Legacies Reborn by Pittacus Lore Page B

I’ve still got some gas left in the tank.
    â€œWe’re staying,” I say firmly, my voice scratchy. “There are more people to save.”
    The cop shakes his head in wonder. Behind him, a girl that I vaguely remember rescuing from a collapsing fire escape bursts into tears. I’m not sure if she’s inspired or if I just look terrible. Sam remains completely focused on me, stone-faced, a fresh bead of sweat forming on his temple.
    â€œGet to safety,” I tell the survivors. “Then, help however you can. This is your planet. We’re all going to save it together.”
    The cop strides forward to shake my hand. His grip is like a vise. “We won’t forget you, John Smith,” he says. “All of us, we owe you our lives.”
    â€œGive them hell,” someone else says.
    And then all at once the rest of the group of survivors are blurting out their good-byes and their gratitude. I grit my teeth in what I hope is a smile. The truth is, I’m too tired for this. The cop—he’s their leader now, he’ll keep them safe—he makes sure everyone keeps it quiet and quick, eventually hustling them out of the apartment building’s lobby and onto the Brooklyn Bridge.
    As soon as we’re alone, Sam releases me from the telekinetic grip he was using to hold me upright and I slump backwards against the wall, struggling to keep my feet under me. He’s out of breath and sweating from the exertion of keeping me standing. He’s not Loricand he’s had no proper training, yet somehow Sam has developed a Legacy and begun using it the best he can. Considering our situation, he’s had no choice but to learn on the fly. Sam with a Legacy—if things weren’t so chaotic and desperate, I’d be more excited. I’m not sure how or why this happened to him, but Sam’s newfound powers are pretty much the only win we’ve had since coming to New York.
    â€œThanks,” I say, the words coming easier now.
    â€œNo problem,” Sam replies, panting. “You’re the symbol of the Earth’s resistance; we can’t have you laying around.”
    I try to push off from the wall, but my legs aren’t ready yet to support my full weight. It’s easier if I just lean against it and drag myself towards the nearest apartment door.
    â€œLook at me. I’m not the symbol of anything,” I grumble.
    â€œCome on,” he says. “You’re exhausted.”
    Sam puts his arm around me, helping me along. He’s dragging too, though, so I try not to put much weight on him. We’ve been through hell in the last few hours. The skin on my hands still tingles from how much I’ve had to use my Lumen, tossing fireballs at squad after squad of Mog attackers. I hope the nerve endings aren’t permanently singed or something. The thought of igniting my Lumen right now makes my knees nearly buckle.
    â€œResistance,” I say bitterly. “Resistance is what happens after you lose a war, Sam.”
    â€œYou know what I meant,” he replies. I can tell by the way his voice shakes that it’s a strain for Sam to stay optimistic after everything we’ve seen today. He’s trying, though. “A lot of those people knew who you were. They said there was some video of you on the news. And everything that happened at the UN—you basically unmasked Setrákus Ra in front of an international audience. Everyone knows you’ve been fighting against the Mogadorians. That you tried to stop this.”
    â€œThen they know that I failed.”
    The door to the first-floor apartment is ajar. I shove it the rest of the way open and Sam closes and locks it behind us. I try the nearest light switch, surprised to find that the electricity is still on here. Power seems to be spotty throughout the city. I guess this neighborhood hasn’t been badly hit yet. I turn the lights off just as quickly—in our