Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(42)

He nods eagerly, then runs to the elevator, swiping the keycard to activate it. When the doors slide open, he lets out a disappointed groan. I turn just in time to hear a gunshot and see him fall backwards.

“Run!” I scream, and the three of us bolt through the doorway, only to find another flight of stairs. We climb them one by one, my father struggling but doing his personal best. Amy is really what’s slowing us down, with all her whimpering and shrieks.

“Prisoners have escaped their rooms on Level Three. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill,” a voice booms through speakers on the walls. “All unarmed associates are to fall back to their secure locations. Security associates, please load your sidearms and turn your radios to channel eight for further instructions.”

We’re almost up the steps when I hear a gunshot. The bullet ricochets off a wall, sending dust into my eyes. I howl, sure that the next one will hit me. There’s another shot, then another.

We duck through a door onto a floor that looks much like the one below, more cells lining both sides of the hall. I hear men shouting in the stairwell and have to make a terrible choice. I can’t open them all in time.

“Which one has my friend?” I demand, shoving the keycard into Amy’s trembling hands. She looks at it for a moment, then helps me take my father from her. She walks down the hall, and we follow closely until she stops at a door. She swipes the sensor, and the door opens. Standing in her own little yellow circle is my friend. When she sees me, her eyes fill with tears.

“You are so kick-ass, Lyric Walker,” she says.

“We have to hurry,” I beg. She lets my father wrap his arm around her shoulders, and together they do their best as they stagger down the hall. At the end is a door with an emergency alarm bar. Its alarm adds to the already piercing sirens. Still, we push through and slam the door behind us.

“Lock it, Amy,” my father demands.

Amy frowns but reaches into her pocket. She takes out her own set of keys, inserts one into the lock, and gives it a turn just as I hear banging on the other side.

“They’re going to try to shoot their way in here,” my father says, and no sooner does he warn us than we hear a loud bang. “This door is steel, so it will buy us a little time. We can’t waste it. We have to find your mother. You should leave me here.”

“We tried that once,” I say, and drag him down another hallway. There’s a turn, then another. It’s a maze.

“Where?” I demand, putting the gun to Amy’s head. I know she could help without me asking. I suppose it’s dumb of me to be irritated that she won’t take the initiative.

She points forward, and we run through another set of doors and find an elevator.

“Aren’t there stairs?” I ask.

Amy shakes her head. “The elevators are the only way into the tank.”

I’m dreading this, but I have no choice but to use it. I swipe the card on the sensor plate and wait until the elevator opens on our floor. I shove Amy in front of the elevator door in case a soldier with a happy trigger finger decides to shoot before looking. When it opens wide, Amy blubbers. We push her inside and step in ourselves. I search the buttons and find a P for penthouse. The doors close, and we slowly rise while a Muzak version of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” plays. Yes, this place is truly that evil.

“The Alphas are in there,” Amy cries when the doors swing open. “Just let me go. You don’t need me.”

I can’t think of a reason to keep her, so I let her go, giving her a shove so that she falls to the floor of the elevator.

“You suck,” I say, because I’m all out of quips, then watch her disappear when the doors close.

When we turn, I find out why this place is called the tank. There are rows and rows of big water-filled tubes. Some are large enough to house many people. Inside them are Alpha, all in their undersea forms: gills and fins and tails and odd appendages. Scientists scurry about, taking readings and recording data. They don’t even realize we are here.

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.