And that at some point in the past few weeks, in battle near his house, he was captured by the Mogs, and either killed or detained.
When Malcolm says this, my mind races back to the memo I encountered while snooping around the underground server in the Media Surveillance facility. The memo was already a year old when it declared all future detainees and captives were to be routed to the Dulce base in New Mexico. If Sam was captured weeks ago, there’s a good chance he’s being kept there.
I stare at Malcolm, stretched out on the floor, his back to me.
“Malcolm,” I say.
He rolls over and turns to me. I can see from his gaze that he’s lost in doubt and guilt and grief. Clearly the search for his son is what’s been driving him since we escaped from Ashwood.
“I think I know where your son is.”
CHAPTER 13
I stand back as Malcolm opens the garage door. Inside, covered in dust, is an old Chevy Rambler. “I can???t believe it’s still here,” he says, diving towards the passenger door.
We are at a storage facility on the outskirts of Paradise. Malcolm explains that he paid for this garage space many years in advance, keeping the car fueled up and ready should he ever need to skip town on short notice. In fact, he was headed for this garage when he was abducted by the Mogadorians years ago.
I’m impressed with his recall. “Your memory’s improving.”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling slyly. “It seems to be. Must be all of your annoying quizzes.” I laugh as he turns to the car’s glove compartment, pulling something out. He holds it out of the car door for me to see.
A spare pair of prescription glasses.
“Jackpot,” he says, triumphantly. He wipes the lenses with the tail of his shirt and slips them onto his head.
He sits back in the passenger seat, looking at me through the windshield.
“I can’t tell you how amazing it feels to be able to see clearly. It’s been so long,” he says.
He lets out a contented sigh. “Amazing.”
“I didn’t even know you needed glasses.”
“Big-time,” he says. “This is actually the first time I’ve seen your face as anything but a big smudge.” He squints up at me. “I can definitely see the Mogadorian thing, now. Yeah, definitely something evil about your face.”
I laugh, giving him the finger. Teasing me for being a Mogadorian has become a running joke between us. Joking about it is really just a testament to how accepting of me Malcolm has been.
“Full tank?” I ask.
He leans over, starts the engine, peering owlishly as the gas gauge whirs up.
“Very nearly.”
He slides behind the wheel as I get into the passenger seat. We’re traveling light. Heading to New Mexico.
“You ready for this?” he asks.
“Not at all,” I reply.
“Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”
And we’re off.
If we weren’t traveling incognito, trying to avoid detection by taking side roads, we could’ve made the trip to the base in three days. As it is, the trip takes almost a week.
I don’t mind the extra time.
Sitting beside Malcolm in the passenger seat, it occurs to me that we may be driving towards our own ends. That just as I had to say good-bye to One, I may have to say good-bye to Malcolm. Right when I thought I’d found a father figure, I now find myself embarking on what could be a suicide mission with him. I can’t be Malcolm’s son. He already has a son, and—for better or worse—I have a father. But I can help save Sam.
I remember what One said to me, that she’d pegged me for a hero, wanted me to try for “great” things.
Well, it turns out a hero’s lot is not glory or reward, but sacrifice. I’m still not sure I’m ready for that. I’d be happy if this car trip lasted forever. But soon enough we’ll cross the border into New Mexico and be only hours away from the base.
A big part of me doesn’t want to go find Sam. If I can’t have a normal life, I want to stay with Malcolm, living on the edges of society and evading the Mogs.
