Raging Sea (Undertow, #2)

Written By: Michael Buckley

Raging Sea (Undertow, #2) by Michael Buckley




For Sarah Landis, who guides this ship



ALLEGED CONEY

ISLAND TERRORIST,

LYRIC WALKER,

STILL AT LARGE

BY VIDA FARGIS, NEW YORK TIMES REPORTER

CONEY ISLAND, NY—LYRIC WALKER, THE SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD SO-CALLED CONEY ISLAND TERRORIST, IS STILL AT LARGE AND CONTINUES TO ELUDE FEDERAL MARSHALS AND LOCAL POLICE DEPARTMENTS. THE FBI ONCE AGAIN HAS CALLED FOR THE PUBLIC’S ASSISTANCE IN TRACKING WALKER DOWN, DOUBLING ITS REWARD TO FIVE MILLION DOLLARS FOR ANY INFORMATION LEADING TO HER CAPTURE AND ARREST. TODAY THE AGENCY REASSERTED ITS CLAIM THAT IT IS EAGERLY PURSUING EVERY LEAD.

“[Walker] is allegedly tied to the deaths of nearly fifteen thousand people, as well as the disappearance of another four thousand. Bringing her to justice is the agency’s top priority,” FBI director David Winslow explained. He said the search has been hampered by the fact that the department is “working in a vacuum.” “We know she’s out there, but we need everyone’s help to find her,” Winslow stated.

Winslow pointed to the FBI’s twenty-four-hour tip line and website. He also stated that every police precinct in the United States is on heightened alert for Walker because of her alleged involvement in the destruction of the Coney Island neighborhood of Brooklyn, New York. Two weeks ago a massive tidal wave slammed into the community, causing countless deaths and billions of dollars in property damage, shortly after local police attempted to arrest Walker and her parents, Leonard and Summer Walker, on suspicion of espionage as Alpha terrorists. Credible evidence suggests that the wave was not an act of nature but the result of a weapon created by Alpha scientists.

A high-ranking official in the State Department who was not authorized to speak on behalf of the president complained that the failure to locate Ms. Walker is making law enforcement officials look incompetent.

“This girl has no family outside New York City. She has no credit cards and, as far as we can tell, no cash. Yet she’s somehow managing to stay off our radar,” he said. “We’ve gotten tips from New York all the way to Texas, but the police can’t make an arrest.”

Some reports allege Walker is traveling with a friend named Rebecca Conrad and an Alpha female who goes by the name Arcade and is rumored to be a member of the Triton clan.

“How hard is it to find three teenage girls, one of whom happens to be from a completely different species?” the source continued. “I won’t lie. This is frustrating. I know the American public is frustrated.” The source added that the young women “are making us look like fools.”

Recently appointed NYPD chief Albert Hand says his department has officers working overtime with military officials, sifting through surveillance-camera footage from the city and surrounding states.

“We’re going through video from banks, ATMs, convenience stores, libraries, anywhere there’s a camera.” Chief Hand says it’s “possible, though unlikely” that Walker remains here in New York. “We believe she is headed to the Southwest and has eluded the roadblocks that many states have constructed to keep out East Coast refugees. We’ve been working hand in hand with departments in New Jersey, Connecticut and Pennsylvania to find her. People need to be patient. We’ll catch her. It’s impossible to hide in modern America.”





Chapter One


SHE SITS AMONG THE CACTUS AND STONES AS THE RISING Texas sun ignites the edges of her silhouette. Her eyes are closed, her legs crossed, as if she is meditating. But the only higher plane she’s trying to reach involves killing and maiming her enemies. She barks at her fish god, the one she calls the Great Abyss, repeating an endless diatribe that deals with ripping out entrails, and severing heads from necks. This is how Arcade prays, and it can take hours. I was out here waiting when the temperature dropped and my bones froze stiff. Now the sun is rising and the air is broiling and I have run out of patience. We’re supposed to be training. We’re supposed to be getting ready for Tempest, but nothing happens until the Great Abyss gets an earful.

I kick a stone, a passive-aggressive reminder to her that I am still here.

I kick another.

“Come on!” I growl, giving up on the passive.

She opens her sharp blue eyes and stares at me. They form narrow slits that I’m sure would shoot lasers if they could. I have broken her unspoken rule—no talking when she’s doing her fiery-religion thing.

“The Great Abyss is owed praise for his favors,” she says. “He is the giver and the taker, the creator of all things, the beginning and the end of this world, and it would be wise for you to kneel and prostrate yourself before him.”

“I don’t believe in the Great Abyss.”

“The Great Abyss does not need you to believe in him. He is, whether you accept his existence or not. Dismiss him at your own peril.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“Do humans not have a god of their own you could speak to?”

“We’ve got hundreds of them, but the one I picked isn’t much of a talker,” I say as I raise my hand into the sky. My palm is encased in a thick metal glove that wraps around my wrist and exposes the fingers. With just a thought, it explodes with power and energy, turning my whole arm into a supernova of bright blue light. I smile. It wasn’t so long ago that I was terrified of this thing, but now I’m digging it—a lot. Wearing it makes me feel intimidating, like I’m an Amazonian warrior. I feel dangerous, gigantic, and five hundred feet tall. “We’re wasting time! If I don’t break something, I’m going to go crazy.”

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