Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(25)
“We need each other,” I argue.
“I will never need you,” she says.
There’s a whipping sound outside, followed by a loud crash coming toward the lobby. I hear a bang, and something gets tossed through the lobby doors. It bounces down the aisle and lands right in front of the stage. It’s a metal canister leaking a thick, ghostly gas that makes my eyes and throat burn. A moment later there are two, three, four more canisters flying into the auditorium, followed by a squadron of men in black riot gear and gas masks. All of them have the same white tower logo sewn into their clothes that I saw on the belly of the helicopter that killed the police officer.
“Put your hands on your heads! If you fail to follow instructions, we are authorized to open fire.”
“Run!” Malik shouts.
“No!” I shout, but it’s too late. The Coasters scatter like mice. There are popping sounds, and more canisters crash onto the ground. People fall left and right, overcome by the fumes. Children sob as they run through the chaos. Duck charges into the room, playing the hero, only to succumb as well. He coughs and clutches his throat and then passes out.
My first thought is Bex, even if she hates me. I have to get her out of here. I stumble through the haze and find her standing dumbfounded against a wall.
“Bex!” I shout, only to watch a soldier rush forward and shoot her with a Taser. She lets out a howl and falls to the floor, her body seized by pain and violent spasms. I am going to hurt this man. It will only take a single thought, but before I can break him in half, Arcade leaps into his path. She knocks his weapon out of his arms, then slices him across the chest with her blades. He lets out a terrible shriek and falls to the floor.
There’s a ZAP. Arcade cries out in agony, struggling to yank out a collection of wires impaled in her back. I’m helpless to free her. Ozone and smoke are in my nose and eyes. I can barely breathe or see, but I can hear her agonizing cries.
Someone clamps a hand on my arm. I turn, prepared to break a few important bones in his body, only to discover it is Lucas.
“Come with me!” he shouts.
“I can’t!” I cry, as guards haul my friends out of the theater.
There’s another pop, and another canister lands at my feet. This time the smoke has a smell and a taste. It makes me dizzy.
Lucas lifts his shirt up over his nose.
“You can’t do anything for them right now,” he cries, then pulls me backstage.
“No, that’s not true!” I shout, but my voice sounds like someone has turned the speed down on my mom’s record player. Even the voice of the water sounds odd and distant.
Unleash us, it begs in a warbled whisper.
The floor buckles, and water spirals skyward. It breaks into a dozen tendrils, a multiheaded hydra that snatches soldiers off the floor and tosses them against walls. There are so many targets that it’s hard to keep all of them straight, or maybe that’s the gas. Are there suddenly more soldiers? Are they running down the aisles toward me?
I feel something stab my thigh. I look down and see several pointy darts attached to wires sticking out of my leg. A soldier is nearby with another of those weird guns they used to shock Bex. There’s no way to brace for the pain, even though I know it’s coming. A zap pushes me into a bonfire. My arms and legs are no longer mine to control, and they flail around like saplings in a hurricane. My head snaps up, and a scream boils over in my voice box. I fall hard, my face crashing into floor.
“You have to get up,” Lucas demands, dragging me to my feet. He reaches down and pulls the wires out of my leg, then pulls me farther backstage and lays me down by the grate. Malik is there, and the two boys argue while I beg them to go back for my friends. Whatever I’ve been shot with has made me weak and confused. Everything seems to swirl before my eyes.
Malik gets the gate open and is nearly down the steps when Lucas begs for his help. The boy reluctantly takes my arm, and together they lower me into the tunnel, where we plunge back into the darkness. Lucas closes the trapdoor, and then he and Malik drag me through the irrigation tunnel.
“Why are you helping her?” Malik cries. “She’s one of them.”
“She’s not what you think she is,” Lucas cries.
“I can’t leave them,” I say, but it comes out like nonsense.
“You can’t help,” Lucas argues, but then I realize he’s talking to Malik.
“I have to try. I’m going back.”
“I’ll come back once she’s safe,” Lucas promises.
Malik shakes his head. “That’s the dumbest idea ever. I’m sorry, man. This is over. Go live your life. Get to California like your mom wanted. Go find that aunt.”
He runs back the way we came, leaving Lucas to help me along by himself. He ignores my cries and pleading, and soon we come out into the bright sun under the bridge we first entered. I’m blinded by the light, dizzy and off-kilter.
“My truck is right up this hill,” he says, nodding toward the embankment. He fishes a set of keys out of his pocket and then looks at me again. “Can you pull yourself together?”
“I’m not going,” I garble, finding it difficult to raise my head so he can see my determination. The world feels like it crested the highest hill on the Cyclone and now it’s roaring toward the bottom. The next things that happen appear only as small snippets, like YouTube videos edited together into something that barely makes sense. My feet stumble on pebbles in the street, sirens, more helicopters, a red pickup truck with black tires, keys in a truck door, the squeak of it swinging open, Lucas shoving me into the seat, the click of a seat belt, my hot-dog fingers struggling to free me.