Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files (67 page)

“Come on!” Rex calls. “Let’s go!”

I pick up the pace. Unfortunately, so does the train. I manage to get a hand on the ladder, but I can’t jump up without stopping first.

My feet are scraping the ground now, the train accelerating beyond what I can manage, and I’m forced to pull my legs up and grip the ladder for dear life. If I fall now I’ll probably get pulled under the wheels. My hands are starting to lose their grip, my feet are drifting down again and the ground is now whistling past below me. If I don’t do something, and fast, I’m not going to go any farther because I’ll be nothing but a smear across a few miles of Missouri track.

Rex solves that problem. He reaches down and grabs me around the chest just below my arm, then he just lets himself fall back, pulling me with him into the boxcar. We both land on the worn wooden floor with a thud and lay there a second, winded.

Then he starts to laugh.

“Woo!” he shouts, still laying there, the biggest grin I’ve seen yet plastered all over his face. “We just jumped onto a moving train!”

I smile too. Rex just saved my life. Now we’re even. Maybe there’s hope for him after all.

We have to hide once, in Columbus, Ohio, when the train stops and rail-yard cops check all the cars for stowaways like us, but it’s easy to hear them coming. We just duck out of the boxcar as soon as the train lurches to a halt, taking the spike with us, and then circle around, hopping back on once they’ve gone.

It would almost be fun if I wasn’t so preoccupied with what’s going to happen once we get to New York. I still have no idea how we’re going to make it to Plum Island at all, much less how I’m going to get inside, get past whatever security measures the Mogs have and free the Chimæra.

It’s overwhelming, but I’m starting to doubt myself less now. When I look back and think of how much I’ve managed to accomplish since I left Ashwood, I’m amazed. I could actually pull this off.

However, I still haven’t managed to get in touch with Malcolm, and
that
is worrying me. Why wouldn’t he be answering his phone? Unless he never got to the Garde at all.

I can’t let myself think about what that would mean.

Rex and I are silent for most of the trip, but somewhere halfway through the journey, as I’m watching the countryside fly by, I surprise myself with the sound of my own voice.

“Why destroy it all? What’s the point?”

Rex doesn’t hesitate before he rattles off one of the most important tenets from the Good Book. “
Conquer, consume, cauterize.
” He shrugs. “It’s what we do.”

It’s a phrase I’ve heard so many times that I’ll be able to repeat it by heart for the rest of my life. It’s the perfect summation of the Mog objective—travel to a new world, conquer it completely, drain all of its resources, then leave it a burnt-out husk and move on to the next one. It used to make sense to me.

“But why?” I ask. “Don’t you ever question it?”

“Because it’s the way of the universe. It’s the way progress happens. The Piken eats the Kraul. He doesn’t feel guilty about it. He just does it.”

“Because he has to,” I argue. “Survival is one thing. This is different.”

Rex’s face hardens into a stubborn frown. “Look at what happened on Lorien. They had so much power. Their Legacies alone should have allowed them to fight us off easily. But they’d gotten soft. Even with all that power, they were weak. Their world was stagnating. It was disgusting.”

“They were happy. What’s disgusting about that?”

He fixes me with a glare so hard that I can practically feel it. “I almost forgot who you are,” he says coldly. It’s the voice of the old Rex. “I forgot
what
you are. And what you’ve done. I won’t forget again.”

Then I know that, whatever came over Rex on the course of this trip, it was only temporary. He’s not going to change. It’s in his blood. And when we get to Plum Island, he won’t need me anymore. He’ll be back with his true people; he’ll have no reason not to turn on me.

I look away. I’m alone again. I don’t even know where Dust is—he turned himself into a mouse a few hours ago and has been exploring the train on his own ever since.

Ten hours after Rex pulled me on board, we arrive in Philly in silence. We haven’t said a word since our argument.

Dust appears from behind a crate and slides into my pocket as Rex is jumping out into the rail yard. I’m about to follow behind him when I see that he’s left the railroad spike behind. I guess he thinks I’m so weak that he doesn’t need it. I shove it in my pocket and leap out into the chilly Philadelphia night.

