It only takes a few seconds before it starts to disintegrate. I wait until it’s all gone, the pieces of the Mogadorian warlord, the destroyer of my world, killer of my people, of my friends, fluttering through my fingertips like dark confetti.
I dust off my hands.
There’s a wet bursting noise behind me. I spin around to see a bubble of the black ooze that had been hovering over the lake pop. Bernie Kosar springs free, shaking off his coat, and immediately leaps to the floor. BK looks at me and lets go a low, plaintive whine.
We both go to John’s side. He’s a mess, almost unrecognizable. BK lies down on his belly next to him and nuzzles his hand. I touch John’s forehead, smoothing back an errant piece of blond hair that’s sticky with blood.
“You stupid idiot,” I whisper. “It’s over, and you don’t even know, you goddamn moron.”
John gasps.
I jump back, startled at first, tears stinging my eyes. It’s a sharp noise, and his entire body arches. He spasms, coughs, trembles in my arms. I cling tighter to him. When I look down, I see that his injuries are beginning to mend. It’s slow, almost imperceptible compared to how fast we normally heal, but it’s happening.
His eyes are swollen shut. One of his hands grasps my upper arm weakly.
“Sarah . . . ?” he whispers.
I kiss him. Just a quick one on the lips, tears streaming down my face. I’m sure Sam won’t care. Considering the circumstances, I bet he’d kiss John too.
John smiles a little, then falls unconscious again, breathing ragged but steady.
BK turns into his griffin shape, and, very carefully, I settle John onto his back. I climb up behind him. We fly upwards, towards the exit to the cave, leaving the dark stench of the Mogadorian world behind.
“Ella, guys,” I say to the air, hoping someone is telepathically listening in. “We’re coming.”
Outside, dawn is just beginning to break.
ONE YEAR LATER
“COMING UP ON THE INVASION: A LOOK BACK, we interview—zzt—the courageous members of Australia’s Royal Eleventh Brigade—zzt—who staged a daring raid on a Mogadorian warship on VH Day. But first—zzt—the Loric? Gods? Heroes? Illegal immigrants? Our—zzt—panel discusses—”
I turn off the television. It gets terrible reception way up here anyway. With the background noise gone, I can focus totally on my scrubbing. My hand’s a little sore from gripping the brush, pushing it back and forth across the stone wall. It’d be easier just to use my telekinesis, but I like the work. It feels good to use my hands, to worry at these ancient paint stains until they flake away, or until my forearms are too tired to continue.
Used to be there was a painting on this wall of Eight getting run through by a sword. Now that’s completely gone. I scrubbed that one away first. The only prophecy left here is the painting of the Earth split in half, one part alive and the other dead, with two ships approaching the planet from opposite sides. The one I’m rubbing away now.
I actually kind of like this one, which is why I saved it for last. My reading is that the painter didn’t know who would win the war for Earth. That’s why they left it so vague. It still has to go. I’m trying not to dwell on the past so much anymore.
I want this place to be about the future.
So I keep scrubbing.
“I think it’s clean, John.”
Ella’s voice breaks me out of my trance. I’m not sure how long I’ve been scouring the wall. Hours, maybe. The muscles in my arm are numb. I’ve probably been buffing stone for a while, the painting completely erased.
“Spaced out for a bit,” I say sheepishly.
“Yeah, I’ve been sitting here for about ten minutes,” she replies.
Ella tracked me down a few months ago and has been hanging around ever since. I’m still not exactly sure how she did it. I guess being a telepath probably helped.
In the Himalayas, I thought I’d found a pretty good place to hide out for a while, to get my head straight. I heard about this cavern from Marina and Six. Back when they were on the run in India, this chamber of prophecies suffered a cave-in during a Mog attack. I’d arrived intending to excavate and see if anything could be salvaged, but those Vishnu Nationalist Eight guys had beaten me to it. Apparently, the cave is a revered place for them. They’d already started digging it out and let me join their efforts with no questions asked. These days, they secure the area, keep random hikers away and generally stay out of my hair. I guess one of them could have leaked my location to Ella, but I kind of doubt it.