Undertow Page 21

  “Just leave me alone,” I beg. “My friend was murdered. Can’t you just be kind? Is there nothing in you that is human?”

  A reporter and a cameraman enter the cafeteria, and she waves them over. “In here, please. Yes, you can set up over there. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “We’re all ready,” the reporter says eagerly. “We’ll do this hand-held.”

  “Good!” Bachman looks so pleased with herself. She straightens her suit, then turns to face the camera just as Doyle and thirty soldiers dash into the room. His face is both shocked and angry, and he’s out of breath. He must have run all the way from his office.

  “Governor, I understand you need a little attention, but this is no place for your publicity stunts. My team is outside, and we’re putting a stop to this game.”

  “What game?” I ask.

  Bachman grins and waves a white envelope in the air like it’s a conquering flag. “See, that’s the thing, Mr. Doyle. You can’t stop a court order. I didn’t think you had the power to expel all those students, so I went and talked to a judge, and he agreed with me. So they’re coming back to get the education they so richly deserve. This school was built for the children of Coney Island—all of them.”

  She pushes the emergency-exit door. On the other side is an army, all in red T-shirts. Each of them wears a wicked grin that matches the governor’s, and they file through the door.

  “Welcome back, kids,” she continues. “Please step all the way in. We need to make room for everyone.”

  “I have the power to expel anyone who disrupts the learning process,” Doyle says.

  “Maybe, but today these kids are going to school.”

  Doyle gives a look to one of his soldiers and watches as he runs off, while the Niners continue to enter. I see Jorge pass by, then Svetlana, even Deshane. There are others—Lara, Luiz, so many I had almost forgotten about—kids who were sent packing to keep the rest of us safe. Now they’re back, like a cancer spreading through Hylan’s bloodstream. Six hundred kids walk through the door, and every one of them is trouble.

  “This place is going to explode,” someone says.

  He’s right.

  The governor turns to me. Her sneer is triumphant. “Today I am righting a wrong in Coney Island. Let no one think that monsters come before a human child.”

  She takes off her suit jacket, revealing her very own Coney Island Nine T-shirt. Her teenage army claps and cheers as she flirts with the camera.

  Doyle spots Bonnie among the soldiers. “Take Ms. Walker out of here. Fast.”

  She grabs me by the arm, and we race out of the cafeteria and into the halls, but the Niners are everywhere, pouring through the main entrance and the fire exits. They roam the halls in packs, shoving around anyone not wearing a red T-shirt. The soldiers and cops seem helpless to stop them. There are just too many.

  “This is insane,” Bonnie barks into her radio. Someone shouts back, but I can’t make out what the other person said. “Damn! The front doors are blocked. We need to go out the exit in the rear.”

  We make a U-turn but have to push our way through a sea of red shirts. They spit on us as we pass, and one tries to punch me, but Bonnie aims her rifle at him.

  “Be smart!” she shouts, and the kid takes her advice.

  A dozen soldiers run past, and another dozen come the other way. Someone is shouting through Bonnie’s radio. I hear a gunshot. When we get to the rear exit, we find another gang of Niners waiting for us.

  “There’s a door in the library,” I say.

  Bonnie nods and turns us down a hallway, but when we get to the library, we find the door to the outside chained shut. Bonnie unstraps her gun and slams the butt against the metal links, but it’s no use. It’s too thick and strong.

  “Step back,” she says, then turns the muzzle on the door.

  I hear a crash, but it doesn’t come from gunfire. I turn to find Bumper standing nearby, next to an overturned bookshelf, cornered by Svetlana and two dozen of her friends.

  “You are disgusting,” Svetlana cries. “All of you are pretty gross, but you are by far the ugliest little freak in the bunch. What the hell are you supposed to be? A squid?”

  “I only wish to pass,” Bumper says. Her voice gurgles like it’s full of water. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard her speak.

  “Tough.” Svetlana shoves Bumper, and the small Ceto stumbles back. Svetlana’s fingers are covered in ooze that came off of Bumper’s skin. It’s like paste, and she smears it across her jeans.

  “Leave her alone,” Bonnie demands, but Svetlana ignores her.

  “I want you out of here, freak, so I’m going to be in your face every day. I won’t let up. I’ll mess with you until coming to this school gives you nightmares.”

  “Svetlana, stop,” I cry.

  “Shut up, Lyric. You’re next.”

  “Leave me alone,” Bumper says calmly.

  “Make me.”

  “You do not understand our ways, human,” Bumper says.

  “All I understand is that you’re a creepy little monster.” Svetlana punches Bumper in her face, and a red dot appears at the point of impact. It grows and seeps across Bumper’s cheek; however, she acts as if it didn’t hurt.

  “I will not tolerate any more, human,” she says. “If you continue, I will understand it to be a challenge and I will fight back.”

  Svetlana laughs, then punches Bumper in the face again. This time, black blood dribbles from the Ceto’s mouth and down the front of her white T-shirt. She reaches up and touches it, while Svetlana is already throwing another haymaker. I cringe, preparing for the sick thud, but this time Bumper catches the girl’s fist in her own hand.

