The Fall of Five

I glance over at Sarah. It’s so hard to believe this is the same girl I went to high school with. What really throws me is that we’re having a conversation about artillery training.



“Been coming in here a lot, actually,” she continues. “John doesn’t sleep much. When he does, it’s all tossing and turning. And then he slips out of bed in the morning to go brood on the roof. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do.”



I smirk at Sarah, arching an eyebrow. “Sharing a bed, huh?”



She kicks at me playfully. “Whatever, Sam. There are only so many bedrooms. It’s not what you think, though. There’s something really not romantic about hiding from murderous alien invaders, you know? Not to mention I don’t like the idea of Eight just teleporting in or something.” She squints at me. “Even so, don’t tell my parents.”



“Your secret’s safe with me,” I tell her. “Us humans have to stick together.”



I finish reconnecting the wires and something hums to life inside the Lectern. One of the panels along the wall suddenly juts out like a piston, then retracts.



“What’s that for?” Sarah asks.



“It’s like combat-simulation stuff, I guess. Nine told me his Cêpan had all kind of obstacles and traps set up in here.”



Sarah knocks on the floor in front of her. Something metallic rattles beneath her hand and she jerks back. “Maybe I should watch where I’m sitting.”



I stop messing with the wires, wanting to wait for my dad before I go any further and also not wanting to accidentally trigger some kind of spike trap under Sarah.



Sarah gently touches my arm. “So why aren’t you sleeping, Sam?”



Without realizing it, I find that I’m rubbing the scars on my wrists. “I had a lot of time to think when I was a prisoner,” I tell her.



“I know what you mean.”



Well, there’s another thing Sarah and I have in common. “I spent a lot of time thinking about John and the others. About how I could help them.”



“And?”



I open up my hands, showing Sarah what I came up with: a whole lot of nothing.



“Oh,” she says. “Well, there’s always the crossbow.”



“I’m worried I won’t be able to help. Like sooner or later I’ll end up captured again, or worse, and that’ll just screw things up for the others. Then I hear a story like Eight told tonight and I wonder if maybe it wouldn’t have been better if John had left me in Paradise like Eight left those soldiers. Like maybe he’d be better off without having to worry about me.”



“Or me,” Sarah says, frowning.



“I didn’t mean that,” I say hurriedly.



“It’s okay,” Sarah says, touching my arm. “It’s okay because you’re wrong, Sam. John and the others do need us. And there are things we can do.”



I nod, wanting to believe her, but then I look down at the scars on my wrists and remember what Setrákus Ra told me in West Virginia. I fall silent. Sarah hops to her feet, holding her hand out.



“For starters,” she says, “we could go make some breakfast. They probably won’t make us honorary Loriens for it, but it’s a start.”



I force a smile and climb to my feet. Sarah doesn’t let go of my hand. She’s looking at the dark purple scars on my wrists.



“Whatever happened to you, Sam,” she says, holding my gaze, “it’s over now. You’re safe.”



Before I can respond, a piercing shriek erupts from one of the bedrooms.



CHAPTER NINETEEN



I JOLT AWAKE AS SOON AS ELLA STARTS SCREAMING. It was my night to stay with her and it had gone by peacefully. We’d stayed up late talking about the new arrivals and what Malcolm Goode had told us about Pittacus Lore and the possibility of helpful Mogadorians. Ella had finally fallen asleep and I’d hoped that maybe the nightmares plaguing her since New Mexico were finally gone for good. She hadn’t had one since reading Crayton’s letter. Maybe it was all stress related after all. Now that she’d gotten over the anxiety of that unopened letter, things could get back to normal.



I should’ve known better.



“Ella. Ella, wake up!” I shout, trying to decide if I should shake her. I’m feeling a little panicked, especially when she doesn’t immediately snap awake. Ella digs at the blankets with her fingers, kicking her heels into the mattress, all while belting out steadily hoarser screams. She’s moving about so much that she almost falls out of the bed. I reach out to steady her.



As soon as I touch Ella’s shoulder, an image pops into my mind. I’m not sure where it comes from. It feels like when Ella talks to me telepathically, except there’ve never been visuals to go along with her mental voice.



What I see is horrible. It’s Chicago, the same lakefront area where Eight and I wandered around just the other day. There are bodies strewn everywhere. Human bodies. The sky is filled with columns of smoke from nearby fires. The surface of the lake is covered in something viscous and black, like oil. I can hear screams. Smell the burning. Hear explosions in the distance . . .



I pull away from Ella with a gasp. Just like that, the vision is gone. I’m out of breath, shaking, my stomach feeling queasy.



Ella has stopped screaming. She’s awake now, looking up at me with wide, scared eyes. I glance over at the clock and realize less than a minute has passed since Ella first started screaming.



“You saw it too?” she whispers.



