Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” I ask.

He laughs despite himself, and I slam the door shut. I wave the card over a sensor panel mounted on the wall and hear the buzz and clank of the lock. That was easier than I was expecting, and it takes me a second to wrap my head around the fact that I’m actually standing in the hall without a guard. I scan both directions. There are doors on either side of the hall, and each one has a sensor pad.

“Anybody in there?” I say as I swipe the card over the nearest door. I hear a whimper when it swings open and find a woman about my father’s age with chocolate-brown hair huddled on the floor.

“We’re leaving,” I say, then dart to the next door and repeat the routine. Soon, every door is open and a scrawny, half-starved person is taking his or her first tentative steps toward freedom. A forty-something man with a full beard creeps out of his cell. His eyes are wild, and he’s rocking back and forth with nervous energy. I can’t tell how long he’s been here, but one look at him tells me there’s a good chance he’s lost his mind. It dawns on me that none of these people might be capable of escaping. A few of them are too afraid to leave their cells. I give them all a second look to make sure Bex and my mom aren’t among them, then run to the end of the hall, find a door marked STAIRS, and push through it. Up a flight of steps I go with a gun in one hand and a keycard in the other. I careen through a second stairwell door and right into Amy on the other side. A tray of hypodermic needles she was holding flies into the air and comes crashing down around us.

“Hello.” I level the pistol at her face.

“I’m sorry,” she blubbers. Fat tears rolls down her cheeks so quickly, I wonder if they’ve been waiting for this moment since I arrived. “Don’t kill me.”

“Where are you keeping the others?”

“Lyric, you can’t—”

“I have friends and family in this camp, innocent people, Amy, and we’re going home.”

“Your father is right there,” she says, pointing to a door across the hall.

I push her against the wall and swipe the card on the sensor. The door opens with a heavy clank. Amy wasn’t lying. My father is on the floor. He’s lost some weight, but he’s not as bad as some of the people in this camp. He looks up at me, confused, like he’s not sure whether what he’s seeing is real or a delusion.

“Lyric?”

“Dad, can you walk?”

He tries but gives up with a groan.

I pull Amy into the room.

“Help me get him on his feet. You’re going to be his crutch!” I shout.

She does as she’s told.

“Lyric, this is crazy,” my father says.

“Crazy is all we’ve got,” I say, helping him into the hall.

“Now, where’s Bex?” I demand.

“Who?”

“Rebecca Conrad!” I shout.

“She’s upstairs.”

“With the Alpha?” I demand.

“No, they’re on the floor above that. They’re in the tank,” she explains.

“The tank? What the hell is that?” I ask.

Amy whimpers. “It’s on the top floor. I have nothing to do with it. I don’t work in that section.”

She points down the hall to another exit sign. I suddenly realize how hard it’s going to be to get everyone out. There must be at least sixty adults, maybe even more, all as sick and weak as my father. Who knows what kind of state the Alpha are in, and then there’s their children. I don’t even know where they’re keeping them. We’ll never find them on our own.

“You’re going to have to come with us,” I say to Amy. Her eyes drop down to the hypodermic needles on the floor. She’s considering going for one, jamming it into me, maybe knocking me out.

“Lady, I don’t know if I can kill you, but I know I can shoot you. If you don’t help us, I’ll put a bullet into something you need. Now go!”

She nods and, OMG—I’ve got a hostage.

I unlock all the cells while my father leans on Amy. I don’t even bother to look inside the rooms. I don’t have time. I tell myself the best I can do for them is to let them out.

“Are there soldiers on the other side of those doors?” I ask, pointing to the end of the hall.

She nods, but before we can make a plan, the door behind us flies open and one of the prisoners I released appears. He’s the bearded one with the wild eyes, and like all the others, he’s filthy beyond belief. White foam forms in the corners of his mouth like a rabid dog.

“I need a weapon,” he says to me.

“I think those needles have something bad in them,” I say, pointing to the floor. “Stick Amy here with one if she tries to get away.”

He scoops up a handful and nods.

“I can do that,” he offers.