  “Challenge accepted,” the Ceto says as her entire body glows.

  Svetlana’s eyes roll into the back of her head. She twitches, then shakes like a spastic marionette, flopping around in unnatural ways. Her arms and legs spin at the joints. Her tongue wags out of her mouth and turns white, then black. Her head jerks in every direction while the sounds of cracking bones fill the room. And there is a smell. Bumper is cooking Svetlana.

  “Let her go or I will shoot!” Bonnie says, her gun leveled at Bumper’s face.

  The Ceto nods and pulls her hand free with a sickening and sticky slurp, but Svetlana’s body is stuck in a jittery slow-motion dance. She looks down at herself, at the smoke coming from her clothes and fingertips, then lets out a shrill, agonizing wail. Her hair catches fire, and she topples over. Her head hits the floor hard, a smack I will never forget, and she lies twitching as a soldier runs forward and falls to his knees to administer CPR. He sets one hand on her and flies back several feet with a snapping shock.

  Six more soldiers race down the hall.

  “What happened?” one of them shouts.

  “The little one killed her,” Bonnie says, pointing at Bumper.

  “She would not stop,” Bumper explains, then turns to the other Niners. “None of you will stop. I think you’ll stop now, yes?”

  One of the other soldiers reaches for his handcuffs.

  “No, don’t touch her,” Bonnie says. “She used some kind of electricity—maybe a weapon, maybe something that’s inside.”

  The soldiers raise their weapons and train them on Bumper.

  “Keep your hands where we can see them,” Bonnie barks.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I hear what happened at school,” Mrs. Novakova says when my parents and I get off the elevator. “I told you those things are dangerous.”

  “Mrs. Novakova, today has been a very difficult day,” my mother says.

  “I hear you spend time with fish-head prince,” she continues.

  “We just want to get her inside,” my father says as we try to step past the old woman.

  “Don’t bring him here. I told you before. I won’t have it. I don’t want their disease!”

  I snap. “You’re a miserable old cow, and you’d better get out of my face,” I s
hout. It causes neighbors to peer into the hall, but they close themselves up when they see Mrs. Novakova.

  “You let your daughter talk to elders like that?” she spits at my mother.

  “You’re right. There are far better things to call you, like a heartless old hag.”

  Novakova shakes a finger at us and stomps down the hall.

  “Mrs. Novakova,” my father shouts, and the old woman spins around so fast, she nearly falls over. “If any of your friends show up tonight, I will arrest you for conspiracy and I will have you locked up in the Tombs.”

  She peers at him, not sure she believes him, then she heads to her apartment and slams the door.

  “I bet that felt really good,” my mother says to me.

  “Yes, and it’s not going to go unanswered. We may need to find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” my father says. “I’ll make some calls. Maybe some of the guys have an extra room.”

  When we enter our apartment, we find Terrance Lir sitting on our couch.

  “How did you get in here?” my father whispers as he closes the door.

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” Terrance says, keeping his voice down as well. “Summer, Lyric says you aren’t leaving.”

  “I can’t,” she says.

  “You have to, and as quickly as you can.”

  “My family might need me. I know they’re in the next wave—”

  “Summer, there is no second wave. They’re gone.”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Everyone—all of them. The entire Alpha civilization is gone. The last survivors are on the beach,” he says.

  “They’re dead? That’s impossible. There are millions of us,” my mother says.

  “I wish there were.” Terrance shakes his head.

  “You’re a liar!” my mother cries.

  “I don’t know what happened. No one will tell me. But there’s no one left, Summer. Take the family you have and run as far from here as you can.”

  “Why the urgency, Terrance?” my father says suspiciously.

  Terrance runs his hand over his tired face. “I don’t know for certain. They won’t tell me anything.”

  “You’re the prime’s voice.”

  “Yes, and what a lofty station. I am worse than a Rusalka to them. They look at me with disgust. They say I have human stink on me for marrying Rochelle. They won’t even let her and Samuel into the camp. They call him half-breed trash. I’ve heard that the prime intends to kill me when my usefulness is over. Don’t look at me like that. It’s true, Summer.”

  “You did your job. You stayed at the beach,” my mother argues.

  “I have committed a far more serious crime then betraying the Alpha. I prevent them from forgetting their failure.”

  “What failure, Terrance? You aren’t making sense,” my mother cries.

  “Really, Summer? You haven’t figured this out yet? Why do you think they sent us to the shore?”

  “So we could learn about humanity. So if the Alpha needed to, we could live on the surface.”

  Terrance shakes his head sadly. “Are you really that naive? We weren’t sent here to learn how to live with humans. We were sent to spy on them so when the Alpha attacked the shore, the humans would be easily conquered.”

  “That’s crazy, Terrance,” my mother cries.

  “We’re scouts for an invasion.”

  “Mom, did you know that?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Only something went wrong. Instead of unleashing war on the surface, they staggered onto the beach to hide. They’re refugees, Summer.”

  “Hiding from what?” my father says.

  “No one will tell me. All I know is they are preparing for something, maybe a campaign to go back home, somehow seize the hunting grounds from whatever threw them out. But I fear it’s something worse. The prime—he talks to us like he’s preparing us for the original plan.”

