The Beast

by Ally Condie

  Nico was running his hands along the wall, stirring up more particles. Opal blew her nose as he flicked a switch. An old fixture on the ceiling came alive, throwing a tired yellowed glow across the room.

  “There’s a light over here, too.” Tyler left footprints as he crossed to a small table and fumbled a lamp on.

  “The tunnel chamber must be the Torchbearers’ old-school ceremony place.” Nico waved a hand. “This feels more like …”

  “An office?” Opal supplied. “Or maybe a boardroom?”

  “Offices have records,” Tyler said excitedly. He rubbed his hands together.

  A paisley-patterned rug covered the floor. Two moth-eaten loungers flanked the lamp on its wooden table. There was an old desk at the far end of the room, and in the center sat a large oval table surrounded by chairs. A pair of bookshelves stood against one wall, with a massive bureau wedged in between. Filing cabinets made of industrial-looking steel lined another. The dim lighting gave everything an old-fashioned sepia tone.

  “I guess they didn’t believe in computers,” Nico joked.

  A large wall clock had stopped at 12:31. Opal wondered if there was any significance to the time, or if the battery had simply run out. Bolted directly below it was a square metal box, with a sign that read: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY—BREAK GLASS. The glass was broken, but the shards were mostly cleared away and whatever had been inside—a fire extinguisher?—was gone.

  Nico pulled a volume from one of bookshelves and opened it. “Nice. No slugs on these. Maybe we can actually learn something.”

  Tyler began rifling the desk. “Lots of good stuff in here. Pencils, paper clips, glue …”

  “Always with the office supplies,” Opal muttered. Tyler huffed primly and resumed his search.

  She wandered to the bureau and tried its handle. The top section opened with a creak. A few nautical flags were stacked inside, similar to the ones they’d found in the tunnel chamber. A painting hung above them, its frame nailed to the back of the cabinet.

  Opal had taken enough art classes to have some idea what might be considered “good.” This definitely wasn’t. Her mother would call it “greeting card art”—super cheesy and fake while aiming for realistic. Cats or fields or flowers or cottages or misty castles.

  This particular picture was a seascape. Opal could almost hear Kathryn Walsh picking it apart in her bank manager’s voice. Where’s the light coming from? Where’s the shadowing? That’s how you spot amateur work—the artist doesn’t define a light source in the scene.

  Opal chewed the inside of her cheek. The painting’s subject was the Timbers coastline—the distinctive triple-striped base of the old harbor lighthouse sat prominently in the foreground. The sky above it was stormy in a heavy-handed, swirling cloud manner. The colors were saturated and unrealistic—bright reds and blues and deep black.

  Opal smirked. Then the smile slipped from her face.

  It was bad. Very bad.

  So why was it there?

  The red wash of an impossible sunset spread across the water, looking a little like the algae bloom off Razor Point. And in the far corner, way out to sea, something dark had been rendered in vague, haphazard strokes. Opal drew close, her nose nearly touching the canvas. At first glance, the shape resembled an alien spacecraft on spindly legs, but then Opal realized what she was seeing.

  An old oil platform. The rickety, shallows-bound kind used in early offshore drilling.

  Opal felt a jolt travel her body.

  Two words thundered into her mind.

  GO THERE.

  She leaped back from the painting in surprise.

  “Hey, guys!” Tyler called out, staring into a desk drawer. “I think I found something!”

  Opal heard Nico cross to where Tyler was standing, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the painting.

  Those words.

  Go there.

  That hadn’t come from her.

  “Do you think this is for us?” Nico asked Tyler. “Like a message for whoever came next?”

  Who are you? Opal thought back, trying to communicate. Her hands shook as she lifted them to the painting and touched its frame.

  Nothing. No response.

  “Opal, check it out.” Nico’s voice was full of caged excitement. “I think this is what we’ve been looking for!”

  Opal tore her eyes from the canvas. “Huh?”

  Tyler was holding a weathered manila envelope with neat black letters printed across its front: IF THE WORST SHOULD HAPPEN. Below that ominous warning, spelled out in flowing calligraphy, was the word TORCHBEARERS.

