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Speeding around the bend coming towards the school, very faintly so that nothing else can be seen, is a pair of headlights that slow, pass the exit, then turn into the entrance and quickly disappear. Six turns back to us. “All the doors are blocked. How else can we get out?”
I think about it, figuring that one of the unbarred windows in a different classroom is our best bet.
“We can get out through the gymnasium,” Sarah says. “There’s a passageway beneath the stage that opens like a cellar door in the back of the school.”
“Really?” I ask.
She nods, and I feel a sense of pride.
“Each of you take a hand,” Six says. I take her right, Sarah her left. “Be as quiet as possible. As long as you hold my hands, you’ll both be invisible. They won’t be able to see us, but they’ll hear us. Once we’re outside we’ll run like hell. We’ll never be able to escape them, not since they’ve found us. The only way to escape is to kill them, every last one of them, before the others arrive.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Do you know what that means?” Six says.
I shake my head. I’m not sure what she is asking me.
“There’s no escaping them now,” she says. “It means you’re going to have to fight.”
I mean to respond, but the shuffling I had heard earlier stops outside the door. Silence. Then the doorknob is jiggled. Number Six takes a deep breath and lets go of my hand.
“Never mind sneaking out,” she says. “The war starts now.”
She rushes up and thrusts her hands forward and the door breaks away from the jamb and crashes across the hallway. Splintered wood. Shattered glass.
“Turn your lights on!” she yells.
I snap them on. A Mogadorian stands amid the rubble of the broken door. It smiles, blood seeping from the corner of its mouth, where the door has hit it. Black eyes, pale skin as though the sun has never touched it. A cave-dwelling creature risen from the dead. It throws something that I don’t see and I hear Six grunt beside me. I look into its eyes and a pain tears through me so that I’m stuck where I am, unable to move. Darkness falls. Sadness. My body stiffens. A haze of pictures of the day of the invasion flicker through my mind: the death of women and children, my grandparents; tears, screams, blood, heaps of burning bodies. Six breaks the spell by lifting the Mogadorian in the air and hurling it against the wall. It tries standing and Six lifts it again, this time throwing it as hard as she can against one wall and then the other. The scout falls to the ground twisted and broken, its chest rising once and then becoming still. One or two seconds pass. Its entire body collapses into a pile of ash, accompanied by a sound similar to a bag of sand being dropped to the ground.
“What the hell?” I ask, wondering how it’s possible for the body to completely disintegrate like it just did.
“Don’t look into their eyes!” she yells, ignoring my confusion.
I think of the writer ofThey Walk Among Us . I now understand what he went through when looking into their eyes. I wonder if he welcomed death when the time finally came, welcomed it just to be rid of the images that perpetually played in his mind. I can only imagine how intense they would have become had Six not broken the spell.
Two other scouts sweep towards us from the end of the hall. A shroud of darkness surrounds them, as though they consume everything around them and turn it into black. Six stands tall in front of me, firm, chin held high. She is two inches shorter than I am, but her presence makes her seem two inches taller.
Sarah stands behind me. Both Mogadorians stop where the hallway intersects with another, their teeth bared in a sneer. My body is tense, muscles burning with exhaustion. They take deep, rasping breaths, which is what we heard outside the door, their breathing, not their walking. Watching us. And then a different noise fills the hallway, and the Mogadorians both turn their attention to it. A door being shaken as though somebody is trying to force it open. From out of nowhere there comes the sound of a gun blast, followed by the school door being kicked open. They both look surprised, and as they turn to flee, two more blasts boom through the hallway and both scouts are blown backwards. We hear the approaching sound of two sets of shoes and the click of a dog’s toenails. Six tenses beside me, ready for whatever is coming our way. Henri! It was his truck’s lights we saw enter the school grounds. He has a double-barreled shotgun I have never seen before. Bernie Kosar is at his side, and he comes sprinting towards me. I crouch down and lift him off the floor. He licks wildly at my face, and I’m so excited to see him that I almost forget to tell Six who the man with the shotgun is.
“It’s Henri,” I say. “My Cepan.”
Henri comes walking down, vigilant, looking at the classroom doors as he passes them, and behind him, carrying the Loric Chest in his arms, is Mark. I have no idea why Henri has brought him along. There is a crazed look in Henri’s eyes, one of exhaustion, full of fear and worry. I expect the worst after the way I left the house, some sort of scolding, perhaps a slap across the face, but he instead switches the shotgun to his left hand and hugs me as tightly as he can. I hug him back.
“I’m sorry, Henri. I didn’t know this would happen.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just happy you’re okay.” He says, “Come on, we have to get out of here. The whole damn school is surrounded.”
Sarah leads us to the safest room she can think of, which is the home economics kitchen down the hall.
We lock the door behind us. Six moves three refrigerators in front of it to keep anything from entering while Henri rushes to the windows and pulls the blinds down. Sarah walks straight into the kitchen we normally use, opens the drawer, and removes the biggest butcher’s knife she can find. Mark watches her, and when he sees what she has done, he drops the Chest to the floor and grabs a knife of his own. He rifles through other drawers and removes a meat-tenderizer hammer and tucks it into the waistband of his pants.
“You guys okay?” Henri asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Aside from the dagger in my arm, yes, I’m fine,” Six says.
I turn my lights on dimly and look at her arm. She wasn’t kidding. Where the biceps meets the shoulder a small dagger is sticking out. That was why I heard her gasp before she killed the scout. It had thrown a knife at her. Henri reaches up and pulls it free. She grunts.
“Thankfully it’s just a dagger,” she says, looking at me. “The soldiers will have swords that glow with different sorts of powers.”
I mean to ask what kind of powers, but Henri interrupts.
“Take this,” he says, and holds the shotgun out for Mark to take. He accepts it in his free hand without protest, staring in awe at everything he is witnessing around him. I wonder how much Henri has told him.
I wonder why Henri brought him along in the first place. I look back at Six. Henri presses a rag to her arm and she holds it in place. He steps over and lifts the Chest and sets it on the nearest table.
“Here, John,” he says.
Without explanation I help him unlock it. He throws the top open, reaches in, removes a flat rock every bit as dark as the aura surrounding the Mogadorians. Six seems to know what the rock is for. She takes her shirt off. Beneath it she is wearing a black and gray rubber suit very similar to the silver and blue suit I saw my father wear in my flashbacks. She takes a deep breath, offers Henri her arm. Henri thrusts the rock against the gash, and Six, with her teeth clenched tightly, grunts and writhes in pain. Sweat beads across her forehead, her face bright red under the strain, tendons standing out on her neck. Henri holds it there for nearly a full minute. He pulls the stone away and Six bends over at the waist, taking deep breaths to compose herself. I look at her arm. Aside from a bit of blood still glistening, the cut is completely healed, no scars, nothing aside from the small tear in the suit.