  “You mean he still wants to try to conquer us?” my father cries. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Terrance nods, wearily. “He’s insane, Leonard. Maybe all that death was too much for his mind, maybe the stress of ruling over the end of our people has done something to him, but he’s not the man I knew twenty years ago. He rambles to himself day and night, laughing and conspiring with people who are not there. His wife—she encourages it. She tells him the voices he hears are from the Great Abyss. She’s convinced him that he’s been given a divine mission. So, would he launch an attack? Absolutely. You’ve seen our people scavenging in the night. There are mountains of scrap metal on the beach. They melt it down and make weapons. He won’t let them stop.”

  “Terrance is telling the truth. I saw them doing it,” I say.

  “It’s not going to end well, Summer. If you think things are bad now, wait until armed Alpha start butchering people in the streets.”

  Terrance stands and walks to my mother, taking her hands in his own, making her trembling eyes meet his. “And don’t forget that you are the last of the originals. Angela and her family were just arrested. How much longer do you think you can hide before they come for you? Believe me, you don’t want to go where they take us.”

  “The camp?” she whispers.

  Terrance blanches. “A house of horrors, Summer. No, don’t look away. You need to see me. You need to understand. They experiment on us. They inject us with chemicals. They bake us in the hot sun and freeze us in meat lockers—it’s different every day, they’re endlessly imaginative, and it’s all just to see what might happen. They cut us open, take what they want, and put us back together again.”

  He lifts his shirt, revealing a jagged scar that runs all the way up his abdomen nearly to his collarbone. It seems to radiate agony, and the simple act of showing us unlocks memories that cause his whole body to shake.

  “They let me out so I could help them communicate with the Alpha,” he says, his voice growing with intensity and pain. “I’ve done my best, but when I’m no longer useful, they will send us back. Samuel, Rochelle—yes, they experiment on her, too, Summer. They are just as fascinated with the people we love. But I won’t go back. I’ll die first. So, Summer, please, take Lyric and Leonard, take Doyle’s help, leave this place and never look back while you still can.”

  He pulls his shirt down, then stares at each one of us, like he’s a lost dog hoping one of us will show him some kindness.

  “I have to go,” he continues. “The incident with the Ceto girl requires a response from the prime, and I need to write one that will dull his unique sense of antagonism.”

  And then Terrance is gone, and my mother weeps. All through the night the tears come in painful jerks, as if they are stealing some vital organ from her as they escape her eyes. My father and I share a mutual helplessness, watching over her while she mourns her lost family.

  When she finally falls asleep, my father and I turn on the television to watch Terrance’s press conference. It’s on every channel. The camera lights are white hot, and he’s sweating so much, he has to use a handkerchief to wipe his face.

  “My name is Terrance Lir. I am a Son of Sirena and a member of the Alpha Nation. I’m also one of the original Alpha sent here years ago. I speak to you on behalf of my people as the voice of His Majesty the prime. He hoped that by living side by side, our two peoples could experience fruitful lives of mutual respect and cooperation.

  “This hope has faced many obstacles in the last three years, but none so great as the events of today. A Daughter of Ceto, known by the human name of Bumper, was arrested by military and police officials today at Hylan High School. Bumper is part of a pilot program of Alpha children attending a human school in Coney Island, New York. She is also the daughter of what humans might consider our secretary of education. Despite her lofty position in our world, Bumper, like all the Alpha children, has faced endless bullying, threats, and physical assaults. We were told when we agreed to take part in this program that our children would be treated as diplomats, protected by law e
nforcement, and shielded from violence. Those promises were never honored. Humanity may turn a blind eye to bullying, but an Alpha cannot. It is our custom to answer challenges with battle, yet Bumper did her best to weather the abuse. Today the attacks went from verbal to physical, and sadly a human child was killed. Our nation respects your justice system, but our efforts to speak with Bumper have been stymied, and we have recently discovered that she was removed from the Zone. She has, as one official put it, simply disappeared. We cannot tolerate kidnappings and disappearances. It is just those kinds of actions that led to the killing of nine Americans soldiers on our beach three years ago.

  “Thus, our council, made up of representatives of all the nation’s clans, has issued this demand: Bumper must be returned to us by tomorrow morning at eight, safe and unharmed, after which conversations can begin about a proper punishment for her actions. If, however, she is not returned by this deadline, our people will consider her a prisoner of war and will also consider ourselves at war with you. We will, as our people always have, respond to this challenge, as all challenges are answered. This is our way.”

  “So he was right,” I say.

  My father nods.

  “That’s insane. There’re only thirty thousand of them,” I say.

  My father’s phone rings. “Looks like I’m going back to work.”

  I watch Terrance set his paper down, then look to the crowd of reporters.

  “I will take a few questions, but please know that I speak on the orders of the prime and the Alpha council. I can only tell you what I have been told.”

  A reporter mumbles something his microphone does not broadcast on TV.

  “Are we declaring war? Bumper is fifteen years of age, a sensitive girl, and the child of an important member of our society. Bringing her back to her family and our community will be our nation’s only concern. If that doesn’t occur, there will be consequences.”