Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(27)

“I need you to come with me, Lyric. I will take you somewhere you can do some actual good with that weapon on your hand. You can help me save the world,” he says. “Look, there’s the Secretary of Defense. You should listen to this.”

Reporters gather in a room decorated with an American flag, blue curtain, and a podium with the government’s official seal. Front and center is a gray-haired man. He looks tired and grim.

“Secretary of Defense Harris Abramson admitted to reporters today what political pundits have been saying for days, that the U.S. military is not trained to handle an amphibious threat like the Alpha,” a reporter says.

“Navy SEALS have been working closely with National Guard and Marine command, but many of their efforts are stymied by the flooding and the tidal wave attacks on East Coast military bases.”

“What seems to be the problem?” a reporter shouts over the din of other questions.

“The enemy operate in relatively shallow waters that a submarine cannot reach,” Abramson says. “Or they move into depths no human being has ever attempted. The Alpha have lived their whole lives underwater, and their bodies are suited for high pressures, frigid temperatures, and strong currents. They’re physically more powerful and faster than human beings, even more so when submerged. Some, like the creatures with the teeth you’ve seen and read about, are particularly savage.”

“Are there fears that there might be other things in the water? Reports coming out of the United Kingdom talk about a gigantic creature surfacing near Scotland,” a reporter asks.

The secretary looks down at his notes, then wipes his brow.

“At this time, we have no information that would lead us to that conclusion.”

“He’s lying, Lyric,” Doyle says. “There are other things. He’s afraid of causing a panic.”

“Sir, you keep referring to these creatures as ‘Alpha,’ and I’m wondering if there is a distinction? Is there no difference between the community who lived on the beach in Coney Island and these monsters who don’t appear to be as intelligent? Can you please clear that up for us?”

“At this time, the State Department is not making a distinction. If it’s in the water, we’re shooting at it.”

“That’s all I need to know about your war,” I say. “I’m just another monster.”

The waitress returns with a smile.

“I’ve got one slice of cherry left.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, and then waves his cup in a circle. “And some more coffee. She’s going to have the turkey burger with bacon, sweet potato fries, and a chocolate milkshake. I’m going to have the stir-fry with tofu, and is the broccoli soup made with cream?”

She nods.

“Salad, then, and two big glasses of water.”

The waitress nods and jots it all down, her pencil bouncing around like a rabbit. She scoops up our plastic menus, and Doyle gives her a wink before she disappears again.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something,” he says before I can argue further. “I need you strong and healthy.”

“You have my parents, and I want them back. I want Bex and Arcade!”

He nods. “I can make that happen, but you have to come to the camp with me.”

I place my gloved hand on the table, then will it to come to life. It radiates blue, turning the entire restaurant into a bright sky. I put it in his face, then command the coffee in his cup to swirl up and out and dance around his face. He retains his composure, but there’s fear in his eyes.

“You must think I’m stupid.”

“Lyric, I’m not going to say the people I work with are good people, but we do have a good mission—saving the United States from an invading force. I can’t figure out how to make it a success without you.”

Filthy words line up in the back of my throat, jostling with one another to be the first to fly out of my mouth. Instead, I get up from my seat and head for the door.

“I’m trying to avoid a confrontation, Lyric. I told them that I could bring you in peacefully, and—”

I spin around to face him.

“Go to hell!”

He leaps from his seat and grabs me by the arm. I try to pull away and nearly fall from the effort. He’s too strong. I can’t get free.

The waitress peers out from the kitchen, and she’s not happy.

“What’s going on over there?” she says.

“He’s a murderer. He killed people. He kidnapped my friends and drugged me. Please, help me,” I beg.

“Jake, call 911,” she shouts to someone I can’t see.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no need to call the police,” Doyle says, attempting to turn on his charm again. “My daughter was out all night with a bunch of boys, drinking and doing heaven knows what, and I thought I’d sober her up here before I took her home to her mother. I apologize for any trouble.”

He tosses a twenty on the table.

“I think we’ll let the sheriff figure this one out,” the waitress says. “Hey!”

Doyle pulls me out the door and into the hot parking lot. It’s completely empty except for one lone red pickup truck.

“What did you really do to Lucas? Did you kill him like the others?” I scream.