‘Sounds like a great book,’ I say dryly.
I glance over at Adam, next to me in the passenger seat. He’s staring out the window, a distant look on his face. I wonder if this is strange for him – it’s basically a homecoming, even though he’s not actually from Earth. Adam turns his head, notices me looking at him and seems almost embarrassed. His expression quickly changes to one I’m familiar with – cold Mogadorian composure.
‘Pull over here,’ he instructs. ‘It’s only a mile farther on.’
I pull the van over to the side of the road and kill the engine. Without the noise from the van, the constant chirping from behind me seems even louder.
‘Jeez, guys, calm down,’ Sam says to the box of excited Chimærae sitting on the bench between him and Malcolm.
I turn around to look down at the Chimærae, all of them in bird form. Regal, whose resting form is a stately hawk, perches next to a trio of more common birds – a pigeon, a dove and a robin. Then there’s a sleek gray falcon that must be Dust and an overweight owl that has to be Stanley. All of them have lightweight leather collars strapped gently around their necks.
This is step one of our plan.
‘Is everything working?’ I ask Sam, who looks up from the laptop resting on his legs and grins at me.
‘Check it out,’ Sam says proudly, turning the laptop to face me. Using the Chimærae in this way was his idea.
Tiled on the laptop screen are half a dozen grainy video feeds, each of them showing my face from a slightly different angle. The cameras are working.
On our way from Baltimore to Washington we stopped at a dark little storefront called SpyGuys that specializes in cameras and home-security gear. The clerk didn’t ask Malcolm why he needed to purchase more than a dozen of their smallest wireless cameras; he seemed grateful for the business and even showed us how to install the necessary software on one of our laptops. After that, we picked up the collars at a pet store. The others carefully attached the cameras to them while I drove south towards Washington.
The Mogadorians have spent so much effort running surveillance on us, stalking us. Now we’re going to turn the tables.
‘Spread out around Ashwood Estates,’ I tell the Chimærae, punctuating my command with a mental picture of the satellite photos of Ashwood that I’ve been studying since yesterday and sending that on to the flock telepathically. ‘Try to cover every angle. Focus especially on where the Mogadorians are.’
The Chimærae respond with enthusiastic cawing and a fluttering of wings.
I nod to Sam and he throws open the van’s side door. What follows is a wild flurry of activity, our half dozen shape-shifting spy birds taking off all at once, a funnel of squawking and flapping wings as they fly out of the van. As serious as our situation is, there’s something awesome about the sight; Sam is grinning and even Adam allows himself a small smile.
‘This is going to work,’ Malcolm says, patting Sam on the back. Sam’s smile increases just a little bit more.
The view on the laptop screen is disorienting, the Chimærae all swooping and gliding in different directions. The first to settle into some trees position themselves right above the wrought-iron gates of Ashwood Estates. A gate is built into a brick wall there; the wall stretches for a few yards and then, presumably once it’s no longer visible from the road, turns into a more sinister-looking barbed-wire fence.
‘Guards,’ I say, pointing out the trio of Mogadorians, two of them sitting in the gatehouse, one of them pacing in front of the gate itself.
‘That’s it?’ Sam asks. ‘Only three of them? That’s nothing.’
‘They do not expect a frontal attack. Or any attack, really,’ Adam explains. ‘Their purpose is mainly to scare off any drivers who might make a wrong turn.’
As the remaining Chimærae settle on to rooftops and tree branches, the video feeds snapping into focus, I start to get a clearer idea of Ashwood Estates’ layout. Beyond the front gate is a short but winding entrance road with very little cover. That road leads to what is essentially a very large cul-de-sac, about twenty well-appointed houses arranged around a central recreation area. Apparently, the Mogadorians have picnic tables, basketball hoops and a pool. All in all, it’s an idyllic swath of suburbia, except there’s no one around.
‘Seems quiet,’ I say, scanning the feeds. ‘Is it always like this?’
‘No,’ Adam admits. ‘Something isn’t right.’
