I Am Number Four (7 page)

“There’s somebody out there,” he says.

I look at the clock on the wall. Nearly an hour has passed. I’m sweating, out of breath, unsettled by the scenes of slaughter I just witnessed. For the first time in my life I truly understand what happened on Lorien. Before tonight the events were just part of another
story, not all that different from the many I have read in books. But now I have seen the blood, the tears, the dead. I have seen the destruction. It’s a part of who I am.

Outside, darkness has set in. Three more scratches at the door, a low groan. We both jump. I immediately think of the low groans I heard coming from the beasts.

Henri rushes into the kitchen and grabs a knife from the drawer beside the sink. “Get behind the couch.”

“What, why?”

“Because I said so.”

“You think that little knife is going to take down a Mogadorian?”

“If I hit them straight in the heart it will. Now get down.”

I scramble off the coffee table and crouch behind the sofa. The two cauldrons of fire are still going, faint visions of Lorien still moving through my mind. An impatient growl comes from the other side of the front door. There is no mistaking that somebody, or something, is out there. My heart races.

“Keep down,” Henri says.

I lift my head so that I can peer over the back of the couch. All that blood, I think. Surely they knew they were outmatched. But they fought to the end anyway, dying to save each other, dying to save Lorien. Henri grips the knife tightly. He slowly reaches for the brass knob. Anger sweeps through me. I hope it
is
one of
them. Let a Mogadorian come through that door. He’ll meet his match.

There’s no way I’m staying behind this couch. I reach over and grab one of the cauldrons, thrust my hand into it and pull out a burning piece of wood with a pointed end. It’s cool to the touch, but the fire burns on, sweeping over and around my hand. I hold the piece of wood like a dagger.
Let them come,
I think.
There will be no more running.
Henri looks over at me, takes a deep breath and rips the front door open.

EVERY MUSCLE IN MY BODY IS FLEXED, EVERYTHING
tense. Henri jumps through the doorway and I am ready to follow. I can feel the
thud-thud-thud
in my chest. My fingers are white knuckled around the piece of wood still burning. A gust of wind bursts through the door and the fire dances in my hand and crawls up my wrist. No one is there. All at once Henri’s body relaxes and he chuckles, looking down at his feet. There, looking up at Henri through the tops of his eyes, is the same beagle I saw yesterday at school. The dog wags his tail and paws at the ground. Henri reaches down and pets him; then the dog pushes past and trots into the house with his tongue dangling.

“What’s he doing here?” I ask.

“You know this dog?”

“I saw him at school. He was following me around yesterday after you dropped me off.”

I put the piece of wood back and wipe my hand on my jeans, leaving a trail of black ash down the front. The dog sits at my feet and looks up expectantly, his tail thumping against the hardwood floor. I sit on the couch and watch both fires burn. Now that the excitement of the situation is over, my mind goes back to what I just saw in my vision. I can still hear the screams in my ears, still see the way the blood shimmered in the grass in the moonlight, still see the bodies and fallen trees, the red glow in the eyes of the beasts of Mogadore and the terror in the eyes of the Loric.

I look at Henri. “I saw what happened. At least the beginning of it.”

He nods. “I thought you might.”

“I could hear your voice. Were you talking to me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. “It was a massacre. There was too much hatred for them to only be interested in our resources. There was more to it than that.”

Henri sighs and sits on the coffee table across from me. The dog jumps into my lap. I pet him. He’s filthy, his coat stiff and oily under my hand. There is a tag in the shape of a football attached to the front of his collar. It’s an old tag, most of the brown paint worn away. I take it in my hand, the number 19 on one side, the name
BERNIE KOSAR
on the other.

“Bernie Kosar,” I say. The dog wags his tail. “I guess
that’s his name, same as that dude in the poster on my wall. Popular guy around here, I guess.” I run my hand down his back. “He doesn’t seem like he has a home,” I say. “And he’s hungry.” Somehow I can tell.

Henri nods. He looks down at Bernie Kosar. The dog stretches out, rests his chin on his paws, and closes his eyes. I flip open the lighter and hold the flame over my fingers, then my palm, then run it up the underside of my arm. Only when the flame is an inch or two away from my elbow do I feel the burn. Whatever Henri has done has worked, and my resistance has spread. I wonder how long it will take until all of me becomes resistant.

