India
The plane lands with a pound that echoes through the metal and our seats. I'm jolted awake, the sound quickly fading. I glance around and see Crayton looking out the window, his eyes flicking from side to side. He turns and sees me, flashing a thin-lipped smile.
Soon enough we've filed off the plane and arranged ourselves in a group standing to the left of the pathway through the terminal, seats behind us filled with tired individuals. I back into one to allow a giggling couple to pass. I glance back and a bleary-eyed preteen blinks up at me before shifting his gaze back to the phone clutched in his hands.
Crayton does a head count. Then, we're outside. I'm overwhelmed for a moment by the hustle and bustle of city life. Strangers pass close by, voices overlapping. At a look from Crayton, we follow him along the sidewalk. I look back and see Three a step behind, marveling at his surroundings. I drop back.
"It's something, huh?" I say, flashing a smile as he looks at me.
"Yes, something!" He says excitedly. "I can barely remember being around this many people. And these buildings-I mean, we had buildings, but not like this." Grinning, he picks up a fallen rock and starts tossing it in the air and catching it.
"Had? You mean on…?" I am sure that we had buildings like this on Lorien. I can just barely remember a day spent in the city, having the same reaction Three's having.
"My village." Three finishes, catching my meaning. I've noticed his faint accent before. I can only pinpoint it as African.
"You spent a long time there?"
"Yeah, ten years!" Three lets his rock fall as we come to a stop, Crayton having paused on the curb. Ella smiles at me, holding Marina's hand.
"What now?" Marina asks.
"Now that we're away from the cameras, we can get a taxi," Crayton says. A taxi whips up to the curb almost before he's finished speaking. A young man peers out, his face covered with stubble. I can tell that he's nervous, an assessment that's only strengthened when he speaks. First day?
"Where can I take you?" He asks, looking at our group.
Crayton tells him an address as he folds himself into the passenger seat. He passes the driver a few bills. We pile in the back-somewhat literally, with so many of us-and we're off. Ella maneuvers herself to the window and gazes out at our surroundings whipping by. The driver takes a sharp turn and the wheels on my side briefly lift off the ground before settling down again.
I'm an adrenaline junkie, but the sight of pedestrians zipping by just a few inches outside the car is enough to make me nervous. I decide it's a better idea not to look. I grab Marina, who's been grabbed by Ella, and hold on tight. Looking left, I can see Three grasping the door handle, his knuckles taught. He looks at me, terrified. I grin. Maybe a little excitement isn't the worst idea for him, after so long in peace. Marina's feet are pressed against the floor of the car.
At one point, the taxi jumps a curb, making us pop above our seats. We shoot down a stretch of narrow sidewalk. With no warning, the driver jerks the wheel, shooting down a road that goes behind a stretch of warehouses. Dozens of men stand outside, holding AK-47s.
Crayton looks over his shoulder at me, concerned. A knot grows in my stomach. "Where are you taking us?" Crayton demands. "We need to go south and you're headed north." Marina looks up questioningly.
The driver slams on the brakes, causing us to bend forward, and dives out while the car's still in motion. As he's rolling away, a dozen large vehicles screech up and surround the taxi, men holding guns climbing out.
Now the adrenaline really starts flowing. I look over at Three. "You guys ready?" He nods at me, followed by Marina and Ella.
"Wait!" Crayton says. "The doors. Look at their doors!"
The men approach, waving their guns and shouting. They're wearing street clothes, but their faces are covered by dark bandanas. Marina looks out the window.
I prepare myself to fight, pressing against the taxi door. Marina grabs my arm. "Wait, Six! Look!"
Painted on the car doors in red paint is the number eight.
"For now, do as they say," Crayton mutters before he exits the vehicle, hands above his head. "We surrender!"
I glance at Three. He half-shrugs, waiting for me to do something. I sigh and follow Crayton out. As we're leaving the vehicle, a man darts forward and pulls Ella, making her lose her balance. I grit my teeth. I don't care who these people are or who they're with, you don't do that to a preteen girl. I grab him with my mind and send him flying up to a rooftop of one of the warehouses lining the street.
The assorted men around us begin screaming and whipping their guns around. This could get ugly. Crayton grabs my arm, bringing my attention back to him. "Let's find out why they're here and what they know before attacking," he tells me. I can tell he's angry too, but I nod.
A tall bearded man approaches with a confident smile. A red beret lays over his head, with a small pistol sticking out of a shoulder holster. I meet his eyes. They're wary.
"Good afternoon and welcome. I am Commander Grahish Sharma of the rebel group Vishnu Nationalist Eight." He looks around, to the man laying on the rooftop, then back to us. "We come in peace."
"Then why the guns?" Crayton asks.
"The guns are to convince you to come with us. We know who you are and would never engage in a battle with you. Vishnu told us you are all-powerful like him."
"How did you find us?" Crayton demands. "And who is Vishnu?"
"Vishnu is the all-pervading essence of all beings, the master of the past, present and future, the Supreme God, and Preserver of the Universe. He told us you would be five in total, three young girls, a boy, and a man. He commanded me to convey a message."
