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I tried calling you earlier but your phone seemed to be turned off.” “I’m Annie Hart, the agent from Paradise Realty. She’s wearing a business suit and is holding a clipboard and folder a BlackBerry is clipped to the waist of her skirt. As we do, a well-dressed blond woman around Henri’s age comes out of the doorway. It’s been a very long time since the grass was last mowed. Three wooden stairs lead to a small porch covered with rickety chairs. The roof is covered with black shingles that look warped and brittle. Most of the white paint has been chipped away. I grab my bag from the bed and stand there holding it. The engine ticks and I can feel the heat coming off of it. In the dark there is an eerie look to it, like whoever last lived in it was scared away, or was driven away, or ran away. “Whose car is that?” I ask, nodding to the black SUV Henri has just parked behind. He comes to a stop and turns the truck off. Weeds grow throughout the gravel drive, which is littered with potholes filled with tawny water. “The closest house is two miles away,” he says, turning in. And then we find it, tucked away in overgrown vegetation, a rusted silver mailbox with black lettering painted on the side of it that reads 17 OLD MILL RD.
I number four 2 full#
We drive for four miles before turning left onto a gravel road, then pass open cut fields that are probably full of corn in the summer, then through a dense forest for about a mile. He continues around the circle and once we’re through it, the dashboard GPS system tells us to make a turn. We both look at it and laugh, though we’re laughing because we hope no one else with swords ever shows up here.
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A traffic circle sits in the center of town, and in the middle of it is a statue of a man on horseback holding a sword. A sidewalk cuts through small yards leading to the front doors.
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Halloween decorations hang in the windows of most of them. Then the houses begin, clapboard houses spaced thirty or so feet apart. We pass by an old gas station, a car wash, a cemetery. “This place is even smaller than where we stayed in Montana.” WELCOME TO PARADISE, OHIO POPULATION 5,243 He told me it took four tries-one call to South Dakota, one to New Mexico, one to Arkansas-until he had the rental where we’re going to live now.Ī few minutes later we see scattered lights that announce the town.
I number four 2 update#
Once a week he scours the internet for six, seven, eight hours at a time to update a list of available homes around the country that fit his criteria: isolated, rural, immediate availability. This is exactly what Henri wanted, a quiet place to go unnoticed. We pass by farms with horses and cattle, then barren fields, and beyond those, it’s trees as far as the eye can see. It is dark out, but there is a pale glow to the west. He says we need to live in the real world, where war and death are a reality, not pretend. Henri thinks it’s weird and tries to discourage me from doing it. I pretend I’m back on Lorien, fighting Mogadorians, cutting them down, turning them to ash. I like the alien war and space games the best. The longest it has taken me to beat any of them is about a day. Because of my reflexes, I can master most of the games quickly. I spend most of the time napping or playing video games. Between breaks and the creation of the new documents, it takes about thirty hours. We’re leaving at the first sign of trouble, and I’m not going to debate it with you.” You have an entire race of vicious murderers hunting you. Every time one of us dies-every time one of you, the Garde, dies-our chances diminish. This is about the survival of our race, which was almost entirely obliterated, and about keeping you alive. I want to find somewhere and stay somewhere.” It was sort of great, and for the first time since we’ve been on Earth, I felt almost normal. “I like the idea of making some friends, of going to the same school for more than a few months, of maybe actually having a life. “As weird as it may sound, I hope we stay in Ohio for a long time.” “And that’s where we’re going next,” he says. One of them is wearing a T-shirt that reads WE DO IT BETTER IN TUSCALOOSA. He smiles and motions towards two women sitting a few booths away. He’ll print them when we arrive, and as far as anyone will know, we’ll be who we say we are. As we eat, he creates new documents on his laptop, using our new names.
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We go to a truck stop, where we eat meat loaf and macaroni and cheese, which is one of the few things Henri acknowledges as being superior to anything we had on Lorien. WE PULL OFF FOR FOOD AND GAS AND NEW PHONES.