The Fall of Five

29

I stand over my father’s shoulder as he scans the Mogadorian documents into Sandor’s computer system. Once the documents are scanned, my dad loads up some translating software along with some kind of hacker program that’s supposed to be able to crack through firewalls and crap like that.

“Do you think you’ll be able to translate it?” I ask.

“The first step was figuring out which program to use.”

“And did you?” I notice that my dad’s opened and minimized a copy of iTunes. I tap the screen. “Were you going to listen to some music?”

“I—they didn’t have iTunes when I was taken. I thought it might . . .” My dad shrugs self-deprecatingly. “I’ll admit to some trial and error, okay?”

“So now what?”

“I’m approaching it from every angle. All languages—even alien ones—share some commonalities. It’s just a matter of isolating one and using it to decode the rest of the writing.” He looks over his shoulder at me. “This is pretty boring stuff, Sam. You don’t need to keep me company.”

“No, it’s cool,” I say. “I want to.”

“Really?” he asks, looking me over. “It looks to me like you had other plans.”

Observant as always. I’m dressed in what passes as my best outfit considering I’ve only got like three options. It’s just a boring gray sweater and my least grungy pair of jeans. I’d been psyching myself up to do like John said, to try to have a conversation with Six about my feelings, carpe diem and all that. This latest crisis, even if it just involves paperwork, is a pretty good excuse to put that off.

“They can wait,” I say lamely, making a show of studying the computer screen as various language samples scroll by.

“Hmm.” My dad smiles gently, looking back to the screen himself. “You know, they’re off to Florida tomorrow. After that, there will surely be another mission. And who knows what intel we might glean from these documents. A lot happening.”

“What’s your point?”

“It might be awhile before we have another quiet night like this one,” he says. “Don’t put it off, Sam.” I find Six on the penthouse roof, which is apparently the hot spot for Garde who want to be alone. It’s night and the wind is stronger up here than normal, probably on account of Six messing with the weather. Both her hands are raised and as she moves them back and forth the sky responds; it reminds me of art class, the way paint would swirl together when we mixed watercolors. Six is doing that to the clouds. If there are any weathermen watching the skies tonight, they’re probably pretty freaked out.

I don’t say anything at first, not wanting to interrupt. I stand next to Six and watch her, the wind whipping her black hair across her face, bathed in the blinking red lights that line the roof. There’s a small smile creeping up on the corners of her mouth. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say Six was actually feeling content.

Slowly, almost like she regrets stopping, Six lowers her hands and looks at me. The wind dies down immediately, the clouds resuming their normal lazy course across the night sky. I feel like I’m interrupting something.

“Hey. You didn’t have to stop.”

“It’s cool. What’s up?” she says. “Did your dad figure out those documents already?”

“Um, no, nothing’s up. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Six replies, looking back up at the sky. “Sure.”

“It’s no big deal,” I say hurriedly, feeling stupid. “You can go back to practicing or whatever. I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, stay,” she says suddenly. “Being cooped up in that penthouse all the time is hard for me. Ever since I developed this Legacy, I’ve felt connected to the weather. I like to keep in touch with it, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, totally,” I reply, as if I understand the first thing about being connected to the weather. “You did really great in training today. I’m sorry I screwed up.”

“Come on, Sam,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Enough apologizing already. Is that really what you came up here to talk about?”

“No,” I reply, sighing. Screw it. I decide to just take John’s advice and go for it. “I was wondering if you’d like to—uh, I don’t know—hang out sometime?”

So, maybe not my smoothest attempt at asking someone out. Six playfully arches an eyebrow. “Hang out? We practically live on top of each other in there. We hang out all the time.”

“I mean, like, hang out by ourselves.”

“Aren’t we doing that right now?”

“Yeah—I mean, uh—,” I stammer, then notice the wicked smile on Six’s face. “Are you messing with me?”

“A little,” she says, crossing her arms. “So you’re asking me on a date? Is that it?”

“Yeah, and I’m doing an amazing job at it.”

“You’re not doing so bad,” she says gently, moving a little closer to me. “But we’re fighting a war here, Sam. There’s not a ton of time for hanging out. You know that.”

“Um, John and Sarah went to the zoo today.”

“But I don’t want to have a John-and-Sarah thing with you,” Six says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.” I shrink back, feeling gut punched. “I just thought—when you went to Spain, John told me how you felt about me, and back in Arkansas the way we hugged—uh, crap, I’m an idiot. I should’ve known you wouldn’t be interested in someone like me.”

“Whoa, there,” Six says, grabbing my hand before I can make a break for the door. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean it like that. I do like you.”

“You just don’t like me that way,” I say, filling in the rest of the classic line.

“I didn’t say that. I do. Well, I might.” Six throws her hands up. “I don’t know! Look, it’s just, John and Sarah, they think it makes things easier for them, but it doesn’t. It just causes trouble.”

“They seem happy to me,” I reply.

“Sure, right now,” Six says. “But what about when something happens? You know, John’s a good leader and all, but he’s not a realist. Do you think we’re going to fight an entire army of Mogadorians without some casualties?”

“Jeez, that’s dark.”

“It’s the truth. Everything’s gonna go to shit eventually, Sam.” She reaches out and plucks a loose thread off the front of my sweater. “I wish you’d stay away from us. Go somewhere safe. When it’s over, maybe things could be different . . .”

I let loose with an incredulous laugh. “Ugh, seriously? That’s, like, the kind of crap that Spider-Man tells Mary Jane when he’s trying to break it off with her. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be talked to like I’m some superhero’s girlfriend?”

Six laughs too, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just realizing what a hypocrite I’m being. This is exactly the opposite of the advice I gave to John about Sarah.”

