Hunt for the Garde Part 9

"Mom, what's-"

"Dani, baby," she says. She sounds like she's about to start crying or something. "You need to go home. Right now. I'll be-"

I don't hear what she says after that, if she says anything at all. There's some yelling and then a loud bang, and suddenly our connection is gone.

I try to call back, but I've got zero bars.

"What the . . . ," I mutter, jumping to my feet. I pause for a few seconds, staring at my phone, my heart pounding against my ribs. I'm not exactly excited about going back to the apartment and spending the rest of the afternoon hearing Benny shout at sports teams. But Mom sounded so worried . . .

The sky becomes overcast, and all of a sudden I feel like something bad's going to happen. I keep hearing the concern in Mom's voice repeating through my head.

I start to run towards home.

As I dart through the park and past the short blocks to our apartment, I can tell something's not right. I hear shouting from inside apartment buildings as I run past open windows. A couple of other people are sprinting through the streets, in a hurry somewhere. I speed up, continuously checking my phone to see if I've gotten a message from Mom or something.

Finally, I'm home. The metal security gate bangs behind me, loud, and I'm guessing every other apartment in our c.r.a.ppy building hears it. Someone yells from inside 1B as I run past the row of mailboxes in the entryway and then up the hard, worn stairs to our place on the fourth floor. I'm shaking as I try to get my key in the door, but I can't tell if it's because I'm completely out of breath and drained from running all the way here, or because I'm so spooked by Mom's call.

I start yelling as soon as I get inside.

"Mom?" I ask. "Benny? What's going on?"

Benny's in his big blue recliner. There are a couple of empty beers on the coffee table, and I'm hoping that means he's forgotten all about the headphones.

"Benny, Mom jus-"

He shushes me, waving a hand in my direction, not taking his eyes off the TV, where a blond boy with glowing fireb.a.l.l.s in his hands is fighting a gross-a.s.s giant.

Anger builds up inside me. Benny is watching some c.r.a.ppy sci-fi movie while Mom might be in trouble or something.

I'm about to start shouting at him when I recognize the United Nations on the screen. Then a reporter from one of the news stations Benny loves to yell at comes into frame. That's when I realize that this isn't some movie: it's live.

CHAPTER TWO.

NONE OF THIS SEEMS REAL.

A giant s.p.a.ceship is hovering above Manhattan. It just rolled in out of nowhere. A freaking s.p.a.ceship. I've tried to catch sight of it myself, but the only windows in our apartment face the building a few yards away from us, and all I can see when I look out are bricks and dirty gla.s.s and the little alley below us.

But it's all over the TV. We sit glued to the screen. Benny keeps crossing himself and whispering prayers I didn't think he even knew. He's got a baseball bat in his lap and hasn't moved for hours. I split my time rocking back and forth on the couch and pacing through the living room, constantly checking both my and Benny's phones to see if either of them gets any service. We don't really talk to each other except for when we hear a bunch of people running up to the roof. I start towards the front door, but Benny says "Stay here" in a way that has my b.u.t.t immediately back down on the couch.

Besides, I keep waiting for the door to swing open and Mom to walk in. I don't want to be up on the roof when she does.

Whatever this is, it's not just happening here in New York, but in cities across the world. Some are calling it an invasion. Others war. None of it makes sense. It's impossible to wrap my head around it. The weird-a.s.s aliens with laser guns they keep showing on TV have just got to be CGI. Or this is just some big viral marketing campaign for a movie or something. I remember learning in school about some old radio broadcast back in the '30s that was about aliens invading. People thought it was real, but it turned out to be a big hoax. This has to be like that, right?

Or at least, that's what I keep trying to believe.

If this is a joke, it's the best, most expensive d.a.m.n joke in history. The news keeps showing footage taken from phones and tablets-I guess some people are managing to get a cell signal. A lot of it is shaky and blurry. Some of it's a little more high quality. A few stations start showing a video pulled from YouTube. It's got a girl doing a voice-over in it like some kind of PSA and talks about the blond boy I saw fighting on TV earlier-apparently his name is John Smith-and how he's a good alien. And that a bunch of bad aliens are here to take over Earth.

This is the craziest s.h.i.t I've ever seen.

Every time the security gate bangs, I jolt and stare at the door, hoping it's Mom. But it never is. The dozenth or so time I hear it, the clanging metal is followed by the sound of some guy screaming.

"Holy s.h.i.t, they're here." His cries echo up the stairwell, through the building. "They're on the block! They're on the block!"

I recognize the voice as the old man who sits on our stoop and sometimes talks to birds. I turn to Benny, but he just clicks his tongue and shakes his head a little.

"Dude's losing it," he says, not taking his eyes off the TV. "Those pale freaks ain't gonna bother with Harlem. We're safe here."

