Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“I miss him too,” I say.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight, trying to take on some of the anguish that bends her backwards. She sobs quietly, and I do too, thinking about the friend we lost and the future he took with him.

She cleans herself up, then hands me back my phone.

“I saw his picture,” she whispers.

“Whose picture?”

“Fathom’s. Maybe you should let her see it,” she says, tilting her head toward Arcade. “It might help her mourn.”

“She’s not mourning,” I say.

“You know better than that.”

Bex curls up all embryo-like, and soon she’s asleep, leaving me alone with the dying fire and my thoughts. Across from me, Arcade slumbers. I pass Bex’s idea back and forth in my mind as I watch Arcade’s chest rise and fall, until I just can’t stand it any longer. I don’t want her to see that picture. It’s all I have of Fathom, all I will ever have. Arcade had a whole lifetime of memories with him. She knows his secrets and dreams and his favorite kind of ice cream, and I know that people who live underwater don’t eat ice cream, but that’s not the point. He was hers, and in the end he chose her, and all I got were a few kisses and longing looks and one lousy picture! I look terrible in it too—my hair is sticking to my forehead, and neither of us is smiling. But it’s mine. She wouldn’t appreciate it anyway. As far as I can tell, his loss doesn’t mean that much to her. No, I want to keep it all to myself. I know how to treasure things.

I take out my phone and look at him until I’m too tired to keep my eyes open. Then I sleep, and I dream of him.





Chapter Seven


IT’S DAWN WHEN BEX SHAKES ME AWAKE.

“You were doing it again,” she says, referring to my dreams.

“Sorry. Was I talking?”

“Among other things.”

My face burns with embarrassment.

“Where’s Arcade?” I ask, looking around for her nervously. I want Arcade knowing what happens when I’m asleep even less than broadcasting it into the desert.

“She’s training. Give her some privacy,” Bex says. “I pulled up some maps and found a town about five miles from here. We should head in that direction. It’s called San Saba.”



San Saba is the Pecan capital of the world. A person can walk around it in about an hour and a half. There’s not much going on here except for the twenty or so businesses that sell pecans. The smell is everywhere. I could twirl it around my finger and plop it into my mouth.

There are a few two-story buildings lining the streets, a diner that hasn’t seen a customer in a long time, and a lot of empty storefronts and parking spaces. I don’t see a single person during our first silent stroll around town, which is good because we’re on the hunt for another loaner.

The cars don’t come. We try every door handle we come across, and all of them are locked. I do find a hatchback with keys in the ignition, but it’s a stick, and I’m barely managing automatic. We circle the town again, making friends with a stray mutt who follows close behind, clearly hoping for some food. He’s so skinny, we can see his ribs. Bex eventually breaks down and tosses him some crackers. Suddenly I feel bad for tossing out the bacon.

We eat our breakfast under the awning of an abandoned Woolworth, then our lunch beneath the awning of an abandoned Blockbuster Video. By dusk we’re still wandering aimlessly and the heat that pressed down on us all day lifts and makes room for its frosty cousin. Bex is shivering. I can’t hear myself think over my chattering teeth. We’ve got to find somewhere to stay.