“What are you watching?” Jake asked.
“You won’t believe this,” Jillian said. “The Phoke are broadcasting the battle live. You can see the subs circling in and divers with bazookas—or whatever they are.”
Reluctantly, Jake sat up and went to bend over Shelby’s back so he could see the screen, too.
The scene showed the bird’s eye view of Aberforth Hills—probably the camera from the top of Mangot Hospital. It cut to the scene of a diver with a shoulder-held missile launcher. It fired. The missile spun through the water and BAM! A section of the tunnels exploded.
Meanwhile, missiles streaked away from the city, exploding amidst submarines. It was impossible to tell who was winning.
A doorway banged, and the teens whirled in alarm.
Dr. Mangot strode purposefully toward them, holding a couple cases of medical gear. Her thick hair was braided down her back, and she wore the blue camouflage gear of the Aberforth Militia. “Where is she?”
Jake motioned toward Em. Dr. Mangot dropped the bag, sat on the lounge chair that Jake had been using and reached for Em’s wrist. She paused, apparently counting heartbeats. She looked up in alarm.
“What’s wrong?” Jake was suddenly cold and started shaking. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, louder.
Dr. Mangot’s words were staccato-like: “I checked the hospital records, and it turns out I had blood samples for Dr. Bari and for Em. They don’t match. I’m sure there are many more matches in Aberforth Hills, but I don’t have those records, and there’s no time to screen people. The only matches with the records I had were Shelby and Bobbie Fleming. Since Shelby got those shots this morning, I’d rather not use his unless we have to.”
“Where’s Ms. Fleming?” Jillian asked. She and David had stepped up to flank Jake, David gripping Jake’s shoulder.
Jake felt their support and was glad for it. Without his friends, he would be totally distraught.
“Ms. Fleming has been helping protect the kids at the Gunby School. I talked to her, though, and she’s going to try to make it.” Dr. Mangot hesitated. “But there’s fighting between here and the school. I had to take a round-about route myself. To get here, she might have to swim. In spite of being half-Phoke, she’s never been comfortable doing that at this depth.”
“But she’s going to try?” Jake insisted.
“She’s on her way.” Dr. Mangot put the back of her hand on Em’s forehead. “At least there’s no temperature.”
The natatorium door was flung open again. Jake spun around, expecting Bobbie Fleming.
Instead, General Puentes stood just inside the door, flanked by another ELLIS officer. With a childish Tri-Mix voice, Puentes said, “Finally. I’ll have the hostages I need.”
Dr. Mangot stood and strode toward Puentes. “This is a medical emergency situation. According to the Geneva Convention’s rules of engagement—”
“You’re in my way.”
Dr. Mangot stood with her feet spread and hands on her hips.
“That’s right,” she said.
“You go on and take care of the girl. I can see she needs you,” Puentes said placidly.
Reluctantly, Dr. Mangot swiveled to look at Em.
Puentes shoved the Dr. Mangot to the floor and trotted forward a couple steps. He cocked his gun, aimed at Jake, and pulled—
Just in time, the other ELLIS office knocked his gun down, so that Puentes couldn’t pull the trigger.
Puentes jerked his gun away and glared at the officer.
“You can’t shoot in here, sir. If you puncture the wall, it will depressurize and water will break the walls,” the officer said calmly.
“Martinez, you may be right,” Puentes voice was harsh with rage. “But never touch my gun again.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Martinez said calmly. He nodded toward the teens. “We can take them with knives, anyway.”
The ELLIS men had stripped off the bulky diving suits somewhere else and only wore thin black wetsuits without hoods. Heavy belts held an assortment of gear. Both men set down their weapon and pulled wicked looking knives from their belts.
Jake and the others shoved lounge chairs to block Puentes and Martinez. Then the teens retreated, putting several more rows of chairs between them.
“You’ll have to catch us first,” Jake said. He didn’t mind a good knife fight, but he didn’t have his Risonian knives on him. And there was Em to think of. It was probably best to avoid a fight, if possible.
Dr. Mangot had risen and gave the soldiers a wide berth to make it back to Em. Looking down, she shook her head. “It looks bad. We don’t dare wait.” She opened her case and started pulling out equipment. “Shelby, get over here. We don’t have a choice.”
