“Are you Ella’s Cepan?”
“Only in the surrogate sense of the word. Since she was just born, she hadn’t been assigned a Cepan yet.”
“I thought you were a Mogadorian,” I say.
“I know, but only because you misinterpreted the clues. This morning when I was talking to Hector, I was trying to show you I was a friend.”
“But why didn’t you just come and get me when you arrived? Why send Ella in?”
“I tried approaching Adelina first, but she cast me out the second she knew who I was, and we needed you to have your Chest. I couldn’t pull you away without it,” he says. “So I sent Ella in, and she started looking for it even before you asked her to. The Mogadorians have known your general location for a good while now, and I’ve done my best to keep them off your trail. Killing some, well, killing most, but also planting stories in villages hundreds of miles away, about kids doing amazing things, like about a boy who lifted a car above his head and a girl who could walk across a lake. It was working until they discovered you were in Santa Teresa; but even then, they still didn’t know which one you were. Then Ella found the Chest and you opened it, and that’s when I came here, to talk to you in private. When you opened the Chest, it led the Mogadorians right here.”
“Because I opened the Chest?”
“Yes. Go ahead, open it up now.”
I let go of Ella’s hand and grab hold of the lock. I’m sick thinking that I’m able to open it on my own, now that Adelina is dead. I remove the lock and toss the lid open. The small crystal is still glowing a faint blue.
“Don’t touch that,” he says. “The fact that it’s glowing means a Macrocosm is in orbit somewhere. If you touch it now, it will tell them exactly where you are. I don’t know whose Macrocosm is operational, but I’m pretty sure the Mogadorians have stolen somebody’s,” he finishes. I haven’t the slightest idea of what he’s talking about.
“Macrocosm?” I ask.
He shakes his head, frustrated. “There isn’t time to explain it all,” he says. “Relock it.” He opens his mouth to say more, but is interrupted by banging on the door at the bottom of the stairs. We can hear muffled bursts of foreign voices.
“We have to go,” Crayton says, rushing to the back of the room and grabbing a large black suitcase. He flings it open, revealing ten different guns, a handful of grenades, several daggers. He shrugs his coat to the floor and reveals a leather vest, and he rushes to strap every piece of weaponry to it before slipping his coat back on.
The Mogadorians ram the door below with a heavy object, and we hear footsteps enter the stairwell. Crayton removes one of the guns and snaps a clip into it.
“The burning symbol on the mountain,” I say. “Was it you?”
He nods. “I waited too long, I’m afraid, and when you opened the Chest it became impossible to slip away under their gaze. So I created the biggest beacon I could, and now we have to hope the others have seen it, and that they’re on the way. Otherwise . . .” He trails off. “Well, otherwise we’re out of options. We have to get to the lake now. It’s our only chance.”
I have no idea what lake he’s talking about, or why he wants to go there, but my whole body is trembling. I just want to get away.
The footsteps are closer. Ella grabs hold of my hand, back to her eleven-year-old self. Crayton pulls the slide on the gun, and I hear a bullet clicking into place. He aims it at the belfry’s entryway.
“You have a very good friend in town,” he says.
“Hector?” I ask, suddenly understanding why the two of them were talking in the cafe this morning. Crayton wasn’t spreading lies, but rather telling the truth.
“Yes, and let’s hope he keeps his word.”
“Hector will,” I say, certain that’s true regardless of what Crayton has asked him to do. “It’s in his name,” I add.
“Grab the Chest,” Crayton says.
I reach down and take the Chest in my left arm just as we hear the footsteps reach the last curves of the stairwell.
“Both of you, stay close to me,” Crayton says, his eyes moving from Ella to me. “She was born able to change ages, but she’s young and hasn’t developed any Legacies yet. Keep her close. And don’t let go of that Chest.”
“Don’t worry, Marina. I’m fast,” she says, smiling.
“You two ready?”
“Ready,” Ella says, tightening her hand around mine.