"What's the message?" I say.
Commander Sharma clears his throat and smiles. "The message is this: 'I am Number Eight. Welcome to India. Please come and see me as soon as you can.'"
"And then-and then-" Nate stalled, overcome by laughter. A tear rolled down his face as he pressed himself back against the seat, shuddering with unheard giggles.
"I fell into the eggnog," Rebecca finished tiredly, a smile belying her true feelings. She glanced at Nate.
"She fell into the eggnog!" Nate repeated at twice the volume, losing himself in another fit of laughter.
"Ah, so that's how you got sticky?" Matthew asked, his lips quirking upwards. He glanced back for a second, his hands resting on the wheel. "Y'know, you used all the hot water."
As he turned back to the road, he quickly braked, his eyes tracking something that they flew past. The three occupants of the car fell forward with a sudden jerk, their seatbelts straining.
The car stopped and Matthew jumped out, running back the fifty or so feet to the body laying on the side of the road. He kneeled over it, looking over the body. In the dark, it was devoid of details. However, he could make out that it was a Hispanic boy, around the same age as Rebecca.
"Dad?" Rebecca called.
"It's alright, honey! Just stay in the car!" Matthew called back.
He put his head to the boy's chest, finding a slow heartbeat. He sat up and pulled his phone out, light spilling across his face. He played the light over the boy. The boy was tall and lean, dirty, his clothes cut, but there were no visible wounds. He turned his phone around so he can dial.
His wrist was suddenly being squeezed in an iron grip. He looked back down as he pulled away, finding the boy's eyes.
"No." He said weakly. "No calls. They'll find you. They...they'll..." His grip went slack and his eyes closed.
Making a decision, Matthew picked up the boy with a grunt. He's heavier than he looked.
Matthew bit his knuckle, a nervous habit he'd developed at university. Nate munched on some frozen treat that he'd bought at a gas station, sitting at the dinner table.
Once again, Matthew turned and walked into the room he'd placed the boy in an hour ago, to no small amount of complaining from Nate. This was the first year he'd have his own room at the cabin. But then, Matthew had always tried to instill in his children the need for helping others. It wasn't as if the boy could argue for himself.
Matthew took in all the details as he entered the room. The boy occupied the bed placed in the corner farthest from the door, half-sitting, half-laying against the wall, a pillow behind his back. His eyes were open.
Matthew paused, making eye contact with the boy. There was some tension in his gaze before he seemed to relax. Matthew moved forward, grabbing a chair and sitting in it.
"Did you tell anyone about me?" The boy asked.
Matthew had been tempted, but ultimately decided to get details out of the boy before calling anyone. From his words before passing out, he was on the run from someone. "No."
The boy's gaze had sharpened in the seconds it took to answer. It once again relaxed, the boy tilting his head forward in relief.
"What's your name?"
"Antonio."
"Mind telling me how you got yourself into a ditch, Antonio?"
"…There was an accident." The boy said haltingly. He blinked, looking up and to the left. Matthew followed his line of sight. There was nothing there.
"…An accident. Right. Would this accident have anything to do with the "they" you mentioned?"
Antonio's gaze was again locked on his. Matthew was getting the feeling he didn't talk much, or at least not to people he didn't know. Then again, it could've been whatever had happened that was making him act this way.
"It...yes, it would." The teenager conceded.
"Who's they?"
Antonio thought for a moment. "Bountyhunters."
Matthew was thrown off guard by the strange answer. "Bountyhunters, really?"
"Racist bountyhunters." He clarified.
Matthew blinked. "This thing that happened to you was…racially motivated?"
"…In a manner of speaking." He responded, sounding strangely reluctant.
Matthew made a note to come back to that. "So what exactly was it that happened to you?"
"We-I was attacked."
"By the racist bountyhunters."
If there was any humor in Matthew's response, it was leeched away by Antonio's lack of one. He stared at Matthew, unblinking.
"Right." Matthew said under his breath. "Well, that's a hate crime. We can get them arrested."
"It's a little more complicated than that." The boy said.
Matthew paused, examining Antonio's face. "Hold on," he said, walking out of the room. He returned a minute later with a notepad. Under Antonio's gaze, he wrote "Antonio" and "racist bountyhunters" at the top of the page.
"Start over at the beginning. Where did the attack take place, who was there, what happened?"
Antonio was silent. When Matthew looked back up, he squirmed a little, turning his head to the side. He seemed uncomfortable, reluctant to answer. "Look," he started, "you did a good thing. I appreciate it more than you know, but the answers you're looking for are dangerous."
Matthew leaned forward. "Antonio, I know something about dangerous situations."
Matthew was taken aback by the conviction he saw in the teenager's expression. "Nothing like this."
Matthew sighed inwardly. It was obvious that Antonio wouldn't open up, and pressing it would only make it worse. Maybe approaching from another avenue would give him something to work with. "Okay, let's try something else. Can you describe the attackers to me?"
Antonio shook his head. "The less you know, the better. I need to be moving on soon."
