“And why would you want to help us?” my father demands.
“Well, Mr. Walker, the obvious reason is not to die in a monster invasion.”
“You didn’t seem to care about the last monster invasion,” Bex says.
“I can solve one of your biggest problems. You need proof that these creatures are real, or no one will help you fight. I’m sending you something right now.”
The video changes, and a new image appears. It’s shaky and moving around in every direction because the person shooting it is running. In the background, I can hear people screaming. He turns, for just a moment, and behind him I see something I’d hoped never to see again. A beast nearly four times his size is chasing him across a sandy beach. Hundreds, maybe thousands more of the monsters are scattered everywhere the camera lands. They lumber forward on all fours, roaring like mutated grizzly bears, only they’re albino white with grotesque faces and paws stained with blood. They slam into everything that gets in their way. Cars flip over; a huge moving truck tips and lands on its side; telephone poles snap in two.
A man with a rifle steps into the frame and fires at one. The beast comes to a halt. I can’t tell if it’s wounded or just irritated. I hold my breath while I watch, waiting, hoping for it to collapse and die, but then it bounds forward, knocking the man over and putting a massive foot on his chest.
The man screams as the monster opens its horrible mouth to release a cylindrical spike of spiraling teeth that stabs him in the belly. Just as quickly, the spike reels itself back into the beast’s jaws. This is something I haven’t seen before. I didn’t know they did this, but as horrible as it is to watch, it’s nothing compared to what happens next. The man staggers to stand, his body already convulsing. His torso expands like a balloon, growing larger and larger as he screams in agony, until his chest cracks open and a massive white slug spills out onto the ground. People scream as it turns its formless head from left to right, then in one incredible burst of speed, it burrows into the ground, digging furiously, and disappears into a hole.
The man holding the camera collapses in the road, then scampers behind a parked car. His breathing is panicked, but he keeps trying to capture the terrible event on his phone. “They’re everywhere,” he says. “Everywhere. They came up on the beach and started slaughtering people.”
A moment later, the ground explodes in front of him. A woman who was running by is suddenly swallowed from below as a slug-like creature pops out of the ground beneath her. It swallows her whole. There’s no blood. No scream. She’s just gone. The creature scans the surface while it chews on her body, like a dog taking a moment to enjoy some table scraps. When it is satisfied with its meal, it digs a new hole and vanishes down it.
The video stops on the face of a little boy, frozen by panic in the midst of all the screams. He’s confused and frightened and on the verge of tears. I fear the woman who just died might have been his mother.
The image fades, and Johar reappears.
“This is a different kind of monster,” he says.
“That’s what you were talking about?” Bex asks me. “That’s what happened in Panama?”
“Yes,” I say.
Johar shakes his head. “No, that video was shot this morning in Coral Gables, Florida. It happened an hour ago.”
“I thought the coastline was quarantined,” I cry.
“Most of it,” my father says. “Florida is one of the states that seceded from the rest of the country. Their governor sent its National Guard in when the feds tried to erect the fence. They’re playing by their own rules.”
“These creatures appear to be heading toward Miami at the moment,” Johar says.
“Tardigrade. They call themselves the Tardigrade,” I say.
“Plain and simple, White Tower wants to help you stop them.”
“And where does the money come in?” my father asks. “It’s about money, right?”
Johar shifts in his seat. “We see a valuable business opportunity. This country is a mess. Local police departments are falling apart, schools are closed, millions are homeless, the military is crumbling, and more than a few major cities are underwater. Putting things back together is an excellent source of revenue.”
“I knew it,” my father grumbles.
