Then he leads Rex away while the guards grab me and march me toward a long, low building a few hundred feet from the harbor. Damn. It’s not even in the main building. This is going to make things very difficult. When they throw me into my cell, I’m still trying to decide whether Rex sold me out or if everything’s going exactly according to plan.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I DON’T KNOW HOW LONG IT’S BEEN. HOURS? Days? But no one has come by since those guards threw me in here. I guess they’re taking their commander’s orders to leave me alone until my father comes to retrieve me to heart. I’m cursing myself for thinking Rex was actually on my side, for letting him get the better of me. I thought I could trust him.
Then I hear the click of the lock on my cell door. It’s too dark to make out who’s standing there, but I easily recognize Rex’s voice. “Sorry I took so long,” he says.
Then something hits me in the face and chest—something lightweight, flexible, a little scratchy. “Put those on!”
It’s pants and a jacket, all standard military issue, and I hurriedly do as I’m told. “Where have you been?” I demand as I change.
“I had to be sure they didn’t suspect anything,” Rex replies, holding the cell door wide-open and beckoning me to follow. “And I had to find out where they were holding the Chimæra. Here.” He hands me a military cap, and I pull that on as well. Smart thinking—I’m clearly a Mog but my long hair definitely isn’t a soldier’s cut. Plus the cap helps hide my face, in case anyone might recognize me.
“So? Where are they?” I ask as he leads me out of the building. I’m surprised there aren’t any guards at all, until I see a small pile of ash in one corner and another behind a desk near the entryway.
I’m a little surprised Rex was willing to kill to get me out of here. Surprised, but grateful.
“They’re keeping them in the Disease Center,” he replies, easing open the brig’s front door and glancing out before nodding and motioning me through. “But not the main annex—that’s mostly marines and human scientists. There’s a second building off to the side, staffed entirely by our people. They’re in there.”
That makes sense. Even though the High Command clearly has some kind of deal with the U.S. government, they wouldn’t want to let any of the humans close to anything that could be used against us. And the Chimæra would definitely qualify. “How do we get there?”
He grins as we step around the side of the jail and stop at a military jeep that’s sitting there, already idling. Rex doesn’t hit the lights until we’re clear of the last building and our view of the harbor is swallowed up among the trees.
It only takes a couple minutes to curve up and around to the Disease Center—the advantages of an island that’s only a few miles in any direction. The main building is enormous and looks like a research lab crossed with a school, but sure enough there’s a smaller, warehouse-like building off to one side. We head over that way. There are Mog soldiers standing guard outside, but they salute Rex and step aside to let us pass. Interesting.
“This is our main base on the island,” he explains once we’re through the doors and walking along a wide, rough, cement-floored hall. “Where they’re keeping the Chimæra will require security clearance, but out here we’re good.” Which is obviously true, but I can’t help wondering how we’re going to get back out past those same guards without setting off alarms. Especially with however many Chimæra there are in tow.
“We lucked out too,” Rex is saying. We head up one flight of stairs, then another. “They were being held in the basement, but two days ago I hear they all went nuts. They trashed the place completely. So they were moved up here until stronger cells could be built.”
Two days ago? I bet that’s about the same time that Dust started freaking out on the boat. It’s all got to be connected.
Speaking of which . . . “Have you seen Dust? Do you know where he is?”
“He’s out there,” Rex answers without glancing back. “He found me when I was grabbing the jeep. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll find you when the time’s right.”
I nod slowly. I wish Dust was with me right now, but I know Rex is right. Dust hasn’t let me down yet.
We stop on the fourth floor and exit the stairwell. The ceilings up here are twelve feet tall at least, and enormous windows cover most of the walls, though they’re barred. Despite the concrete floors and thick stone outer walls and corrugated metal inner walls, the space still has a light, airy feel.
And doors. Lots and lots of doors.
