Raging Sea Page 23

  “I’m coming back for you, Governor!” I shout to her.

  Neither Calvin nor Bachman acknowledges my threat. They get on the bus with the rest of their White Tower guards, and soon they are gone.

  “We’re going to the beach!” Jackson shouts in a thick southern drawl I didn’t notice until now. “Keep your eyes open. Sea monsters are not the only problem we have around here. There are still a handful of locals living in the demilitarized zone. They’re die-hards who would rather face the risk of being eaten by Rusalka than leave their homes. They are heavily armed and can get violent if they feel threatened. If we encounter one, please let me handle it. You should also keep an eye out for stray dogs. Packs of them wander the streets, and they’re hungry. Most of them aren’t very nice. But our biggest concern at this moment is the roamers.”

  “Roamers?” Riley asks.

  “The creatures sent a wave at us this morning. When that happens, you can bet a few of them are in it. They get behind our fortifications and cause trouble. They pop up everywhere.”

  I look around and then to my mother and father.

  “We’re not all Alpha,” I say. “My father is injured, and we’ve got people here who aren’t trained to fight. Is there a safe place they should go?”

  “Command wants everyone, so everyone is coming. Do your best to keep up,” he says sympathetically.

  “Mom, help Dad, and Dad, you let her,” I scold. “Bex—”

  “She will be my responsibility,” Arcade says, stepping forward.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She shrugs.

  I grab Chloe by the hand. “You’re with me.”

  “All right, let’s move—” Jackson’s voice is drowned by gunfire nearby and what sounds like a shrieking.

  “Rusalka!” Fathom shouts.

  The children reach into their pockets and remove their handguns. They load them quickly and then grab the free hand of someone smaller. They’re calm. Doyle did a good job with them.

  “Run!” Jackson commands, and he takes off at a sprint, pointing his rifle down every intersection we pass. At one street corner, I see a Rusalka running in our direction, snarling and growling like a lion. Jackson fires again and again, going through two or three dozen rounds. Finally, Georgia joins the firefight and the creature falls to the ground dead.

  “It takes a lot to put one down!” Jackson shouts to us as he continues running. “Everyone needs to be watching. If you spot a roamer, I need you to shout it loudly and clearly and then get out of my way. I can’t have you between me and them, understand?”

  Georgia nods.

  “Good shot, by the way,” he admits to her.

  We climb over piles of trash and broken bicycles. This can’t be good for my father’s ribs, but he doesn’t complain. My mother helps him when he will let her. We race down a new street until we reach a place in the road where a yellow school bus has crashed. To me it looks like the soldiers have used a welding torch to cut a path right through its belly. It still requires a few awkward steps, but we get through. I help Chloe over every obstacle.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Chloe.

  Her eyes show panic, but she nods bravely.

  On the next block, there are houses shoved off their foundations, now sitting squarely in the street. On the side of the road is a car from the Cyclone. Its blue paint is a shocking hue in this cold and gray world. I spot bicycles and baby carriages hanging in tree limbs high above the ground. Toys and books and photo albums lay strewn in the gutter. A discarded birthday hat is impaled on a twig, fluttering in the frosty breeze. There are empty lots where only the basement remains, filled to the top with murky, fuel-tainted muck. Everywhere I look, I see the death-count numbers. B8. B3. B5. B12. Some are painted on the sidewalk or a street lamp because the house that once stood there is gone.

  We turn down a side road to get around the debris, and that’s when I see the fate of the Wonder Wheel. It lies flat on its back, having crushed several brownstones and a post office when it fell. It looks like a bully shoved it to the ground. The Wheel was a huge landmark, part of the neighborhood’s history. I used to use it to navigate the streets when I was a kid. It always pointed me south, toward the beach. The wave not only toppled it but dragged the whole thing right through the neighborhood. It’s far from where it once stood. I can’t even see the water from here.

  We’re joined by two more soldiers, who keep up with Jackson’s sprint. One has a bulky bandage on his hand. The other has a fresh wound on his cheek.

