[Lorien Legacies 05.1] The Lost Files: The Fugitive, Page 2

  I think I see a shadow move out of the corner of my eye. I hold my breath and stand frozen for what feels like a long time, trying to figure out if there’s anyone around—squinting in the moonlight. But there’s nothing. The wind whistles, and I exhale.

  I run to one of the charred Humvees, staying close to the ground, and roll behind it. In movies, spies and badass cops are always rolling behind cover, but all this does is get sand all over me and in my eyes. I try not to cough as I blink for half a minute, telling myself not to be a douche bag and try to pull any fancy moves anymore. I just have to get in, find Sarah and get out.

  I spot my entry point. There’s a bunch of debris lying around a pit about twenty yards away from me where it looks like the ground has collapsed into some kind of sinkhole. I can just make out a few walls and stuff below—the hole must lead straight down into the facility. All I have to do is jump down and I’m in, no locks to try to get past or anything.

  Whatever battle took place here has given me a perfect way into the facility.

  I start for the hole, keeping my eyes peeled for any movement. I’m halfway between it and the Humvee when a blinding light appears from somewhere to my right.

  Shit.

  My eyes burn, and I can barely see as I try to run back to the Humvee to take cover. But then there’s another light that looks like it’s coming from on top of the wreckage. And then there are lights everywhere, stunning me, making it impossible for me to even know which direction I’m facing anymore. I’m not sure if this is some kind of defense system or if I’m about to be beamed up to a Mog ship or something. My head spins, and I start to hyperventilate, completely regretting not bringing the grenade with me.

  A figure emerges from the light, silhouetted. I can’t make out a face or anything. Can’t tell if it’s even a human or a Mog. I plant my feet and clench my fists.

  If this is my last stand, I have to make it count for something. I shout the first thing that comes to my mind.

  “I’ve come for Sa—”

  But before I can finish the sentence, someone attacks me from behind, and there’s fabric over my head. Everything goes dark. I swing around, flailing wildly, but I’m struggling against a bunch of people, and before I know it, my hands are cuffed in front of me.

  I’ve made a big mistake.

  I’m dragged through the sand until I’m inside some kind of building, my feet kicking against a hard floor. I struggle and shout the whole time, but no one says anything to me. It’s like they can’t even hear me. Not until they start pushing me down some stairs and one of them threatens to Tase me if I don’t shut up. So I do.

  The bag over my head is scratchy against my face, and the air inside is thick with my rapid breathing. The more I think about what’s happening, the faster and deeper my breath gets, until I’m sucking a bunch of fabric into my mouth every time I inhale.

  I’m afraid I’m going to die here. I’m going to be Mog food. Or I’m going to end up a human lab rat. My parents will never know what happened to me. I’m going to become an unsolved case, just some good-looking dude with an all-American past as Ohio’s greatest quarterback that ends up on a bunch of MISSING posters for a while.

  You’re an idiot, Mark.

  Someone forces me into a chair and rips the bag off my head. The lights are way too bright, and I wince. I try to cover my eyes with my cuffed hands when I realize they’ve been chained to the center of a metal desk in front of me. I pull against them with all my strength, but there’s no way I’m breaking free.

  I am in way over my head.

  I look around frantically. The room is small and looks empty except for the high-powered lamp shining right in my face. There’s nothing in here but me, the desk and the light.

  And a voice.

  “Mark James,” a woman says.

  It’s a voice I sort of recognize but can’t really place. I hear a few footsteps from somewhere behind the light and squint as the woman comes into view.

  And then I realize why I know her. She has red hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. One of her arms is in a sling, peeking out from underneath her black jacket. She couldn’t look more pissed off.

  “Agent Walker?” I ask.

  She sighs and raises her good arm to her face. She closes her eyes and rubs one temple.

  “You’re a real pain in the ass, kid,” she says, shaking her head.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT’S ODDLY COMFORTING TO SEE AGENT WALKER instead of a Mog, but I’m not sure how much of a lucky break it is since she’s sneering at me. After being dragged into the base with a bag over my head, I can’t stop my hands from shaking. The chains around my wrists keep jingling.

  It’s some kind of cosmic joke that she’s the one here, like I’ve traveled all this way but ended up exactly where I started. I try to think back to the last time I saw her, when she came to my grandmother’s house asking about Sarah—the morning I found out she was missing. Walker had been her steely self, but there’d been a moment or two in our conversation when it had actually seemed like she was letting her hard-ass persona slip and was acting like a real human. Someone who cared about the fact that the girl she’d been keeping a “protective watch” over had disappeared. She seemed . . . sympathetic.

  But I have no idea how much of the Mog Kool-Aid she’s been drinking since then, and I know I can’t count on her to cut me any slack. I’m in trouble for trespassing, but there’s a chance that she doesn’t know anything about the computer I swiped yet. There’s still a chance I can talk my way out of this.

  Maybe.

  “Uh, hi,” I say. I raise my hands to wave, but all that does is remind both of us that I’m chained to the table.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks. Her voice sounds like she’s equally pissed and impressed, so at least I have that last bit going for me.