“So what happened?” I ask.

Henri takes a deep breath. “I’ve had those visions, too. So real it’s like you’re there.”

“I never realized how bad it all was. I mean, I know you had told me, but I didn’t truly understand it until I saw it with my own eyes.”

“The Mogadorians are different than we are, secretive and manipulative, untrusting of almost everything. They have certain powers, but they’re not powers like ours. They are gregarious and thrive in crowded cities. The more densely populated, the better. That is why you and I stay out of cities now, even when living in one might make it easier to blend in. It would make it a hell of a lot easier for them to blend in as well.

“About a hundred years ago Mogadore began to die, much like Lorien did twenty-five thousand years before that. They didn’t respond the way we did, though—didn’t understand it the way the human population is beginning to now. They ignored it. They killed their oceans and flooded their rivers and lakes with waste and sewage to keep adding to their cities. The vegetation started to die, which caused the herbivores to die, and then the carnivores weren’t far behind. They knew they had to do something drastic.”

Henri closes his eyes, remains silent for a full minute.

“Do you know the closest life-sustaining planet to Mogadore?” he finally asks.

“Yes, it’s Lorien. Or was, I guess.”

Henri nods. “Yes, it
is
Lorien. And I’m sure you know now that it was our resources they were after.”

I nod. Bernie Kosar lifts his head and lets out a deep yawn. Henri heats a cooked chicken breast in the microwave, cuts it into strips, then carries the plate back to the couch and sets it in front of the dog. He eats with ferocity, as though he hasn’t eaten in days.

“There are a large number of Mogadorians on Earth,” Henri continues. “I don’t know how many are here, but I can feel them when I sleep. Sometimes I can see them in my dreams. I can never tell where they are, or what they are saying. But I see them. And I don’t think the six of you are the only reason there are so many of them here.”

“What do you mean? Why else would they be here?”

Henri looks me in the eye. “Do you know what the second-closest life-sustaining planet is to Mogadore?”

I nod. “It’s Earth, isn’t it?”

“Mogadore is double the size of Lorien, but Earth is five times the size of Mogadore. In terms of defense Earth is better prepared for an offensive because of its size. The Mogadorians will need to understand this planet better before they can attack. I can’t necessarily tell you how we were defeated so easily because there’s much of it I still don’t understand. But I can say for sure that part of it was a combination of their knowledge of our planet and our people, and the fact that we had no defense other than our intelligence and the Garde’s Legacies. Say what you will about the Mogadorians, but they are brilliant strategists when it comes to war.”

We sit through another silence, the wind still roaring outside.

“I don’t think they’re interested in taking Earth’s resources,” Henri says.

I sigh and look up at him. “Why not?”

“Mogadore is still dying. Even though they’ve patched the more pressing matters, the planet’s death is inevitable, and they know it. I think they’re planning to kill the humans. I think they want to make Earth their permanent home.”

I bathe Bernie Kosar after dinner, using shampoo and conditioner. I brush him with an old comb left in one of the drawers from the last tenant. He looks and smells much better, but his collar still stinks. I throw it away. Before going to bed I hold open the front door for him, but he isn’t interested in going back outside. Instead he lies down on the floor and rests his chin on his front paws. I can feel his desire to stay in the house with us. I wonder if he can feel my desire for the same.

“I think we have a new pet,” Henri says.

I smile. As soon as I saw him earlier I was hoping Henri would let me keep him.

“Looks like it,” I say.

A half hour later I crawl into bed and Bernie Kosar jumps up with me and curls into a ball at my feet. He is snoring within minutes. I lie on my back for a while, staring into the darkness, a million different thoughts swimming in my head. Images from the war: the greedy, hungry look of the Mogadorians; the angry, hard look of the beasts; the death and the blood. I think of the beauty of Lorien. Will it again sustain life, or will Henri and I go on waiting here on Earth forever?

I try to push the thoughts and images from my mind, but they don’t stay gone for very long. I get up and pace for a while. Bernie Kosar lifts his head and watches me, but then drops it and falls back to sleep. I sigh, grab my phone from the nightstand and go through it
to make sure Mark James didn’t mess with anything. Henri’s number is still there, but it is no longer the only entry. Another number, listed under the name of “Sarah Hart” has been added. After the last bell rang, and before coming to my locker, Sarah added her number to my phone.

