Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(34)

I wretch and everything comes up, burning through all that’s left of my energy. I lie back down, pull my knees close to my chest, and rock back and forth. If my mother were here, she’d rub my back and tell me jokes until I laughed.

“Where’s my mom?” I whimper. “I want my mom.”

Is she in a cell like this one? Could she be across the hall? I know I am not alone in this prison. There are shouts and screams seeping in from beneath the crack in the door. Someone is slamming metal on metal. I hear footsteps and an argument that turns into a fight that turns into an agonized scream. The noises never stop. They bear down on me, grind at my skull. Every shout is a punch in the gut. Every cry for mercy is a stab in the heart. They’re proof that I am not alone, but they are no comfort to me. I wonder if that person is Bex. What if it’s Arcade? What if it’s my father? What if it’s Fathom?

I failed them all.

I hear a rattling, and the slot opens. There’s a hum that terrorizes me. I brace for electrocution, but instead the bowl rattles around on the floor, then skids toward the door as if seized by an invisible hand. It slams against the door, bounces around a bit, then zips through the narrow space. The slot closes. Footsteps fade away.



I must have fallen asleep, because suddenly Spangler is in my cell. He taps on his tablet, but when he notices I’m awake, he puts it away.

“Lyric, do you know what an alpha is?” Spangler asks. “Not the people, of course. I’m talking about in the animal kingdom. Alphas are the leaders of the pack. Apes, lions, even birds, have them. Sled dogs are a great example of animals that have an alpha. They get their name because they are the most dominant animals in the group. The alpha isn’t born into the position. Usually it has to fight for its power, and then it has to train the others to be submissive using sheer aggression and intimidation. Every once in a while, one of the dogs on the sled forgets its place in the pack and it challenges the alpha. Do you know what usually happens? The alpha rips the other dog’s throat out. Here at Tempest, I am the alpha dog. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

I nod.

“Good. Your parents didn’t get it at first. I’d hate for you to have to learn the way they did,” he explains.

My heart beats hard enough to blow out of my chest.

“Are they alive?”

“You could be a great help to our little sled-dog pack. I’m confident that you can learn to cooperate, but my patience will go only so far.”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask him.

“I want you to be a good dog.”



Panic attacks rise up and batter my mind. The trembling strips me of my strength even more. I sob unexpectedly until my face is smeared in mucus. I don’t have the energy to care. I curse myself for being here, for not having a plan, for not preparing myself for this kind of fight, for being afraid. I curse myself for assuming I would be killed if I didn’t rescue my people. I never thought I’d be locked up inside with them.

When I’m too tired to cry, I hoist myself up so I’m sitting against the wall. My cell can’t be wider than nine feet—just long enough for the mattress and a tiny bit of exposed floor space and that painted yellow circle, of course. I study everything closely, hoping for some way of escape. I can’t crawl up the wall to whatever is above me. It’s too smooth. There’s no lock on the door and it’s made of heavy steel. I peer into the drainage hole dug into the floor. I can’t see too deeply into it, maybe six inches at most. The light above will permeate only so far. It’s too narrow for my body to fit inside, but still, maybe there’s something useful about it. I lean forward, listening closely, praying for the familiar gurgle of water. Something shines down there. I activate my glove, realizing I can still use it as a flashlight, but it isn’t much help.

The things I could do if it still worked. Spangler shut it off, but how? I remember when the Rusalka attacked us on the beach, our gloves suddenly didn’t work. I know there was a moment when it seemed we combined our efforts and shut down theirs, but maybe it was White Tower all along. Doyle was in Coney Island that day. Anything is possible. I just don’t know what to do without it. When it’s activated and talking to me, I feel like a giant. Now that I can’t access its power, I’m like a kid with a broken toy. I am so screwed.



During the night, I feel something nudging my foot. I sit up to find a rat chewing at the heel of my sock. I shriek, but it’s not afraid of me. A moment later I discover why. It is just one of a flood of rats that pour out of the hole in the floor, each with a long, hairless tail and hungry pink eyes. I kick at them the best I can, knocking a few against the wall, but they don’t stop coming. Soon, there are so many, I can’t see the floor anymore.

Overwhelmed, I scream as they bite at my shoes and leap at my legs, and then, just like that, they all scurry back down the hole, crawling over each other as they go. When I finally find the bravery to sit back down, I look at my battered sock and realize the rat nearly chewed all the way into my heel. I drag my mattress so that it covers the hole, then huddle on the other side of the room to calm myself.



I wonder if there is a camera on me. I wonder if they are listening. I’m even afraid they might be able to hear my thoughts. If it’s true, then they know I hate the light. They know how much I want to destroy it. I spend hours concocting plans for how to get at it and smash the little person inside it that keeps making music.