The Forgotten Ones (6 page)

I COME TO IN ANOTHER PARKING LOT, FINALLY
feeling myself again. Sort of, at least.

Based on the light streaming into the car, it must be morning. Rex has the windows rolled down and the air smells vaguely of the ocean.

“Finally,” he says when he sees me stirring. “I was beginning to think you were gone for good.”

I sit up. I look at him. I can’t believe how stupid I feel. I knew exactly what he was up to all along and I let him get away with it anyway.

“You betrayed me,” I say.

He just laughs. “I knew you were going to say that. Kind of funny, right? You’re a traitor to your entire race, and you’re mad at
me
?”

I get ready to hit him with every bit of tectonic force I have left at my disposal, but as soon as I so much as
think
about it I start to feel faint again.

“You seriously expect me to believe you weren’t the one who called in the Mogadorian mafia? You go mysteriously missing just as they show up and then you somehow don’t reappear until I’ve fought them all off?”

“I told you,” he said. “They attacked me too.”

“Sure. Right.” I know he’s full of shit, but I honestly don’t know what to do about it. What I don’t understand is why he’s toying with me like this. If he wanted to kill me, he could have killed me by now. He could have called in more Mogs.

Instead, I’m still alive, still uncaptured, sitting unscathed in the passenger seat of a carjacked sedan with Dust on my lap, whining at me.

I look out the window and I see where we are. Sort of, at least. We’re somewhere on the water. A foghorn blares and I squint out the window to see a ferry crawling across the water and into view.

“You wanted to go to Plum Island, right?” Rex says, seeing the confused look on my face. “How else are we going to get there except by boat?”

I still don’t believe he didn’t give the Mogs our location. But then that doesn’t explain why he came to get me, why he helped me escape. He could have just left me at the rest stop, left me to get caught by the Mogs, by the cops, whoever. I need some air. I need to get out of this car. Rex doesn’t try to stop me when I open the car
door. Dust jumps out onto the pavement and I’m right behind him.

Rex finds me on a bench half an hour later. I don’t know what else to do, so I’m just sitting. I’ve tried calling Malcolm. No answer. I tried picturing One in my head. It would have helped just to imagine her face. But it wouldn’t come to me. Even golden retriever Dust has given up trying to make me feel better. He’s just lying at my feet.

“I didn’t tell them,” Rex says. He’s standing a few paces away but doesn’t try to come any closer. “The scouts have been following you all along. They missed you a few times and then I think you gave them the drop when you decided to hop the train. But they were going to catch up eventually.”

“Where were you, then?” I ask. “Don’t try to tell me they attacked you too.”

“The truth?”

“Yeah,” I say. “For once. The truth.”

Rex pauses. “I was hiding,” he finally says. “They might have already seen me with you, but I didn’t want them to see me fighting to save you—to think that I’m a traitor. So I hid.”

I examine his face for signs that he’s lying. I honestly have no idea. I don’t know why it matters. But it does.

“So you were just going to let them kill me?”

He looks at the sky. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess I was. If it came to that.”

“But now you’re helping me?”

“Yup.”

“I don’t get it. Why?”

Rex shuffles his feet nervously. “I don’t know,” he says. “I still believe in the Mogadorian cause. I still believe in Setrákus Ra’s principles. When it comes time to fight, I’ll be there with the rest of my brothers—if I’m still allowed to be. War is in my blood. But I’m helping you anyway. You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to. I can’t explain it even to myself. But it’s the truth.”

I don’t answer him. I don’t know how.

“So do you want to go to Plum Island and rescue the Chimæra or not?” he finally asks.

The ferry doesn’t go to Plum Island. There’s no reason it should—normal Americans need the highest level of clearance even to set foot on the island. That rules out getting there openly.

