Undertow Page 23

She turns her back on us and I whimper.

  “You’re going to have to put that other backpack on me. It’s huge,” she says.

  My mother flashes me a smile, then helps Bex hoist the pack over her shoulders.

  When the elevator opens, we pile in and I press the L button. The doors close.

  “When we get outside, we’re going to have to run,” my mother explains. “Leonard has a car. Once you see it, get into it and keep your heads down.”

  The elevator doors open, and the three of us dash as fast as we can with the heavy packs until we’re outside, and—just great—it’s raining like crazy and the wind is intense. As promised, my father’s squad car squeals to a stop right outside. He gets out and opens the doors, then tosses our packs in, helping my mother get into her seat while Bex and I scamper into the back.

  “We’ve got to be at the blockade in five minutes,” my father says. “Chuck and Nick know we’re coming.”

  “Who?”

  “Doyle set it up,” he says.

  He turns on his flashing lights and siren, then guns the engine and rips down the flooded road. The car blasts through a red light, hydroplanes, but avoids a spinout.

  “Denver, right?” Bex says.

  I turn and nod, then feel my body jerked, my head snapping back violently as something slams into our car. Glass shatters and metal screeches, but we’re still moving. I look to my left and see a pickup truck full of Niners trying to drive us off the road. They make another attempt, scraping the doors. This time their bumper catches ours and they yank it off the back of the car.

  “Leonard, there are more of them,” my mother screams, and then my whole body is upside down. I slam my head on the roof of the car and then onto the back seat. Something in my shoulder burns. The back window implodes and showers me with glass, and there’s an odd calm, as if the entire world has stopped what it was doing to see if we’re okay. All I can hear is the steady rotation of the tire outside my window and the clicking of the turn signal.

  “Dad,” I whimper.

  He lets out a terrible groan. “I’m here.”

  “Mom?”

  She’s breathing hard. “Yes, I’m okay. Can you get out?”

  “I can,” Bex says as she pushes her door open.

  My window is shattered, so I slide out onto the street, totally discombobulated but with enough sense to not put my hand in all the shards of glass. I’m wobbly but I can stand, so I help my mother out and then my dad. He cries out in agony and collapses on the asphalt, wrapping his arm around his abdomen.

  “I’m sure I’ve broken a rib,” he says through gritted teeth.

  “Leonard, you need to stand,” my mother begs.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “We need to get him out of the street,” my mother says.

  My mother takes his hands and I take his feet, but before the two of us can hoist him, I see the pickup truck again. It is stopped in the middle of the street, facing the opposite direction. Its taillights flash red and the tires squeal as it comes back our way.

  My mother and I hurry my father to the sidewalk as the truck spins around, doing a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, then revs its engines as it tears toward us. My mother steps back into the street, clamps her hands down on our wrecked car, and much to my surprise gives it a hefty push. It skids down the street on its roof, sending up sparks in every direction, then slams into the truck before the driver can react. The truck topples over on its side, crushing the men sitting in the back. There’s an explosion, and both vehicles catch fire.

  “The money!” I cry.

  “It’s not important,” my mother says.

  “Do you at least have the ID?”

  Mom shakes her head. “They were in my pack.”

  My father groans and I lean down to him. “It doesn’t matter anyway. The guards at the blockade are watching for us by now. We’re stuck.”

  “There’s one place we can still go,” my mother says, turning her gaze in the direction of the beach.

  My father shakes his head. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “The Alpha?” I ask.

  “We have to,” my mother says. “We’ve got no other options.”

  “They’ll try to kill you,” my father says to her.

  “We have to try!”

  “Can we decide?” Bex says, pointing down the street. There are cop cars coming right at us.

  My father tries to stand but collapses again. “Go without me.”

  “We don’t split up!” I shout.

  “I can’t walk.”

  “I’ll carry you,” my mother says.

  “No, you can’t move me. The bone could impale an organ. I’m better off with the police,” he says.

  My mother shakes her head. “I won’t leave you. They’ll take you to that camp!”

  “Then you’ll just have to rescue me,” he says.

  My mother gives him a kiss. “You are my selfsame,” she says.

  “Take care of your mother, Lyric.”

  “NO! We’re not leaving!”

  My mother latches her hand onto my wrist and drags me. I fight and scream, but there’s no use. I can’t break her grip. Bex follows, and the three of us zigzag down alleys to avoid cop cars. It’s slow going because the trash and filth are everywhere and I am putting up a tremendous struggle. I curse her while she drags me up the ramp, but she doesn’t stop, even when we are confronted by a mountain of muck and garbage stacked for miles in both directions. It’s made from hundreds of years of lazy people’s waste: bicycles, toys, dirty diapers, rusty cans, soaked clothes, license plates, car tires, and a billion broken bottles stacked four stories high. Foster and the rest of the soldiers who are supposed to guard this boardwalk are gone. I hope they ran off and aren’t buried alive under this heap.

  Unfortunately, the heap is blocking our path to the beach.

  “We have to get their attention,” my mother says, then releases a booming thrum just as loud and long as the one I heard the night the Alpha arrived. It shakes the air and causes goose bumps up and down my arms. For an excruciatingly long moment we stand beneath the wall, waiting for some kind of response. My mother calls out again. Still nothing.