He turns the news up louder. The station we're watching is broadcasting live from Midtown, where most of the NYPD has been sent-it seems like the aliens are more concentrated there. Benny leans forward in his chair, muttering something I don't hear. Somewhere on our block, a few car alarms start to go off. Even though he may be convinced no aliens are coming to Harlem, I get up and tiptoe over to the front door, moving the little slider out of the way so I can see through the peephole and into the small landing. But there's nothing there-just the two doors of the apartments across the hall and the blinking light that's needed to be fixed for months now.

Behind me, the reporter talks.

"The-the-the Mogadorians," she says, and I roll the word around in my head. "They have taken to the streets en ma.s.se and appear to be, ah, rounding up prisoners, although we have seen some further acts of violence at-at-the slightest provocation. . . ."

Prisoners?

"Jesus Christ," Benny says.

I keep my eye up to the peephole, trying to catch anything out of the ordinary.

There's a huge bang downstairs and the sound of wrenching metal, like the security gate's being torn in half or something. I leap back from the door, screaming a little bit, and proceed to freak the eff out.

"It's them!" I say, louder than I mean to. My heart is suddenly pumping a thousand beats a minute as I look around for some kind of weapon.

"Shut up!" Benny says, jumping out of his chair and muting the TV. I'm so scared that I hardly get angry at his words. When he sees my face, his expression softens and he lowers his voice to a whisper. "I mean, keep quiet. d.a.m.n."

There's screaming somewhere downstairs. Loud and panicked. Terrified. My breath catches in my throat as I take five steps away from the door all at once and back into Benny. There's another scream, one that's cut off suddenly. I start to shake. My breath comes out in quivery gasps.

Benny grips my shoulder and pulls me back. For a second I think he's just dragging me away from the door. Then I realize he's trying to get me behind him.

"Go hide," he says, letting his arm fall away. I turn to him. There's something in his eyes I've never seen before.

Fear.

"Go on," he says.

I start to think of the few places I could try to hide in our apartment-under my bed, the closet-and suddenly I feel like I'm five years old and playing games. But these alien freaks are definitely not playing. Our apartment is so small. If they want to find me, they will.

The screams are getting louder, closer. They're moving up the floors. I can hear the doors being kicked in now, along with electronic noises like the ones we heard on TV-the sounds of their weapons.

What the h.e.l.l is happening?

There's shouting now, right outside our apartment. Deep, bellowing orders to open the doors. I stand frozen in our living room.

Benny takes his bat and walks slowly to the door, half on his tiptoes. He leans up against the corner in the entryway and raises the bat like he's ready to hit a homer. He glances back at me, and his face contorts into an expression I'm more familiar with coming from him: anger.

"Wake up, stupid," he says. "Go."

He nods to the window on the other side of the living room, where the gauzy white curtains Mom loves are billowing out in the slight breeze.

The fire escape. He wants me to make a run for it.

I listen and bolt, and am halfway down to the next floor when I realize Benny is staying back to fend off the aliens and give me a chance to escape. He should be coming with me. What would Mom say if she found out I just left him behind?

Oh G.o.d, I hope she's safe.

So I climb back up and stick my head through our living room window right in time to see our front door fly in.

Any hope that these guys were only actors in really great makeup dies as four of the freaks stomp through the front door, all pale skin and jagged teeth and gross noses. There's no question that these are beings from another planet.

And they're not happy.

One of them sees me through the window, his black eyes narrowing. I duck down, hoping that none of the others notice me.

"Surrender or die," the alien says in a deep, grating voice.

Benny steps out of the corner and swings like a pro, slamming his bat into the alien's skull. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d falls hard to the floor, and then disintegrates. Just turns into freakin' dust like he's a d.a.m.n vampire that's been staked or something.

But that's the only swing Benny gets. One of the aliens-Mogadorians-fires a laser gun at him, and Benny flies backwards a few yards before crashing through our coffee table. He convulses on the floor.

I clamp my hands over my mouth.

When Benny regains a little control of his body, he looks out the window. We lock eyes for a moment. Mine are wide, scared. His are pleading.

"Run!" he shouts, and it looks like doing so causes him a ton of pain. Blood drips from his ears and nose. "Run, d.a.m.n it!"

And so I do. As I run down metal steps, I hear more of those electric noises coming from my apartment. Benny screams a few times. Then it gets really quiet. I pause on the ladder at the end of the fire escape. I just want to hear Benny cursing at the aliens or the sound of his metal bat hitting someone else's skull. Instead, I look up and find one of the pale-faced b.a.s.t.a.r.ds hanging out of my living room window. He's got a gun pointed at me.

"Shi-," I exclaim, but I never finish the curse. He fires and I just let go of the ladder. I'd rather take my chances falling to the ground than getting zapped by some alien's gun. The electric blast must come within inches of me, though, because as I fall I can feel some kind of static shoot through my body. But then there's nothing but the rush of wind as I claw at the air, plummeting towards the ground below.

