There’s screaming somewhere downstairs. Loud and panicked. Terrified. My breath catches in my throat as I take five steps away from the door all at once and back into Benny. There’s another scream, one that’s cut off suddenly. I start to shake. My breath comes out in quivery gasps.
Benny grips my shoulder and pulls me back. For a second I think he’s just dragging me away from the door. Then I realize he’s trying to get me behind him.
“Go hide,” he says, letting his arm fall away. I turn to him. There’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
Fear.
“Go on,” he says.
I start to think of the few places I could try to hide in our apartment—under my bed, the closet—and suddenly I feel like I’m five years old and playing games. But these alien freaks are definitely not playing. Our apartment is so small. If they want to find me, they will.
The screams are getting louder, closer. They’re moving up the floors. I can hear the doors being kicked in now, along with electronic noises like the ones we heard on TV—the sounds of their weapons.
What the hell is happening?
There’s shouting now, right outside our apartment. Deep, bellowing orders to open the doors. I stand frozen in our living room.
Benny takes his bat and walks slowly to the door, half on his tiptoes. He leans up against the corner in the entryway and raises the bat like he’s ready to hit a homer. He glances back at me, and his face contorts into an expression I’m more familiar with coming from him: anger.
“Wake up, stupid,” he says. “Go.”
He nods to the window on the other side of the living room, where the gauzy white curtains Mom loves are billowing out in the slight breeze.
The fire escape. He wants me to make a run for it.
I listen and bolt, and am halfway down to the next floor when I realize Benny is staying back to fend off the aliens and give me a chance to escape. He should be coming with me. What would Mom say if she found out I just left him behind?
Oh God, I hope she’s safe.
So I climb back up and stick my head through our living room window right in time to see our front door fly in.
Any hope that these guys were only actors in really great makeup dies as four of the freaks stomp through the front door, all pale skin and jagged teeth and gross noses. There’s no question that these are beings from another planet.
And they’re not happy.
One of them sees me through the window, his black eyes narrowing. I duck down, hoping that none of the others notice me.
“Surrender or die,” the alien says in a deep, grating voice.
Benny steps out of the corner and swings like a pro, slamming his bat into the alien’s skull. The bastard falls hard to the floor, and then disintegrates. Just turns into freakin’ dust like he’s a damn vampire that’s been staked or something.
But that’s the only swing Benny gets. One of the aliens—Mogadorians—fires a laser gun at him, and Benny flies backwards a few yards before crashing through our coffee table. He convulses on the floor.
I clamp my hands over my mouth.
When Benny regains a little control of his body, he looks out the window. We lock eyes for a moment. Mine are wide, scared. His are pleading.
“Run!” he shouts, and it looks like doing so causes him a ton of pain. Blood drips from his ears and nose. “Run, damn it!”
And so I do. As I run down metal steps, I hear more of those electric noises coming from my apartment. Benny screams a few times. Then it gets really quiet. I pause on the ladder at the end of the fire escape. I just want to hear Benny cursing at the aliens or the sound of his metal bat hitting someone else’s skull. Instead, I look up and find one of the pale-faced bastards hanging out of my living room window. He’s got a gun pointed at me.
“Shi—,” I exclaim, but I never finish the curse. He fires and I just let go of the ladder. I’d rather take my chances falling to the ground than getting zapped by some alien’s gun. The electric blast must come within inches of me, though, because as I fall I can feel some kind of static shoot through my body. But then there’s nothing but the rush of wind as I claw at the air, plummeting towards the ground below.
I land in an open Dumpster—saved by trash.
I scramble out and stumble through the little alley between our apartment building and the one beside us, trying to make sense of the chaos around me. I pause at the corner and look out onto the street and my block. Some cars have been turned over. Alarms are going off everywhere. One of the alien spacecrafts I saw on TV is parked smack in the middle of the intersection at the end of the block.
Across the street, half a dozen aliens lead a line of people out of an apartment building. People I recognize from the neighborhood. Men, women, kids. They’re forced to drop to their knees with their hands in the air on the sidewalk. The Mogadorians keep poking at them with the barrels of their guns. I want to help them, want to do something to save them, but I can’t bring myself to move. I’m hardly even breathing, I’m so scared, and have to keep swallowing down the urge to puke. I feel like my heart is trying to burst out from inside of me.
This must be what complete and utter fear feels like.
Tears fill the corners of my eyes, but I’m not sure if they’re for me or Mom or even Benny. It’s only then that I realize he’s the only reason I escaped. He distracted the aliens, tried to keep them from getting me. He didn’t have to do that. Hell, he could have abandoned me altogether.
But he didn’t. He told me to run while he stayed behind. My stupid stepfather protected me and it got him killed.
For a second, there’s a pang of guilt in my gut for every bad thing I ever said about Benny. But then I hear clanging coming from the alley: one of those pale bastards is starting down the fire escape, maybe chasing after me. So I whisper an apology to Benny and to my neighbors on the sidewalk, and try to save myself. My legs start moving, running. I head away from the ship and the people lined up on the streets and towards the park. If I can get across it, I might be able to reach the subway. Maybe the trains are still running and I can get downtown to Mom.
