by Laura Martin
Weaver stared at the globe in my hand, turned to inspect Elmer’s tank, and then looked back again. “It’s worth a try,” he said. “Of course, we’ll have to figure out a way to concentrate the ink somehow, but boiling should do that.”
“Let’s move, then,” Hector said. “The Atlas is running out of time.”
Garth let out a whoop and ran to collect two of the glass globes before racing over to Elmer’s tank. Elmer saw him coming, though, and before he could reach the stairs that led to the top of the aquarium, Elmer had hoisted him into the air and slam-dunked him into his tank, spraying a fresh spurt of ink out into the water. A second later he’d hoisted him back out and deposited him in a soggy pile on the floor in front of his tank.
“Don’t even care,” Garth sputtered, holding up his ink-filled globes triumphantly.
An excruciatingly long half hour later we were standing beside the blood-bomb launcher as Weaver loaded the ink-filled globes inside.
“I hope this works,” Garth said as he handed Weaver another one.
“It has to,” I said, not feeling the need to point out that we didn’t have any other options. In total we’d filled ten globes, and I’d said awful things in my head about the pirates who had smashed the rest of them into sharp shards that crunched under our feet. While we’d worked, Kate had drained Elmer’s tank and given him fresh water, something he seemed incredibly grateful for, although I warned him that if this didn’t work, I might just take Kate’s idea and launch him at the Atlas to see what happened. He’d been unimpressed with my threat, but since not much impressed Elmer, that wasn’t at all surprising.
Now it was time to see if my idea was going to actually work. I stood, rigid, every muscle in me tensed to the point of snapping, as the inky spheres were loaded one by one into the launcher.
“That’s the last one,” Weaver said as he carefully slid the final globe inside. “Go tell Hector and Wilson to fire at will.”
I turned and raced for the hub, flying down the halls so quickly they turned into a weird blur. Every second counted, and if this didn’t work, then we were out of options.
“Fire!” I yelled, skidding to a stop inside the hub.
“You heard her—fire!” Hector said to Wilson, who nodded and pressed a button on his computer.
Garth slammed into my back a second later, and I could hear everyone else as they hurried in, waiting in breathless anticipation as the first ink bomb ever created was fired directly at the Atlas. A second later it made impact, and we saw the small burst of black discolor the water. Nothing happened. The three red monsters just went right on ripping at the ship, and I felt my heart sink inside my chest. It hadn’t worked.
“Fire again,” Hector said. “Aim the next few a bit closer to the big one there on the left. Maybe proximity matters more with ink than it does with blood.”
Wilson nodded, although he didn’t look even a little bit hopeful, and a rapid-fire succession of ink bombs rocketed toward the ship. One after another they shattered against the Atlas’s metal hull, sending their puffs of black into the water, obscuring the monsters momentarily as more of them broke and released their inky contents. The seconds ticked by agonizingly slowly as I watched my idea dissipate into the water, useless.
I was just shutting my eyes to block out the nightmare in front of me when the smallest monster suddenly detached itself from the ship. “It’s working,” I breathed as one after another the monsters backed off and put some distance between themselves and the ink-obscured Atlas.
“Nets!” Hector called, and the nets were shot out, trapping two of the three monsters, including the one Weaver had called the alpha. The third must have seen the writing on the wall, because it turned tail and fled just as the harpoons were launched.
I didn’t realize that everyone around me was cheering until Garth practically knocked me over with an enthusiastic hug, whooping loudly into my ear as he released me to pump his fists in the air. I just stood there in a daze as first one and then another of the monsters sank to the bottom of the ocean, still tangled in the Britannica’s nets.
“It took all ten ink bombs,” Weaver said beside me, hand on his chin. “I bet if we took longer to actually distill the ink and make it more potent, we could get it done in less. The trick will be finding enough gargantuan octopuses to harvest it from, and then educating and training the ships on how to use the ink to escape the monsters. Or,” he mused, his face brightening, “I wonder if we could turn it into some sort of paint the ships could apply to their hulls, thereby preventing the attacks altogether. Oh, the possibilities of this are endless.”