I nod, not sure how to answer, much less describe what I just saw. How is it possible that I just found myself in Ella’s dream?



Someone knocks on the door and without waiting for an answer, Sarah pokes her head in. I can see Sam standing behind her in the hallway. They both look concerned.



“Is everything all—?”



Before Sarah can finish, Ella makes a sudden motion towards the door, slamming it shut with her telekinesis.



“Ella! Why’d you do that?”



“They shouldn’t be near me,” she replies, her eyes wide and frantic.



Someone tugs at the door, but it won’t budge. Now I hear John’s voice, probably drawn by all the screaming and commotion. “Marina? Everything all right in there?”



“We’re okay!” I yell through the door. “Just give us a minute.”



Ella pulls a blanket around herself and curls up at the head of the bed, pressing her back to the wall. Her eyes are still wide and she’s shaking like a leaf. When I try to touch her, she flinches away from me.



“Don’t!” she snaps. “What if I send you back there again?”



“Calm down, Ella,” I say soothingly. “It’s over now. The dreams can’t hurt you, especially when you’re awake.”



She lets me hold her hand. There’s no telepathic jolt this time, which I’m thankful for. Whatever strange effect the nightmare had on Ella’s telepathy is over now.



“How—how much did you see?” she asks, her eyes darting around the room, like there could still be some leftover nightmare lurking in the shadows to get her.



“I don’t even know what I saw, exactly,” I answer. “It was the city. It looked like something terrible happened.”



Ella nods. “It’s after they come.”



“Who?” I ask, but I already have a good idea who Ella means.



“The Mogadorians. He’s showing me what happens after they come. He—he made me hold his hand and walk through it all.” Ella shudders and lunges away from the wall, into my arms. I feel like shuddering too. The thought of having to walk through that carnage hand in hand with Setrákus Ra is enough to get me rattled. I try to put on a strong face for Ella.



“Shh,” I whisper. “It’s okay now. It’s over.”



“It’s going to happen,” Ella cries. “We can’t stop him.”



“That’s not true,” I reply, squeezing her tight. I try to think of what John or Six might say in this situation. “The nightmares are lies, Ella.”



“How do you know?”



“Remember those cave paintings Eight showed us in India? The one of Eight dying? That was supposed to be a prophecy, but we broke it. There’s no set future, only the one we make.”



Ella lets go of me and takes a deep breath, pulling herself together.



“I just want the nightmares to stop,” Ella says. “I don’t know why it’s happening to me.”



“It’s Setrákus Ra trying to scare you,” I tell her. “He’s trying to scare you because he’s scared of us.”



I’m glad I was able to calm her down, to sound confident doing so, because I’m actually pretty freaked out. Sunlight is starting to peek through the curtains, and outside that window is a beautiful city full of innocent people that I just saw ravaged. That dream seemed so real, I can’t just shake it off. What if we aren’t able to stop what’s coming?



CHAPTER TWENTY



LATER THAT MORNING, I GATHER EVERYONE IN the living room for what I hope will be a strategy session. Some important things got brought up at dinner last night and it’s time we planned our next move. However, the first order of business for our tired group, many of whom were woken up by screaming a few hours ago, is this issue of Ella’s nightmares.



Malcolm strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Let’s assume that these nightmares are being caused by Setrákus Ra. I find it extremely troubling that he’s able to transmit them somehow, presumably through some form of Mogadorian telepathy, without knowing our exact location. In fact, you said you saw Chicago burning, correct?”



Ella nods, not looking eager to revisit her latest nightmare. Bernie Kosar, curled up at her feet, nuzzles against her.



“It was Chicago after a major battle,” Marina clarifies.



“Is he taunting us?” Six asks. “Or is it like some kind of prophecy?”



“I thought we were done with prophecies,” Eight says, rolling his eyes.



“Sometimes there’s a little bit of truth in the nightmares,” I say.



“Like when we had that vision about New Mexico,” Nine chimes in.



“Yeah, but other times, it’s like he’s just trying to screw with us.”



“The content doesn’t worry me so much as the fact that Setrákus Ra is able to transmit them at all,” says Malcolm, deep lines forming in his face as he thinks this through. “Do you think it’s possible he’s tracking us through the dreams?”



“If he could do that, wouldn’t we already be fighting off Mogs?” Eight replies. “Why even bother drawing John and Nine off to New Mexico?”



I nod in agreement, thinking back to the visions Nine and I shared. “Even though the nightmares can be creepily specific, I don’t think he knows where we are. It’s more like he’s trying to make us slip up.”



“The question, then, is how do we stop the nightmares?” Malcolm asks.



“I’ve got a solution,” Six says, and everyone looks in her direction. She takes a considering sip from a mug of coffee. “Let’s go kill Setrákus Ra.”