The Fall of Five

It’s the local man’s map that Six is concerning herself with. She’s comparing it to the map of the Everglades that we printed off the internet, the one Five marked with the location of his Chest. She keeps switching between our map and the smudged but more detailed map of local tributaries and bayou backwaters. She holds the papers away from her, annoyed. “I can’t make sense of this,” she grumbles.



“Don’t worry about it,” Nine replies, steering us forward, towards the sunset. “Five said he knows where we’re going. Let him be useful for a change.”



I glance to the sky, looking for Five. He flew off about fifteen minutes ago, claiming he could better find his Chest from above. The edge of the sky is starting to turn a shade of pink that I’d normally find beautiful, but out here seems somehow ominous.



“I don’t mean to sound like a chicken,” I say warily, pushing a wet strand of hair behind my ear, “but I seriously don’t want to be out here after the sun sets.”



“Me neither,” adds Eight, flicking the map in Six’s hands. “Especially if our esteemed navigator doesn’t know how to get us back to civilization.”



Six narrows her eyes at Eight but doesn’t reply. Nine just laughs. Huge sweat stains darken his shirt and bugs buzz around him incessantly, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, Nine seems to be enjoying this—the humidity, the stickiness, the sense of danger. It’s his natural element. “I was thinking we might go camping after,” he says.



Eight and I groan. If there weren’t alligators drifting around in the water beneath us, I’d definitely take this opportunity to splash Nine. I look to the skies again, keeping my eyes peeled for Five.



“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I say. There’s no reason not to be optimistic. So far, this mission has run smoothly with no sign of any trouble. I still don’t feel right about leaving John and Ella behind, but the others were right. There’s nothing we could do for them in Chicago. I haven’t quite reached the levels of enthusiasm Nine has, but it definitely feels better to be out here doing something, searching for a way to help our friends and win this war.



Just as long as we don’t get lost in this swamp. No good could come from that.



A shadow passes overhead. Five. He hovers over the boat for a moment before gently dropping down beside us. He’s dripping sweat, his white T-shirt soaked through.



Nine snickers. “Probably gonna lose some weight if we hang down here long enough, huh, big boy?”



Five grits his teeth, pulling his wet shirt away from his body self-consciously. We’re all sweaty and gross, but for some reason Nine just can’t resist picking on Five. I had dared to hope that maybe the game of capture the flag helped them work out some of their issues, but there’s still tension festering between them.



“Ignore him,” I say to Five. “Did you find your Chest?”



Five nods, pointing in the direction we’re already going. “There’s a patch of solid ground about a mile farther. It’s there.”



Nine sighs. “Why didn’t you just grab the Chest and fly it back here, man?”



Five smirks at Nine. “You didn’t listen to the plan, did you? We voted that you should handle all manual labor and grunt work.”



“Huh?” Confused, Nine looks over at Eight. “Is he serious?”



Eight shrugs, playing along.



Six makes an exasperated noise. “Just drive the damn boat, Nine.”



“Aye-aye, captain,” Nine says, wiggling his fingers. “One Chest, coming right up.”



Six turns her gaze to Five. She’s been more quiet than usual. “Why didn’t you grab the Chest?” she asks sharply.



Five shrugs. “It’s getting dark and it’s a good place to rest, if we need to.”



“See?” Nine shouts, delighted. “Camping!”



“No way,” says Eight, shaking his head vehemently. “Drive this thing faster so we can get out of here.”



Nine accelerates the boat, spray kicking up over the side as a result.



I guess where Five leads us could charitably be described as an island. Really, it’s just a pile of mud in the middle of the swamp, the support system for one massive and gnarled tree that looks like it has been growing since the dawn of time. The tree’s roots are so huge and outstretched that Nine has to drive the boat up cautiously, not wanting to get stuck on any of them. We climb out of the boat, our feet squishing through mud and slipping across the uneven protrusions of the tree. There’s a ring of tall grass growing from the water around us and the tree’s branches above are so numerous and thick that the entire little island is thrown into shadow almost as soon as you step onto it. It’s actually almost ten degrees cooler here than it was on the water.



“This is actually a pretty great spot,” I tell Five.



Five’s chest puffs out a little at the rare compliment. “Yeah. I camped here one night. This old tree is amazing. Figured I wouldn’t have any problems finding it again.”



“Congratulations,” grumbles Nine, swatting at a bug on his neck. “So where’s your damn Chest?”



Five leads us right to the base of the tree. Under our feet is a complicated lattice of roots; it’s like the tree is a fist plunged into the earth and the roots are its fingers, mud squeezing out from in between the tree’s tight grasp. Five kneels down under a knot of roots, a place where they’ve bunched up a bit, almost like a knuckle. He reaches underneath the roots where a soft pocket of mud waits.



“It’s under here,” Five says, feeling around. “Almost got it.”