I was barely listening, though. Instead I was staring at the hull of the Atlas as the ink cleared. It was still floating. It was still intact. It had survived yet another battle, and now the only thing I wanted to do was go on board to see if my family was okay. Hector seemed to read my mind, because he came over to clap me and Garth on the shoulders as he instructed Wilson to surface and dock beside the Atlas. I was going home.
18
We’d saved the Atlas, but our delay had cost them dearly. As I climbed over what was left of the rail, I felt my heart sink.
“Whoa,” Garth said, coming to stand beside me. The devastation made the attack that had happened during our scavenging mission seem like nothing. Huge chunks of the ship had been ripped apart, masts were leaning dangerously to the side, their sails tattered, and supply crates and plants were strewn around haphazardly, as though someone had hoisted everything thirty feet into the air and then dropped it. Which, I realized, was probably exactly what had happened.
Garth and I walked across the deserted deck in a daze, picking up a broken piece of this or that as though we could somehow patch it back together by pure memory. Where was everyone? There were smears of blood here and there, but I didn’t see any bodies except for the occasional mangled chicken. Panic started to push out the elation I’d felt just moments before. Where was my family?
“Berkley?” came a voice behind me, and I whirled to see my dad standing there, a look of baffled bewilderment on his face. I must have run to him, but for the life of me I can’t remember dodging wreckage or maneuvering around the shattered pieces of the deck—it was as though I was instantaneously in his arms.
“Are you really here?” he said. “Alive? How is that possible?”
I was sobbing too hard to reply, so I just nodded as he hugged me hard. The deck was slowly filling as families came up to survey the damage. Captain Brown must have given the order for everyone to stay below until help arrived, I realized, and felt a fresh rush of gratitude that the Britannica had gotten to them in time. Just in time, I amended as I pulled away from my dad and took in the devastation again. How in the world would they be able to come back from this? To replace the lost supplies? The plants? The chickens?
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Garth being hugged fiercely by his mother, and I pushed away my worries. The Atlas would rebuild and overcome. It was a ship full of survivors. It was what they were good at.
“You should be proud of this girl,” Hector said, coming to place a hand on my shoulder. “If it wasn’t for her quick thinking, we’d never have gotten here in time. She’s pretty smart, this one,” he said with a smile.
“You don’t have to tell me that,” my dad said, smiling back.
The next week was one of the hardest and the best of my entire life. The Britannica stayed docked with the Atlas as the crew helped rebuild and repair what the sea monsters had broken. In return the Atlas helped equip the Britannica with some of the supplies the pirates had wrecked and stolen. It felt good to work alongside my family and my new friends, shoulder to shoulder, and my face hurt at the end of each day from smiling so much. As for the pirates, well, we were lucky enough to flag down a passing work ship and hand them off, much to everyone’s relief. They weren’t a pleasant group to have on board, and I felt no pity as they filed onto the ship where they would work off their lengthy sentences.
&
nbsp; “Octopus ink,” my dad said, shaking his head as we stood in front of Elmer’s aquarium. “Who would have thought that octopus ink could do all that?”
“Not me. I personally hated this guy,” Garth said, jerking his head at Elmer. Elmer lunged at the front of his tank, and Garth took an involuntary step back and scowled. “Stop that,” he said. “We’re on the same team now, remember?” Elmer just flicked a tentacle dismissively and moseyed to the back of his tank. “He may be useful,” Garth said, “but he’s still a jerk. I won’t miss you, either!” he yelled at the octopus, pulling a face.
I smiled sadly. While I had chosen to stay on with the Britannica, Garth had decided to rejoin the Atlas. I would miss him with every fiber of my being. He’d looked sheepish when he finally got up the nerve to tell me about his decision, and I’d felt my own heart sink, even though I’d known this was coming.