  I hear footsteps on the boardwalk and turn to see that the missing soldiers are back. They run in our direction, aiming their rifles at us and shouting something I can’t make out.

  “They’re coming!” Bex says.

  One of the men fires his gun into the air. Now I can hear them telling us to get on the ground, but there’s water there, seeping out from under the wall, pouring over my shoes, swirling around the three of us, and then a section of the trash spills out and flows past us, revealing an archway to the other side. Standing in it are twenty of the biggest, most heavily armed Selkies I have seen so far. They carry spears and bark something at my mother that she responds to in their language.

  Terrance Lir appears in the opening.

  “Summer, you realize what this means?”

  “What does this mean?” I ask.

  She nods. “I’m ready, but you have to take in my daughter and her friend.”

  Terrance gestures to the guards. They snarl but step aside, and my mother pushes me through the door. Bex follows, and before the soldiers can get us, the water returns. It swirls around the trash like it’s alive.

  “How?” I shout.

  My mother looks just as surprised as me.

  “That was me,” Ghost says. He’s standing right behind us with his glowing metal glove, gesturing toward the trash that rises off the ground and into the hole in the wall, sealing it tight.

  Suddenly, two Selkies clamp their hands on my mother’s arms.

  “No, leave her alone!” I cry, and charge at the giants.

  One of the guards turns to me and pushes me hard enough to send me tumbling to the ground. He says something brutal in his ugly language, but I don’t need to know what he said to know it was a threat.

  “Don’t fight them,�
�� my mother says. “They let us in, and they can change their minds if they want to. I’ll be okay.”

  “Where are they taking you?” Bex shouts.

  “I’ll be okay,” she says over and over again. “Terrance, please keep an eye on them.”

  I turn to Terrance. “What is happening?”

  “Your mother is a traitor,” Terrance explains. “She has to face the high accuser.”

  “Who is that?” I ask.

  “The person who will decide whether she gets to live or die.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The moon is a glaring spotlight in an angry black sky. I can see it in our ceiling-less hut, arranged by Terrance, and built by Ghost and his . . . I don’t know what to call it; magic glove? It glowed bright on his stringy hand, and the water obeyed him like a well-trained puppy, carving sand into a shelter. Unfortunately, the roof is nothing more than a ratty sheet I pulled out of the enormous garbage wall. The rain is still coming down, befriended by a frosty wind that sets my teeth chattering. But these are the least of my worries. There is no word of my mother or father, and Terrance has not been back with news since we knocked on the front door and asked to be let in.

  “Someone’s coming,” Bex says, peering down the beach. I stand and look, overcome with a hope that it is Fathom. He hasn’t been here to see me. I begged Ghost to let him know I was in trouble. Nothing came of it. Unfortunately, as the figure grows closer, I recognize its outline.

  “It’s Arcade,” I say.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “She’s Fathom’s fiancé,” I explain.

  “Uh-oh,” Bex says. “Just be cool and apologetic for trying to steal her man, but if she starts taking off her heels and earrings, then we should run.”

  “Is it true?” Arcade snaps. “You are a Daughter of Sirena?”

  “Busted.”

  “You realize you’ve dishonored him?” she says. “You manipulated him, deceived him, spied on him—”

  “I did not spy on him,” I say.

  “You have been attempting to seduce him since the moment you met, human. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, all to feed his secrets to your traitorous mother and your policeman father!”

  “It’s not like that.”

  She stares at me, not in disgust, which is what I would expect, but rather like I’m a dangerous threat, something that might need to be put down before it hurts anyone else.

  “He and I are selfsame, united, and destined. You were nothing more than a carnal outlet for a spirited Triton male—”

  “Did you just call my friend a whore?” Bex says.

  “Just stop. There was nothing approaching carnal. It was just a little crush I had, it was stupid and meaningless and clearly it was all me, and I am sorry.” The words sting my tongue and lips like they’re made of vinegar, but what hurts most is that they are true.

  “Your apology means nothing to me,” she snarls.

  “You have to—” I’m seized with pain, brass knuckles punch my gray matter, and I cry out in both agony and surprise. It’s so bad, I nearly fall over.

  “What is your trouble, land walker?” Arcade snaps.

  “I get headaches.”

  Arcade raises a curious eyebrow, almost as if she doesn’t believe me.

  “Lie down,” Bex says. “She’s been getting them since she was a baby. She just needs some quiet, maybe something to eat.”

  “Find someone else to serve you, bottom feeder,” Arcade says, and then she’s gone.

  “You are the queen of awkward encounters these days,” Bex says. “Did you know they were together?”

  I nod. “I didn’t think it would go anywhere. The whole thing sort of came out of nowhere.”

  “But when you realized it was happening between the two of you, there was no little voice in the back of your head shouting about the swords that come out of her arms?”

  I groan. I really don’t need a lecture right now, but I know I deserve one.

  “No lectures,” she says, seemingly reading my mind. “Can you just stop keeping secrets? Because it sort of blows up in your face every single time.”

