[Lorien Legacies 06.1] The Lost Files: Legacies Reborn Read online

  “Hold on!” a voice shouts from the back of the bus. At first I think she’s talking to me—that she’s somehow figured out what I’m about to do—but then I realize it’s the woman with the emergency radio. She rushes towards the front, warnings pouring out of her mouth.

  “The Holland Tunnel is out too.” I can hear a man’s voice crackling through the radio in her hands the closer she gets. “It sounds like all the tunnels in the city are either blocked or collapsed. The bridges are the only way out. There’s a big evacuation site at the Brooklyn Bridge they’re telling people to go to if their homes have been destroyed.”

  “Are you sure that’s right?” someone asks, voice shaking. “Maybe the tunnel’s been cleared up since then or—”

  The bus suddenly jerks, brakes squealing as we slow down rapidly. I turn my attention back to the front and see that a few blocks ahead of us the highway is littered with abandoned cars. Some of them are smoking. Others have been overturned. Flames reflect off the water of the Hudson River.

  Something bad happened here.

  “Damn it,” the driver says. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

  It gets quiet in the bus except for the sound of the man on the radio. Static keeps interrupting him as he talks about how none of the other boroughs have been hit yet, only Manhattan. Then suddenly everyone’s talking, trying to figure out what to do.

  The woman with the radio stares at the driver. “What do we do now?”

  He shakes his head a little as he goes over his options in his head. Finally, he puts his foot on the gas again, and we all jerk back as the engine revs.

  “We’re heading for the Williamsburg Bridge,” he says.

  “But the Brooklyn Bridge is where—,” the woman starts.

  “Yeah, which means the streets down there are probably a shit show. We’ve got to get out of the city and that’s our best bet. Once we’re across we can cut down through Staten Island to Jersey and get as far away as we can. I doubt Staten Island’s on their hit list.”

  He doesn’t wait for a response, just takes a sharp left turn and barrels down a side street, threatening to tip the bus over again.

  I try to go over geography in my head as we cut through narrow streets with names instead of numbers. I don’t know this part of the city well at all, and it’s not like I can use the map on my phone since there’s no signal. I try to make sense of things. Tunnels are out. An evacuation spot off the Brooklyn Bridge. Mom’s work wasn’t too far away from that. It’s possible she might have headed that way.

  But she wouldn’t have just gone off to Brooklyn and left me with Benny, right?

  My head starts to pound again, jumbling my thoughts and making it hard to concentrate. I start back down the aisle, looking for a bus map or something hanging on the walls, asking no one in particular if they know where we are—but there’s so much shell shock in the damn bus that no one answers me. We take a few more sharp turns, slowing down a little each time. The driver seems to know these streets well and keeps us moving. Eventually, we’re shooting down Houston. And I keep my eyes on the signs at every block we pass until I finally see a cross street I recognize.

  Bowery. It’s almost a straight shot to where Mom works if I follow it downtown. Once I met her at the restaurant and we walked all the way up to Central Park just because it was a nice day, and I remember taking Bowery for a part of the trip.

  I’m about to yell for the bus driver to stop when he slams on the brakes anyway. A few people scream, and it’s only then that I see it: one of the alien ships sits in the intersection a block ahead of us. I don’t see any pale monsters around, but still, they’ve got to be close. The driver looks around nervously as the passengers grow louder, people yelling at him to go, or turn, or reverse, or that this is the end and we’re all going to die. Abandoned cars and debris cut off the side streets on our right, so the driver makes a quick decision and guns it, turning left onto First Avenue, shouting something back to the rest of us about going another way around the ship. His hands are gripped on the steering wheel and sweat is pouring down his face. I think the dude’s about to lose it. But more importantly, we’re heading uptown now, farther away from Wall Street, farther away from Mom. If I can just get back to Bowery, I know how to get down to her.

  And so when he slows the bus to turn right on Fourth Street, I take a deep breath and step to the empty space where I blew the doors off the bus earlier.

