“No, no,” said Iggy. “You take the detonator out, then wire it directly to the sub’s hull.”
“If you want to give it extra oomph, take the actual explosive stuff, like the ammonium nitrate stuff, and diffuse it throughout the water,” suggested Gazzy. “Then, when you electrify the metal hull, it’ll ignite and spread the damage out into the water, but not too far, and you’ll take out mostly M-Geeks, since I bet they probably scared off most fish in the area.”
Captain Perry just looked at Gazzy, and then at Iggy, and blinked a couple times.
“They’re really good at this,” I said, as the grinding and clanging got louder. “They like to… blow up things.”
“We know how to do it lots of different ways,” Gazzy said eagerly.
Captain Perry paused for a moment, then got on the intercom. “Lieutenant Youngville, report to the map room!” He turned back to us. “She’s our demolitions master.”
A moment later, a harried-looking young woman with short brown hair came in and saluted.
“At ease,” said Captain Perry. “Young man, explain your theory to Lieutenant Youngville. Fast.”
Gazzy did.
It took the lieutenant a minute to digest what Gazzy and Iggy said. Then she nodded slowly. “You’re a diabolical little pyro, aren’t you?” she asked Gazzy.
He blushed modestly.
“Let’s do this thing!” the lieutenant belled, running out of the room.
It was barely three minutes later when a huge flash! from outside lit our small room like lightning. It had seemed much longer — listening to the grinding, scraping sounds, wondering how quickly the M-Geeks would punch through. Then tiny, crackling lights skittered through the water. We waited anxiously.
Seconds later, there was a larger series of popping explosions as the torpedo’s powdered explosive drifted out into the water, where it was detonated by the electrical sparks still dancing around the metal hull of the sub. Gazzy crowed and held up his hand to slap high fives with the captain, who just looked at him.
“It’s like M-Geek popcorn,” Iggy said, as we heard a fast string of small booms, one after another, each accompanied by a flash of light.
“Yeah,” Gazzy chimed in excitedly. “It’s like an ignart!”
I was about to say that this was no time for fart jokes when the grinding metal sounds stopped abruptly.
“It seems to be working, sir,” reported Lieutenant Young-ville, poking her head into the map room. “The technique —”
“The Gaz-Ig-Nart technique!” Iggy corrected.
“Yes, the Gaz-Ig-Nart technique seems to be neutralizing the enemy,” the lieutenant finished.
The captain tried. We all tried. But there was no way. When the ensign came to report, he found us all laughing so hard we had tears coming out of our eyes.
70
“WE’RE GOING TO RETURN to base now to make a formal report,” Captain Perry said once he’d gotten his voice back.
“Wait — what about finding my mom?” I asked.
“She’s got to be around here somewhere,” John agreed. “Can you wait on that report so we can comb the area more thoroughly?”
“There’s leaking radioactive waste out there,” said Captain Perry. “Who knows where that radiation is ending up, how far it can travel? It must be contained as soon as possible.”
“We came out here to find our colleague,” John said.
“My job is to protect the United States, which Hawaii and its surrounding waters are part of,” said Captain Perry, looking steely eyed.
I was calculating the chances of success if the bird kids staged a mutiny and seized control of the submarine, when Nudge suddenly said, “Where’s Angel?”
And if those words don’t strike terror into your heart by now, then you haven’t been paying attention.
It took barely two minutes to search the entire sub. The systems engineer determined that someone had opened the diver’s air lock approximately four minutes before.
“She couldn’t have gone out into the ocean!” the captain said, horrified. “The pressure at this depth is tons per square inch. She’d be crushed instantly!!”
“Or… not,” I said, looking out the window. The water, even with the floodlights shining into it, was cloudy and hard to see through. It was still full of bits o’ ’bots, drifting downward like evil, metallic rain. Plus, all the explosions had stirred up aeons of debris on the ocean floor.
