United as One (4 page)

I observe all this during the few seconds it takes Lexa to extend the exit ramp and power down the ship. Surveying our surroundings is a good distraction, a way to avoid looking at John. His face is a mask, his gaze icy, and I still haven't figured out what the hell I'm going to say to him.

Our battle-ravaged group slowly walks down the ramp. I hear mutterings from our military observers and can't help noticing the cringing looks on our friends' faces. We're covered in blood and dirt, beat up, exhausted. Plus, Ella is giving off that faint glow of Loric energy. We look like hell.

Malcolm's got a gurney, and he pushes it across the grass to meet Adam, who is carrying Marina in his arms. It takes me a second to notice that Mark hasn't gotten off the ship; he's staying with Sarah's body.

Before I can stop him, Sam has me wrapped in a hug. Only when his arms are around me do I realize how badly I'm shaking.

“You're all right now,” he whispers into my tangled mop of hair.

I steel myself, trying not to break down even though I very badly want to, and wiggle out of Sam's arms. I look towards John, but he's already standing over Marina, his hands glowing softly as he holds her head. There's a look of deep concentration on his face as he heals her, and it takes so long that I start to hold my breath, worried that the damage Setrákus Ra inflicted is too great. After a long moment where everyone watches in total silence, John steps back with a drained sigh. Marina shifts a bit on her gurney but doesn't wake up.

“Is she . . . ?” Adam starts to ask.

“It was bad, but she'll be okay,” John replies, his voice completely neutral. “She just needs some rest.”

With that, John steps away from the group and walks up the ramp of the ship.

“John, hold on,” I hear myself say, even though I've got no idea what my follow-up is going to be.

He pauses and looks over his shoulder at me, although he doesn't meet my eyes.

“I'm sorry that we couldn't—that I couldn't protect her,” I tell him, my voice getting shaky and, even though I'm mortified to hear it, a little desperate. “I swear I killed
him, John. I put one right in his goddamn heart.”

John nods, and I can see a vein in his neck twitching, like he's trying to control himself.

“We aren't to blame for the actions of our enemies,” John replies to me, and the line sounds canned, practiced, like he knew this conversation was coming. Without another word, he climbs the ramp and disappears into Lexa's ship.

A somber silence follows. The military personnel return to the cabin, which must have some pretty major underground levels to accommodate them all, and Nine starts to lead our group inside after them. I gaze after John, Sam lingering at my side.

“I'm sorry, Six, but you didn't.”

It's Ella. She stands next to me, looking up at me with those eyes empty of everything but swirling Loric energy. I must look shaky again, because Sam puts his arm around me, holding me up.

“Didn't what?”

“Kill him,” Ella replies. “You hurt him bad, but . . . I can still feel him out there. Setrákus Ra is alive.”

AS SOON AS I'M ON BOARD THE SHIP, BERNIE
Kosar steps in front of me. His tail droops between his legs, and he stretches his front paws out, arching his spine low, his head down. It's like he's bowing to me, or expecting me to swat him with a rolled-up newspaper. From deep in his belly, he lets out a low, mournful howl.

It takes me a second to realize why he's doing this. Back in Chicago, the last time I saw Sarah, I'd sent BK with her. I'd told BK to keep her safe.

Oh God, BK, it's not your fault
, I say to him telepathically. I kneel down, put my arm around his furry neck and hug him close. BK slobbers wetly against my cheek and whines. Tears string the corners of my eyes, the first ones that have come since I heard Sarah's fading voice piped over my satellite phone.

The tears aren't for me. First Six, now BK—the guilt they're feeling, it wrecks me. Sarah was their friend,
too. They're feeling this loss just like I am, and it's compounded by the fact that they both think they let me down, that I'm going to blame them. I should've spoken to Six, should've said something more, but I just couldn't find the right words. I should've told her that there are only two people I hold responsible for what happened to Sarah.

Setrákus Ra.

And myself.

I've never been good at expressing those kinds of feelings, talking about myself, my fears and weaknesses. Really, there's only one person I've ever felt truly comfortable opening up to about that stuff.

Sarah.

