Vicious Deep (21 page)

Three of the ugliest creatures I've ever seen are ripping the fence open. Damp air mingles with the scent of sea sludge, like a manhole just threw them up into the street. The tallest one has the head of a hammerhead shark on the body of a human. Yellow eyes glow on either side of his head. His gills open at the touch of rain, and a smile like crushed glass grins right at me. Beside him is a creature that is blue from head to webbed feet. His elbows end in long red spikes, and his mouth opens to rows of canines. The smallest one of the three is round with the head of a blowfish whose cheeks constantly puff in and out.

Kurt takes aim with his arrow and shoots before I can even blink. The creatures are fast, and Kurt only grazes the blue one in the arm. They jump high and scatter around us.

“Layla, please do as I say!” I fumble to unzip my backpack for my dagger.

“No!” Kurt shouts over me.

“What do you mean no?”

“They'll follow her. Chase her. They're fast, whatever they are.”

“You mean you don't know?”

The round one shows himself in front of us. He breathes hard and puffs his body out. Shit.

“Get behind the targets!”

I pull Layla down, shielding her with my body behind the wooden target. The needles hit like darts into the wood.

“Lord Sea, stay down,” Kurt says. “Thalia, aim!”

She reaches for a bow, stands quickly, and lets the arrow fly.

Ryan has his back against the target. “What the hell! What the hell are they?”

I peek around the target ring. They're just standing in the shadows waiting, like this is a game.

“Ryan,” Kurt says as he kneels and pulls his arrow into place. “You can hit them. Go on. On my count. One.”

“Two.”

Thalia's hands tremble as they search her backpack. She pulls out two slender daggers and throws one to Layla, who catches it in midair.

“She can't fight.” My voice is frantic, and I hardly recognize it. This is not how a champion should sound.

“She has to.”

Layla pulls the dagger out of the sheath and holds it up, her knuckles with a vise grip on it. She nods surely. This isn't like fencing during spring recess. This is something else, something we've never faced before.

“Three!” Kurt and Ryan shoot. The creatures spread out instantly, howling as Ryan's arrow pierces the hammerhead in the arm. The creature howls in pain, but just for a moment, before pulling the arrow out with one tug, dripping black blood and red flesh.

“Holy shit!” Ryan says, holding his chest as if to keep his heart from coming out.

I want to tell him it'll be okay, but even I don't know that. As Kurt yells something over the thunder, the creatures charge right at us. I shove Layla out of the way, so the blue creature pushes the target on top of me. The ground is muddy and wet. I slip when I try to push the wooden target off me. The blue one does it for me. He pulls the red spikes out of his skin and stabs at the grass around me. I kick his gut with the full force of my legs, roll over, and reach for my dagger.

Up close, his eyes are dirty yellow. His permanent smile reveals bloody gums. He raises his fists in the air and brings them down hard on the ground, shaking the field right under me. I swing and catch him on the side, and he winces. The barnacles around his neck suck at the air like suction cups. Layla runs around us, and as he reaches out with his spikes, she brings the dagger down through his back.

The creature's body shakes, and black blood dribbles out of his mouth. The body goes limp over me and falls slack on the ground. I take his red spikes and stab him through the chest to make sure he stays there.

“Where are the other two?” I push myself off the ground.

More car alarms go off after another blast of thunder. The few students who didn't make it inside are screaming behind the bleachers. Up inside the school, crowds are gathered at the windows.

Kurt and Ryan hold their arrows at the ready. The five of us stand in the middle of the field. The other two are still out there. I breathe in air heavy with their stink.

“There!” I turn and the guys let their arrows fly up at the fence where the hammerhead has climbed. He ducks to the right and jumps on the ground and charges at me. For all their strength and speed, they're really uncoordinated and stupid. His yellow eyes are focused on me and only me. I punch him with all my strength; my knuckles come away bloody from the sharp scales of his cheekbones. I slash my dagger out with both hands, but he jumps back from every swing.

Kurt's voice thunders over the car alarms, the screams, and the clapping thunder. “Tristan, get down!”

