Page 58 of The Fall of Five (Lorien Legacies 4)

I thrust the documents at him. “Why would the Mogadorians have these?”

He flips through the papers, turning the pages more rapidly as he realizes what they are. “These—these are my notes. ”

“I know. How did the Mogadorians get their hands on them?”

He must realize the implication of my question because a hurt expression briefly clouds his face.

“Sam, I did not do this,” he says, trying to sound convincing, but there’s a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Can you be sure? What if—what if they did something to you, Dad? Something that you don’t remember?”

“No. Impossible,” he says, shaking his head, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. I can tell by his tone that he doesn’t truly believe it’s impossible. In fact, I think he’s frightened by the thought. “Are the originals still in my room?”

Together, we run back to his room. The notebook is on his bureau, right where it’s supposed to be. My dad flips through it, like he’s looking for some sign it’s been tampered with. His features tighten like they do when he’s trying to remember something. I think he’s realizing that he can’t trust himself, that the Mogadorians could’ve done something to him.

He turns to me with a grim look on his face. “If my notes have gotten into Mogadorian hands, we have to assume this place is compromised. You should arm yourself, Sam. Sarah too. ”

“What about you?” I ask, my stomach turning over.

“I—I can’t be trusted,” he stammers. “You should lock me in here, until the Garde return. ”

“There has to be another explanation,” I say, my voice cracking. I’m not sure if I really believe that or if I just want it to be true.

“I don’t remember leaving,” he says. “But I suppose my memory isn’

t worth much, at this point. ”

He drops heavily onto the bed in his room. He folds his hands in his lap and stares down at them. He looks defeated somehow, undermined by both his mind and his son.

I start towards the door. “Look, I’m going to go get Sarah and some guns. But I’m not going to lock you in here. Just stay here, okay?”

“Wait. ” He stops me, holding up a hand. “What is that?”

I hear it too. A low rumbling sound, coming from the drawer of his nightstand. I get there first, flinging open the drawer.

It’s the phone he was using to communicate with Adam. The screen is lit up, a phone call coming in from a blocked number. In the corner of the screen, I see that the phone has nineteen missed calls. I hold it up to my father. His face lights up, but I feel increasingly nervous. Too much is happening all at once. It feels like the walls are closing in on me.

I hit the button and press the phone to my ear, my voice shaky. “Hello?”

“Malcolm!” the breathless voice on the phone shouts. “Where have you been?!”

“This is Sam,” I correct, a feeling of dread rising in my stomach as I recognize the voice. “Adam, is that you?”

My dad jumps up and squeezes my shoulders, excited that Adam is still alive. I wish I could feel relieved, but the way he sounds on the phone, it’s like more bad news is on the way.

“Sam? Sam! Where’s your father?”

“He’s—”

“Never mind! It doesn’t matter!” he shouts. “Listen to me, Sam. You’re in Chicago, right? The John Hancock Center?”

“How—how did you know that?”

“They know, Sam!” Adam yells. “They know and they’re coming for you!”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“HOLD ON!”

We all lurch to one side as Nine haphazardly steers our fan boat—exactly what it sounds like, a small boat propelled by a giant fan on the back—around an overturned log floating in the murky brown swamp water. Eight nearly loses his balance and has to grab on to my arm to steady himself. He flashes me a sheepish smile as he lets me go to swat a mosquito. The air is thick and humid, buzzing with insects that can be heard even above the roar of our boat’s propeller. This place smells of rich soil, of nature overgrown.

“Look at that!” Eight shouts to be heard over the boat. I peer over the side to where a massing of lily pads is disturbed by something drifting through the water. At first I think it’s another log, but then I notice the rough scales of a tail swaying across the water and know it’s an alligator. “Keep your hands inside the ride,” Eight yells.

I watch as the alligator disappears into an outgrowth of trees to our left. I can see why Five thought the Everglades would be a safe place to hide his Inheritance; it’s a maze of tall grasses and muddy water, deserted except for the bugs and the lurking animals.

We’re traveling down what is basically a road in the water, a place where the dense saw grass and trees that sprout up on either side of us part to allow boat traffic. Not that there’s anyone else out here—we haven’t seen a single human being since picking up our boat from the rental place an hour ago. Even that was just a ramshackle cabin stuck between the end of a country road and the edge of the swamp. We had our pick of three rusted fan boats lashed to the rickety dock. The solitary man living out there, sunburned and smelling like a combination of alcohol and jet fuel, hiccupped his way through a tutorial on boat operation before accepting some cash in exchange for a dog-eared map of the area and the keys to the boat. He didn’t ask any questions, which we were all thankful for.

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