I close the phone, set it on the nightstand, and smile. Two minutes pass and I check my phone again to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. I wasn’t. I snap it shut and set it down, only to lift it again five minutes later just to look at her number again. I don’t know how long it takes to fall asleep, but I eventually do. When I wake in the morning my phone is still in my hand, resting against my chest.

BERNIE KOSAR IS SCRATCHING AT MY BEDROOM
door when I wake. I let him outside. He patrols the yard, rushing along with his nose to the ground. Once he’s covered all four corners he bolts across the yard and disappears into the woods. I close the door and jump into the shower. I walk out ten minutes later and he’s back inside, sitting on the couch. His tail wags when he sees me.

“You let him in?” I ask Henri, who is at the kitchen table with his laptop open and four newspapers stacked in front of him.

“Yes.”

After a quick breakfast, we head out. Bernie Kosar rushes ahead of us, then stops and sits looking up at the passenger door of the truck.

“That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” I say.

Henri shrugs. “Apparently he’s no stranger to car
rides. Let him in.”

I open the door and he jumps in. He sits in the middle seat with his tongue dangling. When we pull out of the driveway he moves into my lap and paws at the window. I roll it down and he sticks half his body out, mouth still open, the wind flapping his ears. Three miles later Henri pulls in to the school. I open the door and Bernie Kosar jumps out ahead of me. I lift him back into the truck but he jumps right back out. I lift him back in again and have to block him from jumping out while I close the truck door. He stands on his hind legs with his front paws on the ledge of the door, the window still down. I pat him on the head.

“Have your gloves?” Henri asks.

“Yep.”

“Phone?”

“Yep.”

“How do you feel?”

“I feel good,” I say.

“Okay. Call me if you have any sort of trouble.”

He pulls away and Bernie Kosar watches from the back window until the truck disappears around the turn.

I feel a similar nervousness as I did the day before, but for different reasons. Part of me wants to see Sarah right away, though part of me hopes that I don’t see her at all. I’m not sure what I’ll say to her. What if I can’t think of anything at all and stand there looking
foolish? What if she’s with Mark when I see her? Should I acknowledge her and risk another confrontation, or just walk by and pretend that I don’t see either of them? At the very least I’ll see them both in second period. There’s no getting around that.

I head to my locker. My bag is filled with books I was supposed to read the night before but never opened. Too many thoughts and images running through my head. They haven’t gone away and it’s hard to imagine they ever will. It was all so different from what I expected. Death isn’t like what they show you in the movies. The sounds, the looks, the smells. So different.

At my locker I notice immediately that something’s off. The metal handle is covered with dirt, or what looks like dirt. I’m not sure if I should open it, but then I take a deep breath and force the handle up.

The locker is half filled with manure and as I swing the door open, much of it comes pouring out onto the floor, covering my shoes. The smell is horrendous. I slam the door shut. Sam Goode was standing behind it and his sudden appearance from out of nowhere startles me. He is looking forlorn, wearing a white NASA T-shirt only slightly different from the one he wore yesterday.

“Hi, Sam,” I say.

He looks down at the pile of manure on the floor, then back at me.

“You, too?” I ask.

He nods.

“I’m going to the principal’s office. Do you want to come?”

He shakes his head, then turns and walks away without saying a word. I walk to Mr. Harris’s office, knock on his door, then enter without waiting for his reply. He is sitting behind his desk, wearing a tie that is tiled with the school mascot, no less than twenty tiny pirate heads scattered across the front of it. He smiles proudly at me.

“It’s a big day, John,” he says. I don’t know what he is talking about. “The reporters from the
Gazette
should be here within the hour. Front page!”

Then I remember, Mark James’s big interview with the local paper.

“You must be very proud,” I say.

“I’m proud of each and every one of Paradise’s students.” The smile doesn’t leave his face. He leans back in his chair, locks his fingers together, and rests his hands on his stomach. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to let you know that my locker was filled with manure this morning.”

“What do you mean ‘filled’?”

“I mean the whole thing was full of manure.”

“With manure?” he asks confusedly.

“Yes.”

He laughs. I’m taken aback by his total lack of regard, and anger surges through me. My face is warm.