I throw myself on the ground as he takes one clean shot. The creature falls backward with Kurt's arrow pierced right through his throat. A guttural wail sounds through the field. Layla runs up to me and helps me stand. She takes my hand and examines it where my knuckles are cut open. “It's just a surface scrape.”

Ryan stands over the blue guy's body. He taps it with his foot. It doesn't move. He bends down and uses the tip of an arrow to prod at the still body. “What are these things?” He jumps back as the body convulses and then starts to decompose into the grass, stinking of rotting fish.

“Ugh, that's disgusting.”

“Let's get back inside,” I say, holding my hand out for Layla to grab. She raises the dagger in the air so the rain will wash away the slick, black blood on the edges. Kurt's violet eyes are luminous in the darkness. I wonder if mine look the same way. I can tell he's still listening for the other creature, because I am too.

Thalia stands nervously just inside the gate leading back inside the building. Her voice is small as her eyes flicker around the field. She pushes her wet hair away from her eyes. “Come, Ryan.”

He cups his hands at the sky and lets the rain pool in them, then washes the black blood off with it. He walks toward the entrance with his blue eyes focused on Thalia. His face registers shock as Kurt raises his bow and arrow at him. Kurt's face is stone. Ryan holds his hands up in the air.

“What are you
doing
?” I yell at Kurt. But then I see what he's doing. The arrow is pointed past Ryan to where the third creature, the blowfish, stands a few feet behind our friend.

“Ryan,” Kurt says. He raises his arrow a little higher. “Don't. Move.”

I don't know what I can do with just a dagger. If I throw it at the creature, I could very well miss and stab my friend. I do know that none of these creatures want my friends. They want me.

And before I can say
duck
, before I can even raise my dagger, the creature puffs out his face and snaps his neck in my direction.

I raise my hands to cover my face, and my entire body is a scream as Layla jumps in front of me, arms wrapped around my neck, mouth open in a pained gasp as the needles pierce her back.

The rain beats hard against my neck.

Layla's eyes are wide and staring right at me. She's still standing. I'm afraid to hold her too tightly.

Behind us the creature falls, an arrow pierced though his throat. Layla's knees bend. She says my name. The thunder is loud, and the rain is like pellets against the ground, but I know she says my name. Her weight goes slack, and I keep my hands under her arms to try to keep her up.

“Help me.” I don't know if I've actually said it.

Their footsteps splash against the ground. Thalia is at my side, helping me lay Layla facedown on the ground.

“Do something,” I say. I look up at Kurt, who stands over me. Doing nothing. He could've shot sooner. Why did he hesitate? Why did I just stand there?

“There's too much poison,” he says helplessly.

I take my dagger and, as gently as I can, rip the thin cotton of her T-shirt. The needles go right through it, and I can't take the shirt off without hurting her. I drop my blade on the ground. Run my hands through my hair. Press against my skull as if I can make all of this go away. Thalia is pulling out the spikes and sobbing at the same time. Layla's back is like a dark board of tiny red dots where blood pools out and is washed away just as quickly by the rain.

My knees are raw from kneeling on the turf. I hold her hand in mine, but there's no pressure, no weight. My body is cold. My skin is numb in the rain.

“That's all of it,” Thalia says, holding out a handful of black needles. They're slick and black and don't look like much.

“Wake up,” I whisper in Layla's ear. I flip her over in my arms so that I can look at her again. I never used to understand what people meant when they said they felt small against the rest of the world. But I do now. Her body is motionless in my arms. Her lips are purple. Her eyelids are wet. She looks the same way she did when she was sleeping in my chambers on the island, when we'd fall asleep in my living room when we were littler, when we'd lie out on the beach at noon and I'd wear my black sunglasses so she wouldn't see that I was looking at her. Something inside me breaks over and over again, and I don't know how to stop it.

“Tristan.”

The rain stops. The clouds push away. I can feel the warmth of the sun against my skin. When I open my eyes, it's still dark out. The light isn't coming from the sky; it comes from Layla. The necklace my grandfather gave her glows under her shirt.
No
harm
can
come
to
you
by
me
or
mine
, he'd said.

Her lips move again. “Tristan.”

She smiles at me, and I try not to hug her too hard. I'm about to say something, anything, when a rough voice cuts through the field and yells, “Hands in the air!”