  “Are these them?” they shout to us in disbelief.

  “That’s what showed up,” Jackson shouts back.

  The other soldiers curse in frustration.

  “Rusalka are flooding the beach. We’ve got a squadron handling it and bombers on the way,” the soldier with the bandage explains. “Command is pinned down in that abandoned building.”

  A few blocks ahead, we come across a dozen more soldiers running perpendicular to us. Their gunshots ring through the air. I can’t see what they’re firing at, but it causes Jackson to tense up. He drags us off the road behind a burned-out semitrailer. While we wait, he calls out to someone on his radio. The voice on the other end tells him to hold his position. Moments later, I watch four fighter jets scream overhead, low enough to clip the tops of apartment buildings.

  “Cover your ears!” Jackson orders.

  The air rumbles and builds into a shocking catastrophe. It jostles my bones and organs.

  “The bombers have just knocked a hole through the Rusalka, but we have to act fast. There are a few buildings about a quarter mile from here that the waves haven’t destroyed yet. They’re as close to the frontline as I can get you, and it’s where Major Kita is waiting for us. We need to get there and help. Are you kids up to this?”

  “We are,” Priscilla says.

  I turn and see that all the kids are nodding. Their faces are firm and serious. Each has taken a handgun from their packs. It’s unsettling, especially the little ones.

  Jackson is off like a dart, and the children follow him into the battle zone. Gunfire comes from every direction. Bullets tear through the air and crash into the ground. Rusalka spring up everywhere we go, seemingly out of thin air, before the kids turn their guns on them. I watch one Rusalka fall, get up, fall again, then leap back to its feet as if the bullets were mere annoyances. No wonder the military has such a tough time with them. They won’t stay down.

  Another Rusalka leaps into our path. Jackson raises his gun, but the monster swipes it out of his grip. Jackson falls backwards, scampering for some kind of footing, but the beast stalks him. He takes a look at us, then stops. There’s a crackling sound near my ear; then a geyser rises up from beneath the monster, sending the ugly thing flailing into the air. It slams to the ground in an unnatural position.

  I turn and realize that Chloe’s glove is glowing and bright. She’s smiling proudly.

  “Good girl,” I say, then turn to help Jackson stand. By the time he’s upright, there are thirty more Rusalka in our way.

  Arcade and Fathom sprint ahead, faster and more agile than any human could hope to be. Their Kala pop out of their arms and flash in the gray sky. They bring them down on the monsters’ heads. Fathom tears into their bellies, spilling black blood into the street. Arcade goes for their limbs, and blood falls like rain. My mother hurries to join them, delivering punches that cripple Rusalka where they stand. She’s fast and vicious, breaking the creatures in half. My father swings at the beasts with a metal pipe he found in the road. All the while, the soldiers keep up their assault, firing at anything that gets close.

  Jackson takes my arm. He points toward the beach amid the gun smoke and fires.

  “It’s there!”

  A building rises into view, not far from where the boardwalk once stood. I recognize it immediately as the remains of Childs Restaurant, an abandoned eyesore that’s been standing for longer than I’ve been alive. I’ve walked past it a million times, not gi
ving it much attention. Now that my life depends on reaching it, I notice its bizarre architecture with its arches and crenelations. I can’t believe that of all the buildings in this town, it counts itself among the survivors and that it’s the site of the military’s line in the sand.

  Jackson urges us onward so I snatch Chloe, and we dash through the sand until we reach the building, then race through an open door. Everyone follows.

  The inside of the old restaurant is a beehive of activity. Soldiers work on laptops plugged into generators. Maps of the coastline and sonar images of the ocean floor are tacked to the walls, each marked with red circles and lines. Almost everyone is shouting into a radio or calling someone on a phone. There are cases of ammunition on one side of the room and canoes and kayaks stacked near the doors.

  “What are those for?” I ask Jackson.

  “Getaway cars,” he says.

