The image changes to a shaky camera high in the sky, and I see something that doesn’t seem possible. The tide has engulfed the entire beach, wiping out the tent city and lapping over the boardwalk. Many of the Alpha are swimming in the water, but at the center of it all, in a space of sand by the water, stands Arcade. At least I think it’s her, and there’s something on her hand that’s glowing. Fathom and the prime and his queen stand by her side, as does Terrance Lir, the older Selkie that Fathom fought the first time I entered the camp, and the old woman from their church. The water is churning violently around them, but they are untouched. How is that happening?
“It appears the tide has come in at the beach. We’re talking with the weather service about a possible typhoon or weather front causing this unusual—whoa!”
A huge wave crashes over the boardwalk. It slams into the abandoned bars and shops that line the other side, leaving mounds of black, broken refuse: old tires, baby carriages, lawn chairs, and millions of beer bottles.
“Mom? Are they doing that?” I ask.
My mother watches but looks just as bewildered. “If they are, I have no idea how.”
I hear a rumbling crash outside and leap up to look out the kitchen window. Water is roaring down the streets, a river slapping the sides of apartment buildings and sweeping away everything that is not nailed down. The protestors unlucky enough to stand in its way run in vain, desperate to find some kind of hold to keep their heads above the drowning waters, but no one is safe. Parked cars are carried away. Street signs are bent over like blades of grass.
The reporter on the television is freaking out. “I don’t know how much of this our viewers can see, but something is forming on the boardwalk. It’s like . . . It’s a wall made of garbage.”
I run back to the TV to watch a structure of filth rise higher and higher right in the middle of the boardwalk and for miles in both directions. It’s full of broken boats and car parts and soda cans.
“Bachman is getting her wall,” my mother says. She stands up and goes into her bedroom. A moment later she drags my father’s enormous backpack into the living room. Then she goes back for her own. “Get your pack.”
I leap up, but there’s a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” my mother cries.
“Let me in. It’s Bex.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
My mother tosses the chair aside and swings the door open. Bex looks exhausted and filthy. Her hair is a wet mess and she smells, but I grab her and wrap her in the biggest hug of her life. I might never let her go.
“Are you okay?”
She nods. “I am. I could use a bath.”
I pull her into the apartment and lock the door tight in case Novakova creeps by to spy on us again.
“Where have you been?”
“Around,” she says. “Looks like we’re going somewhere.”
My mother shakes her head. “Lyric, you have to tell her the truth. You can’t keep it from her any longer. She deserves to know what she’s getting into so she can make the right decision.”
“What?” Bex says.
I start, but the right words won’t cooperate. I’ve rehearsed this moment a million times and now it seems all wrong.
“Bex, I’m . . . we’ve been keeping a—”
My phone buzzes a text.
I’M SORRY. SHE HAD A COURT ORDER.
Huh? I look at the number, but it’s blocked. I didn’t even think my phone could take a text from a blocked number.
GOT INTO THE SCHOOL BEFORE I COULD STOP HER.
Frustrated, I send one back.
WHO IS THIS?
A second later the answer comes.
MR. COFFEE.
“Doyle just sent me a text,” I say.
“You two aren’t having some creepy thing, are you?” Bex says.
I growl. “Gross.”
“What does he want?” my mother asks.
“I don’t know. It’s something about Bachman,” I say.
Bachman’s face appears on the screen. She’s looking smug and satisfied, like a dog that stole the steak off the dinner table.
“As you can see, the whole situation is a direct result of the president’s bad policy,” she says. “Those things should never have been placed in our schools in the first place. No one could have predicted what happened, but I’m not at all surprised. It was just a matter of time before one of them turned on the kids. Did they tell us that they were walking Tasers? It’s just more secrets, and this one was deadly.”
“Well, there are a lot of factors that have led to this—” the interviewer begins.
“No, this is very cut and dry. The Alpha are trouble, and they have help.”
“You’re referring to the person in this tape you brought us?”
“Yes, one of the students at the school conspired with the prince to set all of this in motion. Her name is Lyric Walker.”
A migraine turns my brain into a punching bag. It jabs and jabs and jabs, a steady, rhythmic assault.
“Lyric?” Bex is behind me. “What is she talking about?”
“Ms. Walker had a secret love affair with the Alpha prince, and it is my belief that together they plotted the incident that killed Svetlana Wilder.”
“That’s a very big accusation,” the reporter says. “I suppose this footage you brought is your evidence? You refused to let our producers see it in advance.”
She nods. “I think you should warn your viewers, especially the little ones, that this might be shocking,” she says.
“All right, let’s take a look,” he says.
“What is this, Lyric?” my mother begs.
“Mom, I’m sorry,” I say as a black-and-white me and a black-and-white Fathom hold each other and share a very hot kiss.