Pittacus Lore - The Fall of Five

He turns to me with a grim look on his face. “If my notes have gotten into Mogadorian hands, we have to assume this place is compromised. You should arm yourself, Sam. Sarah too.”

“What about you?” I ask, my stomach turning over.

“I—I can’t be trusted,” he stammers. “You should lock me in here, until the Garde return.”

“There has to be another explanation,” I say, my voice cracking. I’m not sure if I really believe that or if I just want it to be true.

“I don’t remember leaving,” he says. “But I suppose my memory isn’t worth much, at this point.”

He drops heavily onto the bed in his room. He folds his hands in his lap and stares down at them. He looks defeated somehow, undermined by both his mind and his son.

I start towards the door. “Look, I’m going to go get Sarah and some guns. But I’m not going to lock you in here. Just stay here, okay?”

“Wait.” He stops me, holding up a hand. “What is that?”

I hear it too. A low rumbling sound, coming from the drawer of his nightstand. I get there first, flinging open the drawer.

It’s the phone he was using to communicate with Adam. The screen is lit up, a phone call coming in from a blocked number. In the corner of the screen, I see that the phone has nineteen missed calls. I hold it up to my father. His face lights up, but I feel increasingly nervous. Too much is happening all at once. It feels like the walls are closing in on me.

I hit the button and press the phone to my ear, my voice shaky. “Hello?”

“Malcolm!” the breathless voice on the phone shouts. “Where have you been?!”

“This is Sam,” I correct, a feeling of dread rising in my stomach as I recognize the voice. “Adam, is that you?”

My dad jumps up and squeezes my shoulders, excited that Adam is still alive. I wish I could feel relieved, but the way he sounds on the phone, it’s like more bad news is on the way.

“Sam? Sam! Where’s your father?”

“He’s—”

“Never mind! It doesn’t matter!” he shouts. “Listen to me, Sam. You’re in Chicago, right? The John Hancock Center?”

“How—how did you know that?”

“They know, Sam!” Adam yells. “They know and they’re coming for you!”

“Hold on!”

We all lurch to one side as Nine haphazardly steers our fan boat—exactly what it sounds like, a small boat propelled by a giant fan on the back—around an overturned log floating in the murky brown swamp water. Eight nearly loses his balance and has to grab on to my arm to steady himself. He flashes me a sheepish smile as he lets me go to swat a mosquito. The air is thick and humid, buzzing with insects that can be heard even above the roar of our boat’s propeller. This place smells of rich soil, of nature overgrown.

“Look at that!” Eight shouts to be heard over the boat. I peer over the side to where a massing of lily pads is disturbed by something drifting through the water. At first I think it’s another log, but then I notice the rough scales of a tail swaying across the water and know it’s an alligator. “Keep your hands inside the ride,” Eight yells.

I watch as the alligator disappears into an outgrowth of trees to our left. I can see why Five thought the Everglades would be a safe place to hide his Inheritance; it’s a maze of tall grasses and muddy water, deserted except for the bugs and the lurking animals.

We’re traveling down what is basically a road in the water, a place where the dense saw grass and trees that sprout up on either side of us part to allow boat traffic. Not that there’s anyone else out here—we haven’t seen a single human being since picking up our boat from the rental place an hour ago. Even that was just a ramshackle cabin stuck between the end of a country road and the edge of the swamp. We had our pick of three rusted fan boats lashed to the rickety dock. The solitary man living out there, sunburned and smelling like a combination of alcohol and jet fuel, hiccupped his way through a tutorial on boat operation before accepting some cash in exchange for a dog-eared map of the area and the keys to the boat. He didn’t ask any questions, which we were all thankful for.

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.”