Return to Paradise by Pittacus Lore Page A

in—days? weeks?—I allow myself to hope. It’s the Garde. It has to be. They’ve come to rescue me.
    “This is it, Sam,” I tell myself, willing myself to move.
    I stand up and move shakily to the door of my cell. My legs feel like jelly. I haven’t had much reason to use them since they brought me here. Even crossing the short distance of my cell to the door is enough to make my head swim. I press my forehead to the cool metal of the bars, waiting for the dizziness to pass. I can feel reverberations of the fight below passing through the metal, growing stronger and more intense.
    “John!” I shout, my voice hoarse. “Six! Anyone! I’m here! I’m in here!”
    Part of me thinks it’s silly to cry out, as if the Garde could hear my cries over the massive battle it sounds like they’re fighting. It’s that same part of me that’s wanted to give up, to just curl up in my cell and wait out my ultimate fate. It’s the same part of me that thinks the Garde would be stupid to try to rescue me.
    It’s the part of me that believed Setrákus Ra. I can’t give in to that feeling of despair. I have to prove him wrong.
    I need to make some noise.
    “John!” I scream again. “I’m in here, John!”
    Weak as I feel, I pound my fists against the steel bars as hard as I can. The sound echoes throughout the empty block, but there’s no way the Garde could hear it above the muffled gunfire coming through the walls. It’s hard to tell over the increasing sounds of battle, but I think I hear footsteps rattling across the steel gangway that connects the cells. Too bad I can’t see anything beyond the few feet in front of my cell. If there is someone in here with me, I’ve got to get their attention and just hope it isn’t a Mog guard.
    I grab my water bucket and dump out what’s left of my day’s supply. My plan—the best one I’ve got—is to bang it against the bars of my cell.
    When I turn back around, there’s a guy standing outside my door.

CHAPTER TWO
    HE’S TALL AND GAUNT, MAYBE A FEW YEARS older than me, with a shock of black hair that hangs in front of his face. It looks like he’s just been in a fight, dirt and sweat smudged across his pale face. I stare at him, wide-eyed—it’s been so long since I’ve seen another person. He looks almost equally surprised to see me.
    There’s something off about him. Something not quite right.
    The slightly too pale skin. The darkness around the edges of his eyes. He’s one of them.
    I back up farther into my cell, hiding the empty water bucket behind my back. If he comes in here, I’m going to clock him with all the strength I have left.
    “Who are you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
    “We’re here to help,” the guy replies. He sounds uncomfortable, like he doesn’t know what to say.
    Before I can ask who he means by “we,” a man shoveshim aside. There are deep lines on his face, which is covered by a scruffy growth of beard. My mouth hangs open in disbelief and I take another step back into my cell, startled again, but this time for a different reason. I don’t know why I expected him to look like the pictures hanging in our family room, but it’s just the way I always imagined this moment. Years have passed, yet underneath the deep crevices I still recognize this man, especially when he smiles at me.
    “Dad?”
    “I’m here, Sam. I’m back.”
    My face hurts and it takes me a moment to realize why. I’m smiling. Grinning, in fact. It’s the first time I’ve used those muscles in weeks.
    We hug through the bars, the metal pressed uncomfortably into my ribs, but I don’t care. He’s here. He’s really here. I’d fantasized about the Garde coming to rescue me. Never in my wildest dreams did I think my father would be the one saving me from this place. I guess I always thought that I’d be the one rescuing him.
    “I—I’ve been looking for you,” I tell him. I wipe my forearm across my eyes; that strange Mogadorian is still