It’s time to fight.

CHAPTER

FOUR

WE HIKE THROUGH THE DARKNESS, DOWN A MUDDY road carved out of the swampland, the rhythmic sucking noises from our waterlogged sneakers and the incessant chirping of bugs the only sounds. We pass by a solitary wooden pole, slanted and close to being totally uprooted, the streetlight out, power lines sagging under the overgrown trees, disappearing into them. It’s a welcome sign of society after two days spent in the swamps, hardly sleeping, turning invisible at the slightest noise, plodding our way through muck.

It was Five who led us into the swampland. He knew the way, of course. It was his ambush. We didn’t have an easy time finding our way out. It’s not like we could’ve gone back to the car we drove down here, anyway. The Mogs would definitely be watching that.

A few steps ahead, Nine slaps the back of his neck, squashing a mosquito. At the noise, Marina flinches, and the field of cold she’s been giving off since the fight with Five momentarily intensifies. I’m not sure if Marina’s having trouble getting control of her new Legacy or if she’s intentionally cooling the air around us. Considering how humid the Florida swamps have been, I guess it hasn’t been so bad trekking around with a portable air conditioner.

“You all right?” I ask her quietly, not wanting Nine to overhear and yet knowing that’s impossible with his heightened hearing. She hasn’t spoken to Nine since Eight was killed, has barely said anything to me.

Marina looks over at me, but in the dark I can’t get a read on her. “What do you think, Six?” she asks.

I squeeze her arm and find her skin cool to the touch.

“We’ll get them,” I tell her. I’m not much for these leader-style speeches—that’s what John does—so I keep it blunt. “We’ll kill them all. He won’t have died in vain.”

“He shouldn’t have died at all,” she replies. “We shouldn’t have left him out there. Now they have him, doing Lord knows what to his body.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” I counter, knowing it’s true. After the beating we endured at the hands of Five, we were in no shape to fight off a battalion of Mogadorians backed up by one of their ships.

Marina shakes her head and falls silent.

“You know, I used to always want Sandor to take me camping,” Nine butts in out of nowhere, looking at us over his shoulder. “I hated living in that cushy-ass penthouse. But man, after this? I sort of miss it.”

Marina and I don’t respond. That’s the way Nine’s been talking since our battle with Five—these forced anecdotes about nothing, weirdly upbeat, like nothing serious happened out here. When he wasn’t rambling, Nine made it a habit to hike ahead of us, using his speed to put some distance between us. When we caught up, he’d have already caught some animal, usually snake, and be cooking it over a small fire he built on a rare dry patch of land. It’s like he wanted to pretend we were just on some fun camping trip. I’m not squeamish; I’d eat whatever Nine caught. Marina never did, though. I don’t think the roasted swamp creatures bothered her so much as the fact it was Nine doing the hunting. She must be running on empty by now, even more so than me and Nine.