Free The Search for Sam by Pittacus Lore Page A
Authors: Pittacus Lore
Twelve days? I cease to measure time in numbers, counting instead the shifting landscapes, the
changing scenery.
Malcolm eventually explains that the earthquake seriously damaged the underground
facilities. He says it was a miracle he was able to get us both out through the collapsing
structure without being apprehended. He says it was as if the entire structure was
collapsing around us, but never on us—almost like it was creating an escape for us with every step he took. He figures
the Mogs have their hands full rebuilding, that there’s a good chance they haven’t
yet realized we even survived the devastation.
But he thinks we need to keep moving to be safe.
I agree.
We’ve camped out for the day in an unused shed at the edge of a tobacco farm. My limbs
are tired from our constant trekking, but my cuts and scrapes are starting to heal.
Malcolm sees me mopping down the worst of my remaining cuts. “It’s a miracle you weren’t
hurt worse.” He shakes his head in wonderment. “It’s a miracle we weren’t both killed.
And it’s an even bigger miracle the earthquake happened in the first place. If not,
there would’ve been no escape.”
Now’s as good a time as any to tell him.
“It was no miracle.”
He stops what he’s doing, looks at me curiously.
I haven’t used One’s Legacy on my own since the day I used it to destroy the Mogadorian
lab. But I know the ability is still inside me. I can feel it there, nestled, pulsing,
waiting for me to pick it up. To play.
I close my eyes and concentrate. The ground beneath us heaves and ripples, the walls
of the shed quake. A few rusted tools, hung by hooks, clatter off the wall to the
ground.
It’s nothing major, barely a tremor: I only wanted to test myself, and to show Malcolm
my gift.
Malcolm’s stunned, eyes bulging. “That was amazing.”
“It’s a Legacy. A gift from the Loric.”
Malcolm looks at me with one of his befuddled expressions.
“Do you know about the Loric?” I ask. I still don’t really know what Malcolm remembers,
how much is left of his brain.
“I know a little,” he says. “My memory, it has … patches.” He sighs heavily, clearly
frustrated. “I’ve been working on it. Trying to remember everything. But mostly I
remember the darkness.”
“The darkness?” I ask, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize what
he means. The darkness of the containment pod. All those years in an induced coma,
hooked up to machines, having his brain dredged for information. I shudder.
“When I try to summon a memory, it’s like I have to go back into the darkness to find
it. I have to go back through years of nothing to remember any one thing.” He laughs,
with a note of bitterness I’ve never heard in his voice before. “But there are a few things I remember that I don’t have to fight to recall. Important things.”
Malcolm goes quiet, lost in thought. Before I can press him to explain, he changes
the subject.
“You said you were given a Loric’s power.” He leans forward. “So you’re not a Loric?”
I grin. “You thought I was Loric?”
He nods. “Yeah. That or a high-priority human captive like me.”
“No,” I say, a bit nervously. “I’m not human. And I’m not Loric.” I’ve been dreading
telling him the truth. How will he react if he knows I belong to the same breed that
held him in captivity and tortured him for years? But I knew I’d have to come clean
eventually. I figure now’s as good a time as any.
“I’m a Mogadorian.”
That befuddled look again. “If I’d known that,” he says, “I probably would’ve left
you in the lab.”
Uh-oh .
But then he begins to laugh..
Before I know it, I’m laughing too, and starting to tell him my story.
Malcolm and I develop a routine, sleeping by day and walking by night. We graze farmland
and forests and roadside Dumpsters for sustenance. We cross hills, streams, and
changing scenery.
Malcolm eventually explains that the earthquake seriously damaged the underground
facilities. He says it was a miracle he was able to get us both out through the collapsing
structure without being apprehended. He says it was as if the entire structure was
collapsing around us, but never on us—almost like it was creating an escape for us with every step he took. He figures
the Mogs have their hands full rebuilding, that there’s a good chance they haven’t
yet realized we even survived the devastation.
But he thinks we need to keep moving to be safe.
I agree.
We’ve camped out for the day in an unused shed at the edge of a tobacco farm. My limbs
are tired from our constant trekking, but my cuts and scrapes are starting to heal.
Malcolm sees me mopping down the worst of my remaining cuts. “It’s a miracle you weren’t
hurt worse.” He shakes his head in wonderment. “It’s a miracle we weren’t both killed.
And it’s an even bigger miracle the earthquake happened in the first place. If not,
there would’ve been no escape.”
Now’s as good a time as any to tell him.
“It was no miracle.”
He stops what he’s doing, looks at me curiously.
I haven’t used One’s Legacy on my own since the day I used it to destroy the Mogadorian
lab. But I know the ability is still inside me. I can feel it there, nestled, pulsing,
waiting for me to pick it up. To play.
I close my eyes and concentrate. The ground beneath us heaves and ripples, the walls
of the shed quake. A few rusted tools, hung by hooks, clatter off the wall to the
ground.
It’s nothing major, barely a tremor: I only wanted to test myself, and to show Malcolm
my gift.
Malcolm’s stunned, eyes bulging. “That was amazing.”
“It’s a Legacy. A gift from the Loric.”
Malcolm looks at me with one of his befuddled expressions.
“Do you know about the Loric?” I ask. I still don’t really know what Malcolm remembers,
how much is left of his brain.
“I know a little,” he says. “My memory, it has … patches.” He sighs heavily, clearly
frustrated. “I’ve been working on it. Trying to remember everything. But mostly I
remember the darkness.”
“The darkness?” I ask, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize what
he means. The darkness of the containment pod. All those years in an induced coma,
hooked up to machines, having his brain dredged for information. I shudder.
“When I try to summon a memory, it’s like I have to go back into the darkness to find
it. I have to go back through years of nothing to remember any one thing.” He laughs,
with a note of bitterness I’ve never heard in his voice before. “But there are a few things I remember that I don’t have to fight to recall. Important things.”
Malcolm goes quiet, lost in thought. Before I can press him to explain, he changes
the subject.
“You said you were given a Loric’s power.” He leans forward. “So you’re not a Loric?”
I grin. “You thought I was Loric?”
He nods. “Yeah. That or a high-priority human captive like me.”
“No,” I say, a bit nervously. “I’m not human. And I’m not Loric.” I’ve been dreading
telling him the truth. How will he react if he knows I belong to the same breed that
held him in captivity and tortured him for years? But I knew I’d have to come clean
eventually. I figure now’s as good a time as any.
“I’m a Mogadorian.”
That befuddled look again. “If I’d known that,” he says, “I probably would’ve left
you in the lab.”
Uh-oh .
But then he begins to laugh..
Before I know it, I’m laughing too, and starting to tell him my story.
Malcolm and I develop a routine, sleeping by day and walking by night. We graze farmland
and forests and roadside Dumpsters for sustenance. We cross hills, streams, and