  “I’m on vacation,” I say. I’m painfully aware of how lame of an excuse this is, so I keep talking. “Well, not vacation, really. The University of Arizona offered me a football scholarship, so I’m on my way down there and figured I’d stop and check out this base I’d heard about on Ancient ETs or one of those shows and—”

  “Don’t try to bullshit me, Mark,” she says. “You’re terrible at it.”

  I try to laugh.

  “No, no. I’m just a little on edge because of all the black bags and stuff, you know? This place looked abandoned from the outside. I didn’t think anyone was here.”

  Her smile comes back. The one she always had in Paradise. The fake one that says, No matter what you may think, I’m the one in charge here.

  “Right,” she says. “I’m sure your nervousness has nothing to do with, oh, I don’t know—a stolen FBI computer?”

  Well, so much for trying to charm my way out of this. I’m screwed. I’m in so far over my head that I can barely breathe. This fact must register on my face, because she keeps talking.

  “Do you have any idea what the punishment for stealing classified intel like that is?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter. My voice actually cracks a little, like I’m a damned thirteen-year-old. I clear my throat and try to regroup.

  She shakes her head.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I told you, Arizona State—”

  “Earlier you said University of Arizona. We both know that’s not true.”

  I try to remain calm.

  “I should probably call someone to let them know I’m here,” I say, trying to remember all the rules of due process I learned from my dad over the years. “If you’re arresting me for trespassing, I still get a phone call, right? And shouldn’t I have a lawyer or something here too?”

  At this, she starts to laugh. It starts out genuine, like I’ve just told the best joke she’s ever heard, but by the time it dies down, the laughter is sad.

  “Start talking,” she finally says, “or I’m going to have to bring in someone less understanding than me to i
nterrogate you.”

  We stare at each other. At this point, I figure there’s no harm in telling her the truth. Or at least some of it. I have nothing else to lose.

  “I’m here for Sarah,” I say. “I know you took her.”

  Walker purses her lips. She keeps her eyes trained on me. I swear she hasn’t blinked since I sat down.

  “And you think Sarah is here because of something you read on the computer you stole?”

  “You were supposed to be protecting her,” I say, raising my voice. All I can think of now is how much Walker and her fellow agents lied to us in Paradise. How they watched us, worked with the Mogs—how they took my dad’s job away from him and kidnapped the only person who was keeping me sane. “Isn’t that the bullshit you told me and Sarah? That you were going to make sure nothing bad happened to us? I should have known you were all working for the damned Mogs and—”

  Walker slams her fist down on the table between us. I shut up. She lets out a long breath and then starts to pace around the room.

  “I didn’t know Sarah Hart was going to be taken,” she says. “When I came to your house looking for her, it’s because I really was concerned.”

  “Concerned about her, or that you’d lost a potential lead on John Smith?” I spit.

  “Both,” she says, turning back to me. “If you’re here, that means you know a lot more about what’s going on in the world than most. At least enough to know how bad things could get for all of us. Hell, you probably know more than me at this point after stealing that computer.”

  I shrug. “The laptop basically self-destructed. I don’t know anything important.” I’m so obviously out of my league here, and there’s nothing I can do but apologize and try to convince this woman that I’m a dumb jock. Maybe they haven’t found my truck and searched it yet. “I don’t have it with me. But if you let me go, I can get it and send it back to the guy I took it from. What’s his name? Agent . . .”

  “Purdy,” Walker says. There’s weight to her voice when she says his name. Something in her face changes.

  “Yeah,” I say. “The piggish-looking dude.”

  She shoots me a look that reminds me of one my grandmother only saved for the worst offenses.

  “He doesn’t need it anymore,” she says slowly. “He’s dead.”

  She’s quiet for a few seconds, as if she’s trying to work something out in her head. Maybe I’m just desperate to not be thrown into FBI prison, but Agent Walker actually looks upset about Purdy being gone.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of.

  She nods but remains quiet.

  “Was there some kind of attack or something?” I ask. This sounds like a question about Purdy, but what I really want to know is anything about Sarah. To gather info.

  “A lot has changed around here in the last few days,” she finally says. “I’m not sure anything will be the same from now on. For the Bureau. For us. Hell, even for Earth. The things I’ve seen . . .” Her mind wanders off for a moment.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  She shakes her head.

  “What am I going to do with you? I have much bigger things to take care of and incredibly limited resources.” She adjusts her sling and grimaces a little. “We should have already left this place. It’s only a matter of time before they realize what we’re doing.”

  I don’t know who “they” is exactly, but I see my opening.

  “Well . . . ,” I start reluctantly. “You could always pretend I was never here and let me and Sarah go.”

  She starts circling the table, ignoring my proposition.

  “I read your files in Paradise, Mark. You were an athlete. Not the best in school academically, but you excelled at what interested you.”

  “Thanks?”

  “We never really thought you were involved in any of this. But then you went and stole Purdy’s computer. You’ve gotten yourself into quite a predicament. There are other agents from the Bureau out there trying to hunt you down as we speak.” She stops beside me.