  I frown. “What was I supposed to say to you, Bex? I’m half mermaid and I have the hots for Edward Scissorarms?”

  “I guess I’ll never know,” she says. “You didn’t trust me enough.”

  “I’m so sorry, Bex.”

  She shrugs. “Is there anything else I need to know about you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “NO!”

  “Don’t act all offended. You’re a notorious slut, Ms. Carnal Coney Island.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts my head,” I say.

  “Is anybody else in your family a fairy tale character? Is Leonard a hobbit or something? Is he an ogre? Is he Shrek?”

  “No other secrets.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Yes,” I say, with the rain rolling down my face and neck. I don’t want to cry about the stupid, impossible daydream I allowed myself to live in for a couple weeks. I can’t be heartbroken by my own dumb decisions. But it sucks. It really, really sucks. I let the sky cry for me.

  When the rain stops, Bex sleeps and I practice yoga. I’m rusty, and surprisingly un-flexible. My arms and legs are stiff, my tendons tight, but I do my best. It helps the migraine, gets it down to a more manageable level, and I start feeling better, just in time to hear a Selkie barking from the wall.

  “There are humans gathering outside,” he shouts. “Hu­man soldiers with guns. They seek an audience with Lyric Walker.”

  “Me?” I say. The noise wakes Bex and pulls me out of my meditation.

  “Ignore them,” another guard shouts.

  “One calls himself Doyle.”

  Terrance approaches, looking tired. “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “I want to know about my mom,” I cry.

  “She’s being held and awaiting trial. She’s safe and they are not mistreating her,” he says. “It’s all I know.”

  “Fine,” I say, feeling slightly relieved. “Yes, I’ll talk to Doyle. He might know something about my father.”

  Ghost uses his glove to make a door. Water rushes up the beach and swirls around the base of the structure. A tire, a pogo stick, a cardboard box, and an antique baby carriage are all swept aside, revealing an arch large enough for us to walk through. I pass under, only to be met by soldiers pointing guns right at my head. I see Bonnie among them.

  Doyle is with them. He peers through the arch, then looks back at his soldiers. They all lower their weapons.

  “I brought you your homework,” he says, then smiles.

  “I hardly recognize you without the coffee cup.”

  He nods. “Are you okay?”

  “I need to know my father is okay,” I say. “I think he broke a rib.”

  “Your father was arrested, but his paperwork was never processed. At the moment he is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  Terrance sighs. “They’ve taken him to the camp.”

  “Tempest,” Doyle says.

  “You knew about that place?” I cry.

  “A conversation for another time. Right now, you have another crisis. I don’t know if you’ve noticed what’s going on behind me,” he says.

  I peer beyond and see hundreds of jeeps, tanks, soldiers, and what look like rocket launchers on the boardwalk. All of them are pointed at the wall.

  “I thought I’d give you the heads-up,” he says. “They’re going to attack sooner rather than later. I’d really like to try to get you off this beach if I can, especially before the Alpha Cavalry show up.”

  “What?” Terrance says.

  “A British submarine detected more of your friends in the water, about a thousand miles off the coast,” he says. “Bit of an international screwup, but they’ve got photos. It’s making a lot of the Alpha’s friends in Washington into former friends. They’re not going to
sit around and wait to be invaded.”

  “More Alpha?” Terrance asks. “That’s not possible.”

  “Unless there’s another race of people who can breathe underwater and swim a hundred miles an hour.”

  “The Rusalka,” he says, then turns and sprints back into the camp.

  “How is your mother?” Doyle asks.

  “They’re putting her on trial as a traitor,” I say.

  “Damn, kid, trouble really does seem to find you. How about Becca?”

  “She’s surviving.”

  “Her stepfather is missing. Think she knows anything about it?”

  I shake my head, but I know she does.

  “I’d get out of here, kid,” he warns, then he’s gone.

  Terrance shakes me awake. I struggle to focus my eyes. The purple sun is kissing the horizon, but it is still dark.

  “Gather your things. It’s time,” he says.

  “Time for what?” I ask.

  “Your mother’s trial.”

  “Wait! What?” I cry.

  “You have to hurry,” Terrance says as he urges us to follow. With stiff legs and arms, Bex and I do our best to keep up with him. He leads us through the newly built camp. The roads and tents are back, magically recreated in the night. It makes no sense to me how Ghost’s glove works, but the results are awe-inspiring.

  “I have spent the night talking to anyone who will listen about your mother. Alpha law is not my specialty, but this is what I know: Justice is swift. Once the trial begins it can end at any moment.”

  “Any moment?” I cry. “What does that mean?”

  “It means when the prime feels he’s heard enough, the trial is over. Now, the high accuser is sort of like a prosecutor. He will state his case against your mother and she will defend herself.”

  “She doesn’t get a lawyer?” Bex says, seemingly as bewildered as me.

  Terrance shakes his head and winces. “I know, but that’s how it works. No one accused of a crime against the empire is given a defender. She will argue for her life, so she needs to be fierce. After everyone has made their arguments, each speaking member of the ten remaining tribes will vote on her guilt, and then the prime will choose a punishment that pleases him.”