Undertow Page 27

  I look to Bex. She gives me a hopeful little smile. My mother has an identical one on her face. Then I follow him down the beach until we are far from the ears of anyone.

  He stops, picks up a shell, and brushes sand out of its hollow. It’s a creamy pearl color with pink and silver highlights. He flips it over in his hands, then heaves it back into the ocean. I am satisfied with the silence. I’m afraid of what he might say.

  “I wish I had a camera,” he says, still gazing out at the water.

  I nod. “Something to remember the place before the world ends?”

  “No. I would like to have a picture of you.”

  He takes my hand, holding it gently in his, and then he frowns a little, and I know what’s happening inside him. I can hear his thoughts as well as I can hear my own. He has responsibilities to his people and to Arcade. It doesn’t matter that we’re all going to die. He will not break his promises. I realize that, for him, the promises are what keep him from being his father, but there is something strong between us, something he would never deny but something best left unsaid.

  “I love you, too,” I whisper.

  His eyes brighten and I smile, wishing my phone had a charge so I could take a photograph and capture them forever, because I know I will never see them shining at me again. Arcade has his heart. Maybe it is love, maybe it is obligation, but for him, there is no difference.

  And, as if on cue, I hear a voice broadcast from beyond the wall.

  “Attention, members of the Alpha Nation. My name is General Thomas Slaines of the New York National Guard. We offer you one last chance to surrender yourselves to relocation,” he says. “We wish for a peaceful resolution to this crisis, but your silence will be considered as a refusal and an unlawful occupation. We will be forced to act accordingly and will attack. We ask you once again to reconsider.”

  There’s another signal, a thrum from far down the beach, and every face turns to the water.

  “They’re here,” Fathom cries, then holds his hands to his mouth and releases a booming call that rattles my bones. When it is heard, I see thousands rushing to their positions. They carry spears and swords and even tridents, made from human garbage and melted into tools for fighting. Yet some have nothing but their hands and their determination. There are old and young, women and men, children, all raising their fists and barking into the air.

  “Fight hard!” Braken shouts as he runs along the shore. He stops before Fathom and clasps his forearm. Fathom does the same.

  “Know my pride in you, Fathom,” Braken says. “If we do not survive, I will meet you in the Great Abyss.”

  Fathom nods. I can see it touches him.

  Fathom and I run to rejoin Ghost and the others. My heart is louder than my footfalls when we arrive, but I try to look brave for them. Arcade is waiting. I shake my head at her, hoping she knows that whatever he and I were, whatever potential that might have grown and blossomed, has been pulled out at the root. If she understands, it doesn’t seem to give her any comfort. She would kill me if there weren’t two armies about to do it first. She takes Fathom in her arms and kisses him.

  “The Rusalka have arrived,” Braken shouts, lifting his fist into the air. “Take your positions.”

  The order spreads down the beach, and cheers rise up as it goes. Then I watch as the Alpha crawl into their trenches and tunnels. Soon, any evidence that they even exist is gone. All that’s left behind is us, a small group of oddities, both human and Alpha, acting as easy targets for two war machines.

  “Ghost, keep your eyes on our fighters,” Fathom commands. “If they get into trouble, do what you can to help them out. You’re the fastest of us and have the most ground to cover, so stay on the move.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  Fathom waves him off. “I would be pleased to just be your friend.”

  “You already are,” Ghost says, then darts away.

  “Thrill, the wall is going to be damaged from both sides, and if we hope to survive, you and Lyric Walker need to keep it standing,” he explains. Thrill nods and rushes to his post. I turn to join him but feel Fathom’s hand on mine.

  I know this might be the last time I see him, and I’m angry at how anticlimactic it is, at least for my heart. Doesn’t the hero get that big sweeping kiss just before all hell breaks loose? Where is the big confession, the “I know I’ve been stupid but I now know what I want” speech? Where’s the sappy love song?

  “Lyric Walker, your mother and your friend are not safe here,” Fathom says. “Terrance will take them to the shelter. Arcade has built one for them made of sand and steel. If the Rusalka send a wave at us, it’s the best chance they have of surviving.”

