Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“There are a million things you can do with it. Pick one that doesn’t put him in the hospital,” she begs.

I tuck my hand under my hoodie to block the light from radiating out and revealing our hiding spot. Then I strain to hear the water’s call. There are pipes running beneath Ferguson’s feet, eager to explode and knock him down. There’s a sprinkler system I could use to drown him. There’s even a garden hose lying in the grass nearby that I could turn into a whip. All of them are deliciously vengeful, but for Bex’s sake I’ll try to be creative.

“Use some restraint,” I whisper to the voices.

A second later, a fire hydrant in the street blows up and its metal cap sails through the air, landing at Ferguson’s feet. A jet of water shoots into the sky and comes down on his car with such force, the back windshield collapses. Water floods through the broken glass and quickly fills the car.

“What on earth?” Ferguson hollers, and all of a sudden tormenting children is not at the top of his list. Duck scampers to his feet, embarrassed, angry, and hurt, but he knows better than to fight back. Instead, he steps as far away as he can from the cop.

Ferguson calls to his dispatcher. She accuses him of throwing a temper tantrum, then promises to send a fire truck.

“Get out of the park,” Ferguson spits. “If I see you Coasters again, I’m calling Immigration.”

He stomps back toward his squad car and suffers through the ceaseless spray to get behind the wheel. It’s so powerful, it knocks him down before he finally gets the door open and crawls inside. While he’s busy, Bex, Arcade, and I climb down from the fort. The kids eye us with both wonder and fear.

“Did you do that?” Lucas asks.

I nod.

“I won’t hurt you,” I promise.

“You’re that girl from Coney Island,” Sloan says.

“We need a squat for the night. If it’s not cool, that’s fine, but say it now, please, so we can keep looking before it’s too late,” Bex says.

She reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. I return the show of affection.

Lucas speaks to Duck and Sloan. Tattoo Boy wipes the blood out of his eye and listens, his face full of suspicion, but then he eventually nods.

“You can come,” Lucas says. “But whatever food you’ve got, you have to share, and Malik gets first pick.”

“Who is Malik?”

“The guy who decides whether you sleep outside or not,” Sloan explains.

She grabs Lucas by the arm, whispering something to him while staring at me the entire time.

“C’mon, we’ll take you.” Duck picks up his board and walks into the dark. Lucas and Sloan do the same.





Chapter Eight


THEY WALK US ALONG A LONELY ROAD TO A BRIDGE. Once there, we crawl down the embankment and find a huge metal drainage pipe big enough for a grown man to walk into upright. It leaks murky brown water into a muddy creek basin. Without hesitation, Duck plunges us into the dark. Sloan and Duck follow, then Arcade.

Lucas happens to have a small flashlight in his pocket, and he takes the lead for Bex and me. Soon we’re so far in that I can’t see the light of the entrance any longer. Along the way, Duck tells us his life story. He and his father left Newport, Rhode Island, when it was ravaged by the Rusalka—who he calls the “frogs.” They packed all their belongings in the car, only to get stopped in their tracks at the Texas border. They were separated by the mobs, though, he admits, his dad might have ditched him.

“I wasn’t his favorite child. Unfortunately I was his only one.”

He laughs at his own expense, but it’s not loud enough to cover up the pain.

Sloan says she’s from a little town in Delaware that was overrun by the monsters. She and her mother and father abandoned everything they had and took off in the family’s SUV. When they got to the Texas border, they were stopped and searched. The soldiers threatened to arrest the whole family, but her father bribed one with the car. He would only let Sloan pass through, all alone. That was a week ago. They were supposed to meet here but she hasn’t seen them since.

Lucas, on the other hand, doesn’t offer much.

“Are you from the Coast?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

That’s his answer for everything. He’s like a male version of Bex. Getting him to share is like pulling teeth.

Finally we reach a ladder. Duck climbs up while Lucas shines his flashlight at him. When he gets to the top, he pounds his hand on a metal grate that blocks his way, first three times, then once, then four more times.

“Secret codes.” Duck chuckles down to us.

There is movement from above, and then the grate opens and the tunnel fills with light. Leaning down into the hole is the face of a dark-skinned boy with a shaved head and the beginnings of a sad, thin mustache.

“What happened to your face?” he asks. He seems genuinely concerned for Duck, as if they were family.

“Ferguson.”

He frowns, then peers down at us.

“Who are they?”

“They need a place for the night,” Lucas replies. “Let us in.”