I stay low and use the cars on my side of the street as cover. I make it past several other apartment buildings and the fire hydrant I used to play at during the summers when I was a kid. Water spews out of the broken hydrant onto a body that’s lying on the sidewalk. A body that’s not moving. I try not to look at it as I make my way around the corner, where I come across three aliens who have their backs to me. I’m so surprised that I trip over my own feet, twisting my ankle and hitting the ground hard. Hard enough that I can’t help but let out a short cry. They turn. The one closest to me has dark tattoos along the top of his skull. He lets out a noise that sounds like sandpaper. It takes me a moment to realize he’s laughing at me.
I’m toast.
I try to scramble to my feet, but the three of them are on me too fast. They train their guns at me, and I know that no matter how quick I move, I won’t be able to get away from them. They’ll shoot me if I run.
“Surrender or die,” the Mogadorian says.
I look around, but there’s no one nearby to help. I can barely even see the people from my block anymore from where I am. I guess everyone’s been rounded up, or is hiding, or . . .
My eyes fall on the unmoving body by the hydrant.
These aliens are going to kill me on my own damn block.
The one closest to me bares his gray, jagged teeth in what might be considered a smile on Mars or wherever the hell he came from. His finger on the trigger twitches.
There’s a sharp buzzing in my chest. I can hardly stand it. I feel like someone’s blown up a balloon inside me, the pain so bad that I’m sure I’m about to be ripped apart.
My heart thumps.
This is the end.
Mom. I’m sorry.
I throw my hands up in front of my face to shield myself. As if that will do anything to protect me.
And then the
impossible happens.
EXCERPT FROM I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES: LAST DEFENSE
LEARN WHAT HAPPENED TO MALCOLM GOODE ONCE THE INVASION BEGAN!
CHAPTER ONE
THE MOG SKIMMER RISES ABOVE ASHWOOD ESTATES and shoots off towards the horizon. Six, Marina and Adam are on board. A handful of kids—teenagers, technically, but still children to me—ready to cross the continent in search of a place called the Sanctuary. Somewhere they only know about because years ago, during one of the many gaps in my memory, I told the Mogs it existed and that it was important to the future of the Loric.
I hope for our sakes that this is true. Earth is facing invasion, and we need all the help we can get.
I’ve been racking my brain trying to remember anything else about this place that’s apparently so important to the Loric. Any details at all. But I come up with nothing, and there’s not really time to dwell on recovering these memories. I have so much else to worry about. The most important thing is my son, Sam. He’s putting himself in danger. Again. He’s about to head to New York with John and Nine and a few of the FBI agents who’ve joined our side in order to stop a corrupt politician and expose the Mogadorian threat.
As I watch the Skimmer disappear against the morning sun, I wonder what kind of father lets his only child get wrapped up in so much violence and death. I lose myself in this question, unable to find a suitable answer, until John Smith’s voice breaks my daze.
“Damn, this place looks like a war zone. I thought we’d gotten most the fires out last night.”
I turn and find him stomping on a blackened spot on the grass, a wisp of smoke drifting up around his shoe. Behind him stands Adam’s childhood home, the front windows knocked out from yesterday’s fighting. Now it’s our makeshift base of operations.
“I think the remodeling you guys did is actually an improvement,” I say, and then motion to a house towards the end of the block that’s been completely demolished. “I always hated these kinds of cookie-cutter houses.”
I’m attempting to keep things light to hide my worry about everything that’s to come. To put on a brave face.
“If I were you I wouldn’t mind seeing this place go up in flames either.”
He locks eyes with me and smiles, but I can tell he’s sizing me up. As the unofficial leader of the Loric, John must think it’s his job to worry about everybody. And it makes some sense that he’d have his sights on me. It wasn’t long ago that I was in captivity in the facilities located far below our feet—the tunnels, research labs and operating tables found underneath Ashwood, where the Mogs’ brutality was allowed to incubate and flourish. If not for Adam I would have died here. Or worse. I can’t fathom what “worse” might have been in my case, but I have no doubt that the Mogs are capable of something more terrifying than death. If anyone here is going to freak out, I’m the likely candidate.
Still, it makes me feel terrible somewhere deep in my gut, like I need to prove my worth to the cause. Maybe I wouldn’t feel that way if it hadn’t been me who spilled so many Loric secrets to the Mogs, even if it was against my will. That’s one of the worst parts about not remembering so much of the last decade: all I have to show for those missing years is betrayal, pain and the knowledge that my family was out there without any idea of what happened to me the whole time.
I shake my head, trying to refocus my thoughts. One of the side effects of having my mind tampered with by the Mogs is that I’m easily distracted, prone to chasing long-forgotten memories like rabbits through Wonderland.
“I guess you’re right,” I say.
“You should try to get some rest,” John says, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows. “Try not to overwork yourself. When was the last time you slept?”
“Who needs sleep when I’ve got coffee and Mogadorian home movies to watch?” I ask with a limp smile. I’ve been going over videos found in the archives below Ashwood since we took the suburb yesterday.
