Toys

Chapter 49

I helped myself to the dead man’s weapon and ran straight toward the main cadre of attackers, who were blitzing my parents’ house with relentless fire. Hard to comprehend-the place where you grew up under a murderous attack like this.

They were swarming inside, overrunning the place, as I came up behind them. Unfortunately, I didn’t see my mother or father anywhere. Or Lucy either. The fighting was hand to hand now. Finally, I caught a glimpse of Mom swinging an old cast-iron skillet, braining one of them. She was fighting side by side with her faithful clone.

Then the unthinkable happened. A tremendous fireball erupted into the sky. It fell and struck the roof of our house. Next came an explosion of flaming timbers and furnishings, the flailing limbs of Elite soldiers, their horrifying cries.

Their comrades had fired a rocket into the heart of the battle, sacrificing their own without a second thought. That was how Elites fought.

I stared in horror and disbelief as the burning debris rained down around me.

“Mom! Dad!” I yelled. “Where are you?”

It didn’t take me long to find them-two charred corpses, their hands extending toward each other as if they’d been reaching out to touch one last time.

How could anyone kill these good people? Massacre them? Who would do such a cowardly thing? But I knew the answer to that: Elites had already annihilated hundreds of millions of humans. What were a few more?

Standing there with my heart breaking, I whispered, “I love you, Dad. I love you, Mom.” I hated myself for not saying it more when they were alive. “You will have your revenge. I promise that-at least that.”

My God, I had just seen both my parents-dead. I couldn’t make myself think straight, could barely capture a breath.

Numb with shock-ready to die now myself-I swung around to fight the rest of the Elites. I could see them creeping out of the woods.

Suddenly, I hated them, hated all Elites-but especially their leader, whoever had planned this cowardly attack.

Then I saw who it was. On the crest of a nearby hill, Jax Moore was walking toward what remained of our house. He was dressed as a commando, gun in hand, smoking one of his victory cigars.

I had lost my concentration. A flying body slammed into me and threw me to the ground, gripping me in an iron-tight headlock. I hadn’t seen him coming.

“Don’t fight me!” Lucy whispered into my ear.