“They’re up here somewhere,” Rex assures me, opening the first door at hand and peering in. He shakes his head and slides it shut again. I open another door, but it leads to a small office. Empty, fortunately. “Nope.” The next one is a supply closet, also not much help. The door after that, however, opens onto a large room that looks like an operating theater—there are instruments arrayed on trays positioned around a large exam table. It’s also empty, which I consider a very good thing. I really wouldn’t want to walk in on a surgery, especially not one performed by my people. They’re a lot more interested in carving up than in putting back together.
“Over here!” Rex calls, and I see he’s one door down from me but on the other side of the hall. I cross quickly and peer inside with him. It’s like a big kennel, with wire cages lined up against the far wall. Could this be it?
“Shut the door,” I whisper, stepping through to study the cages and their inhabitants. The first cage looks empty, save for some sort of goo smeared across the floor. But when I step a little closer, the goo suddenly rears up, flowing into a shape like a raccoon or maybe a weasel, narrow and wiry with dark, matted fur, a sharply pointed face and beady little eyes.
And then it screams.
I’ve never heard anything like it. And I hope I never will again. It’s high and shrill and makes my entire body feel like a glass that’s about to shatter. I stumble back a pace, off balance, then another, until the screeching stops. The goo settles, dropping back to the cage floor. Rex and I stare at each other. What the hell was that?
Whatever it was, there’s nothing I can do to help it, not if it’s going to scream bloody murder and completely paralyze me every time I get close.
The next cage is empty, though judging from the soiled newspapers on the bottom, it hasn’t been that way for long.
The third cage contains a bird. About the size of a parrot, it has blue feathers ranging from a deep purple so dark they look almost black to a pale blue-white like winter itself. The bird has no wings, though—where those appendages should be are two stumps, stitched and bandaged. It caws at me, a single long, chirp-like wail, and the sound brings tears to my eyes. I look over at Rex but he looks just as horrified. Either he’s a better actor than I realized or he had no idea what we’d find.
“Are these . . . Chimæra?” he asks, his voice hushed and rough.
“I don’t know. They might be.” I shake my head. “I don’t think either of those two are going anywhere, though—even if we opened their cages, how would we get them to follow us? Especially without risking whatever others we find?” I hate to abandon any of them, but I think we have to leave this pair here. I glance in the other cages quickly but they’re all empty. I see a second door against the sidewall, and I hurry over to that, pull it open, and rush through, almost slamming into a pair of Mogs that are standing in front of another row of cages. One of them is short and wiry and wearing a lab coat—definitely a scientist. The other one’s big and burly, though, and in military gear. They both look up as I barrel in, and the soldier’s hand automatically goes for the blaster at his side. Great.
“What—who—?” the scientist starts, but I shut him up by slamming into him as hard as I can. He flies backwards into the soldier who stumbles a step, his hands going up automatically to catch his companion. They both turn to ash a second later, and I glance back to see Rex in the doorway, blaster in hand.
He did that. Just like he killed the M
ogs who were guarding my cell.
“Why . . . ,” I start.
“I promised you I’d help you and I’m helping you,” he says. “Let’s just leave it at that.” Then he looks past me. “Jackpot,” he whispers.
I follow his gaze to see what he’s talking about. At least four of the cages here are occupied—no, five. And all of them . . . well, the first one has a small dog, the second a little pig, the third a cat, the fourth a raccoon, and the fifth a brightly colored bird. Then I blink, and now they’re an owl, a goat, a rat, a beaver, and a monkey. Then they shift again, and again, a lot like Dust did the other night, only this is constant, cycling from shape to shape to shape fast enough to make them dizzying to watch.
“Is that normal?” Rex asks. He sounds just as surprised as I am. The continual shape-shifting is unsettling, to say the least.
“I don’t know,” I admit. Then I notice a clipboard on the ground by my feet. The scientist must have dropped it. Picking it up, I see a list of subjects, with notes next to each one. Notes like “100cc injected, change rate increased tenfold” and “lobotomy performed, cohesion shattered.” Bile rises in my throat, and I have to gulp a few times before I can answer. “No. They’ve been experimenting on them already.”
