Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(76)

“It’s there!”

A building rises into view, not far from where the boardwalk once stood. I recognize it immediately as the remains of Childs Restaurant, an abandoned eyesore that’s been standing for longer than I’ve been alive. I’ve walked past it a million times, not giving it much attention. Now that my life depends on reaching it, I notice its bizarre architecture with its arches and crenelations. I can’t believe that of all the buildings in this town, it counts itself among the survivors and that it’s the site of the military’s line in the sand.

Jackson urges us onward so I snatch Chloe, and we dash through the sand until we reach the building, then race through an open door. Everyone follows.

The inside of the old restaurant is a beehive of activity. Soldiers work on laptops plugged into generators. Maps of the coastline and sonar images of the ocean floor are tacked to the walls, each marked with red circles and lines. Almost everyone is shouting into a radio or calling someone on a phone. There are cases of ammunition on one side of the room and canoes and kayaks stacked near the doors.

“What are those for?” I ask Jackson.

“Getaway cars,” he says.

This was once a fancy eatery with tiled floors, marble columns, and tin ceilings; now armed soldiers hover at every window, some with rifles, others with rocket launchers. They are all trained on the shoreline. They fire over and over again. I peer out of one window and see the beach beyond. It’s swarming with Rusalka and soldiers, all in a struggle for control of the shore. The more Rusalka die, the more crawl out of the sea, clambering over the bodies of their dead brothers and sisters.

I turn away, too terrified to look any longer. It’s insane for us to be this close. I gather the children to me, preparing to make a run for it at any moment.

“Major Kita, the White Tower team has arrived,” Jackson explains as he approaches an older, graying soldier in camo gear. Kita is trim and clean-cut, Japanese American, and, based on how the others treat him, the man in charge. His chest full of medals is another clue.

Kita turns and studies us, unable to hide his confusion and irritation. We’re just as much an unwelcome surprise to him as we were to Jackson when we arrived.

“You’re Lyric Walker,” he says, stepping to face me.

“I am.”

“Can all the children do what you can?”

“No,” I confess. “But all of them have some ability.”

“I appreciate the honesty, so let’s keep running down that road. Can I trust you?”

“You can trust that I’m going to do everything I can to keep these kids alive. If we survive, we’re all going to walk away, and if you try to stop us, you’ll regret it.”

It sounds so badass, I just hope my face matches the words.

“If we survive this, I’ll buy you all bus tickets out of town myself,” he promises. “You kids ready to clock in?”

I nod.

“Find a window and help a soldier!” he shouts to us. The children look to me for approval, and I nod. They each race to follow their orders, turning on their gloves and blasting Rusalka from the safety of the building. Riley shouts out suggestions and cheers the team every time a monster is killed.

“Incredible,” Kita says. “If we can get your team out into the drink, we might be able to fight them back.”

He pulls out one of the maps on a table and points at a huge mass of shadows in the water.

“The Rusalka are hunkered down about a mile off the coast. We’ve failed to make an impression on them, and they keep returning to the beach day after day.”

My mother and father join us to look at the maps.

“We want to drop you here,” he says, pointing to a small span of ocean. “The idea is that you will push them toward the shore.”

“You want to squeeze them,” my father says.

Kita nods. “I was told you kids can breathe underwater?”

“We can also die under there. What’s this big black blob over here? Is that more Rusalka?” I ask, pointing to a mass on the maps.

A soldier enters the restaurant carrying something that looks like a huge mop. It’s as big as a golden retriever and made entirely of slimy, wet tentacles. Bex squeals with revulsion, and I gasp. It’s one of the squid creatures from Spangler’s tanks.

“Sir, we found another one of these things down on the beach.”

“Oh no,” my mother gasps. I turn and see terror all over her face. It’s mirrored by Riley’s father, John, by Arcade, and even by Fathom’s expressions.

“That’s what that blob on the map is made of,” Kita says. “Ugly things, and fast as lightning. They’ve got a spike buried in there that latches on to the back of your head—”

“How many of these have you found?” Fathom interrupts.

“Ten,” Jackson says. “We sent five to White Tower to study; the rest we left to rot.”

“Spangler had them in the tanks,” I explain.

“You need to leave this place,” Fathom says.

Everyone turns to him in surprise.

“That creature is death, and even the bravest of my people are smart enough to keep their distance. This one has led the way for many more.”

“I don’t know if you noticed that beach out there,” Kita says, “but I’ve got bigger problems to deal with than a bunch of fat squids. I’ve got monsters throwing tidal waves at the shore and eating my dead soldiers. It takes ten bullets to slow one of them down, and ten more to kill it. These ugly things go down with one shot, and they’re as dumb as dogs. They’re not a problem.”