Even so, I could see the light color of the small jumpsuit Angel had been wearing, and the flash of gold as her hair floated around her like a halo that she so did not deserve. She was dog-paddling away from the sub, looking extremely uncrushed and three-dimensional.
“That’s… impossible,” Captain Perry said, sounding stunned.
“Totally and completely impossible,” John agreed, staring out the window in awe. “There’s no way anyone could be out at this depth without a pressure suit and survive. It — it just can’t be done.”
“Hello?” I said. “We’re children with wings. And now gills. We fly. Angel can read minds and communicate with fish, Iggy can feel colors, Nudge can draw metal to her, and now you’re saying that there’s simply no way Angel could be out there? Have I mentioned the wings part?”
John nodded, still looking shocked. “But still — this defies any kind of understanding we have of vertebrate animals. It’s … almost impossible to comprehend.”
“You mean, more than the freaking wings?”
Captain Perry looked at me seriously. “Yes, actually. More than the wings. This is, in fact, stranger and more impossible.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, then.” I gave a little cough. “Anyway, let’s get her back in. You got any of those claw-arm thingies?”
“No, I’m afraid not,” said Captain Perry.
“Max,” said Nudge. She turned away from the window with wide eyes. I hurried over and peered out into the murky water.
“Oh, jeez,” I said, my heart sinking. Or rather, sinking more.
Angel, being Angel, was being: (1) stubborn, (2) a rule breaker, (3) not sensible, (4) reckless,… and (5)… swimming directly at a group of the sea monsters, who were heading toward our sub at light speed.
“They’re gonna kill her,” Gazzy breathed, his face pale.
Yeah, I thought grimly. And then I’ll bring her back to life and kill her again, for doing this to us.
One of the creatures spotted Angel. It slowed, turned, and began to head toward her.
“Oh, God,” Nudge squealed, covering her eyes. “Max! Do something!”
I was already striding toward the door. “On it.”
71
I SLAMMED MY FIST against the pressure pad that opened the air-lock chamber. I knew Captain Perry and the others were right behind me, and if they wanted to get sucked out of the diver air lock along with me, that was their business.
Ten seconds ago, one of those creatures had been speeding toward Angel. That image, seared into my brain, made me feel sick. I couldn’t believe that after all we’d been through, everything we’d done, Angel had basically just committed suicide by sea monster.
The air-lock door opened, the interior of the chamber still wet from Angel’s escape.
Brigid grabbed my arm. “Max — don’t,” she said. “You know you can’t go up against them. The best thing would be for us to get out of here, fast, before they start attacking the whole sub. Remember what they did to the Minnesota? This one is so much smaller and more vulnerable.”
“I have to go get Angel,” I snarled with my endearing bulldog tenacity.
“Max — you can’t help her.” Brigid sounded close to tears.
“I’m not leaving her,” I said, standing threateningly over Brigid, several inches taller. “If it’s too late, then I’m bringing back her body. Either way, I’m not leaving without her.” I looked at Captain Perry, John, Brigid, and the rest of the flock. “So suck it up and get out of my way.”
John looked at me for a long moment, then
nodded, and carefully stepped out of the air-lock chamber. He touched Captain Perry’s arm, and, frowning, Captain Perry left too.
“Brigid,” said John. Tears rolling down her cheeks, she let go of my arm and left the room, followed by a solemn, stiff-jawed flock.
Except Fang.
I glared at him. “Go on. Try to stop me. I dare you.” It was like the old days when we used to wrestle, each trying to get the better of the other. I was ready to take him down, my hands curled into fists.
“I was just going to say be careful,” Fang told me. He stepped closer and brushed some hair out of my eyes. “And — I’ve got your back.” He motioned with his head toward the torpedo chamber.
Oh, my God. It hit me like a tsunami then: how perfect he was for me, how no one else would ever, could ever be so perfect for me, how he was everything I could possibly hope for, as a friend, boyfriend — maybe even more. He was it for me. There would be no more looking.
