Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)(8)

“Turn that off,” I shout to her. “You can see the light halfway down the road.”

Just as Bex predicted, the air fills with sirens. Police cars tear down every street. Some streets are so crowded with squad cars that we have to double back, and there’s a moment when we almost have to drive past the Piggly Wiggly again.

“Pull in there,” Bex cries, pointing to an IGA grocery store. I make an insane hairpin turn that nearly causes us to fishtail into another car, but I manage to right us before an accident happens. I burn up an aisle and into an empty parking space. Bex reaches over, throws the car into park, and turns off the engine, then forces me to duck down below the steering wheel.

Huddled on the floor, I look over to my friend. Her face has turned from a scowl to utter disbelief.

“The only reason we haven’t been caught is no one knew where we were,” she whispers to me. “You just ruined that. Everybody with a badge and a gun is going to head to Texas to find us, which would be fine if we actually knew where we were going, but we don’t, which means it’s just a matter of time before we get caught.”

“They were going to arrest us,” I say defensively.

Bex drops her head into her hands and shakes it sadly.

“That’s their job. We were committing a crime. When people commit crimes, police officers arrest them. That’s how society works, but you were treating them like bad guys. They’re cops. Just like your dad.”

“They are nothing like my dad. They called us Coasters! They humiliated us.”

“Fine! They are dumb cops in a stupid town. It doesn’t give you the right to put them in the hospital.”

“Lyric Walker did what was necessary,” Arcade says.

“She was showing off!” Bex shouts at her. “And she just made our lives a million times harder.”

The truth stinks. It took us forever to get to Texas from Brooklyn, two weeks of starving and hitching rides with perverts and sleeping on picnic tables. I just jeopardized all that sacrifice. What came over me back there? Why did I want to hurt those men so much? It wasn’t just because they called us Coasters. I was overcome with something that was beyond anger. I was looking for a fight.

“Let them come,” Arcade sneers. “When their fat bodies lie bleeding in the streets, it will send a message to those at Tempest who imprison our people.”

Bex pounds her fists onto the dashboard, then opens her door and gets out.

“Where are you going?” I cry.

“We have to find another car,” she snaps bitterly.

I watch her stomp off across the parking lot. Each step she takes away from me makes me anxious, as if she might get so far away that I’ll lose her completely.

“We should leave her here,” Arcade says.

“What?”

“She is not like us, Lyric Walker. She will be no help to us at Tempest. This is not her fight. She is human.”

“I’m human!” I cry.

She shakes her head. “No, you are not. You are Alpha, a new kind, but one of us nonetheless. She is a helpless human girl with no fighting skills. She is slowing us down with her tedious lectures, and when we arrive at the camp, she will die anyway. Here she will live.”

“We’re not abandoning my best friend!” I roar, then push the car door open and hit the ground running. I chase across the parking lot, grabbing Bex by the hand and spinning her around.

“What was I supposed to do?”

“You think this is about what you did? It’s not, Lyric. It’s about how you did it. How you always do it. You can’t see your face when you use that thing, but I can.”

“What are you talking about? What’s wrong with my face?”

“You’re too happy. When you are scaring someone, or hurting them, you’re smiling and proud of yourself.”

“That’s not true.” But as I say it, I know it’s a lie.

“Maybe you think you have to become this new Lyric so you can fight the bad guys, but you know what? The new Lyric sucks.”

She pulls away from me, leaving me to suck all alone.





Chapter Three


BEX FOUND AN UNLOCKED CAR PARKED IN THE BACK OF THE GROCERY STORE. It’s an ancient Ford Taurus, lime-green and as big as a boat. The shocks are spongy and the brakes shriek as soon as I turn on the engine. The back windows won’t roll down and there’s no air conditioning, but the keys were under the visor and it has a full tank of gas, so it’s our new ride. I have to assume its owner is some poor kid who never thought anyone would want the rusty eyesore. Whoever it belongs to is not making bank. I feel bad, but we have to get out of town fast.

While Bex and Arcade load our stuff, I leave the owner of the Caravan a heartfelt and anonymous apology for its current state, especially for the dents and dings that weren’t there when we “borrowed” it. I’ve smashed a few of these loaners in the last two weeks. I’m doing the best I can, but I don’t have a driver’s license. City kids don’t usually get them. We walk everywhere or hop on the bus or subway. I never took a driving class, and I confess as much to the owner. My apology includes a sincere hope that the damage will not affect his or her insurance premiums, and also a “my bad” for the stink we are leaving behind after sleeping in it for a couple days. I hang one of the pine-scented car fresheners I swiped at the store from the rearview mirror, but I know it’s not going to make a big difference. We’re disgusting.