One of the Chimærae takes flight and repositions itself, getting an angle on one of the houses that we couldn’t see before. A trash truck is parked at the curb, its engine off.
‘There’s someone,’ Sam says, enlarging the feed.
A solitary Mogadorian holding a tablet computer stands next to the truck. He looks bored as he thumbs something into the tablet.
Adam squints at the tattoos on the Mogadorian’s scalp. ‘An engineer,’ he says.
‘You can tell that?’ I ask.
‘It’s in the tattoos. For trueborn, those are symbols of honor and what they’ve accomplished. The vatborn get job titles,’ Adam explains. ‘Makes it easy to order them around.’
‘There’s more,’ Sam points out.
We watch as four Mogadorian warriors carry a refrigerator-sized piece of computer equipment out of the house. They take it towards the curb and set it down in front of the engineer, then wait around while he circles the machine and inspects it.
‘Looks like a server,’ Malcolm observes. He turns to Adam. ‘Could they be replacing the equipment you destroyed?’
‘Possibly,’ Adam replies, but he doesn’t sound certain. He points out a two-level house with a porch a few doors down from where the Mogadorians are working. ‘That’s my old home. I know for certain there’s an access point to the tunnels through there, but the other houses likely have access, too.’
While Adam’s talking, the engineer finishes his inspection of the server. He shakes his head, and the other Mogs pick the equipment back up. They toss it into the trash truck, then return to the house.
‘I guess they aren’t big on recycling, huh?’ Sam says.
Before the first group of Mogs can head back into the house, a second group emerges. They’re carrying what looks like a barber’s chair from a bad sci-fi movie, the thing equal parts futuristic and frightening, wires and nodes dangling from it. The engineer hustles forward to meet this second group, helping them to ease the equipment gently on to the grass of the front yard.
‘I recognize that,’ Malcolm says, an edge to his voice.
‘Dr Anu’s machine,’ Adam says, turning to me. ‘That’s what they used on Malcolm. And on me.’
‘What’re they going to do with it now?’ I ask, watching the engineer begin his inspection.
‘This looks like a salvage team,’ Adam explains. ‘I did some damage to the tunnels the last time I was here. Now, they’re saving what equipment they can and getting rid of the rest.’
‘What about all the trueborns who were supposed to be here?’
Adam grimaces. ‘They might have been evacuated until this place can be brought up to spec.’
I widen my eyes at Adam. ‘So we drove out here for nothing? The trueborn are already gone and the machine is busted.’
‘No,’ he says, and I can see the gears turning behind his eyes. ‘If we can take out this salvage team before they get off a distress call, we’d have complete access to what’s left of Ashwood. From there, we can get on to their network –’
‘And that gets us what?’
‘It’s like if one of my people could open one of your Chests, John. We’ll know their secrets. What they’re planning.’
‘We’ll be one step ahead,’ I say.
‘Yes.’ Adam nods, watching the engineer as he evaluates Dr Anu’s machine. ‘But we should get in there. What the salvage team decides to destroy could still be useful to us.’
‘All right,’ I say, watching the Mog salvage team head back into the house. ‘So, is there a secret entrance or
something?’
‘At this point, I think a direct assault is our best bet.’ He looks at me. ‘That all right with you?’
‘Hell yes,’ I reply. Originally, we’d planned to use our network of Chimærae surveillance to observe the Mogs for a while, figure out the most strategic approach to attacking. But, now that we’re here, I find myself itching to go into battle. I need some payback for everything they’ve done – for taking Ella, destroying Nine’s home, killing one of my friends. If Adam says we need to rush in, I’m ready to go.
Malcolm grabs a box from under the seat. From within, he produces two earbuds, one for me and one for Adam. The devices are connected to the pair of walkie-talkies Sam and Malcolm will be using. I slip mine into my ear and Adam does the same.
‘Are we at all concerned with the local authorities?’ Malcolm asks. ‘A firefight in broad daylight might attract some attention.’
Adam shakes his head. ‘They’re bought off,’ he says, then looks at me. ‘We will want to be quick, though. Kill them before they can call for reinforcements. If I can get past them into my old house, I should be able to cut off their communications.’