The mud makes a wet sucking noise when Five pulls the Chest free, as if it’s reluctant to give up our prize. Five kneels in front of it, wiping muck off the familiar wooden surface.



Eight taps on my shoulder and points to a place where the tall grass is parting. I can see the flat head and yellow eyes of an alligator, maybe the same one as before. “Looks like someone’s hungry,” Eight jokes.



“Is he following us?” I ask, partly kidding around, but also a little creeped out. I inch closer to Eight.



“Lots of gators down here,” says Five absently, hefting his Chest up.



“You talk to animals, don’t you?” I ask Nine. “Tell that beast we don’t want any trouble.”



“Maybe I’ll keep it as a pet. Or make a sweet-ass coat out of it,” Nine replies, squinting as he focuses on the approaching animal. Something in his face suddenly changes. “Hold up—”



A second alligator’s head appears next to the first, and then seconds later a third head also emerges from the muck. At first, I think we’re being stalked by a pack of gators, if such a thing is even possible. But then the three heads rise out of the water as one, a thick scale-covered neck connecting them all to a single body. The scales disappear beneath a soaked coat of oily black fur on the beast’s torso, droplets of water violently shaking loose as it stretches a pair of leathery bat wings. It ends up standing almost fifteen feet tall on a pair of almost humanoid legs. It hunches forward, six pairs of jaundiced eyes staring at us hungrily.



“Look out!” shouts Six, just as the creature flaps its wings and takes to the air.



The creature looms in the air over me. It’s funny the things you notice in a moment like that. The monster’s feet are huge, curled talons extending from each foot’s three toes as well as from the heels. But the pads of the monster’s feet look almost soft, a pair of S-shaped scars carved into the tissue there, like some Mogadorian scientist signed his work.



I see all that in the moment before it tries to stomp down on me.



“Watch out!” Eight grabs me around the waist and we teleport backwards. The mutant gator’s clawed toes shear a chunk out of the root I was standing on.



“How the hell did they find us?” Nine snarls, extending his pipe staff.



“I don’t see any Mogs,” I shout, spinning around, trying to take in the entire swamp. “Could it be alone?”



“I’ll go ask it.”



Nine charges in. The beast snaps at him with one of its three mouths. Nine brings his pipe-staff up and jams it right into the closest mouth, knocking out a couple of yellowed fangs. With one head roaring in pain, the monster lashes out with a wing, forcing Nine backwards.



Five drops his Chest on the ground and unlocks it. Six grabs his shoulder. “What the hell?” she yells. “You didn’t see this thing when you scouted?”



“It came from underwater. How could I see it?” Five’s voice is calm, he doesn’t seem rattled at all, unlike how John described him in their last battle. “Don’t worry,” he continues. “I’ve got just the thing in here.”



“A little help?!” Nine shouts as he jumps away from one of the monster’s snapping mouths.



Eight teleports right above the creature’s three heads. He kicks it hard in one of its snouts, then teleports away so he’s side by side with Nine. The thing lets loose a frustrated roar, flapping its wings and trying to take to the air. Nine and Eight separate, trying to flank the beast.



As Five rummages through his Chest, Six thrusts her hands in the air. “Marina, watch my back while I do this.” I hear the first droplets of a rainstorm working their way through the foliage.



Five pulls some kind of leather sleeve out of his Chest. He slides it over his forearm. When he flexes, a sleek one-foot blade extends from the underside of his wrist. Five grins. “Missed you,” he says to the sleeve contraption, the blade sliding back down when he flexes again.



“Let’s hurry up on that lightning, Six!” yells Nine. The monster is bearing down on him. It’s everything he can do to get his staff up, deflecting a series of bites from the trio of fanged mouths. Backpedaling blind, Nine trips over a branch and goes toppling onto his butt. The beast is about to leap right on top of him when Eight shape shifts, assuming the form of a massive half-man, half-boar, one of the avatars of Vishnu, I presume. He grabs the creature by its alligator tail and yanks it backwards, keeping it from devouring Nine.



The beast swivels around and sinks its teeth into Eight’s shoulder. He bellows through his boar snout and his form begins to flicker. I can see he’s having trouble keeping his concentration with the pain from the bite.



“Eight!” I scream. I want to go to him, to heal him, but I can’t leave Six while she’s focusing on creating a storm.



“Go help him,” she says through gritted teeth. “I’m good to go.”



I race forward, intent on getting to Eight. Before the flying gator can take another chunk out of him, a lightning bolt slices down from the heavens. It strikes the creature and knocks it flat, the thing convulsing and smoking. It’s raining harder now, Six really amping up the storm.



Nine is back on his feet. He barrels forward while the beast is still struggling to get its two legs under it. Nine bludgeons the creature with his staff but the blows hardly make a dent in the scale-covered hide.