I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: The Search for Sam Read online

  “Oh, I never really thought about it,” he says. “Yes, I would guess it’s quite excruciating.”

  Just then I hear her voice. “You’re not really going to let him get away with that, are you?” I turn to see One, flickering beside my chair. I had wondered if I would get to see her again before going under, if she hadn’t already flickered out of existence.

  I don’t really have a choice, I say. I’m trapped here.

  She leans against the counter. “You always have a choice. You had a choice to screw up today on the job, to bait your father into sentencing you to death, to do it in Zakos’s earshot so you’d end up here....”

  I was afraid you were already gone. I couldn’t think of anything else. I ran out of hope, figured I was going to lose you anyway, and we could at least—

  “See each other one last time?” she says, finishing my thought. She gives me a flirty, cockeyed grin.

  “That’s sweet,” she says. “But that wasn’t the real reason you went haywire today.”

  She’s right. That isn’t how all this started. In the moment, I just couldn’t bring myself to rat out those humans to my people. That was the first time the work I was doing as a surveyor was clearly going to help the Mogs and hurt others, and I couldn’t do it. Over the past week I’ve had to take some crazy, on-the-fly risks, but that was the first time I acted completely without a plan, without any clear sense of what the consequences would be.

  One, I say. I don’t even really understand why I did what I did.

  She doesn’t answer me immediately, but instead turns back to the tiled wall, crossing her arms. I can see an idea brewing in her head. After a moment, she turns back to me and fixes me with a cryptic stare.

  “Don’t worry, Adam,” she says. “You will. Seeing as you’re going out anyway,” she says, leaning close to my ear. “Don’t you want to go out swinging?”

  I look at her, confused.

  “A giant leap for Mogadorian technology,” she whispers, casting a glance over at the tiles where the Greeters’ bodies are kept. “Is that what you really want your legacy to be?”

  It’s time.

  I’m in the chair, connected to Zakos’s console by a bunch of wires and cables. The machine that will plug me back into One’s consciousness is already humming. “The parameters are in place,” Zakos says. “It will just take a moment after we administer the anesthetic to begin working.” He gestures to a syringe on a tray of tools next to me. The syringe hasn’t escaped my attention either, though.

  He approaches, towering above me in my reclined seat. As he holds my left hand against the arm of the chair and begins to pull the strap over my wrist, I know I only have a second to act.

  I jerk my hand loose from Zakos’s grip and leap up, grabbing the syringe and stabbing it into Zakos’s throat before he can make another move. He punches me desperately, making contact with my face, but it’s too late: I’ve already depressed the plunger.

  He staggers back in a woozy daze, the drugs already making their way into his system, and falls to the floor.

  I rip the strap off my left hand and stand up.

  “Why …” he says, puzzled at what I’ve done. “What could you possibly hope to accomplish …”

  Then he’s out.

  I rush to the lab’s door and, as quietly as possible, lock it from the inside. I’m lucky that Dr. Zakos didn’t knock anything over on his way to the ground: any noise would’ve attracted the attention of the guards on the other side of the door. But I know that once I do what I’m about to, alarms will sound, getting their attention. It won’t take them long to override the lock.

  But that’s okay. I only need a little time.

  I run to the steel panel controlling the containment pods. There are no buttons, no instructions. I have no idea how to imitate Doctor Zakos’s complex gestures.

  “Let me,” I hear. One’s voice.

  She takes over my movements, just as she did when she hijacked my body in the jungle. I’m a spectator to my own body, watching as my hand dances elegantly across the surface of the panel.

  An alarm goes off. I feel One vacating my body, ceding control back to me.

  I get back in the chair, reattach a couple of electrodes and grip the arms of the seat.

  I turn for one last look at the wall behind me, as all of the containment pods open noisily at once, a hydraulic chorus, disgorging their captive corpses. All except One’s pod, which is still linked to me through the mainframe.

  Exposed to open air, the corpses will be rendered useless to further Mogadorian experimentation within minutes.

