Undertow (34 page)

“Um, I've never tried to pick up the ocean before, so you're going to have to cut me a break,” I snap. I'm exhausted and worried about my father, worried about Fathom, worried about the world. Heck, I'm even worried about Tammy.

“Try again,” Luna begs.

“I need a break,” I say. I feel a tickle at my nose, and when I scratch it I find blood on my fingers.

Ghost looks at it and is surprised. “The others do not bleed.”

“Is it hurting her?” my mother says. She's up on her feet, feeling my forehead.

“It appears so,” he responds, though it doesn't seem to bother him.

Dinner for the Alpha is fish, pulled right out of the Atlantic Ocean, right near the shipping lanes. I mention how super filthy the Coney Island waters are, and I'm assured by an older Sirena woman that the fish were caught and brought back from many miles away. Luckily, we don't have to risk it. Terrance brings us sandwiches from the Red Cross volunteers. He also brings Fathom and Arcade. My heart sinks when I see he is holding her hand.

“Will someone tell me what happened out there?” my mother asks.

Ghost sits down with a huge, flopping fish and takes a massive bite out of it. I nearly throw up, but I want to hear this story.

“Certain members of the Rusalka began to complain of headaches. There were those who thought they were trying to get out of their work. They're barely intelligent. So much of what they said was dismissed, but my grandfather Tarooh agreed to examine a few.

“He discovered that their minds were overactive, filled with energy that was making them ill, so he built them the gauntlets to ease the pain.”

“It had a side effect,” Fathom explains.

“They learned they could manipulate the water,” my mother cries.

“They heard the Voice of the Great Abyss. It was seen as a blessing. Those who wore the gauntlet could create houses, temples, arenas for sport. They could steer fish to us, eliminating the need for hunting parties and the endless concerns about starvation. No longer did the Alpha have to be nomadic. We could build a permanent home for all of us. Palaces rose from the sand and stones at the bottom of the ocean. It was a paradise, and we owed it all to our labor class, the Rusalka.”

“They were slaves,” I say.

“No, not slaves, just lowest in our class system.”

“Let me finish the story for you,” I say, suddenly incensed. “The Alpha treated the Rusalka like crap for a thousand years, and when suddenly they recognized their own usefulness, instead of making things better for them, you fought back, right?”

My mother clears her throat. “Lyric—”

“But that's what happened, right? And when you refused to give them their freedom, they took it, correct?”

“You think you know something you do not,” Arcade growls.

“No, let's not do the conversation where you tell me about your people and their ways and honor,” I say. “I think I've had enough of honor today.”

I stomp off across the sand and run down the shoreline. There is so much activity: people cooking dinner, others training for fights, children leaping into the water and playing with one another. There's nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide, but I keep going for what feels like a mile, until the camp thins out. I sit down at the water's edge, letting it seep up to my feet, and I bury my face in my hands and cry.

“You don't know everything,” Luna says, suddenly there. She must have followed me.

“What am I missing?”

“The Rusalka asked for better treatment. They wanted to be educated, choose their own mates. They wanted to change laws that were hundreds of years old.”

“And of course your people told them where they could stick it.”

Luna looks at me, confused. “Stick it?”

“You told them no.”

Luna shakes her head. “No, the nation told them yes. Most of the people agreed that change was necessary.”

“Then what happened?”

“I happened,” she says. “I started having terrible pain in my mind, so the doctors put a gauntlet on me, and I heard the Voice too. Ghost was next, then Thrill, then Arcade. It was a miracle, but the Rusalka didn't see it that way. They worried that if everyone was developing the ability, their demands would fall on deaf ears, and instead of waiting to see how it would all play out, they attacked. They killed Fathom's mother, right in front of him. Millions died in a matter of days. We fled, hid in every corner of the ocean we could find, but they always found us to continue the slaughter.”

“That's horrible. I didn't know.”

“We are not slave traders, Lyric Walker.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Your hostility is understandable. If Ghost was holding the hand of someone else, it would give me a great deal of pain as well.”

“It's that obvious?” I ask.

She nods. “You dwell too much on what is happening now, Lyric Walker. Today he holds her hand, perhaps it's for love and perhaps it's from obligation. Tomorrow? Who knows. But you will never have him if you die when the Rusalka attack. Direct your attention to the battle, learn to listen to the Voice, let your Alpha blood direct your actions.”

My mom and Bex hover nearby while I practice moving the water. We have so little time and I totally suck.

I point the gauntlet out toward the ocean and try to create a wall of seawater, but I can't concentrate long enough to make it happen. Then I feel dizzy and my nose starts to bleed.

“She needs a break,” my mother says.

“We do not have time,” Ghost snaps. He has no patience with me.

“I still can't get around the sea's . . . bigness,” I cry.

“She keeps seeing its size, and it makes her feel small,” Luna says with a sigh.

Thrill won't even look at me, he's so disgusted.

“It's not how big the ocean is,” Ghost says. “It's your will that must be huge.”

“We've been training her to be small,” my mother explains. “It was how we avoided being discovered.”

Thrill cringes. “She has to be like a Kraken. She has to feel like she's making the sea tremble with fear.”

“Um, what's a Kraken?” Bex asks.

“A huge, terrifying monster, an eater of worlds. It lives in a chasm at the bottom of the Atlantic,” Luna says like it's no big deal.

“Please be joking.”

Luna looks at her queerly. “I do not tell jokes.”

“Okay, so she needs to think like a monster,” Bex says, then turns to my face. “Like a wild thing.”

“Huh?” Arcade asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “It's silly.”

“No, it's not!” Bex shouts. “Did you ever feel more powerful, more bigger than life, than back then? Admit it!”

“I haven't felt stupider, either,” I grouse.

“How is she doing?” Fathom says as he approaches. His appearance makes a tense situation into an oppressive torture.

“I'm constipated or something.”

“I don't know that word.”

“Good. I can't get past whatever is blocking me,” I say.

Fathom looks at the setting sun.

“You will do your best,” he says, then turns to me. “I would have a word with you.”

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.