Anomaly Page 8

  Before I can turn away, he glances up and sees me. He smiles and waves me over.

  “Something on your mind, Leah,” he asks when I reach the three men. He’s always been good at reading my face.

  Looking down, I see they’ve been studying a topographical map of California.

  “I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy,” I say, feeling a bit foolish about my worries while they’re busy with more important matters.

  Dad swings his leg over the bench he’s sitting on so that he’s facing me.

  “Not a problem,” he says. “It’s nothing urgent. Out here we’ve got plenty of time for pretty much everything. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  “I’ve noticed,” I reply. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

  Dad grins. “So, what is it?”

  “I was just wondering. I’m not a navigator or anything, but are we sailing more west than we were?”

  Captain Spiby smiles. “We are,” he says. “Good observation. Maybe we should train you as a backup navigator.”

  I return his smile but shake my head. “No thanks, Captain. Can I ask why we’re heading farther from the coast, though?”

  Dad takes my hand and pulls me closer to the makeshift table. He puts the index finger of his other hand on the map.

  “See this?” he says. “This is the area just north of Los Angeles. There are some pretty tall coastal hills there, and some mountains to the east that are even higher. If we want to remain completely out of sight from the land, we have to go farther out to sea for awhile.”

  I begin to get a hollow feeling in my stomach. Apparently, I’m not quite as used to the idea of being away from land as I thought. I look at the map a little more carefully and see something I definitely don’t like.

  “What about these?” I ask, pointing to a group of islands labeled “Channel Islands” some distance off the coast north of where we are. “Are we going to have to go all the way around them, too?” I can’t tell for sure, but it looks like doing that would force us fifty miles or more from the coast. I don’t like the thought of that at all.

  “Good question,” Dad replies. “But no. We don’t think the islands are inhabited, and even if they are, we’re going to be passing by them under cover of darkness.”

  “We’ll sail silently and without lights,” Captain Spiby adds. “If there’s something on any of the islands that happens to notice us—if an Anomaly once opened on one, for instance—we don’t think the creatures will have any way to get to the mainland to share what they saw.”

  I nod. That’s something, at least. I’m glad we don’t have to detour all the way around the islands.

  “Okay, thanks,” I say. “I’ll let you all get back to your planning.”

  I give my dad a quick kiss on the cheek and then head back to rejoin the others, who are getting ready for another session with Sergeant Moss. I pull my machete from its sheath and begin a series of warm-up forms, my feet flowing back and forth across a narrow, open area of the deck while I swing my blade in various attack and defensive moves. I’ve never considered myself to be anything more than mildly proficient with my weapon of choice, but this past week of concentrated training has taken my skill to another level. I just hope I never have to use any of these moves for real.

  We train for almost two hours, take a short break, then get busy studying maps of San Francisco Bay and old blueprints of Alcatraz. Despite an exhaustive search, no one was able to find any detailed information at all in the District showing the former prison after it was converted to a research center, so we have to rely on what was in the libraries from its days as a maximum security prison. There’s plenty of that, though.

  As afternoon ebbs toward evening, low, scattered clouds begin to appear above the western horizon. Today, we’re treated to a fiery red and orange sunset as the sun settles down toward the ocean. All the Miracles gather along the port rail to watch the spectacular display.

  “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight,” Sneak says.

  “What does that mean?” Plush asks.

  “It’s an old sailors’ saying,” Sneak replies, looking proud of himself for his nautical knowledge. “It means at least one more day of good weather.”

  That’s something I’m very glad to hear—though about ten more days of good weather would be even better. I wonder if there’s a saying for that, but I doubt it.

  Day three is pretty much a repeat of the first two days. More clouds begin filling the sky as the day progresses, but they’re white and puffy and the Navy guys assure us there’s nothing that even hints at an approaching storm. I’m happy to take their word on that, though I do find myself checking the sky a bit more often than I really need to. The sea has remained fairly calm, too, for which I’m grateful.

  One thing I’m learning for sure is just how boring ocean voyages can be. I can’t believe that before The Incident people used to take long cruises simply for the fun of it, but before we departed my mom assured me that was the case. “Pleasure cruises,” she called the trips. She did say there was a bit more to do on the old cruises ships than what would be available on the Star of India, though. I wonder what else they did besides weapons training and geography lessons.

  My fellow Miracles and I are gathered on deck around the sawhorse table for our afternoon study session, examining more maps and drawings, when the Star suddenly lurches violently, sending the papers flying and the wooden plank tumbling off its sawhorse base.

  “What the heck was that?” Rerun exclaims.

  “Did we hit something?” Plush asks worriedly.

  “What the hell could we hit, Plush?” Sneak asks derisively. “We’re in the middle of the damn ocean!”

  Lights casts Sneak a stern glance and wraps his arm protectively around Plush’s shoulders.

  Middle of the ocean or not, it sure felt like we hit something. I glance at Radar, wondering if this could have anything to do with an Anomaly. Reading my mind, she shakes her head—she hasn’t detected any trace of one of the portals.

  Sailors and Marines are scurrying toward the rails on both sides of the ship, where they peer down over the side in search of some obstacle big enough to make a two hundred foot long ship lurch so violently.