  “It’s sealed.” Tyler wiped dust from the envelope with the corner of his Beast shirt. “Should we open it?”

  Nico shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “We found Roman Hale’s skeleton in a ditch on the island. He’s the last Torchbearer we know about, and the worst definitely happened to him.”

  “It says Torchbearers,” Tyler said. “Plural.”

  Pushing her panic aside, Opal hurried to join them. “Maybe Hale wasn’t the only one.”

  Nico frowned. “But the houseboat was clearly empty for years before we found it. If there were other Torchbearers, why would they abandon the Darkdeep?”

  A thud sounded above their heads, causing them all to jump.

  Nico glanced at his watch. “Oh crap. We’d better go. If they lock up for the night we could get stuck sleeping down here. Bring the letter. We’ll open it with Logan and Emma.”

  “I wanna come back soon, though.” Tyler shoved the envelope into the pocket of his hoodie. “Lots of cabinets to search.” He followed Nico to the door.

  Opal didn’t move, eyes locked on the painting once again.

  Go there? To an ancient oil platform in the Pacific Ocean?

  “Opal?” Nico asked. “You okay?” Something in her expression must’ve startled him. He took a step back into the room. “Did you find something else?” Tyler was watching her now, too.

  Opal thought about how they’d reacted the last time she mentioned the voice. She didn’t want to see those skeptical expressions again. Not until she knew more. Not until I’m sure.

  “No,” she said quietly, switching off the table lamp. “It’s nothing.”

  Opal walked past them both on her way out of the room.

  13

  NICO

  A voice caught them on the front steps.

  “Hold it right there.”

  Opal and Tyler froze. Nico turned, heart in his throat. They’d found a cleverly concealed door at the other end of the secret Torchbearer corridor—one that opened into the Custom House’s ancient boiler room—and had hurried out of the building. If the security guard spotted us sneaking up from the mechanical area …

  But an even bigger nightmare stepped from the building. Warren Holland strode down toward the sidewalk, tree-trunk tall with a stern look on his face.

  “He looks mad, bro,” Tyler whispered.

  Nico swallowed. “You think?”

  “Hi, Mr. Holland!” Opal said hurriedly, smiling wide. “Is this where you work?”

  Warren nodded amicably. “Hello, Opal. Hello to you also, Tyler. I hope your families are doing well. Yes, Opal, the park service has an administrative office on the third floor. I don’t spend much time here, as I prefer working in the field, but it’s nice having a place to file paperwork close by.”

  Warren’s gaze shifted to Nico, and his voice dropped several degrees. “Why are you here, son? This isn’t a part of town kids should play in. People are trying to work.”

  Nico opened his mouth, but no ready-made excuse came out. Warren nodded as if confirming bad news. “Opal, Tyler—Nico will speak with you again later. Have a good evening.”

  Dismissed by a parent, Nico’s friends could do nothing more than say goodbye and head back toward Main Street. He was left to fend for himself.

  “Nico, this isn’t the time for games around my office,” Warren scolded, when the others were out of earshot. The sky
around them was darkening, heavy gusts sweeping pine needles down the sidewalk. “I told you, the issue of my reassignment hasn’t been decided. I know you want to stay here in Timbers—so do I, as it happens—which means we can’t have any irregularities that might reflect poorly on me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nico mumbled.

  “Good. Now tell me what you’re doing nosing around the Custom House this late in the day.”

  Inspiration struck Nico. “I wanted to ask you about the red tide.”

  Warren straightened with a frown. “The algal bloom? What about it?”

  Nico improvised. He really was curious. “Well, my friends and I all saw that big red streak in the ocean. When we were … out riding bikes.” Don’t say breaking into Fort Bulloch. “From up on the bluffs, I mean. Are red tides common around here? I’ve never seen one before.”

  Warren Holland’s shoulders eased. “No, as a matter of fact, they aren’t. I was just researching the issue myself. Outbreaks of this nature are exceedingly rare in these parts. There hasn’t been an Alexandrium catenella bloom in Skagit Sound for over two decades.”

  “What do you think caused it?” Nico asked.

