The Forgotten Ones Page 2

Page 2

 

  This guy’s really heavy, and it’s all I can do to drag him over the craggy piles of junk and rocks as we make our way across the vast expanse of the base’s ruins towards the edge of the crater. The sun is higher in the sky now and we’re completely exposed to it. I feel a bead of sweat forming at my brow and making its way down my face and then, before I know it, I’m completely drenched. I try to clear a path as I move, kicking aside dusty monitors and crushed aluminum piping and whatever else is blocking the way.

  Not that it does much good. Within minutes, my arms feel like noodles, my legs hurt and my back is killing me. We’re not even halfway to where we need to be. This isn’t going to work. Finally, when I drop the Mogadorian to the ground to catch my breath, he stirs.

  “Hey,” I say. “Can you hear me?”

  “Uhhhrm,” he replies. Well, it’s not that helpful, but it’s better than nothing, I figure.

  “Hey, listen,” I try again. “We’ve got to get out of here. Can you walk?”

  He peers up at me, his heavy brow furrowed, and I can guess why. He’s trying to figure out who I am and what I’m doing here. I’m covered in grime, so he probably can’t tell that I don’t have the skull tattoo that denotes Mogadorian rank, and he looks up at me in confusion.

  I don’t have time for him to be confused, or time for him to come to his senses—assuming he ever will. We have to get out of here now. I have no idea whether there are any others still alive elsewhere on the base, or if reinforcements are on the way. Plus, I’m half expecting the whole place to go up flames at any second. That’s if I don’t die of thirst before it happened.

  I try a different tack. I speak to him in our native Mogadorian tongue, the language that’s mostly only ever used now for ceremonial purposes. I quote the Good Book. “Strength is sacred,” I say. It’s one of the most important tenets in Mogadorian society. His eyes come into focus.

  “On your feet, soldier!” I snap. I’m only half surprised when it does the trick and he slowly levers himself up onto one knee and raises himself to his feet. Typical Mogadorian—there’s nothing my people respond to more enthusiastically than empty authority. He’s swaying a bit as he comes to a standing position. His left arm is hanging funny, and he’s pale, sweat popping out across his forehead and along his upper lip, but he’s up. For now.

  “Let’s go,” I tell him, pointing towards the opening high above. “March. ” Without a word, he lumbers past me.

  I follow him, realizing that I’m not in much better shape than he is. As we scramble over the heaps of rubble, I find myself thinking of Sam and Malcolm. I hope they made it out of here okay. My cell phone got crushed when I brought down the base, so I can’t call Malcolm to find out what happened, arrange somewhere to meet up or even ask for help. All I can do is have some hope.

  It feels like hours before we finally come to the edge of the blown-out base, though the sun is still high in the sky so it can’t have been that long. So far none of my fears has come to pass: there have been no explosions or fires and no sign of Mogadorians coming back to dig through the wreckage.

  The pit is deeper than it appeared earlier, and I look up and see exactly how far we have to climb to get out of here. Luckily there’s enough junk piled up around the edge that we’ll be able to find a path to the top, but it won’t be easy.

  Is anything ever easy?

  I’m soaked in sweat, though, and practically panting for air as we pull ourselves up the side of the cliff, using toppled girders and jutting pieces of cement and whatever we can find to use as handholds. My new best friend is pushing through the pain, his black eyes glassy and unfocused, but he’s doing it. I’m embarrassed to see that even in this state he’s still at least as strong as I am.

  I’m guessing he took a blow to the head from the explosion. The good news is, it’s made him nice and docile—when I tell him to do something, he does it. The bad news is, he has no idea what he’s doing. I need him alive, so I’ve got to keep a close eye on him every second in case he does something stupid.

  “What’s your name?” I ask him once I’ve got my breath back. Might as well know who I’m dealing with.

  “Rexicus Saturnus,” he answers after a minute. The name sounds vaguely familiar. He doesn’t look that much older than me, and I wonder if I’d ever seen him when I lived at home with my parents and sister. Ashwood is the largest Mogadorian community on Earth, after all, so there’s a good chance he grew up there too. Even if he was a bit older than me, I’d have seen him around occasionally, or heard his name. I study his face, though, and find that I don’t recognize him it all. “They call me Rex. ”

  I just nod. There’s nothing to say right now. We just have to keep climbing. So we climb.

  And then, after who knows how much time, we emerge from the pit and stumble over the edge into a vast desert. I didn’t think it would be possible, but the sun on my brow feels even hotter than before.

  I only take a few seconds to rest and catch my breath before I dust myself off and scan the horizon, looking for something—anything—other than dirt and rocks, and after a minute, my eyes settle on what looks like a small building. I don’t know what we’ll find—there could still be Mogadorians inside, for all I know—but I decide I don’t have much choice, especially if it means finding water and some respite from the heat.