“They need everything,” Garth had explained with a shrug. “The scavenging team is going to be more important than ever now, and with Gizmo gone, it will actually be enjoyable again.” Gizmo and a few other officers had stolen one of the Atlas’s small boats and deserted the ship when it had become obvious that the hydras would catch them. I’d nodded as Garth talked and bitten my tongue to keep from begging him to change his mind. He had to do what was best for him, just like I did, and I wanted him to be happy. Even if that meant he was happy hundreds of miles away from me. I knew that it was only a matter of time before Garth took over Gizmo’s entire department. He was that good. Besides, he’d be the only crew member who was also a bit of a sea-monster expert. The thought made me smile.
My dad cleared his throat, and I stopped staring at Garth’s retreating figure to look at him, eyebrow raised. “This life,” he said, gesturing around us at the huge tanks full of their weird occupants. “This submarine? You really want to stay?”
I took a deep breath and nodded. For the first time ever, I felt like I was really the captain of my own life, free to make my own choices, and it felt unbelievably good. Now I just had to convince my dad of that choice.
I’d had a chance by now to explain to him what had really happened during that first attack on the Atlas, and my story had made his face so red and tight I was worried he might explode. Captain Brown had no doubt received more than an earful on the matter, which had probably played a large part in him forgiving the debt he’d put on our heads. I could do what I wanted with my survival credits from here on out, and I knew what I wanted to do with them.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” I said, “especially right after I signed on, but I’ve grown to love this place and its mission. I’ll miss you and Wallace like crazy, but I think this is where I’m supposed to be, what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“You know how I said all that time you spent mooning over the ocean was a waste of time?” Dad said with a smile.
“Yeah?” I said.
“I take that back,” he said. “And I think you’re right. This is where you belong, with a bunch of sea monsters.” He chuckled and shook his head ruefully, as if he still couldn’t believe it, before smiling at me. “So, what’s next for the great sea-monster-hunting submarine?”
“Well,” I said, “we’re going to hunt down the hydra that got away after attacking the Atlas. I don’t want it trailing you guys anymore. After that we’re going to work on finding more gargantuan octopuses like Elmer. I mean, he’s great, but he can’t provide enough ink to protect everyone.” I smiled as I remembered Garth’s face when he’d heard that the plan was to fill the large-specimen room with Elmers. If he hadn’t already decided to go back to the Atlas, that would have sealed the deal for sure.
“The applications for the ink seem endless,” I said. “Weaver even thinks we may be able to apply it to the Britannica and avoid getting swallowed again.”
“Swallowed?” my dad said, his face going pale. “Again?”
“Just kidding,” I said with a nervous laugh.
“Good,” he said, looking relieved. As we headed out of the large-specimen room, I could have sworn I saw Elmer wink at me. I winked back—there were just some things that my dad was better off not knowing when it came to my new life.
We cast off from the Atlas three days later. I sat in the hub as a heavily bandaged but still very much alive Captain Reese directed the submersion. Tank was on my lap, and my new friends were on either side of me. Together we watched as the hull of the Atlas disappeared from view. Instead of the dread and second-guessing I’d felt the first time, I found myself feeling strangely hopeful. I’d miss my family and Garth, but that was okay. I knew that I’d see them again. I’d created a new family for myself aboard the Britannica. A family that felt just as much a part of me as Dad and Wallace did. Besides, this life that I’d chosen felt like a well-worn glove, perfectly shaped and comfortable. As the engines geared up and we sped away through the deep blue of the ocean, I couldn’t help but feel like I was right where I belonged.
Author’s Note
So apparently I have a thing for sea monsters. Who knew? Not me. If you’d told me ten years ago that of the six books I’ve managed to get published that not one, not two, but three of them would include sea monsters . . . I would have laughed in your face. Well, maybe not in your face—my mother raised me better than that—but you get the idea. The inspiration for this particular sea monster–infested book actually surfaced in Italy of all places.
