United as One (Lorien Legacies #7)(68)

“You are only delaying the inevitable, John,” she says. Phiri looks down at the two bodies—Bertrand and Fleur, barely recognizable, their skin charred black—and a new tentacle juts out from her oily mass of an arm, probing around them. She sighs. “The spark in these two had barely even started, hmm?”

“You picked them before they were ripe,” says the Thin Mog as he and the other vatborn emerge from the room where they’d taken cover. The vatborn scramble around, grabbing their blasters.

Phiri Dun-Ra picks up my leash—I never got it over my head—and shrugs at the Thin Mog. She looks down at me. “I wonder, is this how you felt as you slaughtered your way through our warship?” She makes a sound that’s close to purring. “Did you enjoy that as much as I am enjoying this?”

She gives my noose a tug, and we’re moving again. As she drags me past Bertrand and Fleur, I reach towards them. I know it’s futile—I’m cut off from my Legacies as long as Phiri Dun-Ra has control of me—but I harbor a desperate hope that I’ll somehow be able to push some of my healing Legacy into them. My fingers barely manage to graze Fleur’s shoulder; nothing happens, and then I’m forced onwards.

We turn down the hallway where Nigel and Ran fled, the vatborn once again leading the way. At this point, the only thing I can do to help is slow the Mogs’ pace. Ignoring the bite of the Voron collar, I follow Phiri’s lead as slowly as I can.

It’s not entirely a defensive strategy, I realize as my vision begins to swim. I’m losing a lot of blood. At one point, I fall down on my elbows and hear something in my shoulder crack. There’s so much pain and I’m so disoriented, I’m not even sure where we are in Patience Creek anymore.

I can’t believe this is how it ends.

The sound of fighting rings out from all around the base. Distantly, I’m aware of shooting and screaming. Echoes of losing battles nearby. We stick to the quiet halls, hunting stragglers.

“There!” the Thin Mog shouts.

I look up just in time, peering between Phiri Dun-Ra’s legs, as a lone person skids into view. The vatborn immediately take aim and open fire.

“Shit!” Sam yelps as he dives for cover around a corner.

Oh no. Not Sam. Please not Sam. I don’t want to see this.

He didn’t run like I’d told him. He didn’t escape. He’s alone now. I don’t know what happened to Malcolm and the other scientists, to the Chim?rae that were with them, but I can’t help but imagine the worst. Before he disappears from view, I notice that Sam’s not wearing that heavy backpack anymore. Maybe he stashed it somewhere, or maybe it got lost during the fighting.

The vatborn charge after Sam. They have to jump back when he uses a blaster to blind-fire around the corner.

“John?” he yells. “Is that you?”

“Sam . . . ,” I gasp weakly. “Sam, get out of here.”

“I’m going to save you, John!” he shouts back.

Phiri Dun-Ra giggles. “Oh, how touching. Get this one and bring him to me. I want to make it slow.”

As ordered, the warriors barrel heedlessly around the corner. Phiri, the Thin Mog, a handful of vatborn and I bring up the rear, safe from any stray blaster fire. I can hear Sam’s footsteps pounding down the hallway, sprinting away from his attackers.

“Lights off!” he shouts breathlessly. “Lights off!”

The overhead halogens click off at Sam’s command. Now only Mogadorian blaster fire lights the way. Phiri growls impatiently.

I get the sense that Sam is leading us somewhere. I turn my head from side to side, trying to figure out where we are. It’s difficult in the dark, and, in the flashes of light from the blaster fire, all I can make out are a series of identical closed doors.

Over gleeful Mog shouts and blaster discharges, I hear a loud metallic noise, like a heavy bolt being thrown open. Up ahead, a door creaks open. Did Sam just lock himself in somewhere? Did he make it to safety?

Suddenly, the dark hallway gets a lot quieter. The shooting stops. I hear a grunt of pain followed by a noise like a sharp breath being exhaled.

That’s the sound a vatborn makes when it turns to ash.

Phiri Dun-Ra and the Thin Mog exchange a look. We halt as the group leading the way goes quiet.

From the darkness, I hear metal banging against metal. Rhythmic and echoing.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

It sounds like clapping.

With Phiri Dun-Ra distracted, I manage to get onto my knees. I realize now where we are. Those identical rooms on either side of me are cells. Sam wasn’t locking a door.

He was unlocking a cell.

“You seem pretty good at killing, lady,” a familiar voice growls from the darkness.

Phiri Dun-Ra holds her hand in front of her and creates a ball of fire that illuminates the entire hallway. Then she takes an involuntary step back.

Five stands in the middle of the hallway about twenty yards away. He wears nothing but his cotton boxers and an open bathrobe. In one hand he holds a Mogadorian blaster, which he bangs against the side of his head, creating the metallic ringing sound. Every inch of his fleshy frame has taken on the same sheen as the blaster’s gunmetal-gray alloy. In his other hand he holds a Mog warrior by the throat. With a squeeze, Five snaps his neck, the Mog turning to dust in his hand, which Five then smears across his bare chest. The flame from Phiri Dun-Ra’s fireball reflects in his remaining eye, wide and locked in. When he speaks, it’s through an insanely wide smile.