At this point, I have no idea how useful these surviving creatures will be. I’d hoped to find a bunch more like Dust, and instead I have five out-of-control shape-changing animals. Still, there’s no question they’re Chimæra, and I don’t waste any more time wondering. Instead I step over to their cages and yank them open one by one.
“It’s okay,” I assure them, loud enough for all of them to hear me at once but low enough that I hope my voice won’t carry beyond these walls. “We’re here to help.” I have no idea if they understand me, but I figure it can’t hurt.
For a minute none of them move, and I can’t blame them. I don’t know how long they’ve been here, or what’s been done to them, but they don’t have any reason to trust a Mog—or, for all I know, humans. The one that’s now—for the moment—back to being a monkey is the first one to edge over to its open door, poke its head through and then chitter at the others, shifting back and forth between forms as they pour out of their prison. A second later they’re all loose, crawling and swinging and pacing and fluttering every which way.
“Right,” I tell Rex. “Time to go.”
Almost on cue, a siren starts blaring. Flashing lights accompany it out in the hall. Then a voice erupts from speakers in the ceiling.
“Attention, a prisoner has escaped the brig. Adamus Sutekh was last seen wearing blue jeans and a black shirt. He is five-ten, slight of build, with long hair. He is unarmed but a known traitor. If found, detain if possible—shoot if necessary. The same for any accomplices.”
“Yeah,” Rex agrees, shaking his head. “Definitely time to go.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
WE RACE OUT OF THE ROOM, INTO THE HALL AND down the stairwell with the Chimæra following behind us. Rex clamps a hand on my arm and hauls me back just before I start bounding down the stairs. “Not that way!” he calls after me. “They’ll start checking the building at the bottom and work their way up. But there’s an elevator in the back that you can only access from up here. If you can fight your way to it, you can get out that way.”
I nod and let him wheel me around and half drag me up the stairs to the fifth floor. Judging by the door we’ve come to, which is painted bright red and is made from some kind of heavy, extra-reinforced steel, we’ve reached the part of the building that they really really want to keep people out of. With a grunt, Rex yanks it open and we step inside.
The ceilings are just as high up here, but there aren’t any inner walls. Instead it’s just one big room, crowded with computer stations around the edges and a massive topographical map of the East Coast in the center of the room. This is obviously the command center.
“Quick, hide!” I whisper, and duck behind a computer station. Rex does the same. I worry what the Chimæra will do, but they all stick with me, and even though they’re still changing shape constantly they all shift to smaller creatures—mice and lizards and dragonflies.
Peeking out I see a few Mogs here, typing in front of monitors or marking things on transparent touch screens suspended in midair. Others are gathered in small clusters, discussing something in low tones. Nobody’s noticed us yet, and they aren’t mobilizing to hunt for an escaped prisoner either. I guess their work is more important. Our luck can’t last though.
And—next problem. Other than the stairs we just ran up, I don’t see any other way out. This may not have been Rex’s best plan.
A siren begins to blare again, and I cringe, figuring this is it. They’ve spotted me, and they’re calling guards to surround and overpower us. Even if I bring the whole building down the way I did Dulce Base, I might still be trapped. And we’re currently five floors up—if the building goes, that’s a long way down.
But this siren is different, more of a whoop than a shriek. And when someone starts speaking over it, what he says is not what I expected.
“Attention, all units,” the announcer states, his words slightly rushed but clear. “Assemble at once. Garde located. Full-scale assault about to begin. Repeat, all units assemble at once. Full-scale assault about to begin.”