“Thanks for helping out with that. Who knows what we could learn from those files? You’re the only one here we can completely trust with important stuff like that. Even if Walker’s men are on our side now.”
He means this as a compliment, I’m sure, but there’s a subtext to his words. He may not even realize it, but he’s reminding me that there’s no room for me on this upcoming mission. Someone needs to stay behind and sift through the data, and I’m just an old man who’s pretty good with a rifle, not a fighter like they are. My place is here. He’s a remarkably charismatic leader for his age. I have to keep reminding myself that he’s really just a teenager, at the point in his life where he should be learning precalculus or chemistry. All these kids act like they’re ten years older than they actually are (except, perhaps, for Nine, whose personality seems to have stalled at the age of thirteen).
John nods to a large hawk perched on a tree limb above us.
“The Chimærae are patrolling the area in case the Mogs realize that no one’s checking in with them from Ashwood and decide to investigate.”
“If the Mogs really are gearing up for an invasion, they’ll likely have more important things to worry about than Ashwood,” I say.
“Still, they’ve got your back. Plus . . .” He takes a look around, making sure there’s no one in earshot. “Walker and her crew are helping us out for now, but I feel better knowing the Chimærae will protect you just in case anything happens. They’ll look after you until we get back. Do you know how to whistle?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Gamera up there is your new personal bodyguard. You whistle and he’ll come running. Or flying, or whatever.” He shrugs a little. “That was Sam’s idea. He thinks you’ve got a soft spot for Gamera since you named him. Anyway, I told all of them to stay out of sight for the most part. Walker’s agents know what they are, but if anyone else shows up they’ve got instructions not to morph in front of them. The fewer people who know about the Chimærae, the better.”
The front door springs open, and Sam starts down the porch holding a plate piled high with yellow disks. One of them hangs out of his mouth, flapping as he jumps down onto the lawn.
“Dude, they’ve got frozen waffles in there,” he says to John as he chews. “I don’t know if they were Adam’s dad’s or if the Feds brought them or what, but there are like ten boxes in the freezer.” He shakes his head. “All these waffles and no syrup. The monsters.”
“Sweet,” John says, reaching for one.
Sam shirks away, twisting around so the plate’s out of reach.
“These are mine. Go get your own. I’d hurry too. Nine keeps challenging the FBI dudes to arm-wrestling matches, and I’m pretty sure Walker is about to sedate him or something.”
John shakes his head and looks at me again.
“Remember: just whistle.” Then he heads inside.
“Did you like that?” Sam asks, his face lighting up. “The whistling, I mean. It was totally my idea.”
“That’s what John said. Brilliant.”
He grins and holds out the plate.
I raise my eyebrows. “I thought those were for you.”
“Just eat some waffles, Dad. I doubt you were raiding the fridge during your all-night cram session in the archives.”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles.
“See?” He pushes the plate into my hands, taking two more waffles for himself. “They’re making coffee inside, but these agents are just as addicted to it as you. I tried to get a cup, and one of them actually growled at me.”
“Sam,” I say. I don’t want to spoil his mood, but our time together is getting short. “I know this isn’t news to you, but this trip to New York might get pretty dangerous. If Setrákus Ra is planning on making a public appearance and it goes wrong—”
“I know,” he cuts me off. “I’ll be careful. If we get into a fight, I’ll leave the heroics to the actual alien superheroes as much as I can. Don’t worry about me. Just see if you can find something here that’ll help us take d
own these Mog shit heads.”
I give him an exaggerated sigh.
“What would your mother say if she heard you talking like that?” As if cursing even registers as a problem at this point in our lives. I’m honestly not sure where this reaction comes from. I guess part of me is still trying to mask my concern, as if letting these kids know how scared I am about them—about Sam—going to the front lines might somehow destroy their seemingly limitless capacities for bravery.
“I’m kind of more afraid that when I get home after all this is over, Mom’s going to chain me up in my room and never let me see the outside world again. Oh, speaking of, maybe I should call her on the drive and let her know I’m still alive.”
I think of my wife. The last time I saw her—when I showed up after years of being gone only to discover that Sam was missing too—she wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear that I blamed my disappearance on aliens. Since then she hasn’t been too keen on talking to me.
“Do that,” I say. “Just remember that her phone is probably tapped, so no details. I’ll . . . I’ll wait until I have something good to tell her. Then I’ll call.”
“That reminds me—here,” he says, holding a black satellite phone out to me. I pat my pockets, realizing I haven’t been carrying mine around. Sam continues, “Yes, this is yours. Adam was messing with it. Apparently Earth’s understanding of communications systems is really basic. This is supposed to get a signal, like, anywhere. Or so he says.”
“Excellent,” I say. “We should all start carrying these.”
Sam shrugs. “I guess. But you know how much fighting we get into. Electronics don’t really last that long around us. That’s why I’m giving it to you. I’ll talk him into making me one whenever he gets back.”
The door opens behind him and John comes out, followed by Nine, Agent Walker, and a few other Feds I haven’t been introduced to yet.
Hunt for the Garde Page 9