But in a seaside community like this, most people own a boat, at least a little one. Rex and I spend the afternoon peering into unattended garages until we find ourselves hauling a small rowboat towards the harbor. We stash it behind some trees in the neighboring park until the sun’s going down and we see the last ferry pull in. Then we wait another half hour just to be
sure no one will spot us and drag it to the end of the dock. From there it’s easy enough to flip it over and lay it into the water, climb in and start rowing.

While I’d spent my morning passed out, Rex had been coming up with a plan to get us inside the facility. Sitting across from me in our rowboat, he explains it to me. It’s so simple that it sounds absurd.

“I’ll tell them you’re my prisoner,” he says. “That I tracked you from New Mexico until I captured you and brought you here. They’re looking for you, right? They send that many scouts to get you, they think you’re important. It might even go all the way up the chain to Setrákus Ra. If I bring you in, there’s no chance they’ll turn you away.”

“They could just shoot me on sight,” I say.

Rex scrunches his face and shakes his head. In the distance, I see lights. We’re getting closer. “Nah,” he says. “First, they’ll want to know how you took down Dulce. Hell, I want to know that myself.” A quick grin surfaces. “Then they’ll shoot you.”

“Gee, thanks.” I glance over to where Dust is gliding along beside us in hawk form, tilting to one side from time to time so a wingtip knifes through the water. “We don’t know anything about who they’ve got there, how they’re set up, what they’ve heard, what—”

Rex stops me. “Will you relax? Trust me, I know how our military works. I’ve got this covered.”

If I had to make a list of all the people I trusted, it would be a really short list, and Rex wouldn’t be on it. Even if I did trust him, I still wouldn’t like the plan. What if they know Rex has been working with me all this time? What if they kill us before we even get the chance to explain ourselves? It all relies too much on faith—and after yesterday, faith is something I’m pretty much all out of.

But before I can argue, Dust lands on the edge of the boat. He’s flapping his wings furiously, and then he shifts into cat form. Just as quickly, he changes again, this time into a wolf. He’s too big for the boat and nearly tips over, but now he’s shifting so quickly that I start to lose track of what he’s even supposed to
be.
And he’s making a noise that’s so loud I have to put my fingers in my ears, halfway between a howl and a trumpet blast, deep and quivery. I’ve never heard anything like it.

“Dust,” I say. “What’s wrong?”

I put my hand out to rub him in the hope that it will calm him down. His body feels like liquid, but it does the trick—he’s starting to get control of himself again. As he settles into lizard form, he finally quiets down. He’s still agitated though. He’s darting around the floor of the boat, cocking his head frantically in every direction, sniffing the air. It looks like he’s hearing something that Rex and I can’t—almost like there’s something calling to him.

It’s very weird, but I don’t know what to do about it. The island’s close enough now that I think I can just see where that harbor opens up. Rex pulls the oars in. “You ready to do this?” he asks. I’m not ready at all, but I nod. At least Dust has settled down enough to climb into the pocket of my hoodie. I can still feel him twitching nervously in there, but it seems like he’s getting back to normal.

Rex doesn’t pay any attention to how uneasy this is making me. He just digs through his pockets until he pulls out the plastic ties that he bought from a local hardware store while we’d been waiting for the ferries to clear out for the day.

“Give me your wrists,” he says. Every bit of my common sense is telling me not to do it. Letting myself be tied up and marched into a Mogadorian stronghold by a Mog I barely trust—doesn’t sound like the most brilliant scheme, does it?

Certain I’m walking into some kind of incredibly elaborate trap, I offer up my hands anyway. I’ve come this far. What else can I do but take the risk?

Within seconds Rex has me expertly bound. It’s almost like we’re back to the way we started at Dulce: one guard and one prisoner, this time with our roles reversed.

Hopefully it’s just for show.

We’re a few meters from the shore when a blinding
searchlight engulfs us in its dazzling beam and a booming voice calls out. “Stop! Identify yourself!”

Rex straightens. “Rexicus Saturnus, from Dulce,” he shouts back. “And a prisoner!” He grabs my hands and raises them so those watching can see the restraints.

