“No. Just that three of them would come.”
“To get your blood?” Pearson asked.
“Well, not all of it,” she replied, trying to make a joke, but her laugh came out a dry crackle. “I hope.”
She turned to Mom and Dad, suddenly scared. She sensed that Terra was kind and meant her no harm. But hearing herself described as a substance made her much less certain.
“And this weapon they mentioned,” asked Dr. Weber gently, “did Terra say what it was intended for?”
“I got the feeling it would be used against the winged cryptogens.”
“The feeling?” Pearson said.
Anaya sighed. “It’s like we’re translating for each other. We’re getting better at it, but it isn’t so easy to get exact meanings.”
“It makes sense,” Dr. Weber said. “If your blood is toxic to the insects, it might also be a weapon against the cryptogens themselves.”
“Or a weapon against us,” Pearson countered. “For all we know, they might be making a biological weapon to wipe out humans.”
Anaya faltered. It was possible. Of course it was possible. She was talking to a species from a different planet and wanting to believe that they shared something. Some common humanity. But humanity was a human word, and who knew if it existed on a different world? All she had was her instincts, and they were impossible to shrug off.
“Terra says she’s part of a Resistance. If they want a weapon, it’s so they can fight the flyers.”
“Good aliens versus bad aliens,” said Sergeant Sumner skeptically. “A good story.”
“A true story,” Anaya insisted, “and it might help us stop the invasion. Imagine if we had a weapon that could defeat the flyers.”
“Sure, but why can’t we cook it up ourselves, then?” asked Mom.
“Possible,” said Dr. Weber. “But I’m assuming their technology would be much faster.”
“Enough theories,” said Colonel Pearson. “The hard proof is that the cryptogens have only one thing in mind: our destruction.”
“Terra knows exactly where we are,” Anaya said. “If you’re right, why haven’t the cryptogens blasted Deadman’s Island to pieces already? I saw what they’re capable of. They don’t need my blood to destroy us. But the Resistance might need it to destroy the flyers. Terra’s offering us a chance. And allies.”
“So all she wants,” Pearson said with icy sarcasm, “is to come down for a meeting. Just herself and two other like-minded rebels, to take some blood samples.”
“Hang on,” said Petra, looking like something horrible had only occurred to her that very second. “Do they want your blood, or blood from all of us hybrids?”
“Deal with it,” Anaya told her.
Petra was shaking her head. “I’ve given blood to a lot of people the last few weeks, but I am not okay with giving it to cryptogens.”
“It’s not happening,” said Pearson. “None of it. It’s a trap.”
“What would change your mind?” Anaya persisted.
Outside the window, the protective netting over the base billowed in the wind. Beyond, clouds scudded across a sunny sky.
“Information,” said Pearson. “The time and locations of all their planned landings for the invasion. Numbers of troops. Technical specs on their weaponry. And that’s just a start.”
“I don’t know if Terra knows all that,” Anaya said. “She’s only one person. But I can ask next time.”
Pearson said, “I’m not convinced there should be a next time.”
For a terrible moment, Anaya wondered if he was going to send her to another bunker. Or put one of those hoods over her head.
There was a sharp knock on the door, and a soldier entered.
“Colonel, the sentry tower’s spotted something in the harbor.”
“Bugs?” Pearson asked, standing.
“No, sir. Eggs. Floating on the water.”
PETRA FROWNED. “HOW COULD you see them from so far away?”
“They’re big,” the soldier replied tersely.
Dr. Weber said, “We’re starting to see much bigger ones now. But not on water before. I’ll need to take a look.”
“We don’t have any boats available,” the soldier said.
“I’m not waiting until they hatch,” said Dr. Weber. “I need them in the lab, fast.”
“If you’ve still got that floatplane at the dock,” said Mrs. Riggs, “I can take you out. Probably safer anyway, inside a plane.”
“You’d still need divers,” Pearson said, “and all my Navy SEAL teams are elsewhere. It’ll have to wait.”