  “You did this for me?” I ask Arcade.

  She scowls. I bet she regrets the favor.

  My mother kisses me and gives me a hug. “Don’t die,” she orders, then the two of them are led away by Mr. Lir.

  “Rusalka approach,” Arcade shouts.

  I hear a splash and see something hop out of the water and onto the beach. Its upper body is like that of a giant toad: a big belly, spindly arms, and a face that will haunt my dreams until I die. But its lower body is that of a man with strong, muscled legs. Its feet, however, are a combination of both: huge and floppy with monstrous toes lined with webbing. Its skin is swamp brown and highlighted in eggplant purple; its mouth is a huge gaping hole. Teeth lean in all directions like tombstones in an abandoned cemetery. Its empty eyes are calm and black, offering little evidence of life or intelligence, and a long, wormlike appendage dangles from the top of its head to its bottom lip, ending in a bright, glowing bulb. It grunts and clicks and barks at us.

  Fathom replies, and the creature nods. Then it bounds back into the water and is gone.

  “He offered us a chance to surrender,” Fathom explains to us. “They are hungry and want to begin feeding on our bodies. He thinks he’s being courteous.”

  “How very polite,” I say. “I hope you told him no.”

  “Actually, I used the first sentence you taught me to read,” he says. “You recall the one you wrote on the whiteboard.”

  From the water I hear their cries and barks, and it grows into a terrifying orchestra. There are so many voices in that water.

  “Prepare yourselves,” Fathom shouts, just as an explosion rumbles through the ground. Parts of the wall behind us incinerate and fly out onto the beach.

  “The humans are firing the missiles!” Thrill shouts. “Lyric, I need your help!”

  I raise the gauntlet and watch it shimmer green. I concentrate on the trash that’s in the water, trying to sense the shapes of any objects discarded years ago that I can use to fill the holes in the wall. With a little nudging I drag them out of the silt and fling them toward the holes, and within moments the damage is repaired. Unfortunately, another missile hits the wall, and the top section crumbles and falls. Thrill shoves me aside, and the two of us roll to the ground before we can be crushed.

  “Thanks,” I say as we clamber to our feet.

  Once again I fill the holes. It’s like I’m playing some bizarre video game, but I only get one life. More missiles are fired, causing me to reach out even farther. I need something to repair the damage. An old car is out there in the muck, but with a little concentration, I get the water to set it free. I’m about to fling it into place when I hear a gasp come from Luna and the others.

  “What?”

  I turn toward the horizon. In the distance I can see the navy ship that has stalked us for days rise up into the sky on the back of an enormous spout of water. I can see specks leaping off it and assume they are sailors, and then I watch as it is thrown like a child’s toy toward the beach, rising effortlessly in an arc over my head, passing above the wall, and crashing down hard on the other side. Its impact is devastating. There are screams and explosions, and most of the wall disintegrates right before my eyes, including a huge section that once stood before me. A wave of heat knocks me around, sending
me flying.

  I struggle to stand, and when my eyes focus, I see an entire section of the wall is missing. On the other side is devastation. The ship landed on the tanks and trucks. There must be hundreds of soldiers dead from the collision, hundreds more seriously wounded. The bars and amusement park are obliterated by the skid the ship went into before finally stopping three blocks away. The only thing that survives, by some insane miracle, is the Cyclone roller coaster.

  “We have to run!” I shout. There’s no way we can fight something that can throw a ship a mile into the air.

  “No,” Fathom commands. “Rebuild the wall! Ghost, deliver the next part of the plan.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The point is that there is now nothing between the Rusalka and your world,” Thrill shouts as he commands the water to sweep over the beach, collecting the refuse the missiles destroyed. “Use the ship!”

  “It’s too big!” I cry.

  “Then be bigger!” he shouts.

  I don’t know why I’m trying, but I am. I’m so shaken, it’s nearly impossible to concentrate. Still, I breathe and water rushes over my feet, through the hole, and toward the fallen destroyer. It swirls around until it’s floating on its side, and then, to my amazement, it slowly drifts back toward us, filling the space in our wall. Before I know it, the gap is sealed.