“They’re all going to be wearing body armor that would stop almost every bullet here on Earth,” Crayton says, “but I’ve soaked mine in Loricyde, and there isn’t a shield here that could stop them. I’m going to mow every damn one of them down.” His eyes narrow. “Keep your fingers crossed that Hector’s outside the gates waiting for us.”
“He’ll be there,” I say.
Then Crayton pulls the trigger, and he doesn’t let go until every bullet’s been fired.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
WE KEEP THE WINDOWS DOWN, SAYING LITTLE, unnerved by the task ahead. Sam keeps a firm grip on the wheel as the highway winds through Virginia.
“You think Six will make it?” Sam asks.
“I’m sure she’ll make it, but who knows what she’ll find.”
“That was a hell of a kiss you two had.”
I open my mouth and then shut it. A minute later I say, “She likes you, too, you know.”
“Yeah, as a friend.”
“Actually, Sam, she like-likes you.”
Sam blushes. “Sure. I could tell by the way she shoved her tongue in your mouth.”
“She kissed you, too, dude. I saw it.” I slap him in the chest with the back of my hand, and I can see he’s replaying the kiss in his mind. “After I kissed her I asked if she knew you liked her and-”
We’re jerked over the double yellow line on the road. “You did what?”
“Dude, relax. Don’t kill us.” Sam glides us back onto our side of the road. “She said she liked you, too.”
A devilish grin spreads across Sam’s face. “Interesting. It’s kind of hard to believe this,” Sam finally says.
“God, Sam. Why would I lie about it?”
“No, I can’t believe that this whole thing is real. That you’re real or that Six is real, or that a hostile race of aliens has scattered themselves across the planet and nobody seems to know it. I mean, they’ve hollowed out a mountain in the middle of the state. How has it not been found? What did they do with all the dirt and rocks they removed? Even as scarcely populated as parts of West Virginia are, surely somebody had to stumble across it at some point. Hikers or hunters. Pilots of small planes. What about satellite imaging? And who knows how many other base camps or outposts or whatever you want to call them they have on Earth. I just don’t understand how they move about so freely.”
“I agree,” I say. “I don’t know how either, but something tells me we probably don’t know the half of it. You remember the very first conspiracy theory you told me?”
“No,” Sam says.
“We were talking about an entire Montana town being abducted, and you said the government allowed abductions in exchange for technology. Remember now?”
“Vaguely. Sure.”
“Well, that makes sense now. Maybe technology has nothing to do with it, and maybe the government isn’t allowing abductions; but I really think some agreement has to be in place. Because you’re right, there’s no way they’re traveling unnoticed. There are way, way, way too many of them.”
Sam doesn’t respond. I look over and see that he’s smiling.
“Sam?” I ask.
“I was just thinking of where I might be at this exact moment if you guys hadn’t come along. Probably alone in my basement, collecting more conspiracy theories and wondering if my dad’s still alive. That’s how it was for years. But what’s awesome is that I really do believe he’s alive now. He’s somewhere, John. I know it. And I know it because of you guys.”
“I hope so,” I say. “It’s pretty cool that Hen
ri came to Ohio to try to find him, and you and I became friends almost immediately. It’s like fate.”
Sam smiles. “Or a cosmic aligning.”
“Nerd,” I say.
After a pause, Sam asks, “Hey, John? You’re positive that skeleton in the well wasn’t my dad, right?”
“Absolutely, dude. He was Loric and huge. Bigger than any human.”
“What’s your best guess, then? Who was it?”
“I really don’t know. I just hope he wasn’t too important.”
Four hours pass, and finally we see a sign pointing the way to Ansted, six miles ahead. We fall silent. Sam makes the turn and navigates a precarious two-lane road that twists up the mountain until we pass the town’s border. We drive through it and turn left at the only stoplight in town.
“Hawks Nest, right?”
“Yep, a mile or two down the road,” Sam says, and it’s there we’ll find the map that Six drew three years ago.
