Pittacus Lore - The Search for Sam

She falls to her knees on the porch and begins to sob. Moments later, Malcolm joins her.

I wait. Malcolm has been inside with the woman for an hour now. We exchanged a look before he headed inside with her. I nodded, giving him the sign that I’d be fine out here on my own.

Kicking the scorched dirt, I’m anxious, keyed up. To judge by the tracks, by the burned patches of earth, there was some kind of conflict here not long ago. Mogadorians could be close.

I have One’s Legacy now, I remind myself. Even if I come face-to-face with a Mog force, I’m not powerless anymore. I can fight back.

The more time passes, the more I worry about Malcolm. To come all this way and discover that something has happened to his son would be devastating.

Malcolm finally emerges from the house. He walks with a hard-nosed determination, strutting right past me and back into the woods.

All he says is “Come.”

I follow him across the backyard to a large stone well.

“It’s open,” he says, shaking his head.

“So?” I ask. “Malcolm, you have to tell me what’s going on.”

Without answering, Malcolm climbs into the well and disappears.

Again, I follow.

I make my way down a long, narrow ladder and finally arrive at the bottom of the well.

“Malcolm?” I ask. No response. I feel my way along the walls down a narrow passageway, which slowly gives way into a room.

A large halogen lamp lights up, illuminating the space. Malcolm holds it, and swings it around the room.

I follow the arc of the beam. Bare walls, some computer equipment in the corner. A shelf with supplies: water bottles, canned food—

Startled by what I see, I gasp. Against the wall, close enough for me to touch, is a massive skeleton.

The skeleton’s head is tipped downwards in an angle of dignified, almost lordly resignation. But it’s still a skull, with deep hollow sockets pointing right at me. I yelp, backing against the opposite wall.

“The Mogadorians didn’t find this place,” says Malcolm. “If they had, they wouldn’t have left it like this. They would have destroyed this skeleton, or taken it. But the well was open. Someone’s been here.” Malcolm resumes poking around in the chamber. “The tablet’s gone. He must have come here, and then after …”

“Malcolm,” I whisper, hoping he will calm down and explain himself. “I’m in the dark here,” I say. “Quite literally.”

He ignores my joke.

“My wife saw Sam with some other kids; she said there was a battle. By what she described, those other kids had to be members of the Garde. Sam was with them, fighting by their side.”

I experience a brief chill of excitement at the thought that the Garde was here only a short time ago. The Garde. My people. My new people.

“In my absence, I guess he took up my cause, and wound up in battle with Mogs and … now he’s gone.”

Malcolm stares at me, a haunted look on his face.

“My son Sam is gone.”

Malcolm’s wife won’t let him in the house again. She’s too angry.

As a result, we’ve camped out in his underground bunker, stretching out on the bare stone floor. I’ve slept in some pretty rough quarters since going on the run with Malcolm, but I’ve never faced a challenge quite like trying to fall sleep under the hollow nose of an eight-foot-tall skeleton.

Malcolm explains that she is crushed by grief for her missing son. That as angry as she is with Malcolm for disappearing, the worst part is him finally reappearing only weeks after Sam disappeared—too late to save him.

She blames Malcolm for whatever’s happened to Sam. And Malcolm says she’s right to blame him.

“It was my fault. I was so excited to make contact with the Loric, I didn’t even consider the consequences. Once I saw what the Mogadorians were capable of, I realized my role as a Greeter might be a danger to my family, but it was too late. Before I could do anything to protect them, I was taken.”

Malcolm theorizes that, haunted by his disappearance, Sam began to unravel some of the mysteries of the Mogadorian invasion. That he somehow forged an alliance with members of the Garde.

And that at some point in the past few weeks, in battle near his house, he was captured by the Mogs, and either killed or detained.

When Malcolm says this, my mind races back to the memo I encountered while snooping around the underground server in the Media Surveillance facility. The memo was already a year old when it declared all future detainees and captives were to be routed to the Dulce base in New Mexico. If Sam was captured weeks ago, there’s a good chance he’s being kept there.

I stare at Malcolm, stretched out on the floor, his back to me.

“Malcolm,” I say.

He rolls over and turns to me. I can see from his gaze that he’s lost in doubt and guilt and grief. Clearly the search for his son is what’s been driving him since we escaped from Ashwood.

“I think I know where your son is.”

CHAPTER 13

I stand back as Malcolm opens the garage door. Inside, covered in dust, is an old Chevy Rambler. “I can���t believe it’s still here,” he says, diving towards the passenger door.

We are at a storage facility on the outskirts of Paradise. Malcolm explains that he paid for this garage space many years in advance, keeping the car fueled up and ready should he ever need to skip town on short notice. In fact, he was headed for this garage when he was abducted by the Mogadorians years ago.

I’m impressed with his recall. “Your memory’s improving.”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling slyly. “It seems to be. Must be all of your annoying quizzes.” I laugh as he turns to the car’s glove compartment, pulling something out. He holds it out of the car door for me to see.

A spare pair of prescription glasses.

“Jackpot,” he says, triumphantly. He wipes the lenses with the tail of his shirt and slips them onto his head.

He sits back in the passenger seat, looking at me through the windshield.

“I can’t tell you how amazing it feels to be able to see clearly. It’s been so long,” he says.

He lets out a contented sigh. “Amazing.”

“I didn’t even know you needed glasses.”

“Big-time,” he says. “This is actually the first time I’ve seen your face as anything but a big smudge.” He squints up at me. “I can definitely see the Mogadorian thing, now. Yeah, definitely something evil about your face.”

I laugh, giving him the finger. Teasing me for being a Mogadorian has become a running joke between us. Joking about it is really just a testament to how accepting of me Malcolm has been.

“Full tank?” I ask.

He leans over, starts the engine, peering owlishly as the gas gauge whirs up.

“Very nearly.”

He slides behind the wheel as I get into the passenger seat. We’re traveling light. Heading to New Mexico.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

“Not at all,” I reply.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”

And we’re off.

If we weren’t traveling incognito, trying to avoid detection by taking side roads, we could’ve made the trip to the base in three days. As it is, the trip takes almost a week.

I don’t mind the extra time.

Sitting beside Malcolm in the passenger seat, it occurs to me that we may be driving towards our own ends. That just as I had to say good-bye to One, I may have to say good-bye to Malcolm. Right when I thought I’d found a father figure, I now find myself embarking on what could be a suicide mission with him. I can’t be Malcolm’s son. He already has a son, and—for better or worse—I have a father. But I can help save Sam.

I remember what One said to me, that she’d pegged me for a hero, wanted me to try for “great” things.