The pause has me sweating despite the chill coming off the waves, but finally the voice replies, “Come ahead.” They don’t offer to pick us up, but instead stay back and let Rex row us the rest of the way in. Typical Mogs.

“Shouldn’t there be regular soldiers here?” I whisper. “Instead of Mogadorians?”

“Used to be that way,” Rex says. “But we’re getting more and more power in the American government lately. Pretty soon the White House’ll be run by Mogadorians too.”

It’s a scary thought—and one that would have made me incredibly excited just a few short years ago.

At the sound of the Mogadorians shouting at us, Dust has crawled from my pocket. And before I have time to even say good-bye, he’s turned into a hummingbird and is gone into the night sky.

I know it’s for the best. If I’m going to be thrown into a cell, I don’t want him trapped in there with me. Nonetheless, I feel incredibly vulnerable without him.

The feeling only intensifies when I see the squad of soldiers waiting for us on the dock, weapons drawn.
They wait until our little rowboat bumps up against the logs and then reach down and haul us up.

“Who’s this?” the Mog officer in charge demands, staring into my eyes and grabbing me roughly by the arm.

“A low-life traitor,” Rex replies. “Adamus Sutekh, son of General Andrakkus Sutekh.” He punches me in the stomach, hard enough to double me over and leave me gasping for breath.

The captain’s frowning at us. He’s trueborn, of course, but the underlings flanking him are all vatborn, big and pale and typically creepy. “Why bring him here?” the captain asks after a second. “And what exactly happened at Dulce? We lost all communication with it—sent some scouts in but they reported the whole place destroyed.”

“
He
happened,” Rex replies, gesturing towards me. The captain’s frown deepens, and Rex hurries to explain. “I was stationed at Dulce Base. This traitor showed up with a human ally and attacked. They blew up the base. I was only stunned—I woke up in time to see him slip away, so I followed him all the way from Dulce to here. Once I was sure this was his next target, I captured him and brought him in for questioning.”

The captain nods. I can’t believe he’s buying this load of horseshit, but he is. “Good job,” he says. “We’ll notify the general and find out if he wants to question
his son personally. In the meantime, Rexicus, you’ll need to be debriefed.”

He gestures at two of the soldiers. “Throw the traitor in a cell for now, but don’t get too carried away—the general will want to handle his punishment personally.”

Then he leads Rex away while the guards grab me and march me toward a long, low building a few hundred feet from the harbor. Damn. It’s not even in the main building. This is going to make things very difficult. When they throw me into my cell, I’m still trying to decide whether Rex sold me out or if everything’s going exactly according to plan.

I DON
’
T KNOW HOW LONG IT
’
S BEEN. HOURS
? Days? But no one has come by since those guards threw me in here. I guess they’re taking their commander’s orders to leave me alone until my father comes to retrieve me to heart. I’m cursing myself for thinking Rex was actually on my side, for letting him get the better of me. I thought I could trust him.

Then I hear the click of the lock on my cell door. It’s too dark to make out who’s standing there, but I easily recognize Rex’s voice. “Sorry I took so long,” he says.

Then something hits me in the face and chest—something lightweight, flexible, a little scratchy. “Put those on!”

It’s pants and a jacket, all standard military issue, and I hurriedly do as I’m told. “Where have you been?” I demand as I change.

“I had to be sure they didn’t suspect anything,” Rex
replies, holding the cell door wide-open and beckoning me to follow. “And I had to find out where they were holding the Chimæra. Here.” He hands me a military cap, and I pull that on as well. Smart thinking—I’m clearly a Mog but my long hair definitely isn’t a soldier’s cut. Plus the cap helps hide my face, in case anyone might recognize me.

“So? Where are they?” I ask as he leads me out of the building. I’m surprised there aren’t any guards at all, until I see a small pile of ash in one corner and another behind a desk near the entryway.

I’m a little surprised Rex was willing to kill to get me out of here. Surprised, but grateful.

