Attack of the Drowned

by Maggie Marks

  “Genius,” said Asher. “I sure hope it works.”

  Me too, thought Mason, tossing Edward back his sponge.

  That’s when he heard the scratching on the furnace-room door.

  “Luna wants out,” said Asher, his eyes wide. He started back down the hall.

  “Don’t open that door!” Mason warned him. “That’s not Luna in there, not right now. She’s a hostile mob. She’d rather hurt you than help you.”

  Asher’s face fell. He stood in the hall, halfway between Mason and their friend in the furnace room, who wasn’t really their friend anymore.

  It’s not Luna, Mason reminded himself. But his own heart squeezed. Would they ever see Luna, the real Luna, again?

  Please, Ms. Beacon, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Please come back! Please help us!

  Day turned to night.

  “Ms. Beacon isn’t coming,” said Asher. “It’s nighttime. There’s no way she’ll come now!”

  Mason agreed, but said nothing. Even if Ms. Beacon did brave the journey here at night, it was so pitch-black outside, she’d never see the coal-black letters scrawled across the glass.

  The only light came from the sea lantern stuck into the side of Asher’s half-built conduit frame. Mason could barely see the light through the throng of drowned outside the window. But he searched for any glimmer of it, and stared at it long after Asher had fallen asleep in the chair.

  I should have helped him build it! thought Mason. We should have looked harder for the heart of the sea. If we’d finished making the conduit, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

  Regret squeezed his stomach, and then hunger.

  He flashed back to the shipwreck, the home he and Asher had shared on the beach before following Luna to the ocean floor. They’d been hungry then, too. They’d been fighting mobs every night, and barely sleeping. And they’d felt very much alone.

  Just like now, thought Mason. He’d thought that moving underwater would make things better, that they’d be safer. But I was wrong! he realized now. Dead wrong.

  He had somehow led his little brother straight back into danger.

  As the clock crept into the wee hours of morning, Mason began to pace. He could barely feel his feet now, numb from the ice-cold water filling the house. But he kept walking, from one side of the room to the other.

  With every step, he seemed to waken the drowned outside the window. They crept closer, crawling on top of one another to get to him—to find a way inside.

  The mass was growing thicker and taller. One of the drowned had crawled upon another, reaching toward the roof of the house. Reaching toward the dried kelp block—the one block that wasn’t glass—as if it were an entryway.

  Then the pounding began again.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Mason squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears. Stop! he wanted to scream. But he couldn’t wake Asher. Not when his brother was finally sleeping.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Mason stepped toward the window, searching for the drowned that was banging against the glass. Stop! He stared at the mobs, daring them to make another sound.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  But the noise wasn’t coming from the glass window. Mason spun his head around. Was it Luna, in the furnace room? He covered the length of the hallway in a few quick strides, but the furnace room was silent.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Am I losing my mind? wondered Mason.

  He raced back into the living room, stumbling over Edward, who floated near the front door. The squid seemed to be sleeping, hugging his sponge like a security blanket.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Realization struck Mason like a lightning bolt.

  The banging was coming from the front door. And it wasn’t banging at all. It was knocking. Had someone finally come to help?

  CHAPTER 12

  Knock, knock, knock!

  Mason raced into the entryway. He reached for the handle of the outer door, about to fling it open and let the visitor inside.

  Stop! screamed the voice in his head. You don’t know who this is. It could be a friend, or it could be an enemy—a clever mob, or a griefer, or . . .

  He shook his head to clear it. Then he hurried back into the living room to grab his trident and his turtle helmet. When he was suited up, he stepped into the entryway and closed the door securely behind him.

  Whatever stood on the other side of the outer door, Mason was ready. He wouldn’t let them in. He had to keep Asher safe.

  He took a deep breath and opened the door, bracing himself for the wall of water. It came, nearly knocking him backward. But as Mason struggled to stand in the churning water, he saw nothing. No friend. No foe. No Ms. Beacon. No mob.