  “I only took that computer because I was trying to find Sarah,” I say. Which is true, but also leaves out the part about me being an editor for They Walk Among Us and someone who’s trying to dig up any information he can about the Mogs and leak it to the public. The last thing I want is for her or the government to realize that I’m also JOLLYROGER182. As a teenager trying to track down his ex, I’m kind of excusable, but as a rebel blogger, I’m probably a big, fat target.

  “I figured as much,” she says. “But I don’t really think most of our agents—or the people they’re now working for—really care. If I thought it would actually ensure your safety, I’d put you into protective custody immediately. As things are, though, I think that would be on par with throwing you to the wolves. And I don’t exactly have men to spare here. . . .” She seems like she’s talking more to herself now, hardly looking at me.

  I try to comprehend all the things she’s just told me.

  “You . . . aren’t working with the Mogs, then?”

  She twists her lips a little bit into a small frown.

  “I work for the American people,” she says firmly. “For a while, that meant working with the Mogadorians. Now I’m not so sure.”

  The door behind me opens, and another agent comes in. One I remember as being Walker’s flunky in Paradise. I think his name was Noto. He whispers something to Walker. Her posture goes rigid.

  “We’ll move at oh-eight-hundred hours,” she says. “I want every asset we can strip from this base loaded up before then. We can’t be caught unprepared if things go south.”

  “What about the agents still loyal to the Mogadorians?” Noto asks. “Should we release them?”

  “The Mogs or the Bureau will send a team when they realize this base has gone dark. The agents will be fine. Let them sit and think about where their loyalties lie.”

  “And him?”

  Walker turns back to me, pursing her lips a little.

  “I’ll deal with him,” Walker says.

  Noto nods and hurries out of the room.

  I take a deep breath and try my luck again.

  “Take me to Sarah and let us go,” I plead, leaning forward onto the desk. “Please. I just want to make sure she’s all right. If you can’t protect us here, let us protect ourselves. We’ll disappear.”

  Agent Walker looks at me for a few seconds before nodding.

  “Sarah’s fine,” she says, and I breathe out a long sigh of relief. “Or she was when they broke her out of here and destroyed most of this facility.”

  “They?” I ask.

  She snorts a little bit.

  “Who do you think? Your old friends who caused such a scene at Paradise High.”

  John. Sarah’s with John.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WALKER TELLS ME TO LAY LOW AND THAT IF SHE sees me again, she’ll personally make sure that I’m shipped back to Paradise. Luckily, whatever she and the agents loyal to her are about to do must be more important than keeping tabs on me. Before I can try to pry any info about what’s happening out of Walker, two agents are shoving me through the half-ruined top level of the facility. I want to ask them a million questions about what’s going on and where they’re going, but the fact that I’m being released at all has stunned me into silence, as if one question might send me straight into another interrogation room.

  The agents are just black specks in my rearview mirror silhouetted against the rising sun by the time I finally breathe. And then I’m screaming and shaking my steering wheel and trying to calm down about the fact that I, in all seriousness, could be being tortured in a secret prison instead of driving away. I pull GUARD’s messenger bag out from under the backseat, happy to see that Walker’s agents either didn’t care if I still had Purdy’s computer or simply didn’t have time to look through my stuff. I’m so relieved that I got out of there that I’m a good fifteen miles away by the time I start to realize what all this means
. Sarah’s been rescued by John, but that doesn’t really mean she’s safe, since her boyfriend is a walking target. What are the Garde doing now? There are still a bunch of evil aliens gunning for them, not to mention the idiotic humans who’ve decided to work with the bad guys.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  I turn to the one person who might have a clue. I text GUARD.

  Me: Dulce’s a bust. FBI is abandoning it. Sarah’s gone. I think John and others got her out.

  He gets back to me almost immediately.

  GUARD: You got in and out and no one saw you? I’m impressed.

  Me: Nah. Ran in2 agent Walker from Paradise. She let me go. I think she’s turned against the Mogs.

  GUARD: That could be helpful. Where are you going now?

  Me: No damn clue. Can’t go home. Bad FBI are still looking for me.

  This whole time I’ve been so focused on trying to get Sarah out that I only really saw two possible outcomes: me getting locked up with her, or me rescuing her, then going on an anti-Mog campaign to help save the world. Now that she’s gone, my only real option is to try to find her. Again. I promised John when all this started that I’d keep her safe, but I’m doing this for me, not him. I want to make sure she’s okay. Plus, if she’s with the Garde, she’s the best link I have to everything that’s going on. Whatever she knows can be used on They Walk Among Us to help warn everyone about what’s happening with the Mogs and Garde. Hell, maybe I could even show photos or videos of John and his other alien friends doing crazy shit to convince people that these damned aliens I keep posting about are real.

  But first I have to find Sarah.

  And I don’t even know where to begin. She could be anywhere, and I have nothing to go off of.

  My new phone chirps.

  GUARD: If you’re still serious about fighting the Mogs, head towards Alabama. I can set up a base for you to work out of. You may have an easier time finding Sarah and John if you’re not on the road so much spending half your time driving.

  GUARD: Just take the long way there and stay out of sight for a few days so I have some time to work everything out.