White-faced and reluctant, Shelby skirted a couple lounge chairs and sat on the one next to Em. The doctor ripped open a small foil packet and pulled out an alcohol pad. She nodded her chin toward Shelby’s sleeve and he understood. He pulled it up exposing the inside of his elbow. Dr. Mangot swabbed his arm with the alcohol pad.
The soldiers avoided the area where Dr. Mangot was working but advanced toward the other teens. Suddenly, Martinez reared back and threw his knife at Jake.
Jake saw the motion from the corner of his eye and instinctively ducked.
The knife clattered on the tile floor. Jake scrambled after it and picked it up. Now the fight was fairer. It was three against two, but each side had a knife now.
Except Martinez pulled out a spare knife.
No matter, Jake thought. He had one goal: to give Dr. Mangot time for Em’s blood transfusion. That meant they had to distract Puentes and Martinez.
He decided to attack just long enough for the men to give chase. He darted toward Martinez, but at the last minute, he turned and tried to slash Puentes.
Instinctively, Puentes lifted his arm in self-defense.
Jake crowed when the knife bit through Puente’s wetsuit.
It was barely a scratch, but it made Puentes mad. His expression was angry before, but now his chin was set, and his eyes flared with fury. “Why, you little—”
He took the bait and lunged toward Jake.
But Jake was backing up toward the exit, trying to keep the ELLIS men away from Dr. Mangot.
David dashed in and executed a perfect soccer slide-tackle on Martinez. They went down in a heap, allowing Jillian to dart in and chop at Martinez’s arm, making him drop his second knife.
But Martinez was a seasoned soldier. He flipped David and scrambled for the knife. Jillian kicked it, making the knife fly toward the water.
They all rose and stared at each other, wary. Martinez shrugged. Reaching for his back, he pulled a third knife and waved it menacingly toward David and Jillian.
Meanwhile, Puentes attacked Jake, charging so quickly that Jake couldn’t side-step. They grappled. Jake’s hands couldn’t find purchase on the slick wet suit, but Puentes easily grabbed Jake’s arm.
Jake stepped into Puentes, shifting his balance, and expertly jerked Puentes up and over his head to slam him to the floor.
Jake smiled grimly. They were winning, in spite of their youth and inexperience.
Suddenly, the door banged open again.
Someone rushed in, dripping wet. Everyone turned to stare.
The figure—a woman—bent her head and flipped her long hair to her back. Bobbie Fleming’s chest swelled, and she stood tall, scanning the room with an intense, focused purpose. She spotted Em laying on a lounge chair. “Stop!” she cried and ran forward. “Don’t give her Shelby’s blood.”
Puentes and Martinez had moved to stand back-to-back protecting each other. They were tight, but flexed, ready to move as needed. Threatening.
Bobbie totally ignored them. She skirted around the ELLIS men and went straight to Em. Shelby still held out his arm and Dr. Mangot held a needle poised over it.
Bobbie gave Shelby’s shoulder a small shove. “Go on. Help the others. I’m here.” She sat and unzipped her wet s
uit and pulled it down, exposing a white bra. She held her left arm out toward Dr. Mangot while her eyes went to Em’s face; her right hand slowly reached out to smooth a hair off Em’s forehead.
She looked back at Dr. Mangot and nodded. “Get on with it.”
Dr. Mangot nodded briskly and pulled out another alcohol swab. A moment later, blood started to flow into a plastic bag.
While Jake and the others watched the medical procedure play out, the ELLIS soldiers had raced wide toward the outer wall and were charging toward the doctor and her patient.
Dr. Mangot looked up sharply. “Look out!”
Jake shook himself like he was coming out of a trance. He scooted down a row of lounge chairs until he cut off their advance toward the doctor.
Puentes seemed happy to switch back to chasing Jake. He and Martinez raced between the lounge chairs trying to catch him.
With relief, Jake led them back toward the exit, away from the doctor. Once away, the four teens split into pairs. When Puentes jumped toward Jake and David, the boys went opposite directions forcing Puentes to choose which to chase after. If he went after Jake, David tossed a chair at him. If he spun around to go after David, Jake found a pile of towels and flung them at Puentes.