The map is exactly where Six said it would be, hidden at Hawks Nest State Park, overlooking the New River. Exactly forty-seven steps down the Gysp Trail, Sam, Bernie Kosar, and I reach a tree with E6 deeply carved into its side. From there, we leave the trail, taking thirty steps past the tree to the right. That’s followed by a hard left turn, and then, a tenth of a mile away, we see a tree that towers over the others. In the small gap at the base of its twisted trunk, safely tucked away in a black plastic box, is the map that leads to the cave.
We make our way back to the SUV and drive another fifteen miles, ultimately pulling down a muddy, deserted road. It’s the closest any road can get us, five miles due north of the cave. Sam takes the address Six wrote out of his pocket and puts it in the glove compartment. “On second thought.” He removes it and puts it back into his pocket. “As safe as anywhere,” he says.
I drop the Xitharis and some duct tape into Six’s backpack that she left behind, and Sam slips the bag over his shoulders. I flip my dagger over in my hand and then stuff it into my back pocket.
We step out and I lock the doors, Bernie Kosar running circles around my legs. There’s only a few hours left of daylight, which doesn’t leave us much time. Even with the benefit of my hands, I can’t imagine finding the cave without the sun to help us along.
Sam holds the map in his hands. At its right side Six has drawn a heavy X. A winding path five miles long connects the X with where we are now, marked on the map’s left side. Along the way we’ll skirt a riverbed while passing various landmarks noted for their physical descriptions, all of which are carefully marked to keep us on track. Turtle Rock. Fisherman’s Pole. Circle Plateau. King’s Throne. Lover’s Kiss. Lookout Point.
Sam and I lift our heads at the same time, and we both see the rock a quarter mile away with an uncanny resemblance to a turtle’s shell. Bernie Kosar barks.
“I guess we know which direction to head first,” Sam says.
And off we go, following the path set by the map. There’s no trail, nothing that might allude to these mountains having been trampled by beings of another world, or even by beings of this one. Once we reach Turtle Rock, Sam spots a fallen tree that hangs over the cliff side at a forty-five degree angle, and thus looks like a fishing pole patiently waiting for a bite. And we hike on, following the trail as the sun lowers in the western sky.
Each step taken is another chance to turn around and walk away. But neither of us does. “You’re a hell of a friend, Sam Goode,” I tell him.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he replies. And then, “I can’t stop my hands from shaking.”
After passing King’s Throne, which is a tall slender rock that looks like a high-back chair, I immediately spot two tall trees leaning against one another at slight angles, their branches appearing like arms wrapped around each other in an embrace. And I smile, for a brief moment forgetting how terribly scared I am.
“Only one more to go,” Sam says, pulling me back into the clutches of reality.
We reach Lookout Point five minutes later. All told, the hike has taken an hour and ten minutes, and the shadows are long and stretched as the last light of dusk drains away. Without warning, a deep growl bellows beside me. I look down. Bernie Kosar’s teeth are flashed, his fur bristling along his spine, his eyes pointed in the direction of the cave. He begins backing away from it.
“It’s okay, Bernie Kosar,” I say, patting his back.
Sam and I drop to the ground and lay on our stomachs, both staring across the small valley at the cave’s almost indiscernible entrance. It’s far larger than I’d imagined, probably twenty feet wide and tall, but also much better hidden. There’s something covering it, a net or a tarp maybe, making it blend in with its surroundings; you’d have to know it’s there to be able to see it.
“Perfect location,” Sam whispers.
“Totally.”
My nervousness quickly turns to full-blown terror. As mysterious as the cave is, one thing I know for sure is that there’ll be no shortage of things-weapons, beasts or traps-that could kill us. I could die within the next twenty minutes. And Sam could, too.
“Whose idea was this, anyway?” I ask.
Sam snorts. “Yours.”
“Well, I have some stupid ideas sometimes.”
“True, but we have to get your Chest somehow.”
“There’s so much in there that I don’t even know how to use yet . . . but maybe they do,” I say. Then something catches my eye.
“Look at the ground in front of the entrance,” I say, pointing to a smattering of dark objects by the cave’s entrance.
“At the rocks?”
“Those aren’t rocks. Those are dead animals,” I say.
