Someone is shaking me awake, which is weird because I don't ever remember falling asleep. I lift my head through the grogginess of sleep and turn to find Sam sticking his head out of the front cabin.
"We'll be there in three minutes."
I nod and blink again. Sarah is still in my arms and to my surprise, my hands continued to glow, even in sleep. I lean down and shake her slightly. Her eyes blink open, but they are unfocused.
"Sarah," I say. She doesn't seem to register my voice. "Sarah?"
Her blue eyes shift up to me.
"…john…?" she whispers, shaking her head. "…I don't…feel good…"
A thin sheet of sweat has broken out on her brown and her lips have turned a light shade of purple. I sit up straighter and remove my hand from her stomach. It's covered in blood. Lifting up her shirt, I find that the white NASA t-shirt has been soaked through.
I maneuver Sarah in my arms and lay her down gently. Tears are streaming from the corners of her eyes and she has my hand in a vice like grip. "Don't let go," she whispers in a small, pleading voice.
"I won't," I assure, stroking her head. Quickly, I feel the car turn and realize we are weaving in and out through small neighborhood streets. Six slides into a turn and pulls sharply into a driveway. A man opens the door to the house and rushes out.
"Are you the doctor?" I yell over the truck engine.
He sticks out an already gloved hand, "Mr. Harris."
I shake his hand with my blood covered one. "John." I say, then turn to Sarah, "And this is Sarah Hart."
Six shuts off the engine and gets out of the truck, followed closely by Sam who has our bags thrown over his shoulders. Mr. Harris scans our small group for a second and I can see the cogs and wheel sin his head turning. Seconds later, he motions towards the front of the house, "Get her inside. My neighbors are rather nosy old bats. They'll probably call the neighborhood watch if we stay out here too long."
I slip my arms under the backs of her knees but Mr. Harris stops me. "Does she have chest or abdominal damage?"
"Ribs are broken," I answer with a nod of my head.
"She's going to have to walk. If you lift her up like that, we'll risk the chance of shifting something that's broken. I'd much rather her be in pain then us have to re-inflate one of her lungs."
I nod and turn back to her. I unlatch our fingers and slid my hand behind her back. She reaches up through her weakness and clutches my shoulder. I lift both of us up in one motion and her hand on my shoulder tightens enough to draw blood from her nails. We inch to the edge of the truck and I watch her eye the small drop to the concrete below.
"Step on my right foot," I whisper in her ear. She does and I lift my foot ever so slightly. It moves as if she isn't event even there. I hop off the edge of the truck, landing on my left foot and slowly lowering my right. We take a step towards the house as Sarah bites her lip.
Mr. Harris shuts the front door once we are inside and motions towards the kitchen table. "Put her there," he instructs and then disappears into the kitchen.
Six slips her arm around Sarah and Sam lifts her legs. We set her on the table gently. Mr. Harris returns with a red bag. He addresses Sarah's shoulder first and in seconds he has relocated it. Next he moves to the abdominal wound that is still bleeding somehow.
"I'm going to take this wrap off, Sarah, it might hurt." She nods loosely and he unties the knot and slowly unravels the soaked fabric. The hole still looks the same, and I clench my jaw in rage.
"John," Mr. Harris says. "I need you to roll her onto her left side."
I rest my hands on her side and lift, she complains softly, but rolls with it.
"It's a through and through," Mr. Harris says to himself, shining a penlight. He prods at the wound which brings a whimper from Sarah. Her hand tightens around mine. Mr. Harris looks up to me, eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth like he is going to say something, but seems to think better of it. He turns back to Sarah and continues his prodding. He presses lightly around Sarah's ribs and she screams in agony. I flinch at the sound.
"Four ribs are broken, maybe five. But no flail chest. That's good." He nods to himself and then reaches into his red bag. "She's lost a lot of blood. She'll need a transfusion. Anybody know her blood type?"
"Doesn't matter," Sam steps forward, "I'm O neg."
"That's good. That's real good," Mr. Harris says, "Because she's going to need a lot of it. Do you know how to tap a vein?"
Sam nods.
Mr. Harris smiles. The kinds of smile a father would give an achieving son. Sam flashes the smallest of smiles back that I don't miss. There is a funny feeling in my gut that tells me there is something more to their relationship. But now is not the time.
"Sarah, I'm going to give you morphine for the pain," the doctor pulls out a syringe and a small glass vial. Sarah nods her head against the table and tightens her hold on my hand. Once the tip of the needle vanishes beneath the skin of her forearm and the plunger is pushed down, she starts to relax. I panic slightly.
"It's okay, John," the doctor replies to my wide eyes and quickened breather. "The drugs put her under. The pain itself might kill her if I try and do this while she's awake. Her being relaxed makes this easier." Mr. Harris rummages around in his bag and pulls out a complicated looking set of clear tubing and bags.