One landed draped over Puentes’s head like a protection from the sun, blinding him for a second. Jake and David met up again and put more distance between themselves and the General.
Once David distracted Puentes, and Jake tried to swipe a cut at the officer. But this time, he couldn’t cut through the wet suit. The knife glanced away and by then, Jake had to dodge back away to avoid Puente’s reach.
Jillian and Shelby kept Martinez busy with similar tactics.
“How’d you find me?” asked Jake, panting. He needed to rest. If he could get the general talking, maybe they’d slow down.
The general snorted. “You remember that drink of tea you took on my boat? Full of nanobots.”
“You’ve been tracking me!”
Puentes shrugged casually. “Just keeping an eye on my favorite alien. And now I’ve found your alien city, and we’ll destroy it, too.”
“You can’t see what’s right in front of you!” Jake couldn’t believe the general was so dense. “Earth has always been different than you thought. The only difference now is that the Phoke have announced their presence to the world. Every hour, you see new video from a different Phoke city. There’s a whole culture to discover there, a whole new ‘world history’ to be written. They’ve been hiding in plain sight for centuries.”
“No.” Puentes said flatly. “I’m not fooled by your propaganda. The Phoke are just Risonians in disguise. ELLIS will destroy this city. Today.” He stopped chasing them and looked over his shoulder.
Jake sucked in a breath. “No!”
The teens had been chased around so much that Jake had lost track of where they were in the natatorium. General Puentes was positioned between Jake and the teens and Em’s lounge chair.
Puentes turned and started toward Em.
Before the teens could do anything, Puentes had reached Dr. Mangot and shoved her roughly to the floor. He stood over Bobbie Fleming for a second before he put his knife under the tubing coming from her arm. He jerked it upward, and the soft tubing was cut clean in two. Blood spurted from the end still attached to Bobbie’s arm. The blood bag—half full by now—drooped to the ground and blood oozed from the cut tubing.
Furious, Jake charged, followed by David, Jillian and Shelby. But Martinez was there, too, protecting the general’s back.
Shelby shoved aside a chair and lunged, trying to tackle Martinez. Instead, Shelby slipped in the blood and his feet flew up. For a moment, he hung askew, and then his head hit the tile floor with a loud crack.
Unreasonably, Jake felt a pang of jealousy. Shelby was sacrificing himself for Em’s sake. It should have been Jake who tried a diving tackle.
Jillian raced to Shelby and knelt to lean over him. “Are you okay?”
Shelby sat up and shook his head. “Maybe.”
By now, Dr. Mangot was up. Calmly, she bent the tube still connected to Bobbie’s arm to stop the blood flow. She put Bobbie’s hand on it to keep it bent. And then, Dr. Mangot ignored everything but the blood bag. Quickly, she fitted a coupling into the cut end of the tubing. The coupling ran to a needle. She motioned for Bobbie to use her free hand to hold the bag up over Em’s head while Dr. Mangot expertly slipped the needle into Em’s vein.
Dr. Mangot turned her attention back to Bobbie, who was now contorted trying to keep the cut tube bent shut and still hold up Em’s blood bag. Dr. Mangot pressed on the IV needle in Bobbie’s arm and pulled it out, keeping a pressure on the arm. With her other hand, she grabbed a band aid from her case and pressed it to Bobbie’s arm, and with relief, Fleming relaxed that hand.
Dr. Mangot looked at the blood bag and shook her head. “It’s not enough. We need to do the other arm, now.”
Bobbie’s hair had started to dry, and curls spilled over into her face. She calmly blew them out of her eyes, changed hands holding up the blood bag, shifted on the lounge chair and offered Dr. Mangot her right arm.
While that was going on, the teens had moved as one toward Puentes. Shelby was up and moving, but slowly. Still, he was moving.
At Jake’s nod, they rushed General Puentes. He might have fought off one, but their combined momentum carried everyone forward until they tumbled into the pool.
Jake held tight to Puentes’s waist and pulled him deep. But Puentes was stronger, shoving him away and lashing out with kicks. Jake let him go, and with Velcroed legs kicked to the surface.