  My eyes scan the deck for Captain Spiby—if anyone is going to know what just happened, it’s him. I spy him up near the bow, looking down over the starboard side. My dad is hurrying up the deck toward the captain.

  Suddenly, something dark and sinewy erupts from the water and reaches up toward the deck. The thing looks like some kind of giant sea snake. It’s as thick as a full grown man.

  It takes me a moment to recognize that it’s not a snake, but rather a giant tentacle. Before anyone can react, the tentacle wraps itself around Captain Spiby’s waist and plucks him from the ship. He lets out an agonized scream as the beast whips him back and forth in the air like he’s nothing more than a tiny plastic doll. A moment later, the creature pulls him beneath the water.

  Pandemonium erupts on the ship, but it’s a controlled pandemonium. The Marines and sailors are all veterans of many battles and are not given to panic. Automatic weapons are brought to the ready. Most of the soldiers take up positions along the rails, but my father orders a dozen Marines to circle my friends and me.

  “Stay in the middle of the deck,” he shouts to us. “As far from the sides as possible.”

  Protected by a ring of sturdy Marines—including Jordy, who has taken up station right in front of Radar—we watch anxiously. For several moments, nothing happens.

  One of the Marines guarding us turns to his buddy. “What was that thing?”

  The other guy shakes his head. “Beats me. But whatever is was, let’s hope it doesn’t come back.”

  Radar glances at me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  I nod. “Kraken,” I say, remembering the mermaids’ description of the terrible beast when they told us why most creatures from their world avoid the water.

  “Th
ere’s been no recent Anomaly around here,” Radar says. “I would have felt it if there was. That can only mean one thing.”

  A sinking feeling passes over me. I’m pretty sure I know where she’s going with this.

  “If there was no Anomaly,” I say, “then this thing has been swimming around in our world for awhile.”

  “Which means the water is no longer safe,” Radar says, finishing my thought. “There could be any number of kraken in our oceans by now.”

  “I have to tell my dad,” I say, looking around anxiously now. “We need to get this boat to shore—or at least into much shallower water.”

  Before I can even make my way out of the circle of Marines, the kraken strikes again. A half-dozen tentacles burst from the water and begin wreaking havoc up and down the length of the ship, knocking men from their feet and splintering the wooden rails. Gunfire erupts as the Marines begin blasting the tentacles with their rifles and machine guns. A well-aimed burst from an automatic rifle cuts one of the appendages almost in two, but the thing keeps sweeping across the deck. For the most part, the bullets seem only to enrage the creature, because the tentacles begin attacking more quickly and powerfully.

  One of the slimy things swings close to where my friends and I are huddled, and I can see that it’s covered with suction cup-like circles as big as dinner plates. We all draw our blades, but I’m not sure what effect they’ll have on the gigantic creature.

  Another tentacle swings toward us, lower this time. Despite a withering blast of gunfire from our protectors, the thing continues its path, smashing into the Marines and sending half of them flying off to the side. I chop downward at it with my machete, but I manage only a glancing blow. My blade barely makes a dent in the tough hide.

  Four or five of the tentacles have grasped the ship now and begin to shake and twist it like it’s a child’s toy, threatening to crack the metal hull. Whether the beast is trying to pull the ship under the surface or to tear it apart, I don’t know, but one thing is clear—the ship cannot withstand much more of this. Another tentacle breaks the mainmast in two, sending rigging and spars swinging wildly back and forth.

  A violent twist tilts the Star almost onto its side. We go sliding across the deck, grabbing for anything we can latch onto to stop us from sliding off into the ocean. A bunch of Marines and sailors fighting near the edge plunge from the deck into the water, but luckily the ship rights itself before my friends and I reach the splintered rail and go tumbling over the side.

  I watch in horror as one of the tentacles wraps around Plush and Lights and lifts them from the deck. Plush’s mouth is open in a scream, but I can’t hear it over the roar of the gunfire. The creature is pulling the two of them down toward the water, when suddenly it seems to freeze in place. Plush is no longer screaming; instead, a look of intense concentration covers her face. She’s using her Power, I realize, to try to prevent the monster from pulling her and Lights into the water. She must be using her Power on Lights, trying to move him back onto the ship with the strength of her thoughts, the way she moved the two of them along the sidewalk a few days back. For a moment, I think she might succeed as they actually inch closer to the deck, but the huge beast is simply too powerful. Plush’s expression collapses into a mask of exhaustion and defeat. I watch helplessly as the tentacle pulls them down into the water.

  At least the two of them went together, the way I know they would want to. That’s scant consolation, though, for the loss of two Miracles—and two of my best friends, besides. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark shape hurtling toward my head. I try to duck, but I’m way too slow. A heavy wooden spar smashes into the side of my head just above the temple, knocking me off my feet.

  My vision starts to go dark as I begin sliding across the tilted deck. A moment later, I’m tumbling through the air.

  I splash into the icy water. The cold shock partially clears my head, but only for an instant. I feel myself beginning to be pulled through the water, and then the world goes black.