I stand up, walk farther into the ship and see her. In the ship's dim lighting, stretched out on a cot, a sheet pulled up to her chin—she could be sleeping. Her blond hair is fanned out on the pillow beneath her. Her skin is pale, so pale, the color drained from her lips. I walk forward feeling like I'm in a dream.

Mark James is here, too, sitting next to Sarah's bed. He stands up when I walk forward, and I'm vaguely aware of a murderous look on his face. For a second, I think he might get in my way. Looking at me he must think better of it, because he steps aside in a hurry. The anger in his eyes is replaced by curiosity, like I'm some strange animal.

Or like I'm an alien, capable of things he can't possibly understand.

He doesn't say anything when I kneel down next to Sarah. I pull the sheet back from her body, and it sticks to her side where the blood from her wounds has dried. She's all torn up.

I feel like I should cry. Or scream. But all I feel is empty.

And then my hands reach forward, unthinking, acting on some combination of instinct and desperation. I press down on her wounds, her skin cold beneath my fingertips, and let my healing energy flow into her.

When Sarah and Ella were riddled with blaster fire at Dulce Base, I managed to heal them. They were close to death, and I pulled them back. Maybe . . . maybe there is still hope now.

My hands heat up. They glow. Sarah's pale skin is suddenly tinged pink, and my heart skips a beat.

It's a trick of the light. My Legacy isn't working. There's no spark in Sarah left to rekindle.

I let the power seep away. Now that I've seen Sarah's wounds firsthand, the horrific visions that haunted me during the hours I'd waited are gone. It's become reality. With shaking hands, I cover Sarah's body with the sheet.

The morbid details aren't what I find myself focusing
on. They aren't what will stick with me. It's her face—tinted blue in the muted light. She doesn't look like she's in any pain; there are no lines creasing the skin and her eyes are closed. Sarah's lips are forever pursed into an almost-curious smile. I lean down and gently kiss that smile, not surprised by how cold her lips are. Then I put my head down, rest it on her chest. It probably looks like I'm listening for a heartbeat, but I'm just saying good-bye.

I don't cry. She wouldn't want me to do that. But the insomnia I was feeling before, it's gone now. I feel like I could finally rest, right here, with Sarah.

“Is that it?”

Mark. I'd completely forgotten he was in the room with me.

I lift my head and turn around slowly, without standing up. Mark's head is cocked; he stares at me, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“What?” I ask, surprised by how tired I sound.

“I said, is that it?” he repeats, the words harsher now. “Is that all you're going to do?”

“There's nothing else I can do, Mark,” I reply with a sigh. “She's gone.”

“You can't bring back the dead?”

“No. I'm not a god.”

Mark shakes his head like he expected that answer and is disappointed all the same. “Shit,” he says to
himself, then looks me right in the eye. “What the hell are you good for?”

I'm not going to do this with him. Not here. Not ever. I stand up slowly, take one last look at Sarah and walk wordlessly towards the ship's exit ramp.

Mark gets in my way.

“I asked you a question,” he says.

For a moment, his tone brings me back to Paradise High. I know this isn't the same jock who tormented me and Sam—now he's got a wild and haunted look in his eyes, unkempt hair and filthy clothes that would've embarrassed the hell out of the old Mark James. But he's still a master of that alpha-male voice. It makes him seem bigger than he is in reality.

“Mark,” I say warningly.

“You don't get to just walk away from this,” he replies.

“Get out of my way.”

He shoves me. The contact actually surprises me and causes me to stumble back a few steps. I stare at him.

“You're angry; you're hurting . . . ,” I say to Mark, keeping my voice measured even though I want to scream at him. Like I'm not feeling the same way. Like I don't want to punch through a wall. “But this—us? Fighting for no reason? That's not happening.”

“Oh, spare me your bigger-man routine, John,” Mark says. “I was there when she died.
Me.
Not you. She
spent her final moments on the goddamn phone with you, giving you a pep talk.
You.
The guy who got her killed.”

It stings to hear Mark say what I'd already been thinking.

“We were in love,” I tell him.