‘I can do quick,’ I reply.
I strap my Loric dagger to my calf, hidden under my trouser leg. Next, I clip my red bracelet around my wrist. The amber jewel in its center that expands to form a shield shimmers in the midday sun. Immediately, the bracelet jolts me with icy pinpricks, warning me there are Mogs in the area. Of course it would – there’s one sitting right next to me. Adam’s presence is going to really wreak havoc on my danger sense.
‘Ready?’ I ask him.
Next to me, Adam pulls on an over-the-shoulder holster, a silenced handgun now hanging under each of his armpits. He nods.
‘Whoa, hold on,’ Sam says. ‘Check out this guy.’
Adam and I turn back to the laptop, watching as another Mogadorian emerges from the house the salvage team is currently unloading. He’s tall and broad shouldered, bigger than the others, and with a more regal bearing. Unlike the others, he has a huge sword strapped across his back. While we watch, he barks some orders at the engineer, then disappears back into the house. When I glance over at Adam, his face is somehow more pale than usual.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing,’ he says, too quickly. ‘Just watch out for that one. He’s a trueborn general, one of Setrákus Ra’s most trusted men. He …’ Adam hesitates, watching the spot on the monitor this general just occupied. ‘He has killed Garde before.’
I feel heat rushing to my hands. If I wasn’t ready for a fight already, I definitely am now.
‘He’s dead,’ I say, and Adam merely nods, opens his door and gets out of the van. I look to Sam and Malcolm. ‘We’ll approach on foot, take out the guards and then you pull up to cover our back.’
‘I know, I know,’ Sam says. ‘I’ll watch the monitor and shout in your ear when I see trouble.’
Malcolm has already started unpacking his sniper rifle from its case. I saw him use that thing in Arkansas – he saved my ass. There’s no one I’d rather have watching my back than the Goodes.
‘Be careful,’ Malcolm says, raising his voice so Adam can hear. ‘Both of you.’
Sam and I slap hands. ‘Give them hell,’ he says.
And then I’m out of the van, moving at a brisk jog towards the Mogadorian stronghold. Adam keeps up alongside me.
‘John,’ he says, our feet crunching in the gravel on the side of the road. ‘There is something else you should know.’
Of course. Just when I was beginning to let my guard down around this guy, right when we’re going into battle together, he’s going to spring something on me.
‘What is it?’
‘The General is my father.’
8
I almost skid to a stop, but Adam doesn’t seem to be slowing down any, so I keep pace with him.
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘No.’ Adam frowns, focusing on the road ahead. ‘We don’t exactly get along.’
‘Are you going to …’ I don’t even know how to phrase this. ‘Will you be able to …?’
‘Fight? Kill?’ Adam replies. ‘Yes. Show him no mercy, because he won’t show any to us.’
‘Your own father, man? I mean, even for a Mogadorian, that’s pretty cold.’
‘At this point, defeating him in battle is likely the only way he’ll ever feel pride for me,’ Adam replies, adding weakly, ‘not that I care.’
I shake my head. ‘You guys are so screwed up.’
We fall silent as the entrance to Ashwood Estates comes into view. The Mogadorian in front of the gates spots us and shields his eyes from the sun, trying to get a better look. We keep up a steady pace and don’t make any attempt to conceal ourselves. We’re separated from the gates by about fifty yards and closing fast, but to the Mog we might look like just a couple of joggers. He won’t notice the guns strapped to Adam just yet.
‘Wait until we’re a little closer,’ I say through gritted teeth, and Adam nods.
At thirty yards, the Mog turns his head, saying something to his two buddies in the gatehouse. Warning them that something might be up. I see them stand up, silhouetted in the window, peering out at us. The Mog in front edges back a bit, his fingers inching towards the blaster surely hidden under his coat. But he hesitates, probably still thinks he’s being paranoid.
They really never thought we’d come for them. They aren’t prepared.
With twenty yards to go, I fire up my Lumen, flames roaring across my hands. Next to me, in stride, Adam draws both his guns and takes aim.
