Adam runs down the warship ramp to examine the jeep. From the other side of the still-active force field, he yells to us, “It was a little rough, but it worked!”
Adam reaches into the jeep and pulls the cell phone off the dashboard. He tries to hold it between two fingers but ends up dropping it—even from here, I can tell that the thing is smoldering. A wisp of smoke rises up from where the phone burns the grass.
“I think it’s a one-time deal, though,” Adam concludes.
“Better than nothing,” Nine says.
Excited, I take the satellite phone from Ella and dial the number for Sam’s phone.
“Sam!” I exclaim as soon as I hear his voice.
“Hey!” he responds, sounding relieved. “We just heard. Did you guys really steal a whole warship?”
“Never mind that,” I reply. “But yes. Listen—your thing, the cell phone, it worked! It blew up right after and maybe wasn’t the gentlest ride through the force field, but it worked.”
I hear a muffled cheer from Sam. He’s probably covering the receiver with his hand. “It worked! My Legacy worked!” I hear him yell to whoever else is in the room with him. There’s an immediate clamor of voices.
“This is amazing,” Sam says, speaking to me now. “I’ve made more since this morning, just in case it paid off. The other guys here think, now that we’ve got Earth-made technology aping the frequency, maybe it’ll be easier to replicate. You know, without using a superpower.”
“You’re a hero, Sam,” I say with a grin. Next to me, Nine rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “We’re going to start delivering cloaking devices soon. Get your stuff ready so we can pass it out.”
“I will,” he replies. “I—”
A loud bang on his end of the phone cuts Sam off. In the background, I hear Malcolm say, “What on Earth was that?”
“Sam?” I ask, my brow knitting with concern.
“Hey, sorry,” he says. “Something just exploded. Probably the new kids training.”
Before I can respond, I hear an unmistakable popping sound from Sam’s side. The noise sounds like fireworks going off in the distance, but I learned long ago what that sound really signifies.
That’s gunfire.
And it isn’t letting up.
Now, the voices around Sam are hushed. Everyone’s listening. My grip tightens on the phone. I feel a clenching in the pit of my stomach.
“Sam, talk to me.”
Hearing the strain in my voice, the others around me stop what they’re doing and draw closer. The smiles from our successful experiment with the warship all slowly fade.
“Six . . .” Sam’s voice is pitched just above a whisper. “Six, I think we’re under attack.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THEY LEAVE JUST ENOUGH SLACK IN THE VORON noose so that it doesn’t immediately cut my head off. Instead of executing me, they make Mark hold the rope like a leash. As I crawl forward across the floorboards of Patience Creek, towards the hidden elevator that it took the Mogs all of two minutes to find, I can feel the razor-sharp collar scraping against my throat whenever I fall even a little bit behind.
Worse than those cuts is the pain from the three oily tentacles connecting me to Phiri Dun-Ra. My entire side sizzles like something boiling and caustic is leaking under my skin and spreading through my body. Phiri Dun-Ra walks alongside me as I’m dragged after Mark. She toys with a small ember of purplish fire that floats up from her palm. I can sense that she’s draining me. It feels like stitches being ripped up and pulled loose from somewhere deep inside me. She’s taking my Legacies.
The worst pain, though, is knowing what’s coming.
Death. Destruction. Failure.
“Mark . . . ,” I manage to choke out with a pained breath. “Help me . . . stop them.”
He doesn’t even turn his head. I can see veins of the black ooze pulsing in his neck, and I can sense the Thin Mog, the one who’s got some kind of mind control working on Mark, standing nearby.
Phiri Dun-Ra laughs when she overhears my pleading.
“It is a great honor for Beloved Leader to visit one’s dreams,” she says. She extinguishes the fire in her hand so that she can ruffle Mark’s hair. “This little human, he proved to have a very open mind. He wanted something—something that you were unwilling to give him. He wanted Beloved Leader to restore his little friend. . . .”
Sarah.
Unwilling to give him. My God, I’d have brought Sarah back from the dead in a heartbeat if it was within my power. Did Mark think Setrákus Ra was capable of that? Did they convince him?
Did he bring them Sarah’s body?
I manage to grasp the long part of the noose with one hand. I tug on it, trying to get Mark’s attention.
“You didn’t, Mark,” I growl. “Tell me . . . tell me you didn’t.”
Phiri Dun-Ra titters again. “As if Beloved Leader would squander such a gift on a mere human. No, your friend had second thoughts. But by then, it was already too late. We knew where to find him. We were forced to interrupt his mourning.”
Paradise. They tracked Mark to Paradise. Setrákus Ra broke into his dreams and manipulated him, just like he tried to do to Marina and Five, then captured him when Mark came to his senses. I assumed that I had thought of everyone Setrákus Ra could’ve gotten to, but I’d completely forgotten about Mark. “It wasn’t hard for us to get your location from him,” Phiri continues. “Our little human does whatever we ask.”
I watch Mark’s hand shake on the noose. His knuckles are a vivid white. His muscles are rigid. He’s struggling against their control, but to no avail.
“We’ll make you like him soon,” Phiri tells me, and I notice the Thin Mog wet his lips in anticipation. “But first I want you all to myself.”
One of Phiri’s tentacles twists inside me, pain shoots through my core and I collapse over onto my side. They let me lie there for a moment, gasping for breath.
With bleary eyes, I try to take in how many of them there are.
The front room of Patience Creek is packed with blaster-toting vatborn. In one corner, they’ve piled the bodies of the soldiers who were guarding the surface level. From the looks of them, they died quickly and savagely.
Besides Phiri Dun-Ra, I make out three other augmented trueborn.
There’s the Thin Mog. The one exerting control over Mark. He stands nearby, watching Mark closely, his spidery hands clasped behind his back. If I want to save Mark, I’m going to have to take him out.
Then there’s the Shadow Mog. He’s younger, maybe only a few years older than Adam. As I watch, he steps out of a shadow like it’s a pool of water, rising straight up through the floor. He brings with him a couple more Mog warriors. He’s how they teleported in without being seen.
“Join the team at their cave entrance. No one gets out alive,” Phiri orders, and the Shadow Mog disappears back into the floor. The fact that she’s using English isn’t lost on me. Phiri Dun-Ra wants me to know that there’s another squadron positioned at Patience Creek’s vehicle entrance. She wants me to know that everyone down below is trapped.
She wants me to know how hopeless this is.
Finally, standing right in front of the elevator is the Piken-Mog. The other three Augments I’ve noticed at least still mostly look like Mogadorians. This one is freakish, with a normal-sized lower body attached to a torso that is completely disproportioned. He stands about eight feet tall despite a hunched back, his skin is the leathery gray of a piken and he’s got the steroidal muscles to match. His fingers are long, thick and tipped with razor-sharp claws. His head, buried as it is in a throbbing mass of neck muscles, is regular-sized except for his jaw, which has grown out from his face, creating a fanged under bite. Most disgusting of all is that it’s possible to see the seams where his pale Mog skin stretched and ripped across this new body.
He looks like he’s in pain, and he looks like he’s furious about it. He grunts and shifts from foot to foot, waiting for an order.