“I wanted to let you know so it could be cleaned. Sam Goode’s locker is filled with it, too.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I’ll send Mr. Hobbs, the janitor, down immediately and we’ll make a full investigation.”

“We both know who did it, Mr. Harris.”

He flashes a patronizing grin at me. “I’ll handle the investigation, Mr. Smith.”

There’s no point in saying anything further, so I walk out of his office and head to the bathroom to run cold water over my hands and face. I have to calm down. I don’t want to have to wear the gloves again today. Maybe I should do nothing at all, just let it slide. Will that end it? And besides, what other choice is there? I’m outmatched and my only ally is a hundred-pound sophomore with a penchant for the extraterrestrial. Maybe that isn’t the whole truth—maybe I have another ally in Sarah Hart.

I look down. My hands are fine, no glow. I walk out of the bathroom. The janitor is already sweeping the manure from my locker, lifting out books and placing them in the trash. I walk past him and into the classroom and wait for class to start. Rules of grammar are discussed, the main topic being the difference between a gerund and a verb, and why a gerund is not a verb. I
pay closer attention than I did the day before, but as the end of the period nears I start to get nervous about the next class. But not because I might see Mark…because I might see Sarah. Will she smile at me again today? I think it’ll be best to arrive before she does so I can find my seat and watch her walk in. That way I can see if she says hello to me first.

When the bell rings, I dash out of class and rush down the hall. I’m the first one to enter astronomy. The classroom fills and Sam sits beside me again. Just before the bell rings Sarah and Mark enter together. She’s dressed in a white button-up shirt and black pants. She smiles at me before sitting down. I smile back. Mark doesn’t look my way at all. I can still smell the manure on my shoes, or maybe the odor is coming from Sam’s.

He pulls a pamphlet from his bag with the title
They Walk Among Us
on the cover. It looks as though it was printed in somebody’s basement. Sam flips to an article in the center and starts reading intently.

I look at Sarah four desks in front of me, at her hair pulled back in a ponytail. I can see the nape of her slender neck. She crosses her legs and sits straight in her chair. I wish I were sitting beside her, that I could reach over and take her hand in mine. I wish it were eighth period already. I wonder if I’ll be her partner in home ec again.

Mrs. Burton begins lecturing. She’s still on the topic
of Saturn. Sam takes out a sheet of paper and begins scribbling wildly, pausing at times to consult an article in the magazine he has opened beside him. I look over his shoulder and read the title: “Entire Montana Town Abducted by Aliens.”

Before last night I would have never pondered such a theory. But Henri believes the Mogadorians are plotting to take over Earth, and I must admit, even though the theory in Sam’s publication is ludicrous, at its most basic level there might be something there. I know for a fact that the Loric have visited Earth many times over the life of this planet. We watched Earth develop, watched it through the times of growth and abundance when everything moved, and through the times of ice and snow when nothing did. We helped the humans, taught them to make fire, gave them the tools to develop speech and language, which is why our language is so similar to the languages of Earth. And even though we never abducted humans, that doesn’t mean it’s never been done. I look at Sam. I’ve never met somebody with a fascination in aliens to the point of reading and taking notes on conspiracy theories.

Just then the door opens and Mr. Harris sticks his smiling face in.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Burton. I’m going to have to snag Mark from you. The
Gazette
reporters are here
to interview him for the paper,” he says loudly enough so everyone in the class can hear.

Mark stands, grabs his bag and casually strolls out of the room. From the doorway I see Mr. Harris pat him on the back. Then I look back at Sarah, wishing I could sit in the empty seat beside her.

Fourth period is physical education. Sam is in my class. After changing we sit beside each other on the gymnasium floor. He is wearing tennis shoes, shorts, a T-shirt two or three sizes too large. He looks like a stork, all knees and elbows, somewhat lanky even though he’s short.

The gym teacher, Mr. Wallace, stands firmly in front of us, his feet shoulder width apart, his hands clenched into fists on his hips.

“All right, guys, listen up. This is probably the last chance we’ll get to work outdoors, so make it count. One-mile run, as hard as you can. Your times will be noted and saved for when we run the mile again in the spring. So run hard!”