He hands them to Sam who seems to know exactly what to do. My best friend ties an elastic band around his upper arm and then makes a fist several times. Using his opposite hand he finds the vein in the crook of his arm and pushes one of the needles attached to a long tube under his skin. Quickly, Sam does the same thing to Sarah's arm, finds a vein and pushes a needle into it.
"Okay, now that that's set, I need you," Mr. Harris points to Six, "to go into the kitchen. There's a tank, a monitor, a ventilator bag, and a, ah, blanket tied up with chord. Bring those in here. Also, fill a bowel with water and get a rag."
Six disappears and he points to me. "The boyfriend, right?"
I nod numbly.
"Okay, all I need you to do, John, is talk to her. You may think that she can't hear you, but she can. I want you to stay and tell her you're here. If she knows that, she'll get through this is one piece. " He pauses briefly and looks at me. "I promise," he says seconds later, and there is so much finality in his words that I believe him.
I swallow back the despair in my heart and squeeze Sarah's hand. Slowly, I brush the hair out of her eyes and whisper words of encouragement in her ear.
I watch as Mr. Harris pull out a scalpel from his bag. Six returns with what is needed and goes to the doctor's side. "Okay," the older man sighs, "let's get to work."
-XxX-
After two and a half hours and one pint of blood from Sam later, Sarah is finally stable enough to be moved to the guest bedroom. I sit on the floor by her bed, knees pulled up to my chest.
"You think it could be one of us?" Six asks from her seat next to the closed door.
I drop my head between my knees and rub the back of my neck. "I don't want to think that," I say with a sigh. "But the evidence is pretty clear that someone affected the weather."
"Maybe the Mogadorians?" Sam imputes. He is lying on the floor, a band-aid in the crook of his arm and a damp cloth on his forehead. There is an empty bottle of apple juice by his head and a half eaten trail mix bar in his hand, "Some kind of new, unknown technology?"
Six shakes her head. "They didn't have anything like that on their homeworld. Let alone technology on this planet to build something like that." She sighs and rubs at her eyes. It is the first time that I have seen her look so tired.
"Maybe they got to one of us," she says. "Maybe they have leverage? Or some kind of control over him or her?"
"You think one of us turned?" I say skeptically.
"I think that if they had taken Sarah instead of…" she trails off slightly and closes her eyes for a bit longer than a standard blink.
I nod in the silence. "I would have done anything to get her back," I admit. "Good point."
"Look man," Sam sits up, "I didn't want to bring this up now, but I still have the DVD."
I lock my jaw and clench my fist. I know what is on the DVD.
"And there might be something useful on it," Sam continues. "Maybe they slipped up somewhere. Said something they shouldn't have."
There is silence and I know Sam is right.
"Fine," I say. "Get your laptop."
-XxX-
We crowd around the small screen as Sam slips in the DVD. The computer hums and the screen flashes. Someone lifts up the camera and the screen fades in and out of focus. Voices sound and Sarah's basement comes into view.
A single light is turned on, spilling an eerie glow over Sarah, who is already tied to the chair.
I take a sharp breath.
"Where is Number Four?" a voice off camera snarls.
Sarah lifts her chin, eyes hard and defiant. She flicks the hair out of her eyes with a small jerk of her head. "I don't know who you're talking about," she says calmly.
"You're a brave little human," another voice off camera laughs. But this one is different. This man's voice is composed and firm. It comes from someone who is used to being followed. "I can see why he fell for you." The man steps into view, but all we can see is his back. It is broad and muscular beneath his long leather jacket. "Please excuses my comrades, Sarah Hart, they are not well versed in Earth's ways. I shall rephrase the question, my dear. Where is the boy you call John Smith?"
Sarah has been caught off guard by the formal address. "How do you know my name?" I watch as she struggles unconsciously with her bound hands. His knowledge about her has made her uncomfortable.
"Mark James is quite the talker," another man sneers. "He told us everything with some help from his parents."
"Where are they?" She snaps, but her eyes are glossy with oncoming tears.
The man disappears behind the camera again with a dark laugh. "You will be seeing them quite soon, Ms. Hart. Don't you worry about that."
Sarah bits her lip and turns her head to the side. Through the faint light I can see a single tear run down her cheek.
"But back to business," the man in charge says. "Where is John smith?"
"Fuck you." She snaps, eyes blazing with rage.
I shut my eyes before one of the Mogadorians has time to hit her. But just because I can't see it doesn't mean I can't hear it. A hammer meeting a cinderblock is the sound, followed almost instantly by a chocked groan.