I land in an open Dumpster-saved by trash.

I scramble out and stumble through the little alley between our apartment building and the one beside us, trying to make sense of the chaos around me. I pause at the corner and look out onto the street and my block. Some cars have been turned over. Alarms are going off everywhere. One of the alien s.p.a.cecrafts I saw on TV is parked smack in the middle of the intersection at the end of the block.

Across the street, half a dozen aliens lead a line of people out of an apartment building. People I recognize from the neighborhood. Men, women, kids. They're forced to drop to their knees with their hands in the air on the sidewalk. The Mogadorians keep poking at them with the barrels of their guns. I want to help them, want to do something to save them, but I can't bring myself to move. I'm hardly even breathing, I'm so scared, and have to keep swallowing down the urge to puke. I feel like my heart is trying to burst out from inside of me.

This must be what complete and utter fear feels like.

Tears fill the corners of my eyes, but I'm not sure if they're for me or Mom or even Benny. It's only then that I realize he's the only reason I escaped. He distracted the aliens, tried to keep them from getting me. He didn't have to do that. h.e.l.l, he could have abandoned me altogether.

But he didn't. He told me to run while he stayed behind. My stupid stepfather protected me and it got him killed.

For a second, there's a pang of guilt in my gut for every bad thing I ever said about Benny. But then I hear clanging coming from the alley: one of those pale b.a.s.t.a.r.ds is starting down the fire escape, maybe chasing after me. So I whisper an apology to Benny and to my neighbors on the sidewalk, and try to save myself. My legs start moving, running. I head away from the ship and the people lined up on the streets and towards the park. If I can get across it, I might be able to reach the subway. Maybe the trains are still running and I can get downtown to Mom.

I stay low and use the cars on my side of the street as cover. I make it past several other apartment buildings and the fire hydrant I used to play at during the summers when I was a kid. Water spews out of the broken hydrant onto a body that's lying on the sidewalk. A body that's not moving. I try not to look at it as I make my way around the corner, where I come across three aliens who have their backs to me. I'm so surprised that I trip over my own feet, twisting my ankle and hitting the ground hard. Hard enough that I can't help but let out a short cry. They turn. The one closest to me has dark tattoos along the top of his skull. He lets out a noise that sounds like sandpaper. It takes me a moment to realize he's laughing at me.

I'm toast.

I try to scramble to my feet, but the three of them are on me too fast. They train their guns at me, and I know that no matter how quick I move, I won't be able to get away from them. They'll shoot me if I run.

"Surrender or die," the Mogadorian says.

I look around, but there's no one nearby to help. I can barely even see the people from my block anymore from where I am. I guess everyone's been rounded up, or is hiding, or . . .

My eyes fall on the unmoving body by the hydrant.

These aliens are going to kill me on my own d.a.m.n block.

The one closest to me bares his gray, jagged teeth in what might be considered a smile on Mars or wherever the h.e.l.l he came from. His finger on the trigger twitches.

There's a sharp buzzing in my chest. I can hardly stand it. I feel like someone's blown up a balloon inside me, the pain so bad that I'm sure I'm about to be ripped apart.

My heart thumps.

This is the end.

Mom. I'm sorry.

I throw my hands up in front of my face to shield myself. As if that will do anything to protect me.

And then the impossible happens.

EXCERPT FROM I AM NUMBER FOUR: THE LOST FILES: LAST DEFENSE.

LEARN WHAT HAPPENED TO MALCOLM GOODE ONCE THE INVASION BEGAN!.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE MOG SKIMMER RISES ABOVE ASHWOOD ESTATES and shoots off towards the horizon. Six, Marina and Adam are on board. A handful of kids-teenagers, technically, but still children to me-ready to cross the continent in search of a place called the Sanctuary. Somewhere they only know about because years ago, during one of the many gaps in my memory, I told the Mogs it existed and that it was important to the future of the Loric.

I hope for our sakes that this is true. Earth is facing invasion, and we need all the help we can get.

I've been racking my brain trying to remember anything else about this place that's apparently so important to the Loric. Any details at all. But I come up with nothing, and there's not really time to dwell on recovering these memories. I have so much else to worry about. The most important thing is my son, Sam. He's putting himself in danger. Again. He's about to head to New York with John and Nine and a few of the FBI agents who've joined our side in order to stop a corrupt politician and expose the Mogadorian threat.

As I watch the Skimmer disappear against the morning sun, I wonder what kind of father lets his only child get wrapped up in so much violence and death. I lose myself in this question, unable to find a suitable answer, until John Smith's voice breaks my daze.

"d.a.m.n, this place looks like a war zone. I thought we'd gotten most the fires out last night."