“Is the harbor water acidic?” Petra asked. “Like the lake at the eco-reserve?”
“Very much so,” replied Dr. Weber.
“I can go,” she said, surprising herself. “I’ll grab the eggs.”
“No,” her mother said firmly.
“Seriously, it’s fine. The water won’t hurt me.”
“And what about the lilies and the mosquito birds?”
“Immune to both,” said Petra. “You guys just stay inside the plane.”
Dr. Weber said, “Petra, I can’t ask you—”
“You’re not. I’m offering. It’ll take like five seconds. Mom, I can do this.”
“I’m coming, too, then,” her mother insisted.
“It’s your call,” Pearson replied. “But protective gear for everyone who goes outside the base.” He looked at Petra. “You included.”
Twenty minutes later, Petra was on the dock wearing boots, heavy pants, a vest, and a helmet with a visor.
“They’re by that old buoy,” said the soldier who’d first spotted the eggs, pointing out into the harbor. “I heard some splashing, but by the time I got eyes on it, all I saw was bubbles on the surface and the eggs. Whatever laid them was gone.”
Petra’s eyes roved uneasily across the harbor. Rafts of lilies drifted slowly like small islands of sleeping black swans. Overhead a flock of small birds contracted and dispersed above the city. She noticed a few gaps in the skyline where buildings had collapsed, leaving piles of rubble and twisted metal. She shuddered to think of how the worms could undermine entire skyscrapers.
Her gaze was pulled back to the water. Just smelling it, even with its rotten-egg stink, she felt some of her unease disappear. And she realized why she’d volunteered to come.
Despite everything, the water still lured her. She wanted to be in it and under it again.
She climbed aboard the floatplane. Mrs. Riggs was already in the pilot seat, Dr. Weber beside her. In the back Petra sat down between her mother and the soldier from the dock.
“Seat belt,” Mom told her.
“We’re not even taking off!”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She was about to do an eye roll but instead said, “Okay, Mom,” and buckled up. Her parents, especially Mom, had been super protective since she’d returned to Deadman’s Island. Mom barely let her out of her sight and wanted to know where she was at all times. A month ago, it would have driven Petra crazy. Now she sort of liked it. After everything that had happened, she was greedy to be cared for. She could wear a seat belt for her mom.
When the engine kicked, she felt a squeeze of nausea. She reminded herself that they were just taxiing. They rumbled over the water. After a few minutes, the plane slowed and came to a stop.
“We’re alongside,” Mrs. Riggs told them.
Petra stood, and the soldier approached with a safety line that was tethered to the plane’s ceiling.
“I don’t need it,” she said.
“You’re wearing it,” her mom told her, in a voice that would not take no for an answer.
“Fine,” she muttered, and let the soldier clip it to a metal loop on her waistband.
Dr. Weber ducked back into the cabin and opened a cooler filled with ice. From inside she took a set of tongs and handed them to Petra.
“You should be able to reach them from the pontoon,” Mrs. Riggs said from the cockpit. “Hold on t
o a strut, okay, Petra?”
“Ready?” the soldier asked her, then opened the door.
With her mother feeding out her safety line, Petra stepped carefully onto the pontoon. She wished she weren’t wearing all this bulky gear. The stupid helmet squished her vision. She crouched, holding on to a strut for balance.
Bobbing on the water were four gray eggs, each about the size of a stubby cucumber.
“Are they some kind of fish?” Petra asked over her shoulder.
When she was younger, back before she was allergic to water, she’d spent a lot of time looking at marine life. Weren’t shark eggs long and leathery like this? Her stomach gave a quick growl of hunger.
“Could be,” said Dr. Weber from the doorway.
With the tongs, Petra reached for the first egg. When she tried to grip, the egg squirted away out of reach. She tried another one, but it, too, spurted away. Like they didn’t want to be caught. As she reached for the third egg, all four began to sink, sending up trails of bubbles.
“What happened?” Petra asked in amazement. “Did I break them?”