The closest Mog tries to pull his blaster, but he’s way too slow. Adam fires two shots, one from each gun, both of them muffled by silencers. Struck twice in the chest, the Mog teeters for a moment and then explodes into a cloud of ash.
I launch a fireball at the gatehouse. The Mogadorians inside are scrambling around but, like their friend, are also too slow. The fireball explodes through the window, sending glass everywhere, and causing one of the Mogs to go up in flames. The other one manages to throw himself out the door, flames dancing up his back. He’s standing right in front of Ashwood’s locked entrance, so I reach out with my telekinesis and tear the wrought-iron gate off its hinges, crushing the Mog.
‘Think the others heard us?’ I ask Adam, as we step around the bent metal gate and into Ashwood Estates.
‘Our entrance did lack subtlety,’ Adam observes.
Sam’s voice crackles in my ear.
‘Four of them running up the access road,’ he warns. ‘Blasters ready.’
The access road is uphill with a slight bend at the top after which we’ll be at the housing development. There isn’t a whole lot of cover on the way.
‘Stay behind me,’ I tell Adam.
Just then, the Mogs come around the bend. They don’t ask any questions before unleashing a volley of blaster fire. Adam leaps behind me just as my shield deploys – it’s like a parachute exploding out of my arm, the rippling crimson material spreading to absorb the blasts. Adam grabs hold of the back of my shirt.
‘Go forward,’ he says.
I do, the shield absorbing more blaster fire as I press towards the Mogs. The bracelet is now a steady, numbingly painful buzz against my wrist. Carefully following my steps to keep from getting shot, Adam pops around the edge of the shield, gunning down two of the Mogs in one go. Realizing they’re not making any progress, the other two try to retreat. I lower my shield and launch a fireball that explodes between them, knocking them both to the ground. Adam finishes them off with some well-aimed gunfire. Out of danger for now, my shield retracts back into my bracelet.
‘Not bad,’ I tell him.
‘We’re just getting started,’ he replies.
We run down the access road around the bend, and the opulent homes of Ashwood Estates finally come into view. There’s no one out and all the windows are dark; the whole place feels like a ghost town. To our right, I see Adam’s old house, and a
few houses down from that is the trash truck and the high-tech chair the engineer was inspecting. The salvage teams, the engineer and the General are nowhere to be seen.
‘They’re coming from the backyard!’ Sam yells.
Both Adam and I spin around in time to see a squadron of Mog warriors sneaking towards us between two of the houses. It would’ve been a pretty good ambush if we didn’t have scouts perched in their trees. As they raise their blasters, Adam is ready. He stomps the ground and a concussive wave of force rolls in their direction, pavement and chunks of grass rippling upward. The closest Mogs are completely thrown off their feet, others stagger and one of them accidentally discharges his blaster into another’s back.
‘I’ll finish them off!’ I tell Adam. ‘You go make sure they aren’t calling reinforcements.’
Adam nods, then sprints across the lawn towards his old house. Meanwhile, next to the stunned Mogadorians, I notice a metal tank that had come unmoored from where it was attached to a house. With my hearing focused, I can hear a faint hiss emanating from the tank. I almost laugh at my luck.
It’s a gas line.
I launch a fireball at the Mogs before they can collect themselves. It whizzes right by the lead Mog, who I think actually smirks at me, thinking that I’ve missed in those two seconds before the propane tank explodes, incinerating the lot of them. The windows of the two adjacent houses are all blown inward from the force, large black singe marks forming on the outside, grass burning. I have to stop myself from appreciating the destruction – it feels almost cathartic to destroy this place, to tear down what the Mogs have built, after how many times they’ve torn down my attempts at a normal life.
‘Damn, dude,’ Sam says in my ear. ‘We felt that over here.’
I yank my walkie-talkie off the back of my jeans. ‘What’s it look like, Sam?’
‘You’re clear,’ he says. ‘It’s weird. I thought there’d be more of them.’
The Revenge of Seven Page 7