Looking around, David and Jillian had surfaced, too. Jake realized that while he wanted their help in fighting Puentes, absolutely, no way could anyone learn that they were Risonian.
“David, Jillian, you need to get out. I don’t want you to drown.”
They understood. Too much depended on making sure no one knew about the Risonian sleeper cells.
They kicked over to the side, but Martinez was there waiting. He’d found the knife that Jake had lost somehow in the melee, and threatened to use it. David kicked away from the wall and treaded water. But Jillian said practically, “Other side.”
They quickly swam to the opposite side of the pool and pulled out. The deck there was narrow and not a strategic place to fight because of the danger of being forced into the pool. But that also made it a good retreat for Jillian and David.
Puentes had watched all this and yelled, “Martinez, you can shoot toward the pool.”
“Ah,” Martinez said.
He trained his pistol on Jake and pulled the trigger.
But Jake had already dived, ducking under the gunshot. Above, he saw Puentes’s legs thrashing as he tried to reach the ladder. His equipment belt weighed him down, and he was tiring.
Warily, Jake surfaced with a quick look toward Martinez. He wasn’t there. Jake scanned the pool’s deck and there—
He dove!
Martinez had just moved around the pool to get a different angle on a shot.
A burning pain streaked across Jake’s left shoulder. The bullet had grazed his left arm. A red stain spread in the water. He was bleeding.
Ironically, Jake thought, at least I’m not in the open ocean where the blood would call in sharks or something. He clamped his right hand over the wound to keep it from bleeding more.
Now it would be harder to keep Puentes in the water.
Suddenly, a tremendous wave hit him, and spinning around, he saw Shelby and Martinez grappling in the water. Shelby hit Martinez’s hand, and the gun fell to the pool’s floor. Shelby thrust Martinez deep into the pool, then turned and helped Jake to the side wall. Jillian and David helped heave him out.
Jake sat panting on the pool’s edge.
David took over. “Each of us gets a side of the pool. Don’t let them climb out.”
Looking up, Jake realized that Puentes and Martinez were both still in the water.
“Jillian,” David said, “Get their weapons.”
Quickly, she handed a knife or gun to each teenager and they took up spots on the sides of the pool.
And it was a stand-off. Just like Earth and Rison were in a stand-off.
The natatorium was eerily quiet after all the echoing yells and fights.
Dr. Mangot called, “She’s waking.”
Jake wanted to rush to Em’s side, but he had to keep the prisoners corralled.
The door slammed open yet again.
“Jake!”
It was Dad. Behind him were four men in Aberforth Hills militia uniforms.
Jake had never been so happy to see him.
“Here,” he called.
Dad rushed to his side and at the sight of blood, his lips thinned in anger. “Are you OK?”
“It’s minor,” Jake said. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re supposed to be neutral.”
Dad’s eyes flared. He nodded toward the men in the pool. “And they shouldn’t be here either.”
Jake wanted to protest more because the U.S. Navy would court-martial Dad for disobeying the order. Especially if the press got wind that he was taking action instead remaining a neutral observer. But Jake was so relieved to see him.
“Let the doctor look at that.” Dad’s voice was rough with emotion. “Right now. That’s an order.”
Gratefully, Jake let other soldiers take his place and went to sit on the lounge chair beside Em.
Dr. Mangot tended his wound, pouring on antiseptic that stung, but Jake gently held Em’s hand and never took his eyes off her.
She was too pale, but her eyes fluttered open now and then. Once, she squeezed his hand, and once, she whispered, “Jake.”
Just to hear her say his name made Jake’s heart swell with hope. She would live, and everything would be okay.
“You’ll be fine,” Dr. Mangot told Jake. “Just a shallow cut. It’s long, but you’ll be fine.” She pointed to his hand. “Where’d you get that blister?”
“Jellyfish.”
“What kind? What did it look like?” she demanded.
When he described it, Dr. Mangot whistled. “That was a Lion’s Mane Jellyfish. It can kill a man.” She stopped and tilted her head. “Do you need something on that blister?”
Sirens Page 17