  This was once a fancy eatery with tiled floors, marble columns, and tin ceilings; now armed soldiers hover at every window, some with rifles, others with rocket launchers. They are all trained on the shoreline. They fire over and over again. I peer out of one window and see the beach beyond. It’s swarming with Rusalka and soldiers, all in a struggle for control of the shore. The more Rusalka die, the more crawl out of the sea, clambering over the bodies of their dead brothers and sisters.

  I turn away, too terrified to look any longer. It’s insane for us to be this close. I gather the children to me, preparing to make a run for it at any moment.

  “Major Kita, the White Tower team has arrived,” Jackson explains as he approaches an older, graying soldier in camo gear. Kita is trim and clean-cut, Japanese American, and, based on how the others treat him, the man in charge. His chest full of medals is another clue.

  Kita turns and studies us, unable to hide his confusion and irritation. We’re just as much an unwelcome surprise to him as we were to Jackson when we arrived.

  “You’re Lyric Walker,” he says, stepping to face me.

  “I am.”

  “Can all the children do what you can?”

  “No,” I confess. “But all of them have some ability.”

  “I appreciate the honesty, so let’s keep running down that road. Can I trust you?”

  “You can trust that I’m going to do everything I can to keep these kids alive. If we survive, we’re all going to walk away, and if you try to stop us, you’ll regret it.”

  It sounds so badass, I just hope my face matches the words.

  “If we survive this, I’ll buy you all bus tickets out of town myself,” he promises. “You kids ready to clock in?”

  I nod.

  “Find a window and help a soldier!” he shouts to us. The children look to me for approval, and I nod. They each race to follow their orders, turning on their gloves and blasting Rusalka from the safety of the building. Riley shouts out suggestions and cheers the team every time a monster is killed.

  “Incredible,” Kita says. “If we can get your team out into the drink, we might be able to fight them back.”

  He pulls out one of the maps on a table and points at a huge mass of shadows in the water.

  “The Rusalka are hunkered down about a mile off the coast. We’ve failed to make an impression on them, and they keep returning to the beach day after day.”

  My mother and father join us to look at the maps.

  “We want to drop you here,” he says, pointing to a small span of ocean. “The idea is that you will push them toward the shore.”

  “You want to squeeze them,” my father says.

  Kita nods. “I was told you kids can breathe underwater?”

  “We can also die under there. What’s this big black blob over here? Is that more Rusalka?” I ask, pointing to a mass on the maps.

  A soldier enters the restaurant carrying something that looks like a huge mop. It’s as big as a golden retriever and made entirely of slimy, wet tentacles. Bex squeals with revulsion, and I gasp. It’s one of the squid creatures from Spangler’s tanks.

  “Sir, we found another one of these things down on the beach.”

  “Oh no,” my mother gasps. I turn and see terror all over her face. It’s mirrored by Riley’s father, John, by Arcade, and even by Fathom’s expressions.

  “That’s what that blob on the map is made of,” Kita says. “Ugly things, and fast as lightning. They’ve got a spike buried in there that latches on to the back of your head—”

  “How many of these have you found?” Fathom interrupts.

  “Ten,” Jackson says. “We sent five to White Tower to study; the rest we left to rot.”

  “Spangler had them in the tanks,” I explain.

  “You need to leave this place,” Fathom says.

  Everyone turns to him in surprise.

  “That creature is death, and even the bravest of my people are smart enough to keep their distance. This one has led the way for many more.”

  “I don’t know if you noticed that beach out there,” Kita says, “but I’ve got bigger problems to deal with than a bunch of fat squids. I’ve got monsters throwing tidal waves at the shore and eating my dead soldiers. It takes ten bullets to slow one of them down, and ten more to kill it. These ugly things go down with one shot, and they’re as dumb as dogs. They’re not a problem.”

  “You need to listen to us, Major. He’s right. This thing is called an Undine, and it is the real threat. This is just a baby,” my mother says, pointing at the dead mass of arms. “It’s one of ten million born on the same day.”