Sam shakes his head. “Great,” he says.
I shouldn’t be surprised since Six told us about it, but the sight of them fills me with even more dread, which I didn’t think possible. My mind races.
“All right,” I say, sitting up. “There’s no time like the present.”
I kiss the top of Bernie Kosar’s head, then run my hand down the length of his back, hoping this won’t be the last time I ever see him. He tells me not to go, and I communicate back that I have to, no other choice. “You’re the best, BK. I love you, buddy.”
Then I stand. I take the bottom of my shirt in my right hand so I can remove the Xitharis from the bag without touching it.
Sam messes with the buttons on his digital watch, putting it in stopwatch mode. We won’t be able to read its face once we’re invisible, but when the hour is up, the watch will beep-though I imagine by then we’ll have figured it out.
“Ready?” I ask.
Together we take our first step, then a second, and then we’re hiking down the trail that may very well lead to our imminent doom. I turn around only once, when I’ve nearly reached the cave, and see Bernie Kosar staring at us.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
WE GET AS CLOSE TO THE CAVE AS WE CAN WITHOUT being seen, and we duck behind a tree. I place the Xitharis stone on the sticky side of a section of duct tape. Sam watches with his fingers pinched around his stopwatch.
“Ready?” I ask.
He nods. I press the Xitharis and the tape to the very bottom of my sternum. I vanish instantly and Sam hits the watch’s button, eliciting a soft digital beep. I snatch Sam’s hand, and together we lurch around the tree and speed to the cave. It’s all about the task at hand now, and with that in mind I’m no longer as nervous.
The cave is covered with a large camouflage tarp. We navigate through the graveyard of dead animals, being careful not to step on any, which is hard to do without the luxury of seeing your feet. There are no Mogs outside, and I hurry forward and flick the tarp aside a little too forcefully. Sam and I stumble in and four guards jump up from their seats and raise cylindrical cannons like the one that was held to my forehead that night in Florida. We stand as still as statues for a brief moment, and then quietly sneak past, hoping they’ll attribute the tarp’s sudden disturbance to the outside wind.
&nb
sp; There’s a cool breeze coming from a ventilation system and the air is oddly fresh, which I hadn’t expected considering it’s laced with poisonous gas. The gray walls are polished smooth like flint; electrical conduit connects dim lights evenly spaced twenty feet apart.
We pass several more scouts and slither by undetected. The anxiety of the ticking clock racks us both with stress. We jog, we sprint, we tiptoe, we walk. And when the tunnel narrows and declines steadily, we sidestep down it. The cool air grows hot and stifling, and a crimson glow at the end of the tunnel comes into view. We shuffle towards it until finally reaching the cave’s beating heart.
The cavernous hall is far larger than I’d imagined based on Six’s description. A long, continuous ledge runs along the circular walls and spirals all the way, from top to bottom, giving the overall appearance of a beehive; and the place is every bit as busy as one, too-there are literally hundreds of Mogs in sight, crossing the precarious stone arched bridges, entering and exiting tunnels. The deep floor and the vast ceiling are separated by a half mile, and Sam and I are situated very close to the middle. Two massive pillars sprout up from the floor and reach all the way to the ceiling, keeping the whole thing from caving in. The number of passageways around us is endless.
“My God,” Sam whispers in awe, taking it all in. “It’d take months to explore this entire thing.”
My eyes are drawn to the lake of glowing green liquid down below. Even from so far away, the heat off of it makes it hard to breathe. But despite the near roasting temperatures, twenty to thirty Mogs work around it, retrieving carts full of the bubbling stuff and quickly taking it away. Past the green lake, my eyes focus on something else.
“I think we can pretty much guess what we’ll find down that tunnel with the giant bars,” I whisper. It’s three times the height and width of the passageway that carried us here, and a checkered pattern of heavy iron bars covers it, keeping caged whatever beasts are inside. We can hear them howl from below, deep and almost sorrowful. One thing is immediately clear: their numbers are far from few.
The Power of Six tll-2 Page 23