United as One (Lorien Legacies #7)(75)

After that, we start to search the other floors. We don’t encounter anything but death until we reach the uppermost level, the one where Lawson previously kept his control center. There, we’re drawn to the sound of televisions tuned to what sound like a dozen terrified newscasts.

Five stands in Lawson’s office, his back to the door, watching the news on the wall of screens. He extends his blade when he hears us coming but quickly sheathes it once he realizes that we aren’t Mogs.

“She got away,” Five says simply, sounding frustrated. “They had a staging area a few miles south of here in the forest. Took off when they realized the tide was turning. I know how they operate. They’ll be back soon with reinforcements.”

Sam and I enter the room cautiously while Five speaks, the rest of our group waiting outside. Five wears a set of fatigues that he either found lying around Patience Creek or stripped off a dead soldier. I guess the latter is more likely considering the blood splatters on the camouflage.

“You going to try locking me up again?” Five asks, looking at me over his shoulder.

“No,” I reply.

“Good.”

Sam and I come to stand alongside Five, the three of us staring at the monitors. The Mogadorian bombardment has begun. We’re looking at footage from at least ten different cities, all of them being slowly erased by warship fire. My eyes bounce from catastrophe to catastrophe, eventually settling on the Arc de Triomphe as it crumbles down the middle, its two pillars breaking apart against each other.

“This planet is toast,” Five says.

Sam ignores him and looks at me. “What now, John?”

“We throw everything we have at them,” I say immediately, glancing in Five’s direction. “Everything. And we either end this war, or we die trying.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


WE DON’T HAVE TIME TO MOURN OUR DEAD. OUR friends, and the ones we barely got a chance to know. We don’t have time to grapple with how many lives were lost, our responsibility for that.

It’s probably for the best.

By the time we land Lexa’s ship outside of Patience Creek, the massacre is over. We’re just in time to help the survivors escape. We don’t want to be here when the Mogs send in reinforcements. There are other battlefields that need our attention.

We fly into the night, leaving the quaint cabin and its secret tunnels behind.

News trickles in from around the world. Some cities have already fallen as a result of the warships opening fire. Others are holding strong, fighting a protracted cat-and-mouse game against the Mog ground troops, staying one step ahead of warship bombardment. Some armies have pulled back, waiting to launch a counterstrike.

They’re waiting for our help.

“One coordinated assault using the cloaking technology you’ve provided,” Lawson says, once again going over the details. His satellite phone has been buzzing nonstop since we picked up him and the others. “All our allies—England, China, Germany, India, every country with any military capability—we strike back simultaneously, before they realize we’ve cracked their shields. We throw everything we’ve got at them while we’ve still got the element of surprise.”

“And while that happens, we hit West Virginia,” John says. “We take out Setrákus Ra and destroy what he’s built there.”

John looks terrible. The wounds that he suffered at the hands of Phiri Dun-Ra have healed up with the exception of the cuts ringing his neck, but his pallor is still dramatic, the bags under his eyes now deep purple. With all of us crammed into this little ship, John is one of the few people who sits. He looks like he needs it. While he goes over the plan with Lawson, Marina stitches up the deepest of the gashes in his neck. He winces a few times. We didn’t think to bring one of the surviving army medics on board with us. It’s been a while since we couldn’t just heal an injury.

“You know . . . ,” Lawson says thoughtfully, eyeing Sam. “If this young man can talk to machines, he should be able to communicate with the enemy warships. We could use him to bring down their shields.”

Sam’s eyes widen a fraction. “I . . . I’d have to be really close,” he says, trying to be helpful. “And I’m not sure how long it lasts exactly—”

“Like hell you’re going to use him,” I say, interrupting. “Sam’s the only one who’s been able to copy the signal, and you’re talking about flying him into twenty different war zones so he can shout at their ships? Hasn’t he done enough already?”

Lawson stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “It was only a thought. Admittedly, the risk seems greater than the reward.”

“We stick with the plan,” John says. Sam gives me a relieved look. I keep glaring at Lawson.

“If this fails . . . ,” Lawson begins.

“It won’t,” John insists.

“If it does, I can’t speak for every country in the world, but it will be America’s position that if the enemy is unbeatable, we focus on saving lives.”

“You’re talking about surrender,” I say.

Lawson’s lips form a tight line. “Cutting our losses,” he replies. “Living to fight another day. Preserving the maximum number of lives possible.”

John and I exchange a look. If our counterattack fails, we probably won’t be alive to see what comes next anyway. What Lawson does in that bleak future doesn’t much matter.