At the entrance of the field are maybe half a dozen cops. The creatures have completely washed away. The targets are all split into pieces; there's a huge hole at the gate and arrows all over the grass.

The officer repeats himself, and this time they all cock their guns.

An EMT drapes an itchy blanket around my shoulders. I'm shirtless with a bandage around my ribs, where apparently two of them are broken.

The rain has stopped, except for the thin sheet of mist that clings low to the ground. The EMT hands me a cup of black coffee. I shake my head at the bitter hotness that burns my tongue.

Detective Donovan has his hands in his leather jacket, nodding periodically as the hysterical girls give him their versions of what happened. Regular, end-of-the-year fun. Three monsters break through the fence. The girls giving their witness accounts point at me. Detective Donovan comes over to me, finally.

“Hurts?” He nods at my bandaged hand.

“No,” I lie, and squeeze it for show.

“Are you up to giving a statement?”

“Like the girls said,” I tell him. “We were hanging out on the field. These guys just came through the fence. Attacked. We tried to fight them off, and they went away.”

“Guys?” The question lingers as he chews his gum. “The other students say they were
creatures
. That they looked like sharks and”—he stops himself, because he might just be too professional to even utter this—“creatures from the blue lagoon.”

“I'm pretty sure it's the black lagoon,” I say, regretting my smart mouth. “I think they had masks on.”

“The girls say that they
melted
into the rain.”

I shake my head, thankful that Ryan had been smart enough to put our weapons away for us, thankful that Layla was alive in my arms. She'd just left with her parents, wearing my shirt because we had to rip hers. “It happened so fast. They ran away after they heard the sirens.”

I can smell Detective Donovan's doubt and his irritation, like dirt in my mouth.

“You kids involved in some kind of gang activity?”

“No, sir.”

“You don't go here, do you, son?” He turns to Kurt. Thalia sits beside her brother. The blanket slips from her shoulders and onto the floor. No one moves to pick it up.

“I am not your son, sir, and no, this is not my school. We're Tristan's cousins, visiting students for the remainder of the summer.”

“Some summer,” he scoffs. His dark eyes squint, like if he looks hard enough I'll cave and tell him I'm a criminal.

An argument breaks out over in the parking lot. “Ma'am, please stay behind the tape!”

“Don't you touch me. I need to see my son!” My mom pushes her way through. She pulls me into such a tight hug that I spill coffee on myself.

“Sorry! Sorry. Oh my goddess—”

“Ma'am, are these your niece and nephew?”

“Yes, why?

“They have no identification.”

“Well, yes, it's all at home. I didn't anticipate they'd need their passports in case there was an attack on the school.” She sniffs down her nose at him. “Dad's waiting in the car around the corner. Most of the streets are blocked off.”

“Tristan,” Detective Donovan tries once more. His hard mask falls, and his frustration peeks through. “Do you remember what these men
looked
like? Anything that can help us? Any of you.”

What am I supposed to say? There's no Sea King, so the nasty things that live in the ocean have come out to play? I'd be halfway to the nuthouse before anyone can say,
Are
mermen
supposed
to
be
so
shiny?
“It was dark. They came out of nowhere.”

“Are you finished?” Mom asks Detective Donovan.

He nods. “I'll be in contact. Here's my card. If you remember
anything.
”

I want to tell him that they can't help me and I can't help them. Instead I take the thin white card and pocket it so he'll at least get off my back. We follow my mom through the crowd. People stand on their porches and stick their heads out their windows. There's a PIX 11 camera crew and a lady TV reporter in a pale pink suit, who looks sternly at the cameraman. Everyone she interviews points in my direction. This is so not good.

I can see Ryan getting into the back of his parents' car. He looks behind one more time so he can wave to Thalia, who gives him a sad smile. I put my arm over her shoulder. The lady in the pink suit bum-rushes us, and suddenly between the sidewalk and our car, I have a hot white light on my face.

“How do you feel about people calling you the hero of the night? Is there a connection between this attack on your school and the missing boys throughout the city?” I swat the microphone away from my face and shut the door. As the reporter smacks the glass with her hand, my mom hits the gas.