“They’re keeping them in the Disease Center,” he replies, easing open the brig’s front door and glancing out before nodding and motioning me through. “But not the main annex—that’s mostly marines and human scientists. There’s a second building off to the side, staffed entirely by our people. They’re in there.”

That makes sense. Even though the High Command clearly has some kind of deal with the U.S. government, they wouldn’t want to let any of the humans close to anything that could be used against us. And the Chimæra would definitely qualify. “How do we get there?”

He grins as we step around the side of the jail and stop at a military jeep that’s sitting there, already idling. Rex doesn’t hit the lights until we’re clear of the
last building and our view of the harbor is swallowed up among the trees.

It only takes a couple minutes to curve up and around to the Disease Center—the advantages of an island that’s only a few miles in any direction. The main building is enormous and looks like a research lab crossed with a school, but sure enough there’s a smaller, warehouse-like building off to one side. We head over that way. There are Mog soldiers standing guard outside, but they salute Rex and step aside to let us pass. Interesting.

“This is our main base on the island,” he explains once we’re through the doors and walking along a wide, rough, cement-floored hall. “Where they’re keeping the Chimæra will require security clearance, but out here we’re good.” Which is obviously true, but I can’t help wondering how we’re going to get back out past those same guards without setting off alarms. Especially with however many Chimæra there are in tow.

“We lucked out too,” Rex is saying. We head up one flight of stairs, then another. “They were being held in the basement, but two days ago I hear they all went nuts. They trashed the place completely. So they were moved up here until stronger cells could be built.”

Two days ago? I bet that’s about the same time that Dust started freaking out on the boat. It’s all got to be connected.

Speaking of which . . . “Have you seen Dust? Do you know where he is?”

“He’s out there,” Rex answers without glancing back. “He found me when I was grabbing the jeep. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll find you when the time’s right.”

I nod slowly. I wish Dust was with me right now, but I know Rex is right. Dust hasn’t let me down yet.

We stop on the fourth floor and exit the stairwell. The ceilings up here are twelve feet tall at least, and enormous windows cover most of the walls, though they’re barred. Despite the concrete floors and thick stone outer walls and corrugated metal inner walls, the space still has a light, airy feel.

And doors. Lots and lots of doors.

“They’re up here somewhere,” Rex assures me, opening the first door at hand and peering in. He shakes his head and slides it shut again. I open another door, but it leads to a small office. Empty, fortunately. “Nope.” The next one is a supply closet, also not much help. The door after that, however, opens onto a large room that looks like an operating theater—there are instruments arrayed on trays positioned around a large exam table. It’s also empty, which I consider a very good thing. I really wouldn’t want to walk in on a surgery, especially not one performed by my people. They’re a lot more interested in carving up than in putting back together.

“Over here!” Rex calls, and I see he’s one door down from me but on the other side of the hall. I cross quickly and peer inside with him. It’s like a big kennel, with wire cages lined up against the far wall. Could this be it?

“Shut the door,” I whisper, stepping through to study the cages and their inhabitants. The first cage looks empty, save for some sort of goo smeared across the floor. But when I step a little closer, the goo suddenly rears up, flowing into a shape like a raccoon or maybe a weasel, narrow and wiry with dark, matted fur, a sharply pointed face and beady little eyes.

And then it screams.

I’ve never heard anything like it. And I hope I never will again. It’s high and shrill and makes my entire body feel like a glass that’s about to shatter. I stumble back a pace, off balance, then another, until the screeching stops. The goo settles, dropping back to the cage floor. Rex and I stare at each other. What the hell was that?

Whatever it was, there’s nothing I can do to help it, not if it’s going to scream bloody murder and completely paralyze me every time I get close.

The next cage is empty, though judging from the soiled newspapers on the bottom, it hasn’t been that way for long.