“I don’t think so,” said Dr. Weber. “May be a survival mechanism, if they’re disturbed . . .”
Petra unclipped her safety line and pulled off her helmet. She heard her mother shout out, but she’d already tipped herself forward. She went right under, heavy with all her clothing. She shrugged off the vest, kicked her feet free of her boots. They wanted the eggs, she’d get them the eggs.
She shivered, but not from cold. From sheer excitement. It wasn’t the eggs that had made her do this rash thing. She wanted the water. Her legs and arms propelled her deeper. She wished she’d freed her tail before she went in so she could feel the sway and push of it. Her pupils dilated, drinking in the underwater world.
Below her the eggs were sinking. She kicked, wondering how long she could stay under, which made her also wonder how long the real swimmer cryptogens could. Could they stay down forever? If she herself went deep enough, would anyone be able to find her?
Such a strange thought, and she flushed it away.
The eggs sank into a grove of seaweed. It was like a little forest.
Bobbing like pale Christmas ornaments from each strand of seaweed were more eggs. They were tethered by cobwebby goo. She hovered in the water, staring. There were dozens of them. No, hundreds!
For the first time she felt unease. What had laid these? She looked all around but saw nothing except the shadow of the floatplane above her.
Her stomach rumbled again, and her fear was overwhelmed by a sudden, crazed hunger. It was like nothing she’d ever known. As though she hadn’t eaten for days and this was the only food in the world she wanted.
Her hand shot out and grabbed an egg. The cobwebby strands holding it to the seaweed were surprisingly strong. After three tugs the egg tore free, and she crammed it into her mouth.
Teeth clamping down, she crushed the gelatinous shell and felt something thrash frantically around in her mouth. She chomped again and again until it stopped moving. It was crackly and tasted deliciously salty. After three gulps she swallowed. A single word blazed in her head. More.
In a frenzy, she ripped off a second egg. And this time she realized that the eggs were attached not only to the seaweed but to each other in a complicated fibrous web. The grove of seaweed swayed suddenly as though blown by a strong wind.
The egg in her hand vibrated so violently, she let go. The skinny end opened and something streaked out too fast for her to see. Her eyes darted back to the grove of seaweed. All the eggs were trembling.
It was like awakening from some terrible dream, only to find it was real. Why had she done this? Tugged them off? A deep shame swept over her. She’d eaten one of those alien things! There was no denying the strange taste echoing in her mouth. She worried she might vomit.
I’m a monster!
And now look what she’d done! One after the other, all the eggs were opening. Skinny creatures blasted out in a cloud of air bubbles. Impossible to get a good look at them.
Frantic, she kicked for the surface. When she came up, her mom and Anaya’s were crouched anxiously on the pontoon, shouting to her. It looked like her mom had been on the verge of jumping in. She swam closer, and the two mothers hauled her onto the pontoon.
She felt incredibly weak all of a sudden, and her mom had to help her stand. She’d never seen Mom so furious, but there were tears running down both her cheeks. Roughly, she was pushed inside the plane. She collapsed into a seat, dripping.
“We need to get out of here!” the soldier shouted, peering up at the sky.
Still outside on the pontoon, Mrs. Riggs ducked to enter, and a mosquito bird landed on her shoulder.
“Look out!” Petra cried.
There was a small unprotected patch of skin where Mrs. Riggs hadn’t fastened her collar fully. She swatted at the bird, but it was already gone in a whirl of shell and wing.
Left behind was a tiny blood-red dot on her neck.
INSIDE THE SUPERSTORE, SETH let out a sigh of relief.
The two police officers at the entrance had barely given them a glance. After all, most of the people here were bulked out in weird protective clothing with hats and helmets and masks. Seth and the others looked like everyone else.
The place was packed. Maybe it was the only store open for miles around. People pushed grocery carts and wagons filled with everything from breakfast cereal to chain saws to frozen popcorn shrimp. No one was really talking to anyone else. They were all focused on one thing: getting what they needed, fast.
