Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

I alienate more than a few of them with my persistence. A tall, graying man actually rats me out to a guard when they come to take us back to our cells.

“She’s planning an escape!” he shouts, pointing a wild finger at me. “Tell Mr. Spangler that I told you. Tell him I’m not a troublemaker. Ask him for more rations, please.”

“Good dog!” I shout at him, then feel remorse. We’re all doing things that aren’t in character these days. I should be more sympathetic.

A guard listens to the man, then eyes me closely, finally laughing as if he’s heard the funniest joke ever.

“Good luck, kid,” he sneers as he slips the noose around my neck. “The only way you’re getting out of this place is in a body bag, or maybe, in your case, we’ll flush you down the toilet, fish girl.”

One day I find Bex next to me again. She looks worse than the last time I saw her. She’s getting thinner and has trouble keeping her head up.

“You’re rocking the pixie cut,” she whispers to me, her voice no louder than a breeze.

I have to get her out of here.



Getting to go to the cages feels like a treat. They take me in the same rough way as always, dragging me like a wild beast and tossing me in before I can fight back. One day, as they lock the gate, one of the soldiers swats me on the nose with a newspaper, then throws it into the cage.

“What’s this?” I say.

“You’re front-page news.” He laughs.

I snatch up the paper and find a picture of a young girl. Her eyes are hollow, her cheeks thin and sucking. She’s wearing ragged, filthy clothes and is desperately skinny. There’s a feral look in her eyes. I’m confused. I don’t understand what this is about. I stand and bang on the gate, demanding that he explain it to me, but he laughs and walks away.

I look at it again, hoping for some clue, and then I read the headline.



CONEY ISLAND TERRORIST APPREHENDED. 17-YEAR-OLD LYRIC WALKER ARRESTED IN TEXAS. PUBLIC CALLS FOR DEATH PENALTY.





The girl in the picture is me. It’s the photo the guards took of me. I look like I’ve lost my mind.



A woman is standing over me wearing a long white lab coat. She’s got red hair and a pinched face. At first I think she’s a dream, but she yelps when my eyes focus on her. Dreams aren’t startled by the dreamer. I try to bolt upright, but I’m strapped to a bed. I’m not in my cell. I’m in something similar to an emergency room, though it doesn’t look very sterile. The walls and floor are concrete, and it’s cold. My nurse is not happy.

“She needs more Pentothal.” Her voice is tinged with panic.

A soldier is on me, holding down my arms while she injects something into my shoulder. I want to fight back, but I feel like I’m melting.

“The gas should have done the job,” the solider barks at her. “You said it would work.”

“Well, it didn’t! She’s like one of the kids,” she snaps. “She’s tougher than a normal person. Just relax. I’ve got it covered. Now help me. We’ve got to get her ready.”

“Please help me,” I beg, but I’m already sinking into sleep as the nurse and the soldier look down on me.

“She hurt her head,” the soldier says.

The woman sighs.



There’s a gurgling sound nearby that causes me to jerk. The rats must be coming up the hole again. I struggle, but the guard holds me still. The tinkling is coming from bubbles rising inside a bag of liquid that swings back and forth above my head.

“Where am I?” I say, but my voice sounds slow and flimsy.

“She’s not supposed to be talking, is she?” another voice asks. “Give her another dose.”

“And stop her heart?”

“If she wakes all the way up—”

“Calm down, Calvin,” the nurse demands. “She doesn’t have the strength of a pureblood.”

“How do you know? Just because the others seem normal, that doesn’t mean she is. She’s got one of those gloves,” the guard warns.

“They’ve turned it off, so relax. You make this job impossible sometimes.”

“I didn’t sign on for this,” Calvin complains.

“Who did?” the woman snaps. “If you hate it so much, ask for a transfer. I hear there’s an opening in the tank. You can feed those things. They’ll give you your own bucket of chum.”

The guard growls. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Then stop whining and do your job,” the nurse scolds.

I hear a buzzing sound, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from, only that it’s near my ear.

“All right, let’s get this over with,” the nurse says. “The client wants to see the product, and she can’t be a filthy mess.”

There’s a tickling sensation on the back of my skull that is curious, but I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.



Now I’m nude, strapped down to a table, and terrified.

“Stop shivering. You have to be still,” a voice broadcasts from a speaker I can’t see.

“What are you doing to me?”

“We’re taking x-rays,” the voice explains.

I hear buzzing and I jump, sure that I’m about to be shocked like so many times before.

“I told you to hold still,” the voice complains.