I really, really loved him, with a whole new kind of love I’d never felt before, something that made every other kind of love I’d ever felt just seem washed out and wimpy in comparison. I loved him with every cell in my body, every thought in my head, every feather in my wings, every breath in my lungs. And air sacs.
Too bad I was going out to face almost certain death.
Right there, in front of everyone, I threw my arms around his neck and smashed my mouth against his. He was startled for a second, then his strong arms wrapped around me so tightly I could hardly breathe.
“ZOMG,” I heard Nudge whisper, but still Fang and I kissed, slanting our heads this way and that to get closer. I could have stood there and kissed him happily for the next millennium, but Angel — or what was left of her — was still out there in the cold, dark ocean.
Reluctantly, I ended the kiss, took a step back. Fang’s obsidian eyes were glittering brightly, and his stoic face had a look of wonder on it.
“Gotta go,” I said quietly.
A half smile quirked his mouth. “Yeah. Hurry back.”
I nodded, and he stepped out of the air-lock chamber, keeping his eyes fixed on me, memorizing me, as he hit the switch that sealed the chamber. The doors hissed shut with a kind of finality, and I realized my heart was beating so hard it felt like it was going to start snapping ribs.
I was scared.
I was crazily, deeply, incredibly, joyously, terrifiedly in love.
I was on a death mission.
Before my head simply exploded from too much emotion, I hit the large button that pressurized the air lock enough for the doors to open to the ocean outside. I really, really hoped that I would prove to be somewhat uncrushable, like Angel did.
The doors cracked open below me, and I saw the first dark glint of frigid water.
Showtime, folks.
72
THE ARTIFICIAL AIR PRESSURE in the chamber allowed me to drop down into the water. Want to hear something funny? I took a deep breath first. Then I remembered I didn’t have to.
Then every thought went right out of my mind as I realized how totally completely beyond cold the water was at this depth. I gurgled out my best underwater shriek, realized I hadn’t been crushed yet, and began to swim toward the light.
I was hoping it was the sub’s floodlights and not the lights of the afterlife, like I’d already just died and didn’t realize it and now I was swimming toward, well, I guess not heaven, even on a good day, but someplace lighter than the other option at least. Then I realized that if I was already dead, I wouldn’t feel like a bird-kid-cicle, so cold that every tiny movement was incredibly painful. So that cheered me up.
At this depth, even though I hadn’t been crushed, it was still shockingly hard to swim, to move, to get anywhere. It was like paddling through Jell-O or in slow motion, and there was a lot of weight pressing in on me on all sides. It didn’t feel good, and I wondered how long my body would hold out.
The water was cloudy, full of debris, and I blinked constantly, wishing I’d remembered to put on a mask before I went charging off on my white seahorse. Then I saw it: one of the creatures. There were several more, grouped around it, but it was the biggest one, easily as big as our sub. It fixed its red eye on me, turning slightly.
The birds are working, said the Voice.
Huh? I was so startled that I quit swimming for a second.
The birds are working, the Voice repeated.
I began swimming again. Voice, could we do this later? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.
I was now about twenty feet away from the sea creature, and as before, I saw its skin was a mass of oozing sores, red-rimmed and raw. It wasn’t symmetrical with a fin on each side — it looked like it had been put together by a two-year-old using a sea-monster Playmobil set. And he’d put it together wrong.
The birds are working, the Voice repeated. They’re working to help us.
Just then the creature shifted, releasing… Angel.
I surged forward as fast as I could, which was about the pace of a sea slug. Angel’s eyes were closed, and she floated there without moving. My heart constricted, and I paddled harder.
Then she blinked, smiled up at the sea monster, and turned to see me. Her face lit up, and she held out her arms, kicking off from the thing and rushing in slow motion toward me. I grabbed her and held her in a fierce hug, so relieved that she was still alive and that I could kick her butt later.
“Max!” she said, her small arms looped around my neck. It was bubbly and indistinct but understandable. “I’ve been explaining everything to Gor, here.” She gestured at the biggest creature.
