Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

“It’s hot out there today,” she says, easy with the small talk. She sizes us up, and I can see we’re not what she was expecting. A middle-aged guy in a black jumpsuit and a filthy teenager with murder in her eyes.

“Do you have any pie?” Doyle says as casually as he can. There’s a growing red welt on his right cheek that she can’t see, but it might as well be flashing a beacon into space, it’s so bright.

“Absolutely. We’ve got apple and blueberry.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any cherry, would you?”

“I can check.”

Doyle smiles wide and winks. “I would love you for it.”

The waitress smiles warily. On her way to the back, Doyle begs her to turn on the television mounted on the ceiling. She obliges, and all at once, the screen is full of Coney Island. Soldiers are fighting Rusalka, who keep leaping out of the water. They fire M-16s and rocket launchers at everything as a reporter on the scene hyperventilates while trying to tell us that most of the military’s efforts are having little effect.

“Oh, I hate watching this,” the waitress says, but before she can change the channel, Doyle stops her.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Leave it.”

“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug, then wanders off in search of his dessert.

“I don’t want any more people to die while I work to keep you safe and alive.”

“Nothing you say makes any sense, Doyle,” I growl. “You and your company kidnapped my parents. You’ve got Alpha in a torture camp. You’re experimenting on them. Now you’re here to tell me you’re trying to protect me.”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Doyle says. “Lyric, you’re the most important person in the world.”

“Me?”

“You can put an end to the fighting, Lyric,” he says.

“It has nothing to do with me,” I say.

“It has everything to do with you,” he argues.

“No! You know what could have helped stop the fighting? Thirty thousand Alpha living in a tent city in Coney Island. Maybe if people like you hadn’t harassed them, they might have been willing to fight those things for us.”

“I completely agree, and when this is all said and done, a lot of people are going to lose their jobs and go to jail, but right now pointing fingers doesn’t solve the crisis.”

“And exactly why am I supposed to care?”

He takes a deep breath, fighting the urge to continue the pointless debate.

“I need you to come with me, Lyric. I will take you somewhere you can do some actual good with that weapon on your hand. You can help me save the world,” he says. “Look, there’s the Secretary of Defense. You should listen to this.”

Reporters gather in a room decorated with an American flag, blue curtain, and a podium with the government’s official seal. Front and center is a gray-haired man. He looks tired and grim.

“Secretary of Defense Harris Abramson admitted to reporters today what political pundits have been saying for days, that the U.S. military is not trained to handle an amphibious threat like the Alpha,” a reporter says.

“Navy SEALS have been working closely with National Guard and Marine command, but many of their efforts are stymied by the flooding and the tidal wave attacks on East Coast military bases.”

“What seems to be the problem?” a reporter shouts over the din of other questions.

“The enemy operate in relatively shallow waters that a submarine cannot reach,” Abramson says. “Or they move into depths no human being has ever attempted. The Alpha have lived their whole lives underwater, and their bodies are suited for high pressures, frigid temperatures, and strong currents. They’re physically more powerful and faster than human beings, even more so when submerged. Some, like the creatures with the teeth you’ve seen and read about, are particularly savage.”

“Are there fears that there might be other things in the water? Reports coming out of the United Kingdom talk about a gigantic creature surfacing near Scotland,” a reporter asks.

The secretary looks down at his notes, then wipes his brow.

“At this time, we have no information that would lead us to that conclusion.”

“He’s lying, Lyric,” Doyle says. “There are other things. He’s afraid of causing a panic.”

“Sir, you keep referring to these creatures as ‘Alpha,’ and I’m wondering if there is a distinction? Is there no difference between the community who lived on the beach in Coney Island and these monsters who don’t appear to be as intelligent? Can you please clear that up for us?”

“At this time, the State Department is not making a distinction. If it’s in the water, we’re shooting at it.”

“That’s all I need to know about your war,” I say. “I’m just another monster.”

The waitress returns with a smile.

“I’ve got one slice of cherry left.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, and then waves his cup in a circle. “And some more coffee. She’s going to have the turkey burger with bacon, sweet potato fries, and a chocolate milkshake. I’m going to have the stir-fry with tofu, and is the broccoli soup made with cream?”

She nods.