  “Good luck in Brooklyn,” I murmur.

  I jump onto the road, stumbling a few steps before slamming into the side of a parked car and catching myself. The bus doesn’t stop. It just drives off without me.

  I make sure that I’m not hurt or anything, and then I start to sprint, back towards Bowery, hoping that the aliens from the ship we just saw are busy somewhere off in another direction. I’m getting closer and closer to Mom. Step by step. Inch by inch. But it gets harder and harder. As I turn the corner, my lungs are full of fire. My heart pounds, and my legs scream out for me to stop. On top of that, the throbbing in my head is starting to get to me. It’s a weird kind of pain I’ve never felt before. I’m not even sure it’s pain, more like a building pressure behind my eyes.

  What’s happening?

  The streets are pretty empty, and suddenly I feel so alone. Where is everyone? Maybe this area has been evacuated. Or maybe . . .

  What if the aliens from that ship have been through here already and rounded everyone up?

  Doubt starts to creep into my head. I’m finally getting closer, but what am I supposed to do if she’s not there? What do I do if she’s gone?

  Tears sting the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill as I approach a big intersection. That’s when I see a dozen Mogadorians marching into the street, and my whole pity party comes to an abrupt end. I stop, almost falling down. I put my arms out, trying to balance, and end up letting off some kind of force wave that knocks a trash can into the street.

  Crap.

  I dart inside the nearest building—a bank—hoping the aliens didn’t notice. I back away from the door slowly, keeping my eyes on it, my hands stretched out in front of me, ready to use my powers. It’s pretty dark inside and my eyes slowly start to adjust. I wonder if the lights are off, or if the electricity’s been knocked out. I should have been paying more attention to stuff like that on the street. I should have—

  “Uhh . . . ,” a voice comes from behind me.

  I turn around, keeping my hands raised, ready to dust some aliens. Instead, there are three figures wearing ski masks. Humans. Two of them are in the back, stuffing cash into a duffel bag. The other’s just a yard away from me, his eyes wide, mouth hanging open in confusion.

  He’s pointing a gun at my face.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I GET READY TO KNOCK THIS GUY BACKWARDS AS tears start to stream down my cheeks, brought on by a mixture of exhaustion and the thought that in the middle of an alien invasion, I might get killed by some punk human.

  “Uh, don’t cry?” the man murmurs.

  Despite the tears, I manage to laugh a little at the guy who’s telling me to get ahold of myself while holding a gun to my face.

  Luckily, I don’t have to go all Jedi on him. His buddies interrupt.

  “What the fuck, Jay,” one of the guys from the back says. “She’s just a kid.”

  Jay lowers the gun, his hands shaking. “Sorry,” he says quietly. He doesn’t sound too much older than me, maybe in his twenties.

  The reality of the situation dawns on me.

  “The city is being invaded by aliens and you assholes are robbing a bank?” I say loud enough for all three of them to hear me.

  “Hey,” Jay says, defensive. “We’re just trying to make the most of a bad situation.”

  All the sadness that had taken me over morphs into rage. I spit venom out of my mouth before I even realize that I’m shouting.

  “Do you have any idea what it’s like out there? My stepdad just got murdered trying to protect me. I have no i
dea what’s happened to my mom. I’m pretty sure I saw a bunch of people get trampled in the subway by dudes just trying to escape. Not killed by aliens, but by other people. Who knows how many have been killed by these alien bastards? And you want to tell me that making the best of this situation is you and your boys robbing a bank while all this is going down? How can you be so selfish? Jesus. You could be helping people get out of the city or something.” My thoughts immediately go back to everyone I’ve left behind—everyone I haven’t protected or fought for because I’ve been trying to get downtown. The neighbors on my block. The group I left at the church. Hell, even the people on the bus, who for a second I was going to force to take me downtown. My head starts shaking and the tears well up again because even though I know I should be going to find Mom, there’s a voice in my head telling me I should be taking my own advice. That of course she wants to see me and be reunited, but that helping other people is just as important. Maybe more. I should be trying to do some good where I can.