  “All right then, Rex,” I say, pointing to the building in the distance. “Let’s get moving. That way. ”

  He just nods and starts walking. I follow him, wondering again if I’m doing the right thing. It would be so easy to kill him. For now he’s weak, his reflexes dulled, his mind fuzzy. It would take nothing for me to sneak up behind him and get rid of him once and for all. This could be my only chance. Once he’s recovered, he’d be able to overpower me easily. Then he might not think twice before killing me.

  But he’s a Mogadorian officer. I have no idea what information he has or how valuable he is to my people. All I know is that if he knows anything that can help Malcolm and the Loric people, it’s worth it to keep him alive even if it means risking my own neck. It’s what One would want.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MY FEET FEEL LIKE THEY’RE MADE OF LEAD; it’s a supreme effort to lift each one and set it back down. My head is throbbing, my tongue feels swollen and my nose is so dry it hurts to breathe in through it, but my throat is coated with sand and swallowing makes me want to retch. My skin is tight and crinkly, and I itch everywhere—when I glance at my arm I realize it’s bright red, the harsh sunlight already burning me. Every movement sends little jolts of pain washing across my every joint, over every inch of exposed flesh. I can’t see straight—the desert stretches out ahead of me, and the building we’re heading towards doesn’t seem to be getting closer. In fact, part of me is starting to wonder if it’s even real. When I stare at it for too long it begins to waver, like it’s just a mirage that will always remain a few thousand paces in the distance.

  I’m not sure, though. I’m not sure of anything anymore. I’ve never felt more alone in my life. In the past, even when things were at their worst, I always had One urging me along, reminding me of what was right. Then One was gone, but at least I had Malcolm. Now he’s gone, too, and I only have myself. I just wish myself was someone I had more faith in.

  Of course, I’m not actually alone. Rex is here too. But Rex is not my friend. If he knew who—or what—I was, he’d probably kill me on the spot. Killing the traitor Mogadorian who turned on his father and brought down the Dulce Base would earn him at least one promotion in rank.

  At the moment, though, Rex is useless. His stride’s become more erratic, his head is down like he can just bull through the entire New Mexico desert and he keeps muttering to himself. I don’t know what he’s saying, but I get the impression he’s talking to somebody else. Somebody who obviously isn’t here right now.

  So it’s just me, the desert and a hallucinating Mog soldier.

  And th
en the building we’re heading towards begins to transform from just a thick smudge in the distance where sand meets sky into a real shape that I can recognize. It’s getting bigger, closer. We’re almost there. And it dawns on me exactly what it is—with everything that’s happened I’d practically forgotten.

  Miles out from the main base, along the perimeter, there was a watchtower. Was. When Malcolm and I first got here, it had been the first thing we spotted, along with a generator right behind it that was powering the base’s electric fence. I decided to bring it toppling down, sending it crashing into the generator, in order to sneak in and rescue Sam.

  I thought I’d destroyed the tower completely, but now as we approach it, I begin to see that the actual guard station at the top survived, a metal-and-concrete room that’s now lying on its side a hundred feet from the ruined generator. It’s not much, barely bigger than a bathroom, really, but we can hole up there for a while. We’re almost there when I hear the most wonderful sound in the world. I try not to run—at this point if I fall down I doubt I’d be able to get back up again—but I hurry towards the noise. And there, jutting up within the tower’s twisted, bare foundation, is a jagged, broken pipe.

  Bubbling up from it is water.

  I drop to my knees right next to the fallen tower where the spouting water has formed a little pool around the pipe. I would jump in if I could; I’d let it soak in through every pore.

  Since I can’t do that, I scoop up as much water as I can into my cupped palms and splash it on my face. Then I take another scoop, raise it to my lips, and drink. The water is warm and metallic but tastes like life itself.

  I feel immediately better. I’m filled with a burst of energy spreading through my body, from my chest all the way to my toes and fingertips. I take another greedy sip. I can think clearly again.

  Then I remember Rex. He’s on his knees beside me, staring at the pool with bloodshot eyes, but he’s not drinking. It’s like he doesn’t remember how. I reach down and splash some water on his face. His eyes widen. He licks his lips, and then he’s hunched over the pool, scooping handful after handful up to his mouth, lapping at it furiously.

  I pull away and just sit back on my haunches, taking it all in. We’ve got water now, and shelter. Maybe there are even some rations in there, if we’re lucky. We might just survive this yet.

  Or will we? As I’ve started to feel like things are going to be okay, I hear a low, threatening rumble. A growl.

  I turn my head, startled by the noise, and come face-to-face with a huge, powerfully built beast. It’s a wolf—the largest I’ve ever seen. His golden eyes are narrowed menacingly; his tail is twitching and his ears are pricked for a fight. He bares his fangs.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “EASY THERE, BIG GUY,” I SAY CAREFULLY, clambering up as gracefully as I can manage, hoping not to spook the animal any more than I already have. “We’re not here to hurt you. ”