The Fall of Five

4

I take what has to be the greatest shower of my life in that grungy motel bathroom. Even the dark mold that spreads from the drain to the curled edges of the rubber bath mat can’t dampen the experience. The hot water feels amazing, washing away weeks of Mogadorian captivity.

After wiping fog off the cracked bathroom mirror, I take a long look at my reflection. My ribs show, my stomach muscles pronounced enough to give me a starving person’s six pack. I have dark circles under my eyes and my hair is grown out more than it’s ever been.

So, this is what a human freedom fighter looks like.

I pull on a T-shirt and jeans that I found in Adam’s backpack; I have to use the very last notch on the belt to secure the jeans and they still hang loose around my hips. My stomach growls and I pause to wonder what kind of room service a sleazy motel like this might have. I bet the old man behind the front desk would be happy to send over a grilled-cheese-and-cigarette-butt sandwich.

Back in the room, my dad has set up some of his equipment. There’s a laptop open on the bed, a program scanning news headlines running. He’s already trying to figure out our next move. It’s late, well past midnight, and I haven’t slept. Still, badly as I want to hook up with the Garde, I was hoping our next move could be a stack of pancakes at the nearest diner.

“Anything?” I ask, squinting at the laptop.

My dad isn’t paying the program any attention. He’s sitting against the wall, still clutching that cheap cell phone, looking indecisive. He glances listlessly over at the laptop. “Not yet.”

“He probably won’t call until he’s someplace safe,” I say. I reach down to ease the phone out of his hand, but he pulls it away.

“It’s not that,” he says. “There’s another phone call we need to make. I’ve been thinking about what to say the entire time you were in the shower, and I still don’t know.”

His thumb traces out a familiar pattern on the phone’s keypad, like he’s working himself up to actually dialing. I’m so locked into this idea of finding the Garde and fighting the Mogadorians that, at first, I’m not even sure who he’s talking about. When it dawns on me, I thump down on the bed, feeling as speechless as my father.

“We have to call your mother, Sam.”

I nod, agreeing, but not really knowing what I’d say to Mom at this point. The last time she saw me, I’d just been in a fight with Mogadorians in Paradise and run off into the night with John and Six. I think I yelled that I loved her over my shoulder. Not my most sensitive exit, but I really did think I’d be back soon. I never dreamed I’d be taken prisoner by a race of hostile aliens.

“She’s going to be pretty mad, huh?”

“She’s mad at me,” my dad says. “Not you. She’ll just be happy to hear your voice and know you’re safe.”

“Wait—you saw her?”

“We stopped in Paradise before heading to New Mexico. It’s how I found out you were missing.”

“And she’s all right? The Mogs didn’t go after her?”

“Apparently not, but that doesn’t mean she’s all right. It’s been hard for her with you gone. She blamed me and she’s not entirely wrong about that. She wouldn’t let me in the house, understandably, so we had to sleep in my bunker.”

“With the skeleton?”

“Yes. Another one of my memory gaps—I’ve got no idea who those bones belong to.” My dad narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t change the subject.”

A part of me is worried that Mom will ground me over the phone, and part of me is worried that the sound of her voice will make me want to forget about this whole war and rush home immediately. I swallow hard.

“It’s the middle of the night. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow?”

My dad shakes his head. “No. We can’t put this off, Sam. Who knows what might happen to us tomorrow?”

With that, suddenly resolute, my dad dials the number to our house. He holds the phone to his ear nervously, waiting. I have memories of my mom and dad together—old memories from before he disappeared. They were happy together. I wonder what must be going through my father’s head right now, having to break the news that we’re still not coming home. He’s probably feeling the same guilt I am.

“Answering machine,” my dad says after a moment. He looks almost relieved. Then, he covers the phone with his hand. “Should I . . . ?”

He trails off as the tinny beep of the answering machine sounds in his ear. His mouth works soundlessly as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Beth, this is—,” he stammers, running his free hand through his hair. “It’s Malcolm. I don’t know where to begin—this answering machine may not be the best place—but, I’m alive. I’m alive and I’m sorry and I miss you terribly.”

My dad looks up at me, his eyes watery. “Our son is with me. He—I promise to keep him safe. One day, if you’ll let me, I’ll explain everything to you. I love you.”

He holds the phone out to me with a shaky hand. I take it.

“Mom?” I begin, trying not to overthink what I’m about to say, just letting it go. “I— I finally found Dad. Or he found me. We’re doing something amazing, Mom. Something to keep the world safe that, uh, isn’t dangerous at all, I promise. I love you. We’ll be home soon.”

I hang up the phone, staring down at it for a moment before looking up at my father. His eyes are still shining as he reaches out and pats me on the knee.

“That was good,” he says.

“I hope it was all true,” I reply.

“Me too.”