  Warren’s heavy brow knitted. “No one truly understands why red tides occur. They usually happen in warm, calm oceans with low salinity, often after days of heavy rain followed by a lot of sunlight. None of which happened here. But an algae bloom can be carried by the wind or spread by storms. Or an excess of certain elements—like iron, or runaway phosphorus and nitrogen—can establish water conditions favorable to explosive algae growth. Personally, I think ships have been dumping chemicals into the Sound, and the tide sprang from that. And when I find out who, they’re going to regret it.”

  Nico thought for a moment. “Do algae blooms release sulfur?”

  “Sulfur?” Warren squinted at his son. “I don’t think so. Red tides deplete oxygen levels in the sea, threatening fish and other wildlife, and this particular species also releases a harmful toxin. It’s an unfortunate problem we just have to wait out. Thankfully, the bloom doesn’t seem to be growing and is staying put around Razor Point.”

  Nico considered the terrible stench lingering around the houseboat. He’d done a few searches and was almost certain the rotten-egg smell was sulfur. He risked one more question. “What might give off a big, nasty sulfur fart?”

  Warren clicked his tongue at Nico’s language, but his expression grew concerned. “Are you saying you smelled a large expulsion of sulfur somewhere? Because that’s also probably illegal pollution.”

  “No, it wasn’t in the ocea—” Nico caught himself, and faked a cough. His father eyed him curiously. “We started watching a movie in physical science class,” Nico continued quickly, “but only got halfway through, so I never learned what causes them.”

  Warren took off his ranger hat and began idly turning it in his hands. “A sulfuric outgassing is usually volcanic. They can be poisonous, even deadly. I’m very glad to hear you didn’t encounter anything like that around Timbers.”

  Nico felt ice leak down his spine. Volcanic? In Still Cove?

  Warren replaced the hat on his head. “I need to drive out to the field station on Gobbler Ridge and check its propane supply. Can you feed yourself tonight?”

  A rhetorical question. Nico fed himself most nights, unless his older brother, Rob, was visiting from college. “Sure thing.”

  “Head home now. I’ll be back before too late.” Warren hesitated a second, then squeezed Nico’s shoulder. “Tomorrow I’ll download some research articles about red tides. They’re kinda fascinating when you get into the details.”

  “Sounds good.” Nico turned up the block. With luck he could still catch Opal and Tyler.

  “One last thing,” Warren called.

  Nico halted. Glanced back.

  “I had a visit from Sheriff Ritchie this morning. He wanted me to account for your whereabouts during the radish festival fiasco. I told him you were at home, in bed, sound asleep.” Warren looked hard at Nico. “That’s true—right, son? You were home that night?”

  Not so much, Dad. I was battling Bigfoot and his insane figment buddies over on town square. Probably saved Timbers.

  “Of course.” Nico forced a laugh. “Where else would I be?”

  Warren regarded him for a moment longer than was comfortable, then nodded. “Go on, then.”

  Nico strode calmly back toward downtown. His father watched him go. But the minute Warren Holland turned to locate his battered Range Rover, Nico cut down a side street and began jogging uphill. He wanted to find the others quickly. Five blocks of zigzagging hustle brought him to town square. Opal and Tyler were nowhere in sight, but he spotted Emma sitting on the rear bumper of the Freakshow van.

  Emma waved as he hurried over. “Hey, Nico!” she said in an overloud voice, her rounded gaze cutting to the van’s open sliding door and back. “So good to see you! I’ve had an amazing day out looking for the Beast.”

  Nico gave her a puzzled look, but then his eyes widened in understanding. “That’s great, Emma!” he replied, just as loud. “How is the film crew liking Timbers?”

  Colton Bridger stepped from the van, holding a clipboard. He was glaring at whatever he read there, but looked up and nodded. “Oh, hey,” he said. “Nico, isn’t it? The ranger’s son? We’ve shut down production for the day, but I’d like to interview you later.” A frown drooped his lips. “I’ve run out of useful people to speak with, and our footage is … a bit spotty in places.”

  “We’re going all the way out to Still Cove tomorrow,” Emma said, staring intently at Nico as she spoke. “I told Colton it’s the most boring place in the world, but he already rented a boat.”

  “Still Cove?” Nico gave a shaky laugh, watching Bridger from the corner of his eye. “What a waste of time. There’s nothing in that backwater but rocks, fog, and sunken boats.”