We’ve still barely spoken more than a few words to each other as we’re boarding the bus to Manhattan. Then, in theory, it’s just a quick hop over to Plum Island.

After that . . . I don’t know. I’ve been weighing my choices. I wonder if Rex has too. As we were buying our bus tickets, I thought about ditching him altogether. Losing him in the crowd and trying to make it to Plum Island on my own. I came pretty close to doing it, and I would have if I thought it would help. It would be pointless, though. He knows where I’m going and what I want. On top of that, I have a feeling I’ll need his help getting inside.

Then again, it’s entirely possible he’s already alerted the Mogadorians that he’s on his way with his trophy—me—in tow.

“Last stop before we hit the Lincoln Tunnel,” the bus driver announces, pulling into a rest area. “Twenty-minute break. I suggest you stretch your legs and use the facilities, people. Traffic in the tunnel can get pretty crazy.”

I signal that I’m going to pee, and together Rex and I climb out of our seats and follow most of the other passengers off the bus. The ride’s been uneventful so far, which suits me just fine. We should be in Manhattan in about an hour, maybe less.

“I’m gonna grab some more snacks,” Rex tells me sullenly as we’re walking across the parking lot. I just nod. He nods back and heads off towards the cluster of vending machines.

In the bathroom, I lock the stall door behind me and try Malcolm one more time, praying that this time he’ll answer.

Still nothing.

As soon as I allow myself to consider the worst, my mind feels like a big ball of yarn that’s coming quickly unraveled. I can’t stop the what-ifs: What if they got caught fleeing Dulce? Or worse, what if the explosion took them out along with all the Mogs there? What if I killed my only friend, and his son we went there to save?

What if he never found the Garde? He’s the only one who can lead me to them. If he’s not with the Garde, that means I have no hope of finding them myself. Ever.

No,
I tell myself. Malcolm’s smart, and he’s cautious. He’s probably being careful about how he communicates. If he
is
with the Garde, he won’t want to risk having his cell phone traced and their location discovered. Anyway, it’s not like he’s not expecting to hear from me. As far as he’s concerned, I’m dead.

It all makes perfect sense. It just doesn’t make me feel any better.

I’m stepping back out of the bathroom a few minutes later when it happens: I find my way blocked by two men. They’re dressed identically in black trench coats, black hats and black sunglasses. They’re both pale beneath those outfits—a little too pale. As soon as I lay
eyes on them, they both smile at me, their wide mouths spreading open to reveal toothy, shark-like grins.

I turn around instantly and try to shove my way back into the bathroom. Maybe there’s a window I can escape through or something.

I never get that far. They have me by the arms. Rex is nowhere to be seen.

The Mogadorians have found me.

CHAPTER NINE

“TOOK A WHILE TO CATCH UP WITH YOU, ADAMUS,” the one on the right says. “You almost managed to slip past us.”

“Almost,” the one on the left echoes. He pulls his hands out of his pockets. No surprise, he’s holding a dagger in one and a blaster in the other. Standard Mog scout weaponry.

Lucky for me, what I’m carrying is nonstandard. And after my initial shock, I’m more resigned than frightened. I’ve been looking over my shoulder for Mogs this whole time, and in a way it’s almost a relief that they’re finally here. Still, there’s something I need to know. “How’d you find me?”

They just laugh at that. Unlike me and Rex and the rest of the trueborn, most scouts are vatborn and have the triangular, fang-like teeth to prove it. Their smiles really do look like a shark’s.

They don’t need to tell me the answer. I already know: it was Rex. It had to have been. While I was in the bathroom trying to call Malcolm, he was calling in the big guns. He was betraying me. And I hate him for that.

I’m not scared. I’m not sad. I’m certainly not relieved anymore. I’m just angry.

The vatborn’s laughter stops when the ground beneath them ripples upwards like it’s water, tossing them off their feet.

The one on the left loses his grip on his blaster, and I dive for it, scoop it up and shoot him point-blank. Poof. I’m already sighting on the second one by the time he crumbles to ash. If Rex thinks I’m not a worthy opponent just because I’m not as big as him, or because I don’t believe that Setrákus Ra’s stupid fortune-cookie rules are words to live by, he needs to think again.