  I’m too late! Mason realized. Had Ms. Beacon been knocking and finally given up?

  Mason wanted to give up, too—to drop his weapon and sink to his knees in the sand and gravel. But as the drowned began to stagger toward him, he thought of Asher and of Luna, locked in that furnace room.

  I’m their only hope, he realized. I can’t quit now!

  So Mason fought. He swung his trident to push the mobs back. Then he reached for the heavy door to pull it closed.

  But it wouldn’t budge! Something was in the way.

  Mason bent low, frantically trying to clear the sea grass or kelp that was blocking the path of the door. But he found none of those things.

  Instead, he saw a round package wrapped in kelp leaves and tied with a blade of sea grass. He grabbed the package, quick as lightning, and darted back inside the door.

  This time, he didn’t wait for the sponge mat to soak up the water. He opened the inner door and let the wave of water carry him inside. It dumped him in the middle of the living room with such a splash that Asher woke up, rubbing his eyes.

  “What happened?” he asked, jumping out of the chair.

  Mason held up the package. “We had a visitor,” he announced. “Ms. Beacon, I think.” As he began to unwrap the kelp leaves, Asher half-waded, half-swam to his side.

  Asher sucked in his breath. “It’s round,” he whispered. “Like the heart of the sea. I think it’s the heart of the sea!” He grabbed at the package, knocking the contents out of Mason’s hands.

  But it wasn’t a heart of the sea. It was an apple. A golden apple.

  The fruit bobbed in the water. As Edward reached for it with a long black tentacle, Mason gently pushed him away. “No, Edward. This isn’t for you. I think it’s for Luna.”

  Sure enough, the package held a note. A few words were scrawled in Ms. Beacon’s spidery handwriting:

  Splash potion of weakness + golden apple

  “We have the apple, but where’s the splash potion?” Mason asked, checking the water at his feet. Had it fallen out?

  While Asher swam in a circle, bobbing his head underwater in search of the missing potion, Mason smoothed out the packaging in his hands to be sure the bottle wasn’t hidden inside. Then he remembered. Ms. Beacon had already given Luna the potion of weakness. It was in her backpack!

  He reached for her pack and dug through the contents, trying not to break the glass bottles. The potion of weakness was at the very bottom. He held the purple liquid up to the light of the sea lantern.

  Thump, thump, thump!

  The drowned had begun to bang again on the glass window. The noise grew louder, angrier.

  “They’re mad,” said Asher. “You made them mad by going outside.”

  As the brothers watched, the drowned began to push against the glass, climbing one upon another.

  “Is the wall shaking?” asked Asher.

  Mason felt it, too—a vibration that sent the water on the floor rippling. He stared at the glass wall, his eyes zeroing in on the dried kelp block near the top. One of the drowned was only inches away from that block. Would it keep the drowned out? Was it strong enough?

  He gripped the potion in his hand. “Grab the apple!” he called to Asher.

&nbs
p; Together, they raced down the hall toward the furnace room. Mason pressed his ear to the door. He heard nothing but silence.

  “Is she sleeping?” Asher whispered.

  “I don’t know,” said Mason. “Do zombie villagers sleep?”

  They were about to find out.

  “Here’s the plan,” said Mason, trying to keep his voice steady. “You open the door, and I’ll throw the potion. Then you roll the apple inside, and we’ll pull the door shut. Got it?”

  Asher nodded solemnly. He was gripping the golden apple so tightly, his knuckles had turned white.

  “Ready?” asked Mason, his heart pounding in his ears.

  “Ready,” Asher whispered.

  “Now!”

  As Asher flung open the door, Mason scanned the room for Luna. There she was, crouched by the furnace. She stared back with eyes so cold and empty that Mason felt the hair stand up on his arms.

  Before she could make a move, he threw the bottle. It smashed on the floor inches in front of Luna, the purple liquid splattering her tattered clothes.

  “Roll the apple!” cried Mason.

  Asher did.