“Leonard, I won’t insult you by arguing. It’s a cynical way to think, but yes, it’s always about money. Capturing Alpha in an effort to make better soldiers was about money. Locking them up in a prison out of the sight of taxpayers was about money. Selling your daughter to the military was about money. Now, we can dither about the morality of it all, or we can decide to live in the real world, where that is never going to change. A company that wants to keep growing has to look for new profit streams—crisis management services sounds like a growth industry, and for once, it lines up nicely with what you and your daughter want as well. To get the peace everyone desires, we have to go to war, and we know a lot about war. We can provide you with nearly unlimited military and technical support, weapons, food, lodging, training, logistics, medical care, and computer technology that is more advanced than anything they have at the Pentagon. We also have hundreds of thousands of private military contractors at the ready.
“Lyric, business often makes for strange bedfellows. Companies join forces all the time, even companies that have spent years trying to destroy one another’s market share. They do it to survive. We would be foolish not to do the same.”
“Do you think we’re stupid?” Bex says.
“No, let him finish,” I argue.
“I’ve spoken to enough people on Capitol Hill, or rather, the bunker they now use to run this country, and reactions to your return, and the video you posted today, have put you back at the top of the most wanted list. They’re digging in, Lyric. They aren’t going to let the Alpha go, and if you show up on your own, even with your team of superfriends, they’re going to put bullets into each and every one of you. You don’t have to show up alone. This doesn’t have to be a suicide mission.”
“You’re going to go to war with the government to help me?”
“We prefer to think of it as joining the Lyric Walker revolution. Ms. Conrad has done an excellent job at repairing your public image, and—”
Someone walks into the camera frame and whispers something into Johar’s ear. His face tightens, and he sets down his drink.
“I’m afraid we have to continue this conversation at another time. Your location has been discovered, and Marines are on the way. It would be wise to leave now.”
“What are you talking about?” Riley cries.
“Ms. Bachman is still causing trouble. I’m afraid White Tower is in the midst of its own civil war.”
“Sit still,” my father demands. “He’s trying to flush us out into the open. If we go outside, a satellite will spot us, or one of those drones. They’ll know exactly where we are.”
“I could have sent a team to your location when I started calling hours ago. You’re at 142 Eleventh Street in Wildwood, New Jersey, correct? Now take your family and go. Try to get to the Verrazano Bridge in two days, Lyric. We’ll be waiting for you.”
Bex closes the laptop, presses the power button on the side, and shuts it down.
“He might be lying,” Riley says.
“He’s not,” my mother says as she enters the room. “I hear engines coming this way.”
“You know what to do,” my father says to Riley.
He obediently darts out of the room. I hear him race upstairs, kicking and pounding on doors, yelling for everyone to wake up. I expect panic, but instead I hear people bustling about, checking on one another.
Bex scoops up her computer and slips it into a backpack sitting next to her chair, then she straps it onto her back.
“All right, everyone, we’ve practiced this. You know what to do!” Riley shouts. Chloe and the others hurry up from the basement. They look sleepy but ready, and all at once, their gloves ignite. They break into two teams: o
ne, led by Jane, runs out the back door, and the second charges out the front, with Riley taking the lead. My mother and father follow him, with me close behind. When I turn to make sure Bex is behind me, I find she has disappeared.
“Where’s Bex?” I shout.
“She’s got a job to do. Don’t worry,” my father says. “We’re ready for this.”
A spotlight invades the street, shooting down from the sky. Trees sway back and forth as the air is churned into wind by helicopter blades. Two black airships descend from above, each equipped with guns. Missiles are mounted to their sides, and several armed soldiers are sitting with their legs hanging out of opened doors. A voice booms over the neighborhood.
“Get on the ground with your hands behind your back. We will be forced to open fire if you do not comply.”
It wasn’t a bluff. When we keep running, hot bullets zing through the air, crashing into the asphalt at my feet and turning it into dust and pebbles. I scream, but my clearheaded father drags me behind a parked car.
“Mom!” I see her and the children continue onward.
“Lyric, she knows what she’s doing. We’ve trained for this many times,” he says.