  “Ten million?” Bex cries.

  “Three days later, its mother gives birth to another ten million.”

  “That’s not possible,” Jackson says. “We would have noticed these creatures if there were that many. One of them would have washed up onshore or gotten caught in a fishing net.”

  “Undine have a way of keeping their own populations under control. When one is born, its hunger is insatiable. To survive, it turns on its brothers and sisters and eats them. One Undine can devour a hundred others in a single day, and normally it’s the feeding frenzy that keeps their numbers low.”

  “Understood. So why is this a problem for us?” Kita asks.

  “Undine babies rarely escape the birthing cave,” John adds. “If one is here, it’s because they are all being led here.”

  “By what?” my father asks.

  “The mother,” my mom says. “And trust me, the mother isn’t dumb. She’s as intelligent as any one of us.”

  “Well, what does she want?” Jackson begs.

  “Food,” Fathom says. “The prime has told her that there is plenty to eat here.”

  He turns on his heel and rushes for the door.

  “Where’s he going?” Jackson shouts.

  I look to Arcade, fully expecting her to chase after him, but she shakes her head and lets him go. I throw up my hands and run after him myself.

  “So we’re here and now you’re leaving?” I shout after him, once I get outside.

  “I have to tell them,” he says, turning back to me.

  I scowl. “You’ve got some serious daddy issues. Fine, go to your father, but if I have to kill you, then don’t be surprised when I do.”

  “I’m not going to warn my father. I’m going to warn the other Alpha about the Undine. My uncle Braken and cousin Flyer wait with what is left of our people. Thousands strong. Ghost and Surf are among them. They must know that you have returned and a more dire enemy approaches.”

  “Me?”

  He takes a step toward me, but I flinch.

  “You. My people cannot defeat the Rusalka on our own. We need you.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice rising in anger.

  “Hey, you two, if you want to stay alive, you need to get off the beach!” a soldier shouts as he runs past us. “The Rusalka are hungry today.”

  Fathom ignores him.

  “There has been much I wished to explain to you, Lyric Walker, but you w
ould not listen. Are you willing to hear me now?”

  “If it makes sense, yes!” I cry.

  “When we parted in the water, after the first attack, I went in search of Alpha survivors,” he says. “The Great Abyss had taken many, so I asked him to give me fortune in finding the rest. He was kind, and I discovered them before they went too far out to sea, where I would never find them. It took much convincing on my part to get them to stay. My father’s shame damaged my standings, and my dismissal of my royal obligations did not help. Most refused to listen to me, but my uncle and cousin demanded I be heard. I told them that there were good humans, people on the surface who were honorable and worthy, and that I was in love with one.”

  I have to catch my breath.

  “That probably didn’t help,” I say.

  “No, it did not, but Ghost came to your defense.”

  “Ghost? He hates me!”

  “He is well respected among my people, and he was able to sway them to resume our fight. After a vote, they agreed, even though they believed we would be slaughtered. It was Ghost who gave us hope of victory. He believed that you would be captured eventually and taken to Tempest, where the children of Alpha were held. He also believed that those children would be able to hear the Voice the same as you. Rescuing you and the children could help us stop our enemies and give safety to the surface world. I returned to the beach, collecting as many gloves as I could among the dead, then gave myself to the soldiers. As Ghost predicted, they delivered me to Tempest, but you were not there. You had managed to elude capture, so I met with the ones they called Doyle and Spangler. I gave them the gloves and encouraged them to find you.

  “I don’t think you understand what the word rescue means,” I snap. “You kept me from destroying that place, Fathom. I could have brought it all down on Spangler’s head. We could have gotten the children out and their parents, too. Don’t you realize what you did? There are Alpha back there in those tanks who would be free today if you had not gotten in my way.”

  “Escape was never a question, Lyric Walker. For our plan to work you needed to train the children to use the Voice, and I needed to train you to stay alive.”