Gods of Anthem (40 page)

The ocean waves
seem to get larger as we approach the shore, worsening my seasickness. I can’t decide if I should just puke, or keep fighting it. The trip to the Americas was supposed to take a couple of weeks, but we had to circle round to avoid the Authority’s ambushes, so it’s taken a month.

Thirty long days of angry rolling green depths full of monsters that’ve grown unchecked. It’s like an epic mouth of the world, ready to eat us whole. Vast. How had I forgotten how big the ocean is?

In the ship’s bowels, penning a letter to Joelle, I can’t concentrate. Every few seconds, chairs tip and smack the hull before flipping end over end to the other side. Thankfully, the bench I’m on is bolted down.

I glance up to see Vero standing at the bottom of the stairwell. She grips the railing in a hard lean left, then right, like a skier.

“We here?” I ask.

I’ve not spoken to her since throwing her out of my bunk that night.

She nods, blowing her cheeks out, fighting her stomach down. Vero’s golden skin has drained to an unhealthy shade, almost matching the foamy water beating at the ship’s sides.

“The Authority…?” I ask.

Vero nods again, then burps into her hand as a huge wave tips us hard, threatening to roll the ship all the way over. That would end our trip on a soggy note.

We stay perilously slanted until Mother Nature lets us go again.

The Underground had hoped to make a stealthy entrance, but instead, we’ve attracted the great eye of the Authority who’s been sending out subs, helicopters, and ships to “greet” us. This makes our own ship retreat, tail firmly between her legs, and reroute to try another avenue.

Luckily—or unluckily—enough, a storm’s hit, so they’ve lost us for now.

With my hand cupped to the back of my head, I stare down at the sheet of paper. “Look … Vero—”

“Don’t worry about it, Tommy. I know about your monster. I get it. Before, when you said you were scared … I just get it, okay? Let’s just live through this first.”

“The girl. I know you brought her up before. Daisy.” It feels good to say her name out loud again. “Not long after, we met up with the UG on the west coast. We’d thought it was more like the old Army.”

Vero raises her brows, and I laugh.

“Yeah. Daisy had insisted on joining with me. Following. I was furious. She always was like that, you know?—a tagalong. But once we got to the coast, I finally let up on her about it. She looked good in that uniform, fit her like it was made … Anyway, that night, we had first watch together, but she’d switched with someone. Trying to give me space, I think.”

I rub the back of my neck, trying to work out the tension. My hands clench just thinking about this part. “The next day, all they found was a bloody boot.”

Vero’s dark eyes turn sad. “That’s not your fault, Hatter.”

My smile’s dry.

Changing the subject, I ask, “Where are we?”

She covers her mouth, holds her other hand over her stomach for a moment before she can speak. “California, I think.”

I rub my brow in frustration. We’ll have to cross the entire wild, zombie-infested US to get to the city now. Who plans these missions?

The ship’s horn blows—the first time in a few days—and we run up the stairs, bouncing off the sides like we’re in a fun house, only there’s nothing fun about it. We step onto the deck and into the spray, just as the first explosion shudders through the enormous hunk of steel beneath our feet.

A boat’s in the distance. A small light blinks before another explosion rocks us when the shot lands too close. They aren’t reaching us yet, but soon … soon.

A helicopter circles, and I run to the other side where coastline sits in the distance.

No time to get nostalgic, but that sandy beach could only be SoCal. My heart clenches and my palms tingle with the thought of touching it.

Home.

“Home!” Vero yells.

With a whoop of excitement, I turn and grab her around the waist while she pumps her fists. And we laugh until another explosion sets us back on our heels.

“Where’s Cory?” I yell.

Vero shakes her head, and I move over to the gunners. “All right, fellas, what are you waitin’ for? This thing has the reach, and that little tug boat doesn’t.” Then, I add in my best Sergeant Nolan impression: “Send her to the bottom, boys.”

They aim the giant gun at the boat and fire, right as a wave the size of a small mountain separates us.

When we see the boat again, it’s farther away in forced retreat. Our ship might be an older bird, but she’s steady as all get out in a fight.