Playing over the PA system were xylophone versions of songs that were popular a long time ago. It was like some bizarre Black Friday sale for the apocalypse. Lines at the cash registers were very long.
Seth spotted a police officer walking slowly past the aisle ends, probably making sure people didn’t start looting.
—This was a mistake, said Esta.
—We’re fine, said Seth. As long as no one does anything weird.
“There’s a McDonald’s,” said Darren in a tone of awe. He tilted his chin at the golden arches at the very back of the superstore.
“It won’t be open,” Seth told him.
“You don’t know that. Can I have a few bucks?”
When he hesitated, Darren said, “Come on. I just want a freaking hamburger, all right? I haven’t eaten anything real for two days.”
Seth handed over one of the fives.
“Thanks, Dad,” Darren muttered. “Promise I’ll bring back all the change.”
“We meet at the checkout, ten minutes,” Esta called after him.
Seth divided up the rest of the money. Charles went off to get shaving cream and razors. Esta said she’d get more bottled water and protein bars.
“Let’s find you some painkillers,” Seth said to Siena.
“Feel so useless,” she murmured, wincing as her arm jostled with every step.
“You’re going to be fine,” he told her.
The shelves were quite empty, but Siena picked out a couple of bottles of ibuprofen.
Seth gave her the last of the money. “I’ll go check on Darren. Meet you at the front.”
At the back of the superstore was a small food court, and the McDonald’s was the only restaurant open, aside from a place that made giant pretzels. For the end of the world, the McDonald’s was doing great business. There were lines for both cashiers, a teenage boy and girl, each wearing a freaky forced smile. Darren was still waiting to place his order.
At the scattered tables in the food court, people hunched over their burgers and fries and giant drinks, intently sucking and cramming, like this might be their last meal. They might be right. Their eyes were all lifted to a big TV screen, watching the news. Seth saw pictures of the cryptogen spacecraft—the same one he’d seen inside the bunker—and then some footage of soldiers opening fire on a worm at the bottom of a construction site.
A police officer, sitting alone, tidily worked
his way through an oozing burger. He turned and looked straight at Seth, and his gaze lingered. Seth’s eyes dropped to the cop’s gun, and his pulse kicked up.
He turned back to Darren, who was only now stepping up to the counter. Seth sidled closer. He didn’t trust Darren and wanted to make sure he kept his mouth shut.
“We only have the Big Mac and the McChicken today,” the cashier told Darren. “Everything else is sold out.”
“Fries?” Darren asked.
“Oh, we always have fries,” the girl replied.
“Big Mac and fries,” said Darren.
“Would you like to add a drink and make it a combo?”
“Nah, I don’t have enough.”
“It’s actually cheaper if you have the combo.”
“I don’t get it, but okay. I’ll have a Coke.” He handed over his money and moved off to the side to wait.
—You my bodyguard? Darren asked silently without looking at him.
—Once you get your burger, we’re out of here. There’s a cop.
—What’re you worried about? There’s trouble, you zap them with sound.
Seth didn’t want to tell Darren that he was terrified of using his sound weapon. Despite everything that had been done to him, the idea of hurting someone made him feel sick. His eyes strayed back to the big TV and got stuck there.
“. . . accident at a detention center resulted in the escape of over twenty hybrid cryptogens. The army reports multiple casualties. The hybrids present as teenagers and are considered extremely dangerous. . . .”
A hot prickle worked its way from Seth’s armpits down his flanks.
“Freaking weirdos,” a customer grunted at the screen.
“Typical hybrid markings,” the newscaster continued, “include feathered arms, excessive body hair, clawed toes and fingers, and distinctive skin patterning.”
“They’re helping the aliens,” Seth heard one man tell another. “They put them down here as an advance army.”
On the screen flashed pictures of hybrids from the bunker—including one of Darren, showing the black-and-gold markings on his arms.
Seth dared not look at the cop, in case he was staring right at him. He turned to find Darren. He was sitting at a nearby table with his back to the TV, eating his burger out of the paper bag.
Hatch Page 21