  It bounced once, twice, and then rolled to a stop beside Luna. She barely flinched.

  Then Mason pulled the door shut. When he heard the click of the lock, he finally released the breath he’d been holding.

  Asher’s face was white as a ghast. “Now what?” he asked.

  Mason shrugged. “Now we wait.” Ms. Beacon hadn’t told them how long it took for the cure to work—or even how likely it was to work at all. But it has to work, he thought. We need Luna!

  The drowned were still thumping against the glass. Mason could feel it, even here, all the way down the hall.

  He thought again of the dried kelp block—the weakest part of the wall. “C’mon,” he said, leading Asher back toward the living room. As much as Mason didn’t want to see the drowned, he had to keep an eye on them.

  Because if that wall caves in, we’re done for! he realized, his stomach clenching.

  The drowned were stacked two high now, all across the wall.

  “Look!” cried Asher, pointing.

  A drowned was inching its way onto the roof. He hung there, writhing, like a storm cloud in the sky—dark, ugly, and threatening.

  “What do we do?” asked Asher.

  “What can we do?” said Mason. He began to pace. But as his eyes flickered back toward the glass, he saw water trickling down.

  Plop, plop, plop . . .

  Droplets of water dripped off the block of dried kelp. With all the thumping and bumping, the squishy block had begun to slip back into the room!

  Thump, thump, thump!

  A drowned banged the glass, just beneath the block of dried kelp.

  “Stop him!” cried Mason. “He’ll push the block right through!”

  Asher stood on tiptoe to reach the block. “Help me!” he cried.

  Mason was beside him in a flash. But as he squeezed his hands against the block of kelp, he came face-to-face with the drowned. The mob was inches away—staring at Mason through the glass.

  Bump, bump, bump . . .

  He banged his head against the glass, as if trying to strike Mason, too. Then he let out a growl, loud enough for Mason to hear from inside his water-logged home.

  “Push harder!” Mason cried.

  Asher responded in a squeaky voice.

  “What?” asked Mason. He glanced sideways, just long enough to see that Asher wasn’t looking at the glass. He was staring over his shoulder at something in the room.

  But what?

  Mason whirled around—and suddenly realized that Asher hadn’t spoken at all. The squeaky voice had come from someone else.

  “What’s going on?” Luna asked again.

  Luna! Mason’s heart leaped at the sight of his friend.

  She rubbed her face as if waking from a dream. Then her eyes widened. She sucked in her breath and pointed.

  CHAPTER 13

  Cccrrrackkk!

  Mason spun around just in time to see the jagged line form in the glass wall behind him. It raced like a lightning bolt from the block of dried kelp toward the horde of green mobs below.

  And then the glass gave way.

  Water gushed toward Mason as if in slow motion.

  Run! he thought to himself. But by the time his feet came unglued from the ground, there was no time to run.

  There was only time to swim.

  Mason dove toward Luna. He felt Asher on his heels. But as the water surged forward through the broken glass, it carried Mason across the room. Smack! He hit the opposite wall. The water held him there, trapped. Mason pounded on the wall with his fist, but it was too thick to break.

  We have to swim the other way! he realized. Toward the drowned. It was the only way out. He grabbed Luna’s hand and waved at Asher.

  As Mason swam, he dodged the objects floating in front of him. A chair. A wooden bowl. A trident. He grabbed the trident just as something tugged at him from behind.

  Luna was struggling to break free from his grip. When he saw the flash in her eyes, he knew—Luna was back, and she was ready to fight. As soon as he let go of her hand, she dove low, toward her backpack.

  Asher had grabbed something too—a pickaxe. But there were no helmets within reach. Nothing to help them breathe underwater for long, except the potion in Luna’s pack. Was she getting it out now? Mason wondered.

  No! Luna was already swimming toward the drowned—toward a fight. But with what weapon?

  Wait! Mason wanted to shout. He kicked his feet to catch up, jabbing his sharp trident forward with each stroke of his arms. He passed Luna just before she reached the first drowned.