  It’s hardly an elegant sabotage. But it will keep the Mogadorians from getting any intel from the dead Greeters, and should set Zakos’s research back a few years.

  The machine connecting me to One begins to thrum louder. I used up all the anesthetic to knock Zakos out, so I expect this will hurt. But I know that One has a plan for me, and it doesn’t involve dying.

  That’s when I see Malcolm Goode, waking up on his slab.

  “One?” I ask, nervously.

  In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t even considered what would happen to Malcolm, the sole surviving Greeter. I watch as he pulls himself loose from his connecting cables and steps off his slab. His legs, unused for years, instantly give out on him.

  He locks eyes with me. He’s almost three times my age, but he looks as lost and confused as a child.

  One’s voice in my ear: “Don’t worry about him. He’s going to be fine.”

  That’s when the pain hits.

  I’m plunged back into the moment of Hilde’s death, the blast of the Mogadorian’s gun opening up her chest right in front of my eyes. Hilde falls to her knees before me.

  Red, orange, and purple swarms my vision. Everything’s faster, louder than before, pulsing and buzzing. One’s thoughts are screaming in my head again: No, she can’t, they couldn’t. It’s my fault, I failed. How could I? They will pay, we’ll make them pay. I feel it again, that ripping sensation inside me. Oh right, that’s right, that’s how, so simple. The floors start to shake, a massive rumble coming from beneath my feet but also coming from inside me and as my heart sings yes, they will pay, they WILL pay, the walls of the shack begin to shake and I stomp my foot. A wave of energy shoots through the floor. It’s a power greater than any I’ve ever wielded, and it’s coursing through us and rippling outwards.

  Through the orangey blur of my vision I see the walls of the shack explode, I see four Mogadorian warriors flung out of sight by the force that’s come from within me.

  As the dust settles, I look down at my hands, at my legs. I expect to see One’s body as the source of this power.

  But I don’t see One’s body. I see only my own.

  “That’s it,” I hear. One’s voice.

  I turn around, surprised to discover I am no longer in the Malaysian shack. I am on that beautiful California beach. Our place.

  One sits on the sand, waiting for me. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  I nod, flabbergasted at the sheer power of One’s Legacy. I’m dizzy from wielding it.

  “Come sit with me. We don’t have much time.”

  I collapse beside her, still breathless.

  It’s perfect: the sun is warm on my skin, the sand cool on my feet. And best of all, One’s here, right by my side.

  Across the sea, there’s a roiling storm, the clouds as black as ink. But we’re still in the sun.

  One touches me.

  In this place, I can feel it. I reach out and touch her too. We’re shoulder to shoulder, staring forward at the approaching storm.

  “We got what we came for,” she says. “It’s time for me to go.”

  I turn to her. What is she saying?

  She bites her lip, looking at me apologetically. “You realize this was never about saving my life, right?”

  My heart sinks into my stomach, but I don’t know why.

  “Of course it was,” I say. “You think I came back and
faced my family, went through all that for no reason? I was trying to save you.”

  “There was never any way to save me. A part of you knew that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We needed to help the Garde.” She looks away from me, like this is as hard for her to say as it is for me to hear. “But after your defeat at Ivan’s hands, you felt you had nothing to offer the cause. You said you were too weak, too skinny, that you weren’t the hero I am. That you didn’t have any power.

  “But now you do.”

  Her Legacy. She’s… given it to me? I get to keep it?

  “I’m sorry for tricking you, Adam. But you needed to get to this point. If you hadn’t come back here, a part of you still would’ve been attached to your family, to your people. You’ve seen how little they value you, how little they value anything but bloodshed and war. Now you’re ready to walk with the Garde, to truly fight against your own people.”

  No. I pull away, my mind reeling.

  “Please Adam. Use my Legacy well.”

  Across the sea, shadows dance and crackle and writhe in the clouds. Out there I can see her moving in slow-motion combat. Her last seconds, playing out in front of us.