  “I did it!” I cried.

  Thrill grins, then frowns. “Your nose.”

  I reach up, knowing it’s leaking blood.

  Ghost cups his hands to his mouth and lets out his own howling command. “Let’s bring them to us.”

  This is the part of the plan I love. I turn back to the water, raise my gauntlet, and let it find the Rusalka. There are just over a thousand of them, and I give a mighty tug with my mind. The ocean wraps itself around their bodies and drags them helplessly to the beach. I can see them tumbling in the water, unable to control themselves, and then they are spat out on the sand like something rancid. They’re broken and confused but quickly on their feet, shaking off their dizziness and charging in our direction. Horrible hooked claws spring from their hands. Teeth snap. They have no weapons. Their bodies are deadlier than any sword.

  And our secret Alpha rise up from their trenches, leaping high into the air and coming down on top of the vicious breed. I see spears sink into flesh and tridents impale brown skin. I see creatures shocked to death like Svetlana Wilder, and I see Nix teeth ripping into muscles.

  Nor uses his sword to slice off a Rusalka’s arm. The bloody stump lands at my feet. Its hand is wearing a gauntlet.

  “Good, that’s four hundred and ninety-nine more to go,” I say.

  “They’re sending a wave!” Luna warns.

  I look out at the shoreline and see it sucked out to sea. Within seconds every drop of water has receded, exposing endless amounts of debris on the muddy sea floor. On the horizon it gathers and builds, the entire ocean rising up to kill us. Water stands forty feet high, and then breaks, racing toward us like a runaway semi truck.

  I raise my glove and try to think big. I can feel the impact the five of us have on it. We shrink it, send huge portions of it racing in other directions, but it’s not enough. I’m trapped between the wave and a wall of trash, and like a great, greedy hand it pulls me under, tosses me around in all directions, and then tightens its grip until I’m crunched like a paper ball. I am no longer in charge of this shell. My lungs burn for air, but I have no way of knowing which way is up or down. I fight my own brain to keep myself from opening my mouth. My body wants oxygen even if it knows there is none to be had, and it will suck in seawater and drown me if I don’t get to the surface. But I can’t find up or down. I do not know where I am or how to get to safety.

  Finally, as I become unable to stop myself from taking that false breath, I am spat out on the beach mere feet from the Alpha wall. Choking and blind, I wipe my eyes and scan my surroundings. The others are gone.

  “Ghost! Arcade! Thrill!”

  There are no answers but the waves crashing around me.

  “Fathom!”

  “Lyric Walker!” It’s Arcade’s voice. She’s behind me, helping Ghost to his feet.

  “Where is Thrill?” I shout.

  “I do not know,” she cries.

  “Luna?” Ghost coughs.

  I shake my head. I don’t see either of them. All of us were pulled under, but the others can breathe down there, so I’m hopeful. There’s a better than good chance that they are still alive.

  “The Voice is silent,” Ghost says. “It’s not telling me where they are.”

  “You mean these gloves aren’t working anymore,” I cry.

  Suddenly, Fathom throws himself onto the beach, gasping and wounded. Blood pours out of a hole on his side, soaking his body in red. I go to help him, but Arcade beats me there.

  “We have to get everyone out of the water if we can,” Fathom says.

  Arcade, Ghost, and I gather together and reach out with the gauntlets. Inexplicably there is nothing, no pull, no whispers, and then it is back. I see the shapes of the Alpha warriors. The Voice whispers their locations to me. Unfortunately, I can also see the carnage beneath the waves. The Rusalka are stabbing and slicing at our exhausted army. I can’t let that happen, and I pull as many as I can to safety. Nor is among the survivors. In his hand he holds the stumps of two more Rusalka hands, both wearing the gauntlets. He throws them on the sand, and the golden metal snaps open, releasing the dead limbs.

  “Two more,” he says.

  “Little good it will do us,” Fathom growls. “We number in the thousands now.”

  “We are lost,” a young Ceto cries. “We cannot beat them. There are too many.”

  Fathom snarls. “We were never going to beat them, Son of Ceto. We were only going to die with our hands at their throats.”