I poke my head over the hood and get a face full of sparks as bullets rip into the steel. When I look again, I can see her in the next yard. She hefts a propane grill off the ground and flings it at the first of the two helicopters. It smashes into the rotor, ripping the chopper’s tail clean off, and igniting a fire onboard. The machine goes into a herky-jerky tailspin, and two soldiers fall out of the door, crashing to the street with painful thuds. If they survived, it’s a miracle.
The helicopter smacks into a telephone pole and cracks in two. The rest of the soldiers leap out in a desperate effort to save their own lives, but debris rains down on them. Rotor blades snap and rocket in all directions, impaling the car we are using as cover. The jagged steel end crunches through to the other side, stopping just inches from my father’s chest. There’s a massive explosion when the chopper’s rockets ignite and a wave of heat blasts the street.
My mother leaps behind the car, pressing her back to its side. Her face is calm and serious. So this is the warrior I’ve heard so much about.
“When I give the word, we run straight to the beach,” my father commands, watching the second helicopter hover over the flames of its fallen twin. A man inside slides the door aside and swings a massive gun so that it’s aimed at us.
“Now!”
There’s no time to argue. He and Mom are on their feet and pulling me onto mine. We dash away just as the first bullet slams into the car and lifts it right off the ground. It crashes back down in an orchestra of crunching metal. If we had stayed one second longer, we’d all be dead.
Bullets as big as baseballs crash all around me, creating craters in my path. They spray everything, stop signs, trees, windows, everything. I watch one hit the side of a nearby house, cutting a hole in the wall as big as a pizza. If we’re hit, there won’t be anything left of us, yet I’m the only one who seems freaked out. My family is jogging along like they’re in a charity race.
There’s a massive explosion behind us, so loud and powerful that I fall forward and slam into the road. Debris and fire rain down from the sky. Katherine’s house becomes a massive fireball. In the flames is a single figure holding a video camera aimed at the blaze.
“Not the best time to record right now, Rebecca,” my father shouts at her.
“The world needs to see this,” she argues.
“They’re coming back around,” my mother warns.
Bex joins us as we scamper to our feet. Together, we rush toward the beach as the chopper circles. When we hit the sand, I nearly tumble down the dune before my father grabs my arm to keep me upright.
I hear engines, and we are engulfed in the high beams of two fast-approaching jeeps. One of them has a gun turret mounted on top and a soldier taking aim. He fires at us, and the bullets whiz past like comets.
“We’re out in the open here,” I cry.
“So are they!” he says.
I brace for more gunshots, but suddenly, Riley and his team appear, their gloves lighting up the beach. Water rockets out of the ocean in massive flumes. I can’t help but smile. My kids are about to bring the pain.
Chloe steps forward, the smallest of the bunch, yet she’s got the most confidence. I barely recognize her in the shadows, with the glow of her glove turning her face into a bonfire. She’s shouting something at the water, and it forms a spear. At the wave of her hand, it flings itself at the helicopter, piercing the metal skin the way I used to hunt fish. The chopper goes down, smashing violently into the sand. The pilot and the soldier manning the gun manage to crawl out just before it explodes around them.
Harrison turns his attention on the jeeps. The original two are now joined by eight more, all barreling toward us and firing wildly. His water becomes a battering ram that plunges right into their numbers, catching four of the vehicles and sending them flying. I’m stunned by what he and Chloe have managed to create. In the last three months, they have gotten better with their weapons than I ever was.
“They’re incredible,” I say.
“Your father makes them practice,” my mother explains.
I feel a bullet snag the side of my hoodie, but it doesn’t touch me.
“We’re almost there,” Bex shouts. “Keep running.”
I hear a scream. It belongs to Harrison, and I turn just in time to see him crash onto his back. There is blood on his chest, face, and hands, but he doesn’t cry out. He’s very quiet, peaceful even. His glove dims and slides off his hand.
“No!” I scream, but my family won’t let me stop.