  CHAPTER 11

  I AWAKEN TO FIND my cheek pressed against a layer of damp sand. For a moment, I have no idea where I am or what I’m doing here, but it slowly comes back to me. I remember the kraken’s furious attack upon our ship and the blow I took to my head that knocked me over the side and into the ocean.

  I reach up with my fingers and gently probe the right side of my scalp, hoping perhaps that it was all just a bad dream. Sure enough, I find an egg-sized lump and some dried blood in my hair. I wince. It’s painful to touch, but it doesn’t seem too bad—at least it doesn’t seem to be bleeding any longer. The cold salt water undoubtedly helped reduce the seriousness of the injury.

  Moving carefully, I push myself up into a sitting position. Even that gentle movement causes a brief spell of dizziness to wash over me. Closing my eyes, I wait for the dizziness to pass. It doesn’t take long. When I open my eyes again, I scan my surroundings, turning my head very slowly as I do.

  I’m alone on a narrow, crescent-shaped beach ringed by tall, rocky cliffs. The beach is no more than a hundred yards long and maybe twenty-five yards wide with the tide out, like it is now. Looking behind me, I see a strip of dry sand above the high-tide line. That’s good news—in case I can’t find an easy way off this beach, I’ll be able to stay dry.

  More details about the kraken’s attack begin to come back to me. I remember Plush and Lights being pulled into the water by the beast. They’re gone, for sure, but I wonder if any of my other friends survived. And what about my dad, and Jordy, and the several dozen Marines and sailors? Surely they can’t all have perished. So where are they?

  I look around my tiny beach again. Not only am I completely alone, but there’s no sign of any wreckage from the ship, either. From what I can remember about the damage the Star had already suffered, I’m pretty sure she must have been destroyed. Some trick of the tides or current must have carried me here—but where would it have taken any other survivors and the wreckage?

  The sun is hanging low in the sky, and I’m beginning to feel quite chilled in my wet clothes. Night will be falling soon, and the nights have been pretty cold. If I’m going to make it through until morning, I’m going to need a fire. Tomorrow, I can go looking for a way off my beach and begin searching for my comrades. Right now, I need to survive the night.

  My emergency pouch is still strapped snugly around my waist. Amazingly, my machete is lying on the sand beside me. I grab it and stand up slowly. Another wave of dizziness assaults me, but it passes more quickly this time.

  I make my way to the back of the beach, where I find several piles of dry driftwood, probably pushed up this far by a storm. Using my machete, I chop some of the smaller pieces into manageable sizes and then scrape together a small pile of kindling and a couple of handfuls of dried grass to use to get my fire started. By the time I’m done, darkness has fallen. I take out my flashlight, reminding myself to employ it sparingly. Who knows how many nights I’m going to need it for.

  I’m faced with a dilemma. I’d love to use a fire as a signal to my comrades, but that also means making it visible to any creatures who might inhabit this area. I’m shivering now—I need to decide where to build my fire and get my clothes dry as soon as possible.

  I opt for caution, and for efficiency. My survival training has taught me that if I can, I should build a fire near a rock face, and then sit between the fire and rock, allowing the heat to reflect back upon me from the stone. Using my flashlight, I begin searching for the best spot.

  A shallow indentation in the cliff—not quite deep enough to be called a cave, but large enough for me to sit or lie down in—seems to provide the perfect place. The depression will trap most of the heat and allow me to build my fire close to the cliff, making it invisible from almost every direction except out to sea. If any of my comrades made it into the lifeboats or dinghies, maybe they’ll spot the glow and head this way. The thought makes me feel a tiny bit better.

  There are plenty of loo
se rocks here at the base of the cliff, so I gather enough to make a small circle about three feet across in front of the opening. I pile my kindling and dried grass in the center of the circle and ignite them with my lighter. In seconds, the kindling is crackling and burning. Even the little bit of warmth from this tiny fire feels wonderful. I rub my hands together in front of the flames for a few seconds before carefully adding larger and larger pieces of wood. Before long, I’ve got a nice hot fire going. I smile, pleased with myself. So far, so good.

  In no time at all, my little nook in the cliff is warm and toasty. I strip down to my underwear and wring as much moisture out of my clothes as I can, then spread them out on the sand as close to the fire as possible to dry. I had thought I might need my survival blanket, but here beside the fire I’m warm enough without it.

  I sit for awhile, watching the flickering yellow and orange flames dance around the pieces of driftwood, occasionally adding another log as needed. I try not to let myself think about my predicament or about my friends and the fate that may have befallen them, but there’s not much else to occupy my mind. Sitting here alone in the night, the full weight of my situation presses down upon me. I’m hundreds of miles from home and probably just as far from our intended destination. My friends and my Marine protectors are gone—if they’re not all dead, they’re certainly nowhere around to be any use to me right now. If some did survive, I’m not sure how I’ll be able to attract their attention without also attracting who knows what kind of deadly creatures.

  From time to time I scan the dark ocean, hoping against hope to see a light of some sort out there, but other than the stars, I see only blackness. I can feel the despair welling up inside me, threatening to engulf me.

  Stop it! I tell myself. Don’t think about the future. Just make it through the night and then see what the light of day brings. There will be time enough for despair and hopelessness in the days ahead.