  Thwack! Mason swung his trident. Thwack, thwack! He began to clear a path through the drowned, knocking them left and right.

  Asher was beside him now, too, brandishing his pickaxe as if it were a sword.

  But as Mason swung his trident again, he hit something hard—so hard that the impact sent a ripple of pain up his arm. He cried out, releasing the breath he’d been holding.

  Then he saw what he had struck—a block of prismarine, lit by the sea lantern beside it. The frame around Asher’s conduit! Mason had run straight into it.

  The drowned were closing in, wrapping around the prismarine frame, sucking Mason and Asher down into its center.

  Then Luna pushed her way through the pack. What was in her hand? A potion bottle. Something tall and thin.

  She banged it against the prismarine, over and over. Mason didn’t hear the glass break, but he saw the lavender particles spill out, filling the water with a purplish haze.

  As the potion reached him, Mason clamped his mouth shut. If the potion was meant to harm the drowned, would it harm him, too? He wasn’t taking any chances. He clamped his hand over Asher’s mouth, too.

  But as the lavender cloud reached the drowned, the mobs began to fall away. Mason watched in wonder as they dropped, snarling and grunting, toward the ocean floor.

  Then his lungs began to burn.

  He pointed toward Luna’s pack, motioning for the potion of water breathing. He patted his chest, trying to tell her. We need to breathe!

  But Luna was distracted. What was she looking at?

  Mason glanced up.

  Edward! The squid’s tentacles opened and closed as he pushed himself down toward Luna.

  Just as the squid reached her side, something rose from the ocean floor. The drowned were getting back up. The potion was already wearing off!

  Mason’s lungs were on fire now.

  As black spots filled the water in front of him, he fought to stay awake. Don’t let me pass out, he prayed. Not now. Asher and Luna need me!

  But as the world went dark, he realized: I didn’t faint. I’m awake. I’m . . . slippery.

  He rubbed at his face, his fingers smearing across the oily surface.

  Oil. Squid oil.

  Edward had squirted ink, trying to protect himself ag
ainst the drowned.

  But now none of us can see! thought Mason with horror.

  He stumbled forward, trying to escape the black cloud. He pushed past the prismarine wall, tripping over the drowned that were still on the ground. He swung his arms blindly, trying to clear the air.

  Finally, the darkness gave way to grey—to clearer water, and then . . . to something else.

  To a door.

  A wooden door, built straight into the side of a dirt mound.

  Mason opened it, stepped into the dark space beyond, and fell to his knees.

  CHAPTER 14

  Thump! Thump!

  Mason woke to a pounding noise. He sat up so quickly, his head spun.

  There was Luna’s worried face, floating just inches above his own. She waved a potion bottle, as if offering him a sip.

  He shook his head. He didn’t remember swallowing the potion of water breathing, but he must have—the taste of pufferfish lingered in his throat. Mason inhaled deeply, letting the cool water soothe his lungs.

  Then he saw Asher, slowly swinging a pickaxe against the wall of dirt.

  Where are we? Mason wondered, pushing himself up to sitting. Then he remembered.

  The drowned had attacked. The squid had squirted ink. Mason had searched for safety and found a hut—Asher’s half-built, half-baked idea of a house.

  But it saved me, Mason knew. He leaned back against the wooden door, not wanting to think about what was on the other side.

  Asher was working so hard right now, but why? Was he hoping to tunnel out the other side? Mason shot Luna a questioning look.

  She pointed toward the door.

  Huh? Then it dawned on him. Asher was making another door, trying to build a flush entrance so that they could find a pocket of air to breathe in. But without a sponge, how would they drain the room of water?

  He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and think more clearly.

  Then Asher stopped swinging. He used his hands to start digging through the dirt. What had he found?

  From the look on Asher’s face, it was something good—really good.

  Mason leaned over to help him dig. His hands brushed against something smooth and hard, like a plank of wood. Then his fingers rounded a corner and found a smooth iron latch.