“If you stop, they will kill us all,” my father shouts, pulling me along against my will. When we reach the shore, my mother tells me to swim, but I can’t seem to make myself do it. I’m too shocked, too full of despair. Harrison is dead. Two boats appear, shining their lights on us and blinding me.
“Get on your knees, now!” a voice booms from one of the boats.
“Dammit!” my father shouts. He’s lifting his arms over his head.
Your Majesty, we are here.
“Husk?” His voice fills my head, but I don’t see him anywhere. “I’m in trouble.”
“Who are you talking to?” my mother asks.
Rusalka leap out of the waves like water snakes. Some cling to the sides of the ships. Others land on deck, their claws tearing at the soldiers who pilot them. Husk leads the assault and barks commands at his people. In the dark I can make out bodies falling overboard.
“There are six more vessels approaching, Your Majesty,” Husk shouts to me. “We will engage them.”
He growls something and dives back into the dark waves. The rest of his people finish their deadly work, then leap in after him. In the distance I hear screaming and gunshot, and see the flash of fires as others vainly fight. Soon, the attack is over. The ships are sinking offshore. The choppers lie dead in the sand. The jeeps are overturned and quiet.
Husk swims to shore with the rest of the Rusalka. When they come onto the beach, my mother gasps. Riley rushes to attack, and my father draws his gun. Husk ignores them all. He kneels at my feet and bows his head. The rest of the creatures do the same.
“The Tardigrade have come to the surface,” he says.
“I know. You were right,” I confess. “It’s time to fight.”
“Then we will,” Husk says.
My father points his gun in Husk’s face.
“Get away from my daughter,” he shouts.
“Lyric, just come over here very slowly,” Mom says, trying to sound calm.
“They’re not going to hurt anyone,” I promise.
“You can’t know that!” my father shouts, cocking his gun.
“I do know it. They won’t do anything unless I ask. I’m the prime.”
“What?” my mother cries. She gazes at the bowing Rusalka, then moves to bow as well. I am by he
r side before she can, keeping her on her feet.
“No. Don’t you dare,” I say. “I technically still have one more year as a child, and I plan to be as irresponsible and bullheaded as ever. You aren’t allowed to treat me any different. I’m having a hard enough time with these guys. Husk, please stand. All of you, get on your feet.”
“It is a great honor,” he says to my mother. “I am Husk.”
My mother is slack-jawed. “You speak.”
He nods. “I often saw you in hunting packs, before the city was built, and of course, every Alpha knows about your courage, as well as your family’s proud warrior history. Please know I have taken a vow to protect your daughter, as have the rest of my people. She is the future of our Alpha nation.”
“Do the rest of them talk too?” Bex asks.
“They all talk,” I say to the crowd. “But Husk is the only one who speaks English. They are going to be a big help to us.”
“You don’t trust them, do you?” Riley asks as he steps closer to me. “They’re killers.”
“Yes, I trust them,” I say. “Husk, this is my friend Riley. That’s Bex, and the guy who won’t lower his gun is my father. Dad?”
My father hesitates, but holsters his weapon. “Sorry.”
Maggie and Finn step forward, cradling Harrison’s body.
“We should go,” Finn says, his face flush with tears.
My father takes Harrison from his brother.
“He’s right. We have things we need to do,” he says.
Chapter Twelve
MY FATHER HAS A BOAT READY. IT IS ANCHORED A few yards off the beach and is big enough for our group, at least the humans. He hid three rafts in some brush near the dunes to help us get onboard. Riley, Bex, and I drag them down to the shore, help my mother into one, and then push it out into the whitecaps, careful not to let it capsize. She has to stay as dry as possible. I don’t know what I’d do if she morphed while wearing the hobbler. I don’t think anyone could handle any more tragedy today.
The Rusalka are still and obedient, aware that their presence puts my friends and family on edge. Husk directs them to be helpful, which they are, guiding the rafts along the silvery ocean surface and keeping them still while everyone climbs aboard the larger boat.