two legs under it. Nine bludgeons the creature with his staff but the blows hardly make a dent in the scale-covered hide.

  With Nine back on the attack, Eight staggers away from the monster, still in his Vishnu form. He transforms back to normal when I reach him and I can see deep and jagged lacerations covering his right shoulder. I press my hands to Eight’s shoulder, let the icy feeling flow through me and into him, and watch as his wounds close up.

  “I could kiss you,” Eight says.

  “After we kill this thing, maybe,” I reply.

  The monster rears back and swings one of its leathery wings at Nine, knocking him backwards. As soon as Nine is out of the way, Six calls down two more lightning strikes. The lightning knocks the beast down again and tears a hole in the membrane of its wing, but it just struggles back to his feet again and roars. It seems like we’re only making it angrier.

  “What does it take to stop this fucker?” shouts Nine.

  A high-pitched whistle fills the air, so loud and sharp that it causes my skin to crawl, like fingernails on a chalkboard. I spin around to see Five blowing into an intricate flute carved from solid obsidian. As the shrill note fills the air, he stares unblinking at the monster.

  All at once, it’s like the fight goes out of the thing. It folds its huge wings around its body and sinks to the ground, its three heads tucked against its chest, almost like it’s bowing.

  “Whoa,” breathes Eight.

  “See?” says Five, lowering the whistle and glancing around. “Easy.”

  “If you had that thing the entire time, why didn’t you use it?” Nine snaps.

  “I thought you might want a workout,” Five says, smiling coldly at Nine.

  Six shakes her head. “Would one of you just kill that thing so we can get out of here?”

  “Gladly,” says Five, his skin turning into glittering steel. He takes two steps towards the genuflecting beast, but stops right next to Six. “I made the damn thing,” Five says, absently. “The least I can do is put it down.”

  “You what?” I ask with disbelief.

  Five’s steel-plated fist shoots forward with a force I’ve never seen from him before, hitting Six with an uppercut.

  The force sends Six’s entire body into the air and she lands at my feet; I can see her eyes are rolled into the back of her head and twin tendrils of blood are leaking out of her nostrils. A concussion at best, a fractured skull at worst. Instinctively, I move to heal her, but when I try to crouch down something hits me in the chest—not hard, not even with enough force to knock the wind out of me—but I can’t move forward. It’s telekinesis. Five is gently keeping me at bay. I look up at him, confused tears filling my eyes.

  Eight breaks the stunned moment of silence, yelling, “Why’d you do that?!” He’s drowned out by Nine’s scream.

  Five’s body has taken on the consistency of rubber and his arm stretches like a tentacle, wrapping twice around Nine’s throat. Nine struggles, but Five lifts him off his feet with ease. His arm stretches further, hanging Nine ten feet off the ground, and then plunges downward. He dunks Nine in the swamp and holds him there. Drowning him.

  Both Eight and I are frozen as Five turns to look at us. His expression is disconcertingly friendly considering his stretched-out appendage is currently holding Nine under water and Six is lying unconscious at my feet thanks to a vicious sucker punch. I can see vibrations spread up Five’s arm from where Nine must be punching at it, trying to free himself. The blows must not be giving Five any pain because he hardly seems to notice.

  He sits down on his Chest and looks at us.

  “The three of us should probably talk,” Five says calmly.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  THE CONNECTION TO ADAM ABRUPTLY GOES DEAD. I glance down at the phone’s screen, but Adam called from a blocked number. There’s no way to call him back. Wherever he was, Adam sounded like he was moving fast, practically shouting over the wind whipping around in the background. On the run and sounding pan
icked. I’m the exact opposite: rooted in place and feeling almost numb.

  What would John do in this situation? Get moving, that’s what. I shove the phone into my back pocket and move past my dad, heading for the hallway.

  “He said the Mogadorians know where we are, and that they’re on their way. We need to get out of here. Now!” I call back to my dad.

  When I glance over my shoulder, he’s still standing next to the bed.

  “Come on,” I say. “What’re you waiting for?”

  “What if—” My dad squeezes the bridge of his nose. “What if I can’t be trusted?”

  Oh, right. The whole possibility that my dad could be some kind of unwitting double agent for the Mogadorians. There has to be a better explanation for how his notes fell into their hands. Maybe he’s not sure if he can trust himself, maybe he’s worried that his memory is failing or working against him. It doesn’t matter. I make up my mind right then and there. I trust him.

  “Remember outside of the Dulce Base when I wanted to rush back inside to go help the Garde fight? You told me there would be other moments to make myself useful to the Loric. Well, I think this is one of those times. I trust you, Dad. I can’t do this without you.”

  He nods solemnly. Without another word, he reaches under his bed and pulls out the rifle that he used to take down that monster in Arkansas, pumping a shell into place.

  “Did Adam tell you how long we have?” he asks.

  As if in answer, the building shakes, all the lights flickering. An engine flares outside, the noise above us and dangerously close, followed by a sharp metallic grinding. Something just landed on the roof.

  “Apparently, not long at all.”

  We dart into the hallway where Sarah has just emerged from her room. Her eyes widen as she notices my dad carrying a rifle. “What was that sound?” she asks. “What’s happening?”

  “The Mogs are here,” I answer.