“Of course I do. That’s why I’ve been leading us back towards my old hometown.” He looks at me, clearly concerned about how I will react.
I’m stunned. “That’s where he is?”
“Well, I can’t be sure he’s still there, but it’s my only guess. It’s only a day or two days’ trek from here.”
I’m confused. I thought we were just running from the Mogadorians, but this whole time Malcolm’s been leading us to his home. “But our path, it’s been so random.”
“I’m still trying to keep the Mogadorians off our tail. That we continue to evade detection is even more important, the closer we get to Sam.” He sits up, giving me a solemn look. “You don’t have to come into town with me. It could be dangerous. For all I know the Mogadorians are waiting for me there.”
Malcolm looks at me, waiting to see how I’ll react. Under his gaze, I feel it: that familiar twinge of fear in my gut. My typical reluctance to enter the fray.
But there’s something different about me now. I have One’s Legacy—my Legacy. I don’t feel as powerless as I used to.
If anything, I feel a strange itch to see what I can do with my new ability. Months ago, One tried to rouse me back to the Loric cause and I balked. It took her creating an epically complex psychological trick to get me to leave the aid camp.
But I don’t need much persuading from Malcolm.
“Let’s go,” I say.
Paradise, Ohio, is a classic small town. A harmonious blend of farmland and suburbia, a far cry from the tacky faux-luxe of Ashwood’s McMansions. Walking with Malcolm along the road leading through the town, sticking to the other side of the tree line to stay out of view, I take a deep breath.
Yeah. I like it here.
Just as Paradise’s main drag comes into view down the road, Malcolm starts leading us away, deeper into the woods. We walk for a mile through the trees. We pass houses out here in the woods—some prosperous-looking farmhouses, some busted-down-looking shacks. We avoid all of them, beelining through the woods to avoid being seen by anyone.
“What’s he like?” I ask. As we’ve been traveling, I’ve told Malcolm almost everything there is to know about me—about how the son of a respected Mogadorian leader came to be the traitor that I am now. But there’s so much about Malcolm that’s still a mystery to me. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t like to think about it himself.
Still walking and staring straight ahead, Malcolm smiles sadly. “I don’t know,” he says.
“You mean you can’t remember?”
“No, not that. My memories of Sam haven’t faded at all. It’s just—” He stops. “I can’t say what he’s like now, not when I haven’t seen him in all this time. I’ve missed everything. He was just a kid when I got taken. He was smart, and he was kind. A great kid.” He laughs. “He was Sam.”
“What happens when we find him?” I ask.
Malcolm’s expression darkens.
“I just need to see him. To know he’s okay. You and I, we’re marked for death by the Mogadorians. I know I can’t exactly be a father to him under those conditions, but I need to see him at least once. After that …” he says, his voice trailing off.
I finish his thought. “After that we go back on the run.”
Malcolm nods. “It won’t be safe for us to stick around.”
I feel a strange twinge of relief at that thought.
“We’re close,” he says, quickening his stride.
I see a house up ahead, through the trees.
“That’s it,” he says.
As we walk, the texture of the dirt beneath our feet begins to shift. I look down: it’s burned. Scarred. My antennae go up, preparing for a possible attack.
The closer we get, the worse it is. More scorched earth, more fallen trees. There’s been a battle here.
“Malcolm,” I say. “The Mogadorians have been here.”
But of course he’s already noticed. He’s speeding up, racing towards the house. I keep pace behind him, worried what we’re running into.
But when he runs up to the house’s side door and bangs on it, and a shocked-looking woman steps outside, eyes bulging at Malcolm, I stop running. Malcolm’s given me no instruction; I have no idea what’s going on.
I hang back.
Malcolm holds the woman by the shoulders, talking to her, asking her questions. The woman’s expression of shock and wonderment begins to melt, giving way to something else.
Anger.