  Jay looks at me with wide eyes, like this is all stuff that might have been in the back of his mind already, and he’s furious with himself and with me for bringing it up. His two friends don’t seem to care, though, because once their duffel bag is full, they slap him on the back and nod towards the door.

  “We’re done,” the guy with the bag says.

  I wipe my eyes, feeling stupid for crying in front of them. “Maybe you forgot, but there’s a bunch of aliens out there,” I mutter. “Go outside and you’re toast.”

  “I’m not sitting on top of all this money and waiting to get caught.”

  “We run across ’em, we’ll take ’em out,” the other dude says, holding up another gun.

  “No, like, they’re right outside.” I try to talk some sense into them. “That’s why I ducked in here in the first place. There’s a dozen of those pale freaks.”

  “Maybe we should hole up in here for a little while until the coast is clear,” Jay says. He peeks out the window, but from here he can’t see far down the block.

  “Dude, our car is just around the corner,” the third guy says. “We get in, we punch it and we’re out of the city in ten minutes with an assload of cash. Don’t be stupid.” He points to me. “The next person who comes in might not be some dumb girl. It might be cops or the National Guard or some shit. You wanna be standing around like this when they get here?”

  I somehow manage to keep my cool and not slam him against the wall.

  “I’m betting the cops have more important things on their minds than you right now.” I turn to Jay. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  My mom’s voice might be telling me to slow down and help people, but I’m guessing she’d take exception to these fools. If they want to get wasted stealing a bunch of cash that’s their problem, not mine.

  The guy who’s not holding the duffel bag lets out a big exaggerated groan and pushes past Jay. In seconds he’s out on the sidewalk, looking around. He calls back to the others inside.

  “Street’s empty.” He waves his gun around. “Come on, you bitches.”

  Jay gives me one last look, and then makes for the exit. They’re a few steps away from the door when the guy outside yells and fires off a few rounds farther up the street. Some kind of blast rips through the guy outside. He drops like a rock. Suddenly, the street gets bright. A light drops down from above and shines into the bank, blinding me. I raise my arm to cover my eyes and back away out of instinct. It takes me a second to realize that it’s not just a spotlight hovering in the air, pouring light inside.

  It’s a ship.

  “Holy shit, get do—”

  I don’t get to finish the sentence. An electronic sizzling fills the air as the small ship fires on us. The windows shatter. I hit the ground hard, army crawling to cover behind a kiosk in the middle of the bank. Jay and the other guy stay standing, guns drawn, firing at the light. Idiots. I shout at them again, but it’s no use. Jay doesn’t last long. Some kind of light bursts through his chest, different from the electric shots I saw earlier. I wince. The guy with the duffel bag turns to run, but he doesn’t get far before he’s taken out too, the bag sliding across the floor towards the back.

  Three people dead, just like that.

  I lie motionless, hoping there’s not some kind of heat-seeking missile or something on the ship that can find me. Maybe if I don’t move, don’t even breathe, I’ll be okay.

  Then I hear the footsteps. A group of aliens—probably the ones I saw earlier—are congregating outside.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  They bark at each other in their weird language. Then one of them steps forward, creeping through the shattered window. He’s dressed in black tactical gear like the others and has spiraling tattoos that run from the top of his shaved head to down behind his ears. His boot kicks Jay, who doesn’t respond.

  He does the same thing with the other guy, who’s also toast. I pray that he’s just going to turn around and leave. Instead, he keeps wandering farther back into the bank, his weapon drawn, looking for other people. I make myself as small as possible, curling into a ball against the kiosk. But I’m not small enough. He’s coming from the back of the bank when he glances over and locks eyes with me.

  I’m screwed.