My husband and I got to slip away from our hectic life in Indiana with our adorably exhausting children for a week to celebrate our ten-year wedding anniversary in Italy, and I found myself confronted with a whole bunch of sea monsters. They were woven into tapestries at the Vatican and sculpted onto gorgeous fountains, and like any good overactive imagination, mine got carried away. As I listened to my tour guide at the Roman Colosseum explain that legend had it that the arena had once been filled with water for a mock ship battle complete with monsters, I began to imagine a girl forced to hunt down the sea monsters for that battle. I imagined her corralling the monsters, feeding them, and housing them in the complicated labyrinth of tunnels beneath the famous arena. I imagined her narrowly avoiding getting eaten, and ultimately triumphing as some sort of sea monster–wrangling master. Obviously, I didn’t end up writing that book. The idea morphed, as ideas usually do, after visiting Venice, the sinking city.
Rumor has it that Venice, that beautiful city built on canals instead of streets, might someday be underwater thanks to ocean levels rising, and I began to wonder what would happen to the human race if all land went underwater. How would we survive? Could we survive? And, if we were forced out onto the ocean, what would we discover? I heard this astounding fact once that the human race has only explored 10 percent of the ocean, so my question was simple—what might be hiding in the other 90 percent? Was it possible that the sea monsters sailors described to those ancient mapmakers and fountain carvers were out there . . . if you knew where to look?
On my twelve-hour flight to Italy I finished off copy edits for Glitch, and on my twelve-hour flight home, I started writing The Monster Missions. In a lot of ways, The Monster Missions felt most similar to my first book, Edge of Extinction: The Ark Plan, only instead of the remains of the human race retreating into underground compounds and tree houses, they’d fled onto boats and submarines. Replace dinosaurs with sea monsters, get rid of the compass and swap it out for a cranky giant octopus named Elmer, and you have The Monster Missions. In fact, when my writing group first read it, someone said, “Oh, it’s Edge of Extinction but underwater.” What can I say? I like my books filled with action and, apparently, monsters of some variety or the other.
I also wanted to mention that the fantastic Mr. Weaver who teaches the kids in this book is based on the real live Mr. Weaver who taught at Clay Middle School at the same time that I did. He was, and is, the best teacher I’ve ever met. He taught seventh-grade science, and his room was filled with tanks full of hissing cockroaches, albino frogs, snakes, and a snapping turtle the size
of a truck tire—and that was just the live stuff. He had mounted animal heads, wasp nests, bird nests, interesting rocks, crystals, and a vast array of “treasures” his students had brought in for him over the years. (On one memorable day, he even dropped off half a human head in a suitcase to help me teach my students a lesson on Phineas Gage. By the way, if you want to look up a crazy real-life story . . . go read about that guy!) He was amazing, and he made science come alive for his students. When I sat down to write this book, I knew that the kids on the Britannica needed their own, literary, Mr. Weaver complete with a classroom full of tanks. The world needs more teachers like him, and I love that his teaching legacy will live on, at least a little, in the pages of this book.
I’m not even going to hazard a guess that this will be my last book involving sea monsters, because I would have assumed that Edge of Extinction: Code Name Flood was going to be my one-and-only foray into the world of monsters, and then I wrote Hoax for Hire and now the book you hold in your hands. If there is one thing I’ve learned from my writing career, it’s that I shouldn’t ever disregard an idea just because it’s weird . . . because, as it turns out, all of my ideas are weird. But between you and me, I think the weird ideas are usually the best ones.
Until next time,
Laura Martin
Acknowledgments
For all the people who came alongside me to make this book and every book before it possible. For my husband, Josh, who listened to me dream up a story about monsters during our ten-year anniversary and never once told me I was crazy. I’m incredibly blessed to have married a man who happily lives in the middle of a hot mess because every spare moment I have when I’m not chasing babies goes into chasing this writing dream of mine and not cleaning the house. For my parents and in-laws, who consistently step in to wrangle my babies so I can get my head above water and get things turned in on time.