I Am Number Four Read Free

and find cars and TV there, too.”
    I nod. Maybe it won’t be as bad as I think.
    “What do you think of the name ‘John Smith’?” I ask.
    “Is that what you’ve settled on?”
    “I think so,” I say. I’ve never been a John before, or a Smith.
    “It doesn’t get any more common than that. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.”
    I smile. “Yeah, I think I like ‘John Smith.’”
    “I’ll create your forms when we stop.”
    A mile later we are off the island and cruising across the bridge. The waters pass below us. They are calm and the moonlight is shimmering on the small waves, creating dapples of white in the crests. On the right is the ocean, on the left is the gulf; it is, in essence, the same water, but with two different names. I have the urge to cry, but I don’t. It’s not thatI’m necessarily sad to leave Florida, but I’m tired of running. I’m tired of dreaming up a new name every six months. Tired of new houses, new schools. I wonder if it’ll ever be possible for us to stop.

CHAPTER THREE
    WE PULL OFF FOR FOOD AND GAS AND NEW PHONES. 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. As we eat, he creates new documents on his laptop, using our new names. He’ll print them when we arrive, and as far as anyone will know, we’ll be who we say we are.
    “You’re sure about John Smith?” he says.
    “Yeah.”
    “You were born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.”
    I laugh. “How did you come up with that?”
    He smiles and motions towards two women sitting a few booths away. Both of them are extremely hot. One of them is wearing a T-shirt that reads WE DO IT BETTER IN TUSCALOOSA .
    “And that’s where we’re going next,” he says.
    “As weird as it may sound, I hope we stay in Ohio for a long time.”
    “Really. You like the idea of Ohio?”
    “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. I started to do it in Florida. It was sort of great, and for the first time since we’ve been on Earth, I felt almost normal. I want to find somewhere and stay somewhere.”
    Henri looks thoughtful. “Have you looked at your scars today?”
    “No, why?”
    “Because this isn’t about you. This is about the survival of our race, which was almost entirely obliterated, and about keeping you alive. Every time one of us dies—every time one of you , the Garde, dies—our chances diminish. You’re Number Four; you’re next in line. You have an entire race of vicious murderers hunting you. We’re leaving at the first sign of trouble, and I’m not going to debate it with you.”
    Henri drives the entire time. Between breaks and the creation of the new documents, it takes about thirty hours. I spend most of the time napping or playing video games. Because of my reflexes, I can master most of the games quickly. The longest it has taken me to beat any of them is about a day. I like the alien war and space games the best. I pretend I’m back on Lorien, fightingMogadorians, cutting them down, turning them to ash. Henri thinks it’s weird and tries to discourage me from doing it. He says we need to live in the real world, where war and death are a reality, not pretend. As I finish my latest game, I look up. I’m tired of sitting in the truck. The clock on the dash reads 7:58. I yawn, wipe my eyes.
    “How much farther?”
    “We’re almost there,” Henri says.
    It is dark out, but there is a pale glow to the west. We pass by farms with horses and cattle, then barren fields, and beyond those, it’s trees as far as the eye can see. This is exactly what Henri wanted, a quiet place to go unnoticed. 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. He