They’ve found the Garde? Full-scale assault? I look at Rex, whose own eyes are darting everywhere. He looks worried—but excited too, with that same gleam he had when we jumped onto the train. He zeroes in on something, and I follow his gaze to a Mog officer leaning over a console. His screen is showing something—I realize all of them have the same image up now—and I rise to a crouch and edge closer to get a better look. It’s a street map, but it doesn’t look familiar—there’s a lake instead of an ocean. It’s not New York. The others in the room are rushing about, either speaking quickly into walkie-talkies or racing towards the stairs, but this guy’s still at his desk. What if he turns and sees me? I’ve apparently just moved down on the priority list, but I’m sure if he realizes who I am he’ll still grab me. I have to chance it, though. If that’s where the Garde have been hiding, Malcolm may be there as well.
I take a few more steps, and now I can make out more details, including place names. Shedd Aquarium, Water Tower Place, North Lake Shore Drive, Lake Michigan—it’s Chicago. They’re in Chicago. And the building that’s dead center on the screen is the John Hancock Center. That must be where the Garde are.
Just as I realize that, the Mog sitting there turns. And sees me.
“Hey—” he starts, half rising from his chair. He looks confused, like he knows I’m not supposed to be there but hasn’t totally figured out that I’m the escaped prisoner. Then he notices something at my shoulder, and his eyes go wide. Out of the corner of my eye I see a butterfly there—and a second later it’s a hummingbird, then a bumblebee. Crap. He’s just realized who I am.
I’m only a few steps away from him at this point. I close the distance fast, and slam my fist into his jaw as hard as I can. His eyes glaze over and he slumps back into his chair. A quick scan of the room tells me no one else noticed.
I guess all those years of sparring with Ivan were worth something after all.
“You’ve got to get out of here,” Rex warns, moving up beside me and grabbing my arm again. “Now, while everyone’s rushing to deploy.”
I nod, then stop. “I’ve got to get out of here?”
He looks down, then away. “Look,” he starts. “You saved my life. I owe you. And I didn’t betray you—I haven’t and I won’t. But—” He shrugs. “I’m not like you. I already told you that. I was just keeping my promise. I get that you probably have reasons for what you did, and maybe they make sense to you. But not to me. This is where I belong. It’s who I am.”
It’s obvious that there’s no changing his mind. And he’s not like me. As far as I know, no other Mog is. He believes everything we were taught about being the superior race and having the right to rule, to control, to
destroy. Maybe he’s come to appreciate things a little more from our time together, but at his core he’s still a loyal soldier. And sooner or later I believe he’d betray me—our beliefs are just too different.
So I just nod, and hold out my hand. He clasps it, claps me on the back and gives me a quick grin. “Tell Dust I said good-bye,” he says, already turning towards the stairs. Then he’s gone. If he’s lucky, no one will realize he helped me. I actually hope that’s the case.
I’m left alone in the command center, me and a handful of messed-up Chimæra—and a bunch of Mog officers who are just starting to notice the fugitive and his strange menagerie in their midst.
“It’s the traitor!” one of them shouts, breaking that frozen moment of recognition. “Get him!”
He rushes towards me, along with a few of the others. That’s when a huge white owl comes crashing through the window.
It’s Dust. Shattered glass is flying everywhere, and before it can even hit the ground he’s already shifting. By the time he lands, he’s blocking the way between me and the Mogadorians. He’s a wolf again, just like the first time I saw him.
This time, though, he lets out a guttural, almost primordial howl. The first of the guards doesn’t even have time to disintegrate before he’s been torn to shreds. At that, the rest of them do something I’ve never seen a Mogadorian do before. They run.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, I’M SPEEDING ALONG the highway in a stolen car packed with Chimæra, heading toward Chicago. The creatures have finally stabilized their shapes and have mostly managed to settle down.
It’s still the weirdest road trip I’ve ever taken. Not to mention the smelliest.
But I’m making good time. I’m almost to the Illinois border when, after the fifth try, Malcolm’s phone finally picks up.
“Malcolm!” I shout immediately, juggling the phone to my other hand as the light changes and I ease through the intersection. “Where have you been?!”
[Lorien Legacies 04.85] The Lost Files: The Forgotten Ones Page 6