Mark rolls his eyes at me. “Maybe. Maybe you really were. But—come on. Mysterious new kid rolls into the small town, and oh, he's got superpowers. And oh, he's trying to save the world. What girl wouldn't fall for that shit, huh? Hell, look at me, standing here. Look at dumb-ass Sam Goode. We all got sucked into your vortex of suffering.”

“She didn't fall for anything. I didn't trick her.” My words are sharper now. He's starting to get under my skin. “We were in love before—before she even knew about me and what I am.”

“But you knew!” Mark yells, taking a step towards me. “You always knew what it meant to be around you and you—you went for her anyway! In all those towns you traveled to before Paradise, how many—how many other girls were there?”

I shake my head, losing the thread of what Mark's trying to prove. “There weren't—”

“Exactly! You kept it in your pants because you knew that being around you is a death sentence. Until Sarah. You just couldn't leave her alone. You got
selfish, or lonely, or whatever, and you—you got her killed. She'd be alive and happy if you had just gone to another town, John. Yeah, this whole invasion would still be happening, but I got a feeling the Mogadorian warships are a long way from Paradise. Without you, without your needy bullshit, she at least would've had a chance.”

I don't know how to respond. Part of what Mark's saying is true, but it ignores so much of what Sarah and I shared. Maybe it was selfish of me to involve her, except that every time I pushed her away she would come back. She made her own decisions. She was strong and made me stronger. And she was the first person on Earth who made it feel like I actually had a chance at a normal life, like there was something more than just endless running and fighting. Sarah gave me hope. But I don't have the words to explain that to Mark, and I don't even want to. I don't need to defend myself.

“You're right,” I say coldly, hoping that's enough to end this.

“I'm—I'm right?” Mark asks incredulously, eyes widening. “You think
that's
what I want to hear?”

I sigh. “Mark, the truth is, I don't care what you want. I never have.”

He hits me then. I see the punch coming a mile away, but I don't bother defending myself. It's a short
uppercut that catches me right in the stomach and causes me to suck in a sharp breath. It's not the first time that Mark has punched me, and he hits hard—maybe a little harder than I remember. But I've taken a lot of shots over the last few months, ones harder than Mark could begin to imagine, and this one I barely feel.

When I don't react to the first punch, Mark tries another. His heart isn't in it, though. He throws a haymaker at my head but seems to change his mind at the last moment, and his fist simply glances off the corner of my jaw. The force of his own punch carries Mark to the side, where he stumbles over one of the empty cots, landing in an awkward sitting position.

He stays there, staring at the floor, and takes deep, heaving breaths. I can tell he's trying not to cry.

“Do you feel better?” I ask, rubbing the middle of my chest.

“No,” he replies. “No, I don't.”

“What about when we end this war and destroy every Mog that stands in our way? Will you feel better then?”

Marks looks up at me, and what I see on his face surprises me. It's pity. I realize what I just said wasn't really a question for him. It's a question for me. I'm a little afraid to find out the answer.

“That won't bring her back,” he says.

I don't respond. I take one last look at Sarah and
walk back towards the ship's exit. In the doorway, I pause and half turn.

“Will you do something for me?” I ask him, my voice low, all the feeling sapped out.

Mark works his thumb across his raw knuckles. “What?”

“I'm going to get our military friends to loan us a vehicle. We're only a few hours away from Paradise. Would you . . . ?” My voice catches, and I brace one hand on the cool metal of the doorway. “Would you bring her home?”

Mark snorts. When he speaks, that bitterness is back in his voice. “Sure, John. I know you're busy, so I'll do the hard part for you. Should I tell her mom you say hi?”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath and let it go.

“Thank you, Mark,” I say without feeling, and then I'm leaving him and Sarah's body behind. I stride down the ship's ramp and across the lawn, heading back to the unimposing cabin that currently hides humanity's best hope for survival. The sun is coming up, a bright orange slash on the horizon, heating the cool blue of the lake. I think of Sarah's pale face, her icy lips, and then I remember how the sun would filter through her blond hair and she would've turned to me during a moment like this and squeezed my hand in that way of hers, and we would've shared it together.

I put the memories away. Bury them down somewhere deep. I head inside the cabin with one purpose and one purpose only.

I used to think there could be more for me than running and fighting.

Now all that's left is killing.