Raging Sea (17 page)

I clear my throat.

Suddenly, all the buzzing and work comes to a stop. The scientists see my gun and cry out in fear, alerting the whole room.

“Get out. Every one of you,” I threaten. They scurry like rats fleeing the exposing light.

“What is this place?” Bex asks.

“This is the torture chamber,” I explain. I peer into each tank. There are Rusalka and Sirena and Nix. I see a Selkie and Tritons and Feige and even some creatures I’ve never seen before.

“We need to find your mother,” my father says. “If she’s not hurt, she can help get us out of here. She’s a lot stronger than a normal person.”

“Find Arcade, too,” Bex says.

I leave her with my dad. Racing down the aisles, I realize the whole place is like a zoo. There are fourteen Ceto in a single tank, ranging from elderly to small children, bobbing up and down like transparent blobs. They’re very close to jellyfish, except for the pinkish heart that beats steadily and pumps black blood through millions of veins. One tank has three Sirena, two females and a male, covered in gorgeous scales that range from blue-green to red-pink. Their legs are gone and their long, muscular tails swing back and forth, but my mother isn’t among them.

There are seven Nix crammed in one filthy tank. Their spindly arms and legs have transformed into gray fins lined with terrible spikes. I realize they look a bit like eels, with their yellow eyes. There are more Selkies, bloated and brown, with whisker-covered snouts. Their back legs are gone, replaced with tails, but their arms are still huge with rocky muscles.

In one tank at the back of the room are five small creatures that at first appear to be octopuses, but on closer look, they have dozens and dozens of tentacles, and that’s pretty much it—no head, no eyes, no body—just tendrils lined with suckers, all whipping around in a frenzy and smacking against the glass. It’s the creepiest, most unnatural thing I have ever seen. They’re what nightmares are made of.

I shake off the chill they’ve given me and turn down another aisle, searching tank after tank. I stop before a huge creature with charcoal-colored skin and a round, puffy body. It has quills sticking out of it and a foul expression on its big face.

“Nathan.” I met him in the Alpha camp back home.

The tank next to him contains three Feige with murky green skin. The one after that hosts something that looks an awful lot like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. There are others, some with skinny legs, others with claws like lobsters, and some that have huge shells on their backs. There are so many different kinds, it’s hard to process them all. Arcade told me there were other people in the ocean. Now I believe her.

“My God.” I gasp when I come across the next tank. It’s filled with body parts: limbs, heads, hands, like some kind of nightmarish junk drawer where these bastards keep the stuff for which they don’t have a place.

Some tanks have Alpha who look like they have been experimented on. They’re missing limbs, and their chests are split open from neck to naval, so their internal organs are exposed. There are some so wounded that it seems a miracle they are still alive. This is the horror show Terrance Lir warned me about, the one he swore he would die before going back to, but Tempest has Rochelle. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.

“Lyric, you have to hurry!” Bex shouts to me.

I turn a corner and finally find my mother. She looks intact, healthy and serene, like she’s taking a long bubble bath. Her mermaid tail swishes back and forth in the water. She’s more beautiful than I have ever seen her.

“If they’ve hurt you—”

“She’s never been touched, Lyric.”

Donovan Spangler appears behind me with two armed guards. I turn and point the gun at him.

“Let her out.”

“There are a few specimens we have decided to keep as is, you know, in case we needed them as bargaining chips. Like her, for instance,” he says, gesturing behind me. “And, of course, this one.”

I follow his gesture to another tank. Inside it floats a boy with golden hair and skin, his arms marred by scars, and a face that has visited my dreams almost every night since the last time I saw him.

Fathom.

I peer through the thick glass, suddenly wondering if I’m dreaming or, worse, hallucinating, and that Spangler actually broke me and this is all a delusion. I slam my hand against the tank until my knuckles split open and spill blood onto the floor.

“Is he alive?” I ask.

“Oh, yes,” Spangler says, smacking the tank himself. “In fact, he seems to prefer being in there.”

Guards escort my father and Bex. They hobble toward us with guns pointed into their backs.

Fathom opens his eyes, and he smiles at me. He says something, but I can’t make it out.

