Legacies Reborn (2 page)

NONE OF THIS SEEMS REAL.

A giant spaceship is hovering above Manhattan. It just rolled in out of nowhere. A freaking
spaceship.
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 glass 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 butt 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-ass 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 damn 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 shit 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 shit, 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 masse 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. Damn.”

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 hell 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 God, 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 bastard falls hard to the floor, and then disintegrates. Just turns into freakin'
dust
like he's a damn 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, damn 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 bastards 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 spacecrafts 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. Hell, 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 bastards 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 damn block.

The one closest to me bares his gray, jagged teeth in what might be considered a smile on Mars or wherever the hell 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.

THE ALIENS' GUNS FLY OUT OF THEIR HANDS
AND
through the air, clattering onto the street halfway down the block.

What the . . . ?

Something is different. Something inside me has changed. The
buzzing
has changed. Now I can sense it coursing through my veins. I feel powerful. I feel
electric
, and for a second I wonder if I was actually shot with one of those laser guns. But that can't be true. I feel too alive.

What the hell is going on?

I don't know how to even begin to answer that question. The alien douche bags look just as confused as I am—and really pissed off. The one with the tattoos sneers and lunges for me. I push my hand out in front of me, hoping to stop him.

His body shoots through the air, crashing through
the windshield of an abandoned taxi that's on fire a few buildings away from us.

I look at my hands, and then to the two remaining Mogadorians. They take a few steps back.

They're
afraid
of me.

In spite of everything that's happened, I can't help but smirk at this.

“Who's laughing now?” I ask as I get to my feet.

“Garde,” one of the aliens says. I don't know what he means, and I don't really care.

I feel like a puppeteer, like everything has invisible strings I can push and pull. I raise my hand above my head, and the alien on my left is thrust into the air. He lets out a deep growl.

I don't have any damn clue what's happening to me. All I know is that these monsters attacked my city. My neighborhood. My family.

I narrow my eyes and bring my hand down. The floating Mogadorian slams into his friend. And then I take him up in the air and hammer him down again, over and over, until the two of them fall apart, bursting into little clouds of ash.

My hands shake. I stare down at them in disbelief, but I don't have time to try to make sense of this. More Mogadorians spill onto the street a few blocks away, shooting into a crowd of people who run after them. The humans have weapons of their own. They're coming
at the invaders with guns, knives, hockey sticks and bats—a few police officers head the charge in riot gear. Someone throws something that's smoking; there's the sound of glass breaking, and then one of the aliens goes up in flames.

People are fighting back.

I wonder if I should stay and try to protect my neighborhood, but the only thing I care about in the world right now is getting downtown to Mom. And so I break into a run, this time slightly less afraid, fueled by this new energy that's flowing through me. My brain feels like it's sparking, and all I can think is that if this is real—if I've got
superpowers
now—then I can still hope that she is okay. That we'll be reunited soon. It's not impossible. Nothing is impossible.

Morningside Park is dark. Normally it's not the kind of place I'd want to hang around at night, but I don't hesitate to sprint into it. All I have to do is climb a few flights of stairs and cross a few streets and I'll be at the same train station where I said good-bye to Mom just a few hours ago. As soon as I get inside the park itself, though, I start to rethink my route. It seems like every bush is shaking, and I can hear whispers in the air around me. I tighten my fingers into fists as I run along.

I'm almost to the stairs when suddenly there's a light in my face and someone pulling on the back of my
shirt. My hands go up and I'm ready to try to dust a few more of these pale suckers, when I hear someone say, “Be cool, it's just a kid.”

“Who's there?” I ask, not letting my guard down.

The light moves away, and after blinking a few times I realize that it's shining on a small group of people. Maybe fifteen of them. Then the light goes out.

“Sorry,” the person with the flashlight says. “We thought you might be one of them.”

“Do I
look
like one of them?” I ask.

As my eyes adjust, I begin to see the boy holding the flashlight at his side. He's only a few years older than me, if that, and he can't stay still, his head and eyes darting around the park.

“I have to go,” I say, starting towards the stairs again.

The boy grabs my arm.

“It's bad up there,” he says. “They're everywhere.”

“It's bad down
here
,” someone in the group says.

“I'm not afraid,” I say, shaking loose from his grip.

“They came into our building,” the boy says. “My parents and a few others tried to hold them off in the front while we all made it out through the back. I don't know . . .”

He trails off. I look back at the rest of the crowd. That's when I realize most of them are either pretty young or pretty old. Those who wouldn't have stood a chance against the Mogadorians.

“We'll be safe here,” a little girl says. “Until help comes.”

I wonder if that now includes me. If
I'm
the help.

Before I can answer that question, another light is on me. On all of us. This time from the air, coming from one of those damn spaceships. Black masses jump from its sides—more aliens.

“Run!” someone shouts. And we do.

We scramble up the stairs. Behind me I can hear the electric sounds of their weapons. An older man is hit and falls. Flashlight Boy grabs him, dragging him along. We keep going. We have enough of a start that we're halfway up the seemingly never-ending steps when they finally start to gain on us.

“Go! Go!” I shout, but there's no way they can move any faster. Not this group.

So I try to buy them some time to escape. I turn my attention to the Mogadorians.

They're a few yards behind me, their boots smacking against the white stone steps.

“What are you doing?” Flashlight Boy shouts at me.

“Saving you!” I yell back.

Or getting myself killed.

“Yo, ass faces.” I crack my knuckles. “You never should have messed with Harlem.”

They raise their guns, but I'm faster. I push my hands forward. The aliens fly back, tossed through the
air. One of them lands in a nearby pond. A couple more tumble down the steep steps. They must have bones, because I can hear them breaking. One of them turns to dust halfway down, the other one disappears at the base of the stairs when he lands on his head.

But I don't get them all. A big one somehow missed my magic Jedi attack and is still coming at me, his blaster raised and ready to fire. I reach out my hand and clench my fist. The alien stops, lifted off the ground by a giant, invisible hand.

“Yeah, sucker,” I say. “Whatcha gonna do now?”

He squirms in my grip, saying stuff in a language I've never heard—though it's pretty obvious that he's cursing at me. For some reason I think about Benny's quiet prayers as we watched the news.

And I think of my mom, who has to be all right and waiting for me at her restaurant.

She
has
to be.

“This planet has already fallen,” he says in English. I don't know if he's got a weird accent, or if his voice just normally sounds like someone trying to make a gravel smoothie in a blender. “You can't win. Your people will bow before us when—”

I throw my hand to my left. The alien flies, smashing into the rocky side of the embankment beside the stairs. He turns to dust before his body ever hits the ground.

It's only then that I realize it's gotten really quiet behind me.

I turn back, and find a dozen eyes staring at me. Some of them are above gaping mouths, others are wide with fear.

“Uh . . .” I have no idea what to say.

“You,” Flashlight Boy says. “You're like the dude in the videos. John Smith.”

“Whoa, no,” I say. “I'm not with him.”

“Are you, like, a good alien?” someone asks.

“What? I live on 120th Street.”

Everyone starts to whisper to each other. The murmurs quickly grow louder, until everyone's trying to talk to me, thanking me or asking what else I can do, or telling me to go back to my own planet.

“What now?” a little girl asks. Her eyes are wet and bloodshot.

There's an explosion somewhere close, back from the direction my apartment is in. Or
was
in, maybe. The steps rattle beneath our feet.

I don't know what to tell these people to do, but
my
mission is clear. I've got to get downtown.

And if any of these shark-faced freaks get in my way, I'll destroy them, leaving mountains of dust behind me.