  “One,” I plead. “Please stop.”

  “This is how it has to be. Deep down you knew it all along, Adam. I’m not real. I was never real.” She turns to the roiling storm, to the tragic movie of her death playing in the clouds. The blade of some faceless Mogadorian’s sword penetrates her through her back, erupting from her stomach. The killing blow.

  “Deep down you knew. I’ve been dead this whole time.”

  I look at One. She’s my best friend. She’s everything to me.

  She turns from the scene of her death to look at me. “You created me, made me out of my memories, so you wouldn’t have to walk this path alone.”

  “That’s not possible. You’re all I have.”

  She smiles. “No. You have you. The courage it took to turn against your people, the courage it took to come back here, to risk your life to get the power you’d need to walk a hero’s path … that was always all you.”

  One has never spoken so highly of me. I should be flattered, but all I am is scared. I’m going to lose her.

  “I can’t be alone.” I feel pathetic, exposing my fears and weakness so totally to One. But I’m desperate. I’ve lost too much already to lose her too.

  “Adam, the alone part is over. I promise you.”

  “One,” I say, my eyes filling with tears. “I love you.”

  She nods, smiling, then reaches forward to touch my cheek. She’s crying now too. “If I’d lived, I think …” she says, “I think you really would have.”

  She kisses me and says good-bye.

  And then she’s gone forever.

  CHAPTER 12

  There’s a shape in the dark, moving around me.

  I see the sky. Stars above.

  The shape is moving my limbs. Resting my head on a soft mound of earth. Pouring water over my wounds. Forcing me to drink.

  The shape’s skin is as white as the moon.

  “Malcolm,” I say.

  “Yes,” he says. He laughs, crouching beside me. “I’m Malcolm. I remember that now.”

  I sit up, half expecting to find myself still trapped in the lab, despite the sky. Despite the stars. But we’re in the wilderness, in a field at the edge of a forest.

  “I carried you as far as I could. Then I needed to rest.” He sighs, taking a sip of water. “But we have to keep moving soon.”

  I’m baffled, utterly confused. How did we escape?

  Malcolm senses my confusion. “I woke up in the lab. Mogadorians were at the doors, trying to break in. That doctor was on the floor. And you … you were convulsing. And then, just as the Mogadorians came through the door, there was …”

  He trails off, laughing with amazement. “There was an earthquake.”

  As soon as I regain my strength, we begin to make our way on foot through forests, pastures, and farmland, traveling mostly at night to escape detection. We’re headed west, trying to put as much space between us and what remains of Ashwood Estates as we can.

  Outside of Ashwood, with only the sky to measure time, days and nights pass without comment. I lose track of the hour, the day of the week, how long we’ve been on the road. Ten days? Twelve days? I cease to measure time in numbers, counting instead the shifting landscapes, the changing scenery.

  Malcolm eventually explains that the earthquake seriously damaged the underground facilities. He says it was a miracle he was able to get us both out through the collapsing structure without being apprehended. He says it was as if the entire structure was collapsing around us, but never on us—almost like it was creating an escape for us with every step he took. He figures the Mogs have their hands full rebuilding, that there’s a good chance they haven’t yet realized we even survived the devastation.

  But he thinks we need to keep moving to be safe.

  I agree.

  We’ve camped out for the day in an unused shed at the edge of a tobacco farm. My limbs are tired from our constant trekking, but my cuts and scrapes are starting to heal.

  Malcolm sees me mopping down the worst of my remaining cuts. “It’s a miracle you weren’t hurt worse.” He shakes his head in wonderment. “It’s a miracle we weren’t both killed. And it’s an even bigger miracle the earthquake happened in the first place. If not, there would’ve been no escape.”

  Now’s as good a time as any to tell him.

  “It was no miracle.”

  He stops what he’s doing, looks at me curiously.