  “So my new grip has told me,” Bridger replied sourly. “But I’m out of better options, and the story hasn’t come together like I’d hoped. No one actually saw anything during the Beast Night attack, and I haven’t located a single grainy photograph of this so-called legend. There are no bite marks on surfboards, no heart-pounding survival stories, nothing even remotely interesting enough to put on camera. It’s like your monster is a polite little seahorse who doesn’t trouble anyone.”

  Nico almost laughed out loud. Yeah, no.

  The female crew member hopped out of the van wearing a puffy North Face jacket. She said something quietly to Bridger, then gave Emma a friendly nod before turning to regard Nico.

  “This is Jacqueline,” Emma supplied. “Lighting pro extraordinaire.” She glanced up at the tall woman. “Everything prepped for a rough ocean voyage? It’s super choppy out by Razor Point. So easy to get seasick.”

  “We’ll manage,” Jacqueline said, a wry smile tilting her lips. “Colton’s taken us on some dicey shoots in the past, and we always come out okay. What’s one more?”

  Bridger scowled. “Tell Jake to bring a Steadicam. And plenty of barf bags. You know he’s useless on the water.”

  Emma glanced at Nico, but his brain glitched. He had no idea what to say. This is a disaster.

  Bridger yawned into his fist. “I’m going to take a nap. Nice to meet you, Nico. A friend of Elizabeth’s …” He waved absently, trudging toward the bed-and-breakfast up the block. Jacqueline said goodbye and climbed back inside the van.

  Nico glanced at his friend. Elizabeth?

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Come on, I’m done for the day.” Together they crossed the street and walked up the west side of the park, stopping at a bench that faced the ocean.

  “You’re supposed to keep them away from Still Cove,” Nico said immediately.

  “I’m trying, Nico.” Emma blew a loose strand of hair from her mouth. “But it’s not gonna work. Bridger can be a pretentious showboat, but he’s also a thorough researcher. He knows the Beast is rumored to live there, and he’s not going
to leave without at least checking it out.”

  “Emma, if he finds the island—”

  “I know! But I can only do so much. They aren’t taking any marching orders from the seventh grader who coils their AV cables.”

  Nico’s hands curled into fists. He had to come up with a plan to keep Freakshow away from the Darkdeep. But how?

  A streak of yellow lit up the sky, startling them both.

  Emma blinked. “Did you see that?”

  Nico nodded. “Storm coming in, I guess. Maybe it’ll break up the algae bloom.”

  Emma wasn’t listening. She was staring out to sea. Flashes of light reflected in her eyes as they widened in alarm.

  Nico turned, and his jaw dropped.

  Lightning. Dozens of strikes. The blinding slashes hammered down on a murky, fog-shrouded patch of ocean several miles off the coast. Closer to shore, a thin band of glowing blue-green algae appeared, stretching across the horizon and reflecting the brilliant flashes in the sky. A hot, charged wind swept the square, scattering Halloween decorations and knocking over cheap plastic chairs. The sizzling cascade continued for a full minute, then abruptly ceased.

  “What was that?” Nico breathed, his pulse racing like he’d just run a mile.

  Emma grabbed his sleeve. “There was no thunder, Nico. Just bolts, over and over. And did you see that algae float up in response?”

  Nico nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. His anxiety level was spiking through his scalp.

  “Let’s find Opal and Tyler. Logan, too. Fast. I’ve got a bad feeling there’s way more than figments to worry about.”

  Together they raced away.

  14

  OPAL

  Opal rushed back from the cash register.

  “Did you guys see that?” she gasped.

  “You mean the cataclysmic superstorm that just electrified the Pacific?” Tyler said, still staring out one of the windows at the Timbers Cafe. “Um, yeah. We saw it.”

  Logan was blinking like a mole. “I shouldn’t have looked right at the bolts.”

  Opal sat down and glanced at the front door, hoping Nico or Emma would show up. She and Tyler had grabbed Logan at his Beast merchandise stand and dragged him along with them. There was a lot to talk about, but Opal wanted everyone together. She hoped Nico’s father hadn’t ordered him straight home.