“Maybe you’re right and things are going to get bad,” I say. “But that doesn’t mean you should cut yourself off. Being all about the war all the time? That can’t be good. Maybe you should spend like ninety-five percent of your time as Six and, uh, five percent with me, being Maren.”

I didn’t plan that little speech; Six’s old human name just pops out. Her mouth opens a bit, but she doesn’t say anything at first, the name catching her off guard.

“Maren,” she whispers. “I’m not sure I even remember how to be her.”

There’s something in the way she’s looking at me now, almost like she’s throwing caution to the wind. It’s not the sort of devil-may-care look I’d expect from Six, but it’s something more vulnerable, like she’s decided to drop her guard just a little. I don’t let go of her hand.

“Promise me you won’t die,” she says, bluntly.

In that moment I’d promise her just about anything. “I promise.”

Her grip on my hand tightens, her fingers intertwined with mine. She steps closer. The wind picks up again and I reach up to brush some hair out of her face, holding my hand there against her cheek.

And that’s when Eight teleports onto the roof.

Six jumps away from me like she’s been scalded. I could pretty much strangle Eight right then and not feel any remorse. I expect Eight to crack some joke, but his face is set and serious.

“Guys, we need you downstairs!”

“What is it?” Six asks, starting towards Eight. “Mogs?”

Eight shakes his head. “It’s Ella.”

I guess my dad was wrong about this being one of those quiet nights.

Eight takes our hands and I immediately get the disorienting feeling of having the world yanked out from under me. I blink my eyes and we’re suddenly standing in the room that Marina shares with Ella.

Ella is on her back in bed, all the blankets kicked off, rigid as a board. Her eyes are squeezed shut. Perhaps the most frightening thing is the small trickle of blood dribbling down from the corner of her mouth. She’s bitten down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood.

Marina kneels next to the bed, dabbing at Ella’s mouth with a tissue. She keeps whispering Ella’s name over and over, trying to wake her up. Ella doesn’t move except to clench and unclench her fists in the sheets.

“How long has she been like this?” my dad asks.

“I don’t know,” says Marina, sounding panicked. “She went to bed before me, said she was tired from training. I found her like this and she won’t wake up.”

I look around, not really sure what I should be doing. Pretty much everyone seems to be sharing that feeling. Everyone has crowded into the room or is standing in the doorway, everyone sharing a look of uncertainty.

“This has never happened before?” I ask Marina.

“You were here for the worst one, when she was screaming,” she answers. “She’s always woken up before.”

“I don’t like this,” grumbles Nine from the doorway. Bernie Kosar seems to agree; he stands at the foot of the bed, sniffing the air like a guard dog catching a bad scent.

“She’s sweating so much,” says Marina.

“Some kind of fever?” John asks.

“It was never like this during my visions,” Eight says. “You guys?”

John and Nine both shake their heads.

Marina grabs a towel from a nightstand drawer and begins to dab at Ella’s forehead. Her hands are shaking so badly that Sarah eases the towel away from her. “Here,” she says, “let me do it.”

Eight puts his arm around Marina as she steps back from the bed, rubbing her back. Marina leans against him gratefully.

“Should we try healing her?” Six asks. “Or using one of the healing stones?”

“There’s nothing to heal,” John replies. “Not that we can see, anyway. And using the stone . . . who knows what might happen, what with it doubling the pain and all.”

“Did you try just prying her eyes open?” suggests Five. Everyone gives him a strange look, like it’s a callous suggestion, but it actually doesn’t seem much worse than letting Ella suffer through whatever nightmare she’s having. “What? You guys have better ideas?”

Gently, my father peels back one of Ella’s eyelids. Her eye is completely rolled back in her head; we can only see the whites. I remember the time I got knocked off the rope in gym class by Mark James and had to get a concussion test. They shined a flashlight in my eyes.

“John, maybe you could use your Lumen?” I suggest. “It’s bright, it might wake her up.”

John reaches over, lighting up his hand like a flashlight and shining it into Ella’s eye. For a moment, her body stops its constant twitching and she seems to relax.

“Something’s happening,” I breathe.

“Ella, wake up,” urges Marina.

Ella’s hand snaps upwards, grabbing John’s wrist with a force that startles him. It reminds me of one of those scary movies where the little girl is possessed by a demon. Her hand glows red where it touches John’s skin.

“What’s she doing?” Sarah gasps.

For a moment, John looks puzzled. He starts to say something, but his eyes roll back in his head and his body contorts, like all his muscles are cramping up at once—then, as if all the tension goes out of him, he collapses like a puppet with his strings cut, right onto the floor next to Ella’s bed.

“John!” Sarah shouts.

Ella’s hand is still clamped around John’s wrist. Nine lunges into the room. “Get her off him!”

Marina blocks Nine’s way. “Wait! Don’t touch her!”

Not listening, Sarah reaches down and pries Ella’s hand off John’s wrist. He doesn’t move, doesn’t come to at all, even when Sarah rolls him over and shakes him. Whatever Ella’s touch did to John, apparently it doesn’t have the same effect on humans because Sarah is unaffected.

Six steps forward to look closer, and I see Ella’s hand reaching up towards her, fingers clenching and unclenching.

“Watch it,” I say, and grab Six by the back of the shirt, pulling her backwards. The rest of the Garde notice Ella’s grasping hand and everyone takes a cautious step away from the bed. As soon as there aren’t any Garde within reach, her hand drops lifelessly back to the bed. She looks just like she did before, trapped in a nightmare. Except now, John has joined her.

“What the hell is going on?” Nine asks.

“She did something to him,” breathes Five.

Sarah cradles John’s head in her lap, stroking his hair. Nearby, my dad gently lifts Ella’s hands and tucks them under the covers. I look over at the Garde. They’re used to being on the run, to physical threats that they can fight and destroy. But how are they supposed to escape—or defeat—something that attacks them from within?