I know they are holding back. A blow like that could have easily knocked her head clear off her shoulders. Still, the hit has created a deep gash by her right eyebrow. And it is then that I realize that they had used healing stones on her. Because that wound wasn't present when we found her.
The Mogadorians who hit her adjusts the brass knuckles on his right hand and steps out of frame.
"Where is John Smith?" The question is asked again.
Sarah is leaning heavily to the right, slumped in the chair. She shakes her head and pants, "I don't know…who you're talking about."
"Ms. Hart," the main Mogadorian is losing his cool. "Everyone has their breaking point. The question is, do you want us to find yours?"
Sarah spits out the blood that has run into her mouth and does not talk.
There is a deep, almost board sigh. "Very well."
Two Mogadorians step into view. One cracks his knuckles while another rolls his shoulders. They let out two dark chuckles before they begin their assault. They throw blow after blow and I am too horrified to look away. They pause to use healing stones every so often, just so they can prolong the torture.
"I'll fast forward," Sam mutters and pushes a button on the computer. The blows blur together and the amount of time is lost.
Finally, after the time stamp in the bottom corner reaches the three hour mark, the man behind the camera gives the order to stop. The screen shakes as the small device is given to someone else to hold.
The leader steps into view again, circling Sarah's bent over form. There is a hint of respect in his pursed lips. He is surprised that she hasn't talked.
"You are very interesting, Sarah Hart." He is wearing sunglasses, and I am thankful for the kind of eyes that are hidden. "John Smith is not a part of your world. Why not give him up to stop the pain?"
There is blood running down the side of her face and she is hunched to the right in the chair. "You and I both know," she wheezes, "that you're going to kill me anyways."
The man chuckles from behind her and removes his sunglasses. He pockets them slowly and bends down.
He picks up a rusted metal bar.
"I'm not going to kill you," he says, and he places his thumb against the end of the bar and starts to file it to a point. "I'm going to use you as bait." Flakes of metal fall to the ground. "Once Number Four knows that I have you, he'll come straight to me."
"He doesn't care about me," Sarah pants. There is a sudden pain in my gut from the lie. If I didn't care about her, if I had left her alone like everyone else, then she wouldn't be down there.
The Mog crouches down in front of her. "It would be interesting for you to know that Lorien's do not love like you humans." He grins slightly.
Sarah sits up a fraction of an inch and locks eyes with him. He reaches out and grasps her chin. "A Lorien's love is forever." he whispers. "And it does not matter that you might not return his feelings. If there is any hint of affection in his heart for you, then he will come."
Sarah clenches her jaw and turns her head away.
The Mog grasps her chin harder and turns her eyes back towards him, grinning like he's found buried treasure. "There it is," he hisses. "Your eyes fail you, my dear. You love him terribly."
She spits blood in his face.
Three Mogadorians enter frame, fists poised and ready. The leader holds up a hand and they freeze. He wipes the blood off his face and grabs the back of Sarah's neck.
"You are the most admirable human I have encountered thus far," he whispers, voice shaking. "I will tell you a secret for your bravery." He leans forward and places his lips next to her ear.
For the first time, Sarah looks past the commanding Mogadorian and into the camera. It's like she's looking at me. Saying goodbye.
The man in front of her starts to mumble something inaudible. She tries to hold a composed face, but the enemy's words clearly upset her.
The next moment catches all of us off guard. In one swift motion, the Mog shoves the metal rob through Sarah's stomach. The metal slides in with a sickening sound that brings my uneaten breakfast into my throat.
Sam curses.
Six turns away.
And I can't move.
Sarah's mouth drops open and her eyes grow wide. Her face turns red as she tries to take in a breath, veins in her neck popping out from the effort. But just as quickly as it happened, the bar is ripped out and thrown to the side, discarded.
"You were a challenge, Sarah Hart," the commanding Mog sneers, "But I was always going to get what I wanted."
Sarah slumps forward in the chair, blood dripping from her mouth. A foot from off camera slams into her side and she crashes sideways. She screams as a loud pop fills the basement. I know it is her shoulder.
The Mogadorian in charge kneels and picks up Sarah's phone from where it has fallen from her pocket. He holds it up with a feral sneer, "I win."
He presses some buttons that will lead to the phone call Tiffany had received yesterday night. I know what happens from then on, I don't need to look at Sarah and her helpless, pleading eyes.
"Turn it off, Sam," I whisper, "I've seen enough."
"…No…" Sam mumbles, and he's so close to the screen, I fear he might actually need his father's glasses some day.
"Turn it off, Sam," I repeat firmly.
"No, I mean look at this," he points to the screen and Sarah's face. She's so tired; she can't keep her eyes open.
"Look at what?" I snap.
Sam turns to me, eyes wide. "It's Morris Code," he says in awe. "The blinking. She's sending us a message."