The 5th Wave (The Fifth Wave #1)(21)

It moved slowly across the sky. Silent. No growl of an engine. No hum. Just gliding soundlessly, like a fishing lure drawn through still water. We hustled into the barracks. No one had to tell us. I found myself sitting on a cot next to Crisco.

“I know what they’re going to do,” he whispered.

“Don’t talk,” I whispered back.

He nodded, and said, “Sonic bombs. You know what happens when you’re blasted with two hundred decibels? Your eardrums shatter. Your lungs bust open and air gets into your bloodstream, and then your heart collapses.”

“Where do you come up with this crap, Crisco?”

Dad and Hutchfield were crouched by the open door again. They watched the same spot for several minutes. Apparently, the drone had frozen in the sky.

“Here, I got you something,” Crisco said. It was a diamond pendant necklace. Body booty from the ash pit.

“That’s disgusting,” I told him.

“Why? It’s not like I stole it or anything.” He pouted. “I know what it is. I’m not stupid. It’s not the necklace. It’s me. You’d take it in a heartbeat if you thought I was hot.”

I wondered if he was right. If Ben Parish had dug the necklace out of the pit, would I have taken the gift?

“Not that I think you are,” Crisco added.

Bummer. Crisco the grave robber didn’t think I was hot.

“Then why do you want to give it to me?”

“I was a douche that night in the woods. I don’t want you to hate me. Think I’m a creeper.”

A little late for that.

“I don’t want dead people’s jewelry,” I said.

“Neither do they,” he said, meaning dead people.

He wasn’t going to leave me alone. I scooted up to sit behind Dad. Over his shoulder, I saw a tiny gray dot, a silvery freckle on the unblemished skin of the sky.

“What’s happening?” I whispered.

Right when I said that, the dot disappeared. Moved so fast, it seemed to wink out.

“Reconnaissance flights,” Hutchfield breathed. “Has to be.”

“We had satellites that could read someone’s watch from orbit,” Dad said quietly. “If we could do that with our primitive technology, why would they need to leave their ship to spy on us?”

“You got a better theory?” Hutchfield didn’t like his decisions being questioned.

“They may have nothing to do with us,” Dad pointed out. “These things might be atmospheric probes or devices used to measure something they can’t calibrate from space. Or they’re looking for something that can’t be detected until we’re mostly neutralized.”

Then Dad sighed. I knew that sigh. It meant he believed something was true that he didn’t want to be true.

“It comes down to a simple question, Hutchfield: Why are they here? Not to rape the planet for our resources—there’s plenty of those spread evenly throughout the universe, so you don’t have to travel hundreds of light-years to get them. Not to kill us, though killing us—or most of us—is necessary. They’re like a landlord who kicks out a deadbeat renter so he can get the house cleaned up for the new tenant; I think this has always been about getting the place ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

Dad smiled humorlessly.

“Moving day.”

16

AN HOUR BEFORE DAWN. Our last day at Camp Ashpit. A Sunday.

Sammy beside me. Little kid snuggly warm, hand on his bear, other hand on my chest, curled-up pudgy baby-fist.

The best part of the day.

Those few seconds when you’re awake but empty. You forget where you are. What you are now, what you were before. It’s all breath and heartbeat and blood moving. Like being in your mother’s womb again. The peace of the void.

That’s what I thought the sound was at first. My own heartbeat.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa. Faint, then louder, then really loud, loud enough to feel the beat on your skin. A glow sprang up in the room, grew brighter. People were stumbling around, yanking on clothes, fumbling for guns. The bright glow faded, came back. Shadows jumped across the floor, raced up the ceiling. Hutchfield was yelling at everyone to stay calm. It wasn’t working. Everyone recognized the sound. And everyone knew what that sound meant.

Rescue!

Hutchfield tried to block off the doorway with his body.

“Stay inside!” he hollered. “We don’t want to—”

He was shoved out of the way. Oh yes, we do. We poured out the doorway and stood in the yard and waved at the helicopter, a Black Hawk, as it made another sweep of the compound, black against the lightening dark of the predawn sky. The spotlight stabbed down, blinding us, but most of us were already blinded by tears. We jumped, we shouted, we hugged one another. A couple of people were waving little American flags, and I remember wondering where the hell they got those.

Hutchfield was furiously screaming at us to get back inside. Nobody listened. He wasn’t the boss of us anymore. The People in Charge had arrived.

And then, just as unexpectedly as it had come, the helicopter made one last turn and thundered out of sight. The sound of its rotors faded. A heavy silence flooded in after it. We were confused, stunned, frightened. They must have seen us. Why didn’t they land?

We waited for the helicopter to come back. All morning we waited. People packed up their things. Speculated about where they would take us, what it would be like, how many others would be there. A Black Hawk helicopter! What else had survived the 1st Wave? We dreamed of electric lights and hot showers.