"…'Moving on?'" Matthew repeated slowly and carefully.
As Antonio opened his mouth, Rebecca's scream tore through the cabin.
They were both frozen for a moment before Antonio launched himself across the room, followed a half-second later by Matthew. They emerged into chaos.
The front wall was half torn away. Nate was frozen on the couch, his frozen treat dropped on the wooden floor. Matthew would've told him to clean it up if the other circumstances weren't present. Rebecca was pinned under the debris from the wall. Advancing into the cabin was a group of tall men with pale skin holding weapons that resembled guns.
Matthew rushed to help Rebecca up and the men took aim at him. Antonio dove forward and rolled, grasping a length of something shining and purple-blue. He threw his arm forward and it unraveled, shooting toward the men. It wrapped around the arm of one of them and he yanked back, sending the man flying past him. He impacted the opposite wall head first and didn't get up.
One of the men shot at Matthew and the others fired as one at Antonio, forcing him back. The whip vanished, a shield forming into existence in his hand and immediately being shattered by the combined blaster fire, the shards spinning away into nothingness. He fell back, wind milling his arms. The men shot again and all but two connected with him, followed by their screams as they fell. Antonio went on the offensive.
Matthew had abandoned helping Rebecca in favor of rushing the man that had fired at him. Up close, he could see the unnatural paleness of their skin. The man bared his teeth in a feral grin, shocking him with how jagged and sharp they were. Matthew didn't falter, charging at him and clamping his arms around his midsection. He slammed him down, landing a punch on his face.
It turned out that Matthew had made a grave error in judging the attackers. They were much stronger than someone their size should be. He soon found himself lifted off the man by one hand clamped around his throat. The man brought him close once they were standing, allowing Matthew to see his black eyes and his sharp teeth. He growled and threw him across the cabin with a movement of the one arm.
Something caught him before he hit the opposite wall and he dropped back to the floor, knees unsteady. Antonio turned back to the attackers. Only the one near Rebecca remained, but more squadrons marched closer outside the cabin. Before Antonio could do anything, the warrior drew a sword and cut through Rebecca's throat. Just after, the debris seemingly came alive and flew at him, a particularly sharp strut impaling him through the chest. His body hung from the ceiling, held up by the impaled debris. Bizarrely, it began disintegrating.
"NO!" Matthew cried, his body giving out. Nate had been screaming throughout, but now fell silent, staring at his rapidly dying sister. She gurgled and then gave out.
It was a minute before Matthew could do anything. He had vaguely heard an "I'm sorry" from Antonio, the boy's voice breaking, before he'd gone to engage the approaching warriors. Nate clung to Matthew, tears drying on his cheeks, eyes wide and staring around.
Antonio rammed a spear through a Mogadorian's gut and let go, the purple-blue material vanishing as soon as it left his fingers. He spun and punched away a warrior running towards him on the other side. The warrior hit a tree and got a branch through the leg. Antonio wasn't paying attention by then, moving on to a trio that came bearing down on him.
In one hand, he manifested a sword that he used to decapitate the one on the left. He let go and shouldered the middle one, sending him flying back, with the last one being clubbed over the head by another manifested weapon.
The fight continued, a whirl of movements that flowed into each other. It didn't matter how many he killed. They couldn't hurt him, but neither could he hope to kill them all, given the sheer amount of warriors they'd sent. If he tried to run, they held him back with chains or physically grabbed him.
He heard Matthew scream and turned, seeing him fall from a sword through the chest. Nate was killed a moment later.
Antonio dropped to his knees, his eyes fixed on Matthew's body slumping to the cabin floor. Glassy eyes stared unseeing at the world. A growing numbness was filling his brain, and he gave into it. The Mogadorians cautiously approached, swinging chains to loop around him.
They had helped him and now they were dead.
"Hello, Loric," A rumble in the dark.
The boy opened his eyes, painful memories fading from his mind. He stood, looking around the dark room that he'd been imprisoned in for over a year. On the other side of the spherical force field that surrounded his platform was a figure.
Despite his eyes adjusting to the dim blue glow of the force field, he couldn't make out any specific details of the man's face, just that he was tall and wide. The boy didn't make any move, waiting for more information. This was the first time in…a while, he couldn't remember, that someone had addressed him. It was all nasty glares and physical threats with the regular visitors that replaced his food and water.
The figure was still, giving no indication that he would speak again. The silence stretched on. This was quite alright to him. Silence had been his companion most of the time since he'd first woken up here.
"I am Setrakus Ra."
The boy tilted his head to the side slowly.
"So you have heard of me." There was a note of satisfaction in the gravelly voice.
"What do you want?" The boy asked neutrally.
Setrakus studied the boy one last time before leaving. Outside the room, Commander Maltoch awaited him. "What are your orders, sir?"
"Leave him."
Maltoch's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure that's…wise, Beloved Leader?"
Setrakus Ra turned dangerous eyes towards the commander. His face immediately turned downward, his eyes relaxing. "He's docile, as he's been since he was brought in. Assign a guard, but keep him here."
"Yes, Leader."