  My hands shoot forward and the alien flies, slamming into the back wall of the bank hard enough that he turns into a cloud of alien dust. I can hear voices from the front again, and I peek around the kiosk to see two other freaks stepping forward, blasters out. My mind races. I don’t know if the kiosk can handle much more damage. There may be a way out the back or something, but if the ship starts blasting again, I’m probably dead.

  I try to prioritize and deal with the closest danger. With a wave of my hand, the guns the two Mogadorians in front are carrying fly away, thrown back into the street. There’s a moment of stunned silence from the rest of them before the others start firing into the bank without any real target. I wave my hands again, and the two unarmed aliens float in front of the rest of their troop, shielding me from gunfire long enough that I can bolt to a spot behind a leather sofa farther back inside and at least put some distance between me and the monsters. But the alien shields don’t hold up for long before they turn to dust too, so I send a desk flying out towards the blaster fire. I think I even hit a couple of the bastards.

  Maybe I stand a chance against these dudes after all.

  That’s when I realize the ship is repositioning to shoot into the bank again. I can hear some sort of whirring that sounds like an engine warming up.

  And I’m hiding behind a dinky couch.

  I swallow hard. My head pounds.

  “Mom . . . ,” I whisper as I raise my hands in front of my face.

  A fireball flies through the air from somewhere down the block. There’s an explosion, and suddenly the street goes dark.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WITH THE SPOTLIGHT OUT, I’M SUDDENLY BLIND as my eyes try to readjust to the darkness. Blaster fire sizzles against the leather sofa, and I duck down, pressing myself as flat onto the floor as I can in case the ship’s guns go off. The world slowly comes back into focus in the inch of space between the floor and the couch that I can see through. Weapons fire constantly, though there seem to be fewer and fewer of them. I peek around the couch just in time to see what looks like some dude—I think it’s a dude, he’s just a shadow to me—hanging on the edge of the alien ship. He must have a flamethrower or something, because fire is filling the cockpit. Then he leaps off it, landing on the street again while the ship spins and crashes into a building across from the bank. It’s some real Spider-Man shit. There’s a big explosion, and I duck down again, covering my head.

  I think this guy just saved my life.

  I wonder if it’s the army that’s finally come to annihilate these pale motherfuckers. Whoever it is must have won, because I don’t hear any more of the alien weapons going off, and I can make out voices from the street that sound human.

  Ok
ay. So I’m not dead. That’s good. I’m also not that far away from Mom’s restaurant. Or at least I’m a lot closer than I was an hour ago.

  Slowly, I stand, keeping my eyes on the street outside. After a few small steps, I almost trip over the duffel bag full of money that the robber had been carrying. I stare at it for a second, and suddenly my head is flashing back to the last time I saw my mom, arguing with her about Benny and keeping our apartment. Even though I don’t think any of that matters now—if our apartment is still there at all—I pick up the bag. I know I gave Jay and the others shit about being felons when the city’s going to hell, but this totally isn’t the same thing. It’s a lucky break. I’m not going to just leave, like, hundreds of Gs on the floor here. Mom and I might need it to survive. And isn’t that what all of this has been for? Us living through this and starting over? If—when I find Mom, this cash means we could go anywhere, do anything we wanted. Go somewhere far away from all these ships, even if the world does go to hell.

  Only now I look like a robber. If it’s the army that saved me, they may not even know I’m in here. They were probably just killing any aliens they came across. If that’s the case, maybe I can sneak out the back.

  I sling the duffel bag over my shoulder right as two figures come into view, silhouetted in the broken window. I duck back down behind the sofa.

  “Just keep walking,” I whisper.

  “Hey, it’s all clear out here,” one of them says.

  Crap. They must have seen me. Stupid.

  Then, a light comes on. I think it’s a flashlight or really powerful phone at first, but when I peek around the sofa it looks like it’s actually coming from this guy’s hands. I can see just a glimpse of his face and blond hair. Something about him looks familiar, but I’m not sure why.