I have to get out of here. There are too many people in too small a space, and if there’s going to be a big battle here there’s no telling how many innocent people could be hurt.

Before anyone can stop me I make a beeline for the rear exit and slam right through it without stopping. A hundred heads turn to stare at me, but I don’t care.

Outside, I find myself in a wide-open parking lot, empty except for a few untended sixteen-wheelers. I’m looking frantically for cover when I hear the distinctive, high-pitched whine of a Mog hand cannon powering up
to fire from somewhere behind me. I hurl myself to the side, hitting the ground hard just as the energy blast sizzles past me. The pavement is smoking, a circular hole in the exact spot where I was just standing.

Glancing up from the ground, I see a quartet of Mog soldiers tromping toward me, rifles and hand cannons aimed in my direction.

Too bad for them. Now they’ve pissed me off.

I feel my face clenching up in fury, and my body trembles as I send a quake through the ground. The two Mogs nearest to me go toppling like bowling pins. In the confusion, I dive behind one of the trucks, buying myself some time while my remaining pursuers split up to look for me.

When I don’t hear anything for a minute or so, I peek out quickly from behind the cab and see another soldier coming toward me. He’s alone—too easy. He’s a goner before he even knows I’ve zapped him with my stolen blaster.

Five down, one left—not counting Rex.

Of course, that’s assuming that there aren’t more I don’t know about yet.

I should be so lucky. I hear more footsteps approaching—and getting louder. They’re coming fast.

I suppose it was too much to hope the High Command had only sent two scouts and four soldiers after me. But when I poke my head over the cab again and
see dozens of Mogs pouring through the parking lot from every possible direction, blasters and cannons at the ready, I have to say it seems like overkill. I guess I should be flattered, not just that they think I’m worth the trouble, but that whoever sent them here considers me such a formidable adversary.

Ducking down, I peer below the truck and spot a Mog marching toward me, shooting at my shelter to keep me pinned down while he advances. Too bad he wasn’t watching the tires. I shoot him in the leg and, when he drops, put another blast in his head, finishing him off. Then I pull myself to my feet and scan the area. “Dust!” I scream. Where the hell is he?

For that matter, where’s Rex? Not that I really want to know.

More soldiers round the corner of the building, and my stomach clenches. They’re spreading out in front of me, so I won’t be able to take them all down at once. I crouch behind the truck again, but I know I won’t be able to hold out like this much longer.

How is this at all worth it?

I’ve never hated my own race more than I do right now. Mostly, though, I hate Rex. Not because he betrayed me. No. I hate him because, before he could betray me, he made me trust him.

At least my anger’s good for something. I focus in on it and stomp a foot on the ground. This tremor is the
strongest one yet. I can feel it flowing out through my body like a giant ocean wave originating in my rib cage.

Some of the soldiers topple. Others wobble but stay standing. One or two drop their weapons.

I grit my teeth. Using my Legacy is exhausting me and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep it up. But I have to. I stomp again.

A few more go down, but now the rest are shooting at me.

I’m trying to figure out what to do next when I hear a ferocious roar. Glancing over my vehicular shield I see a large, tawny shape leap from the trees and grab one soldier by the shoulder, yanking him to the ground. Dust roars and lunges again, his massive jaw snapping shut like a trap around his quarry’s neck. The soldier’s scream dies mid-shriek, his body convulsing as it turns to ash.

But the lion has already moved on. He’s ripping through the soldiers easily, their fire barely slowing him down. Dust claws and bites, not stopping to consider any individual enemy for more than a split second before moving on.

The Mogs still left standing are confused—they didn’t plan for this, and now they’re not sure whether they’re supposed to be shooting me or Dust, or whether it’s time to retreat altogether.

I take advantage of the confusion. Two soldiers are backed up almost to me, and I shoot them both
before they remember that I’m still a threat too. Dust’s finished off another soldier, and several more have taken shelter around the side of the main structure—collapsing something is one trick I got pretty good at with Malcolm, and though it causes spikes of pain to shoot through my forehead I shake the roof loose and drop it on those soldiers, easily crushing them. That leaves only two, and they move away from Dust and me both, shooting at him to keep him back and edging away toward the trees where they must have a ship waiting.