  Suddenly, the water at our feet is pulled back into the sea again. It races out toward the horizon for what looks like miles.

  “They are building another tidal wave,” Arcade says. “We have to push it back.”

  She races to the water’s edge. Ghost follows.

  Fathom looks to me. “Nothing will survive.”

  I shake my head and run to join the others. “You’re stuck with me, Your Majesty.”

  “Here it comes,” Ghost cries.

  I’ve never seen anything so big. It’s easily a hundred feet tall. The shelter Arcade built for my mother and Bex won’t survive this. There are hundreds of thousands of people who are not part of this stupid fight who will die. Arcade, Ghost, and I are all that can stop it.

  “If we work together, the water will listen, but only to the loudest voice,” Ghost says. “Lyric, you have to make the world shudder before you.”

  “I tried!” I cry.

  “You have not!” Arcade growls. “Your family and friends are not safe, Lyric Walker. We will die with them if we do not stop this. Fathom will die.”

  “Oh, that’s not manipulative,” I growl.

  I focus on the approaching calamity, breathing in and out, trying to find the raw emotion inside me. My feelings are my power. I know that, but how do I let them go? I feel something wet under my nose. More blood.

  “They aren’t designed for you, half-breed,” Ghost shouts.

  “Don’t call me that!” I say, and my anger ignites the gauntlet. Suddenly, a blast of energy comes out of my fingertips and hits the wave. For a moment it stands still, frozen in place. I have stopped the ocean in its tracks.

  “That’s it, bottom feeder. Get angry,” Ghost says. “Feel something or we will all be swept away to the Great Abyss. We are all that stand against complete destruction.”

  The dribble of blood turns into a trickle. The strain of keeping the wave in place is ripping my brain apart.

  “Do not stop. You fight at our side or the Rusalka take us all!” Arcade shouts at me.

  The water creeps forward, stopping and stuttering, caught between our forces and theirs. Arcade and Ghost’s gauntlets
are glowing like fire. My head is going to implode, but we are keeping the water back.

  “No farther!” Arcade shouts at the wall of oblivion so eager to consume us.

  A Rusalka leaps out of the wave, then another and another. Hundreds of them with claws and chomping teeth, and they are running toward us. They cut down exhausted Alpha like weeds. Before I can beg him not to, Fathom leaps into the fray, his black blades spraying blood all over the sand. A head falls at my feet, and the disgusting bloated bodies of Rusalka form a growing pile. Those who are strong enough join him: any Ceto, Nix, and Selkie that can stand. Nathan appears, inflates like a balloon, and pierces Rusalka with the quills that spring out. They must be full of deadly poison. Rusalka who are scratched screech in agony and die shaking on the beach. Nor leaps into the water with his sword, eager for more gloves. Moments later severed arms are flung to shore. It is grotesque, but with every arm that lands near my feet, the struggle to hold back the water is eased.

  We are winning.

  “Stay focused!” Arcade shouts.

  Fathom turns to me and gives me a smile. I smile back.

  “I am proud of you, Lyric Walker,” he says.

  And then two forms spring from the water. One is Minerva, and she wraps her arms around Fathom’s neck. The other is his father, who plunges his arm blades into his son’s abdomen. Fathom lets out a cry of surprise. He looks down at the savage wound, then back at me. For the first time since I have met him, since he has won my heart, he looks afraid.

  “No!” I scream.

  “I will see you in the Great Abyss,” he gasps, but I cannot tell who he was talking to. Arcade is standing by my side.

  “No!”

  Suddenly, I am unleashed. I am energy, and along with Arcade’s rage and Ghost’s determination, I let loose everything I’ve been holding back for three long years. No more hiding. No more keeping my head down. I am Lyric Walker multiplied by a thousand and fueled by revenge. I am a wild thing. Power explodes out of my fingertips. Even Ghost looks at me with awe in his odd little face. Is this what he was trying to explain? Is this how I control the water, work with the Great Abyss—or whatever it is that’s talking to me? The Voice sounds pleased. It coaxes me on: Push, push, push. Let it all loose, Lyric Walker. You are bigger than the world.