“Wha?” I managed.
“It isn’t their fault,” bubbled Angel. “They’re genetic freaks, just like us. And they’re smart. They’ve been attacking fishing boats because the long nets have been damaging their eggs and babies.”
My mouth had dropped open, and now I quickly shut it as some tiny transparent shrimp tried to swim in.
“All the radiation created them, but it’s also making them sick,” Angel explained as minuscule bubbles wafted away from her neck. “They’re really mad at the Chu Corporation. I told them we are too. So now we’re on the same team! Plus —” Angel paused, her blue eyes gleaming in the floodlights. “Plus, they know where Dr. Martinez is.”
73
“GOR SAYS IT’S NOT much farther,” said Angel. She was wrapped in a towel, hair still wet, sipping a mug of hot tea. I was next to her, doing all the same things, except I wasn’t communicating telepathically with a radiation-created, man-killing monster. I guess I do have limitations.
We were moving slowly through the darkness, our lights turned off as we tried to sneak up on Mr. Chu’s under-water lair in a six-hundred-ton sub.
Angel’s eyes unfocused, and she said, “It should be up here, on the left. Go really slow.”
The captain gave the command, then handed out night-vision goggles, which Gazzy had been begging for for years. If the captain was smart, he’d count them all before we got off the sub.
“There it is,” said Angel. “Gor and the others are going to wait here.”
In the distance, we saw something that looked like it was out of a James Bond movie: an enormous clear-topped dome, three thousand feet below the sea. It looked like someone had covered over a football stadium and dropped it into the ocean. It was designed to blend in with its surroundings, and without the night goggles, we could have swum within fifty feet of it and not necessarily seen it.
As we got closer I could tell that the whole dome wasn’t clear — it was metal on top, with a wide band of windows around the middle. Three different air-lock entries would admit submarines, which meant Mr. Chu had access to extradeep-diving subs. Maybe he had connections with some military organization? Maybe he was so stinking rich that he had bought his own private fleet of submarines?
“I can barely hear Gor,” Angel said in frustration. She stood up and dropped her towel. “I have to go out again.”
I had
forty-thousand tons of reasons why I didn’t want her to go back out, but we were actually relying on the recon abilities of the sea monsters (who called themselves the Krelp, by the way).
Instead I accepted the inevitable, including the even more gross inevitability that I should go out with her.
“Yeah, okay,” I said, reluctantly unwrapping my towel. “I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, thanks, Max!” Angel took my hand and skipped alongside me as we headed for the air-lock chamber. It was like old times, except we were at the bottom of the ocean, talking to sea monsters, and about to rescue my kidnapped mother. Other than that, it was all old hat.
No one protested or tried to stop us this time. Fang looked at me, hope in his eyes, and I smirked at him. I save the huge emotional kissy-face for imminent death scenes. This probably didn’t qualify.
I hoped. I really, really hoped.
74
SADLY, THE TEMPERATURE of the ocean water had not mysteriously risen by, say, fifty degrees while we were back on the sub. It was still horribly, teeth-chatteringly cold, and I went ahead and indulged myself in a searing tirade about cold water as we slowly swam toward the huge dome.
A hundred yards in back of us, the sub was still dark, blending in with the black water. I knew they were watching us with night-vision goggles, so I tried to look more heroic and less weeniefied about the cold.
The dome was lit and divided into rooms. Whatever glass-type stuff they had used was a couple of feet thick, and the interior was dim and distorted. Cautiously, Angel and I began to swim around the whole dome, seeing a room full of computers and equipment, another room full of sleeping dumb-bots, some rooms that looked like an apartment.
Finally, when we had swum almost the whole way around, I grabbed Angel’s arm and pointed. There were several small, grayish compartments, set off from the others. In one of them, a slight figure lay curled on its side on the floor. It had long, dark, curly hair. It was my mom. Was she still alive?
Waterwings Page 17