“Miss Walker, I’d like to make you an offer. Just hear me out, and if you do, I’ll let your mother and your boyfriend out of these tanks. How does that sound? Just five minutes of your time?”

S
PANGLER HAS AMY BRING MY FATHER A WHEELCHAIR.
She’s jumpy and angry at the same time. I suspect she was hoping for a little sympathy after what she just went through. I’m too shocked and confused to enjoy her disappointment.

Doyle meets us at the elevator. He gives me a pleading look, a
Please, will you behave?
expression I used to see on my parents’ faces when I was little. He won’t look at my father or Bex at all. He keeps his head down and escorts us out into a hallway until we enter an employee cafeteria. There are round tables and plastic chairs, a salad bar, and a soda machine. Everything is painted bright white. A rich and savory aroma wafts into my nose, and my stomach rumbles. I can see it’s having the same effect on Dad and Bex.

Doyle leads us to a big table in the center.

“What does he want?” my father asks Doyle.

“He wants what we all want,” Doyle says as he points to me. “Her help. And if you’re smart, you’ll tell her to give it to him.”

“Is that some kind of threat?” my father says. He tries to stand, but his face turns white. His ribs must be killing him, but he doesn’t cry out. He’s tough, and I’m sure he wants Doyle to see it.

“It’s not a threat. It’s a plea for common sense. I know you have done a great job with her, Leonard. She’s strong and smart and stubborn as hell. Right now she needs to make a good decision,” Doyle says as he takes a seat at the table next to us. “He’s not going to take no for an answer.”

Spangler enters with his tablet in one hand and his smartphone in the other. He’s got a pair of fancy headphones some hip-hop guy invented strapped to his ears, and he’s talking about delivery dates and shipments. Whoever he’s talking to needs a lot of assurance, and Spangler seems to be a pro at appeasing fears. He makes promises and promises, then says that when the person he’s talking to arrives, he wants to take everyone out to dinner. When he’s done, he unplugs his headphones and pulls them down so they wrap around his neck.

“Sorry about that. I’ve got a very nervous client on my hands,” he says, rolling his eyes as if we can sympathize.

“You’re not with the military?” my father asks.

Spangler chuckles like he’s listening to children.

“Do you think the government could put together something like this? I mean, it’s nothing fancy, but the budget for half of this place would get lost in committee until the end of time. Congress would dither over which state got the tax breaks. I’m sure a small handful of them would raise a stink about the Constitution, and human rights issues—due process—you know how they can get. Anyway, all that haggling might be good for getting a bridge built, but it’s not very practical when the end of the world is on your doorstep. No, when they need something done and done quickly, they go with private enterprise.”

“Or when it’s against the law,” my father adds.

“Yes, the ugly stuff is usually done by corporations. We’re difficult to prosecute for war crimes, at least in America. Here you can send a soldier to jail for atrocities, but who do you point the finger at when a business does it? Truth is, I find some of it a bit distasteful myself, but are we going to let the world go to hell in a handbasket waiting for bipartisan support? That’s why they need us. We’re in the business of results.”

“We don’t care about your business plan. We want out of here,” my father growls.

“But, Mr. Walker, Lyric is my business plan. Who’s hungry? I’m hungry.”

As if on cue, two women dressed in pencil skirts, white shirts, black ties, and aprons enter with trays. Another woman places a napkin in each of our laps, then sets the table with plastic utensils and a real plate. We’re served roast beef and gravy, mashed potatoes with pesto, and string beans and almonds.

Spangler looks down at his and smiles.

“Look good? Go ahead, eat.”

I stare down at my food. I’m not going to lie. I’m tempted to bury my face in it. An old shoe would be more delicious than what they’ve been feeding me. Bex and Dad look even hungrier. Still, they both push their plates away. It’s an act of strength and defiance like I’ve never seen, and I have never loved either of them as much as I do right now. I look back down at my plate, and as casually as I can, I fling it at Spangler. The china crashes to the table in front of him, and the food splatters his face. I catch my father’s grin as Donovan cleans himself.

The waitress returns with another plate of food and sets it in front of me like nothing has happened. Before she can take a single step, I chuck it at our host.