The gunner aims again, and I slap his shoulder, trying to redirect. “No, no, they’re still out of range. The chopper, man!”

He swings around and fires at the helicopter—once, twice … before a direct hit. It turns the sky an even brighter orange, and that’s when I first notice its color.

“Orange skies!” I point up, shading my eyes in excitement. Vero squints up, too.

The helicopter crashes into the ocean like a falling star, and we both turn greedily toward the coast.

I shout above the wind, “Where the hell is Cory!”

Cory’s supposed to be in charge. I’ll have to put the teams together myself. I cup my hands to Vero’s ear. “We’re gonna have to do this quick,” I tell her, “so the ship can get out of range! Tell the men to get the boats ready!” I squeeze her arm and say more quietly, “We’re going home, Vero. Home.”

She snaps her heels together and salutes, before we run in separate directions across the bow, giving orders.

Most
of the boats are deployed in record time. Everyone’s excited to see the coast, despite the fact that we may be trundling toward certain death. Something about returning to our own country has kept us warm on those frozen Swedish nights. These sandy beaches once held young, inebriated souls whose biggest worry was a car payment and an A on an English paper.

Being near the boardwalk gives us courage. Not real courage, but enough to muster pretense.

I spot Cory slinking out from below deck, and he starts to climb overboard into his boat, eyes scanning the western horizon instead of the beach. I want to run over and shake him or turn him around, tell him he’s looking the wrong way.

He’s been quiet since we left headquarters. Subdued. And staying clear of me.

I throw a leg over the rail, but stop dead when I see what I think is a figment of my imagination standing near the bow.

“Joelle?”

My mind’s playing tricks on me—it has to be.

On deck and dressed in all white, Joelle holds a tarp over her head, and she’s obviously in pain.

I’m torn between killing her and hugging her. She sees me coming, and scrambles down the ladder to avoid the rays of sunlight shining through the storm.

When I get to the bottom, having taken several rungs at a time, I snag her arm, lifting her off of her toes. Joelle hisses, showing long, lethal fangs.

She struggles not to bite me, and she’s paler than pale, face drawn. She must be starving. I shake Joelle’s frail body, making her canines clack together. “I oughta throw you overboard, Jo! What in God’s name are you doing here!”

A few tears leak out from her closed eyes, and her bottom lip quivers, threatening to puncture itself on the needles that refuse to retract being so near … food. “I thought … I should … come.”

I shake her again, eliciting more hisses. “Are you crazy? That is absolutely
insane
. What have you been eating?”

She wriggles free and falls onto her bottom in a clumsy movement so unlike the little graceful vamp. “I brought enough.”

“It’s been a month.”

“I know. I’ve been with the equipment. No one goes down there. But I’m out, Tommy. I’d only planned for a few weeks. That’s why I came above. I’m sorry, okay? I was scared when I heard the explosions. And I worried about you, too. But then I started to smell … people…. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off the fear that could overtake my sense of duty. “Look, you’ve gone without food for a while before. Get back with the cargo and ride this can to Sweden. Will you do that? You’re practically indestructible, even without food, right? And don’t come out again, not for anything, you hear me? Should be a shorter trip home. Can you make it two more weeks?”

She hesitates at first, but then she sits straighter and nods. It’s obvious her ride as a stowaway has been harder on her than she’d planned for.

“Promise me,” I say.

Joelle wipes her eyes. “I can do it. I promise.”

I hug her goodbye again, then leave without looking back.

She doesn’t call for me. My little Jo-Jo is growing up, doing her part in this struggle.

And now I have to do mine.

When I hop into my boat, I notice Vero waits, eyeing me with concern. But I avoid her gaze and dump us into the water with a splash.

The green water churns around our little boat while the orange sky starts to clear, revealing dark, circling shapes.

I point us toward shore with a sinking feeling that has nothing to do with zombies.

I tell myself Joelle’s a tough gal. She’s more monster than innocent little girl. But she’s
my
monster.

And I’d just left her behind … again.