The third cage contains a bird. About the size of a
parrot, it has blue feathers ranging from a deep purple so dark they look almost black to a pale blue-white like winter itself. The bird has no wings, though—where those appendages should be are two stumps, stitched and bandaged. It caws at me, a single long, chirp-like wail, and the sound brings tears to my eyes. I look over at Rex but he looks just as horrified. Either he’s a better actor than I realized or he had no idea what we’d find.

“Are these . . . Chimæra?” he asks, his voice hushed and rough.

“I don’t know. They might be.” I shake my head. “I don’t think either of those two are going anywhere, though—even if we opened their cages, how would we get them to follow us? Especially without risking whatever others we find?” I hate to abandon any of them, but I think we have to leave this pair here. I glance in the other cages quickly but they’re all empty. I see a second door against the sidewall, and I hurry over to that, pull it open, and rush through, almost slamming into a pair of Mogs that are standing in front of another row of cages. One of them is short and wiry and wearing a lab coat—definitely a scientist. The other one’s big and burly, though, and in military gear. They both look up as I barrel in, and the soldier’s hand automatically goes for the blaster at his side. Great.

“What—who—?” the scientist starts, but I shut him
up by slamming into him as hard as I can. He flies backwards into the soldier who stumbles a step, his hands going up automatically to catch his companion. They both turn to ash a second later, and I glance back to see Rex in the doorway, blaster in hand.

He did that. Just like he killed the Mogs who were guarding my cell.

“Why . . . ,” I start.

“I promised you I’d help you and I’m helping you,” he says. “Let’s just leave it at that.” Then he looks past me. “Jackpot,” he whispers.

I follow his gaze to see what he’s talking about. At least four of the cages here are occupied—no, five. And all of them . . . well, the first one has a small dog, the second a little pig, the third a cat, the fourth a raccoon, and the fifth a brightly colored bird. Then I blink, and now they’re an owl, a goat, a rat, a beaver, and a monkey. Then they shift again, and again, a lot like Dust did the other night, only this is constant, cycling from shape to shape to shape fast enough to make them dizzying to watch.

“Is that normal?” Rex asks. He sounds just as surprised as I am. The continual shape-shifting is unsettling, to say the least.

“I don’t know,” I admit. Then I notice a clipboard on the ground by my feet. The scientist must have dropped it. Picking it up, I see a list of subjects, with notes next
to each one. Notes like “100cc injected, change rate increased tenfold” and “lobotomy performed, cohesion shattered.” Bile rises in my throat, and I have to gulp a few times before I can answer. “No. They’ve been experimenting on them already.”

At this point, I have no idea how useful these surviving creatures will be. I’d hoped to find a bunch more like Dust, and instead I have five out-of-control shape-changing animals. Still, there’s no question they’re Chimæra, and I don’t waste any more time wondering. Instead I step over to their cages and yank them open one by one.

“It’s okay,” I assure them, loud enough for all of them to hear me at once but low enough that I hope my voice won’t carry beyond these walls. “We’re here to help.” I have no idea if they understand me, but I figure it can’t hurt.

For a minute none of them move, and I can’t blame them. I don’t know how long they’ve been here, or what’s been done to them, but they don’t have any reason to trust a Mog—or, for all I know, humans. The one that’s now—for the moment—back to being a monkey is the first one to edge over to its open door, poke its head through and then chitter at the others, shifting back and forth between forms as they pour out of their prison. A second later they’re all loose, crawling and swinging and pacing and fluttering every which way.

“Right,” I tell Rex. “Time to go.”

Almost on cue, a siren starts blaring. Flashing lights accompany it out in the hall. Then a voice erupts from speakers in the ceiling.

“Attention, a prisoner has escaped the brig. Adamus Sutekh was last seen wearing blue jeans and a black shirt. He is five-ten, slight of build, with long hair. He is unarmed but a known traitor. If found, detain if possible—shoot if necessary. The same for any accomplices.”

“Yeah,” Rex agrees, shaking his head. “Definitely time to go.”