The outside track is made of synthetic rubber. It circles around the football field, and beyond it are some woods that I imagine might lead to our house, but I’m not sure. The wind is cool and goose bumps traverse the length of Sam’s arms. He tries to rub them away.

“Have you run this before?” I ask.

Sam nods. “We ran it the second week of class.”

“What was your time?”

“Nine minutes and fifty-four seconds.”

I look at him. “I thought skinny kids are supposed to be fast.”

“Shut up,” he says.

I run side by side with Sam towards the back of the crowd. Four laps. That is how many times I must circle the track to have run a mile. Halfway around I begin to pull away from Sam. I wonder how fast I could run a mile if I really tried. Two minutes, maybe one, maybe less?

The exercise feels great, and without paying much attention, I pass the lead runner. Then I slow and feign exhaustion. When I do I see a brown and white blur come dashing out of the bushes by the entrance of the grandstand and head straight towards me.
My mind is playing tricks on me
, I think. I look away and keep running. I pass the teacher. He is holding a stopwatch. He yells words of encouragement but he is looking behind me, away from the track. I follow his eyes. They are fixated on the brown and white blur. It is still coming straight for me and all at once the images from the day before come rushing back. The Mogadorian beasts. There were small ones too, with teeth that glinted in the light like razor blades, fast creatures intent on killing. I start sprinting.

I run halfway around the track in a dead sprint before I turn back around. There is nothing behind me. I have outrun it. Twenty seconds have passed. Then I turn back around and the thing is right in front of me. It must have cut across the field. I stop dead in my tracks and my perspective corrects itself. It’s Bernie Kosar! He’s sitting in the middle of the track with his tongue dangling, tail wagging.

“Bernie Kosar!” I yell. “You scared the hell out of me!”

I resume running at a slow pace and Bernie Kosar runs alongside me. I hope nobody noticed how fast I ran. Then I stop and bend over as though I have cramps and can’t catch my breath. I walk for a bit. Then I jog a little. Before I finish the second lap two people have passed me.

“Smith! What happened? You were dusting everyone!” Mr. Wallace yells when I run by him.

I breathe heavily, for show. “I—have—asthma,” I say.

He shakes his head in disapproval. “And here I thought I had this year’s Ohio state track champion in my class.”

I shrug and keep going, stopping every so often to walk. Bernie Kosar stays with me, sometimes walking, sometimes trotting. When I start the last lap Sam catches up to me and we run together. His face is bright red.

“So what were you reading in astronomy today?” I ask. “An entire Montana town abducted by aliens?”

He grins at me. “Yeah, that’s the theory,” he says somewhat shyly, as though embarrassed.

“Why would an entire town be abducted?”

Sam shrugs, doesn’t answer.

“No, really?” I ask.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course.”

“Well, the theory is that the government has been allowing alien abductions in exchange for technology.”

“Really? What kind of technology?” I ask.

“Like chips for supercomputers and formulas for more bombs and green technologies. Stuff like that.”

“Green technology for live specimens? Weird. Why do aliens want to abduct humans?”

“So they can study us.”

“But why? I mean, what reason could they possibly have?”

“So that when Armageddon comes they’ll know our weaknesses and be able to easily defeat us by exposing them.”

I’m kind of taken aback by his answer, but only because of the scenes still playing in my head from the night before, remembering the weapons I saw the Mogadorians use, and the massive beasts.

“Wouldn’t it be easy for them if they already have bombs and technologies far superior to our own?”

“Well, some people seem to think that they’re hoping
we’ll kill ourselves first.”

I look at Sam. He is smiling at me, trying to decide whether I’m taking the conversation seriously.

“Why would they want us to kill ourselves first? What is their incentive?”

“Because they’re jealous.”

“Jealous of us? Why, because of our rugged good looks?”

Sam laughs. “Something like that.”

I nod. We run in silence for a minute and I can tell Sam is having a tough time, breathing heavily. “How did you get interested in all this?”

He shrugs. “It’s just a hobby,” he says, though I get the distinct feeling that he’s keeping something from me.

We finish the mile at eight minutes fifty-nine seconds, better than the last time Sam ran it. Bernie Kosar follows the class back to the school. The others pet him, and when we walk in he tries to come in with us. I don’t know how he knew where I was. Could he have memorized the way to the school this morning on the ride in? The thought seems ridiculous.