“Dammit, Lyric,” Doyle says. He’s got his face buried in his hands.

A soldier steps in from the hallway with his gun ready, but Doyle commands him to leave. I suddenly don’t feel so brave, but I have no regrets.

“Lyric, the temper tantrum is wasteful, and really, that kind of behavior is an obstacle to getting what you want,” Spangler says. “Someone bring her another plate.”

“Maybe you should put it in a doggie dish,” I say.

He takes a deep breath.

“Yes, I had my doubts about that approach. It was the client’s idea, a bit dramatic, but you know that old saying, “The customer is always right”? I tried to explain that you wouldn’t be broken. I knew it the second you started your yoga practice. That’s defiance. I quietly cheered you.”

My waitress is back with a new plate. When I reach for it, the waitress does the same. She’s much stronger, so I throw my hands up in surrender. She gives me a little look of triumph, but when she turns her back on me, I toss the plate and hit her right in the shoulder.

Bex laughs.

“Maybe Ms. Walker will have something to eat after our chat,” Spangler says, dismissing the irate waitress.

“What do you want?” I say.

I feel my father’s hand on my leg, his way of saying to tread carefully.

Spangler flashes me a strained smile.

“I’ve watched all the footage of that day in Coney Island. I not only saw what you can do, I saw what you tried to do. You’re not the terrorist they have painted you as. You’re a hero, and I’m offering you a second chance at it,” he says. “Before you can do that, I realize we have to start over. No more solitary confinement. No more whatever it is they are feeding you. I’ll free your mother. I’ll let the prince and the Triton girl out of their tanks. In return, you have to accept my job offer.”

“Job offer?” I cry.

“Saving the world, Lyric. You’ve seen the news. This country is on the verge of collapse. The attacks by the prime and his army have all but crippled our defenses. It’s maddening to everyone involved that a few thousand barely intelligent creatures have managed to decimate the greatest military power the world has ever seen. In the time you have been here, things have gotten much worse. Just yesterday, the air force dropped a small nuclear device into the water outside Norfolk, Virginia, in hopes of reclaiming a base. They used a low-grade weapon, a ‘bunker buster’ is what they call it. They’re meant to take out a village or a cave system, not to fight an amphibious army, but that’s how desperate things have gotten. Want to guess how it turned out? The prime smacked it back like a tennis ball. It leveled eight city blocks and destroyed the base entirely. Casualties were low, but no one will live in Norfolk for fifty years. That place is poison.”

My father’s face turns pale.

“The East Coast is rubble, and now we’re seeing new threats. Did you happen to notice the things with all the tentacles during your daring escape? There’s a spike under all those limbs. It leaps onto your head, jams it into your nervous system, and then drinks you like a milkshake. How do you think that’s affecting morale on the frontlines? Lyric, the prime is kicking our butts, and it’s not just a handful of cities with six feet of water, it’s farms and crops, industries, mining, oil production, and finance. Wall Street is in a no man’s land. Do you understand what that means? The financial center for the entire world is closed for business. There are food shortages, gasoline shortages, mobs, looting, and clashes between citizens and soldiers. This morning, West Virginia officially seceded from the rest of the country. They say Texas will be next. It’s my job to make sure it stops. You’re going to help me.”

“I am, am I?”

“Yes, because I am desperate.” Spangler’s eyes drill into my cranium. He’s not trying to charm me now. He’s done trying to manipulate me. He’s done torturing me. He’s a businessman, and none of this is good for business. “So if you’re not going to have lunch, perhaps you would like to go ahead and get started. David, why don’t you show Ms. Walker your park?”

“Where are you taking me?”

“It’s easier to show you than to tell you,” Doyle says.

Doyle has some of his soldiers take my father and Bex to the infirmary. They are both suffering from malnutrition, and my dad’s ribs are killing him. I could tell by the sweat on his face all during the meeting with Spangler. Doyle gives Amy a lecture on treating them well. She seems intimidated by him, but maybe it’s all an act. I can’t tell, and there’s nothing I can do about it anyway.

“This could have been so much easier,” he says as he leads me down a hall.