  I haven’t used One’s Legacy on my own since the day I used it to destroy the Mogadorian lab. But I know the ability is still inside me. I can feel it there, nestled, pulsing, waiting for me to pick it up. To play.

  I close my eyes and concentrate. The ground beneath us heaves and ripples, the walls of the shed quake. A few rusted tools, hung by hooks, clatter off the wall to the ground.

  It’s nothing major, barely a tremor: I only wanted to test myself, and to show Malcolm my gift.

  Malcolm’s stunned, eyes bulging. “That was amazing.”

  “It’s a Legacy. A gift from the Loric.”

  Malcolm looks at me with one of his befuddled expressions.

  “Do you know about the Loric?” I ask. I still don’t really know what Malcolm remembers, how much is left of his brain.

  “I know a little,” he says. “My memory, it has … patches.” He sighs heavily, clearly frustrated. “I’ve been working on it. Trying to remember everything. But mostly I remember the darkness.”

  “The darkness?” I ask, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize what he means. The darkness of the containment pod. All those years in an induced coma, hooked up to machines, having his brain dredged for information. I shudder.

  “When I try to summon a memory, it’s like I have to go back into the darkness to find it. I have to go back through years of nothing to remember any one thing.” He laughs, with a note of bitterness I’ve never heard in his voice before. “But there are a few things I remember that I don’t have to fight to recall. Important things.”

  Malcolm goes quiet, lost in thought. Before I can press him to explain, he changes the subject.

  “You said you were given a Loric’s power.” He leans forward. “So you’re not a Loric?”

  I grin. “You thought I was Loric?”

  He nods. “Yeah. That or a high-priority human captive like me.”

  “No,” I say, a bit nervously. “I’m not human. And I’m not Loric.” I’ve been dreading telling him the truth. How will he react if he knows I belong to the same breed that held him in captivity and tortured him for years? But I knew I’d have to come clean eventually. I figure now’s as good a time as any.

  “I’m a Mogadorian.”

  That befuddled look again. “If I’d known that,” he says, “I probably would’ve left you in the lab.”
/>   Uh-oh.

  But then he begins to laugh..

  Before I know it, I’m laughing too, and starting to tell him my story.

  Malcolm and I develop a routine, sleeping by day and walking by night. We graze farmland and forests and roadside Dumpsters for sustenance. We cross hills, streams, and highways. We spend weeks—months?—like this. I begin to lose track of time.

  When we’re in remote fields, far from roads and houses, we train. Malcolm has no experience with Legacies, but then neither do I. Brute force with my newfound power is no problem: I was able to nearly decimate Ashwood Estates—quite literally—in my sleep. But my precision and control need work. So we focus on that.

  In today’s training session Malcolm takes a position on the other side of a field. I stand, getting ready to wield my power. When we’re both ready, we signal each other with our arms. Training time.

  I stare across the field at Malcolm, mentally mapping the distance between us. Malcolm has set pebbles on top of the fence posts running the distance between us; for every pebble I knock off its post, he will deduct a few points. It’s easy to send out my seismic force in an indiscriminate wave, knocking everything in its path, but he wants me to hit the area right beneath him, and only that area. He says this practice will increase my precision.

  I focus hard on where he is, until everything else disappears. Then I unleash my power.

  There are days when I can’t even reach Malcolm, when the farthest I can send my power is ten yards in front of me. There are other days when distance comes too easy, and I wildly overshoot, felling trees fifty yards past Malcolm’s position. Sometimes I hit him with pinpoint accuracy, and the ground trembles delicately below him. When this happens he calls out, telling me to sustain that gentle force. But sometimes the intensity of my seismic power slips outside of my control, and the ground will erupt beneath him, sending him ten feet in the air.

  He’s always patient, gracious, and kind about my misfires. Which only makes me happier when I manage a perfect score at this game we’ve created, rumbling the earth immediately beneath his feet without sending him flying. It takes extraordinary control, and so much mental effort I usually wind up with a minor migraine, but it’s worth it to see his proud face.