Riptide: Book Three of the Atlas Link Series Read online

  No. The lonely one was me.

  Abby screamed, flinging herself away from Sophia, across the hospital bed altogether. “Get her away from me!”

  I rushed around to her side to stop her before she toppled over.

  Dr. Gordon had called Sophia to SeaSat5 earlier today, but I hadn’t seen her because I’d been distracted, first with work and then with Chelsea’s incident. It’d been twenty minutes since Sophia joined Abby in her room after being briefed by Dr. Gordon. Until Abby saw her, she was fine. But when Sophia’s presence was known, Abby lost it completely.

  “Abby.” I placed my hands on her shoulders, trying to calm her down.

  Her gaze slid to mine, a look that rode the line between fear and disgust encasing her features. “How can you trust them after what they did to me?”

  Not that she’d exactly explained that part, either. I looked her straight in the eyes, unwavering. “Sophia is my friend, Abby. She’s not going to hurt you.”

  “She’s one of them,” Abby accused. “Like the other girl. They’re the enemy.”

  “Yes, they’re Atlantean and we’re not,” I said. “I’m sorry our family kept this from you.” And because they had, Abby hadn’t been prepared when Atlantean super soldiers kidnapped her in college. Even after our Lemurian family reclaimed her, they didn’t explain the whole story to Abby. They didn’t think she’d be mentally sound enough to understand, and hadn’t explained when she was a kid because of her recurring sickness. All of these lies by omission had brought both Abby and I here, to SeaSat5 on the brink of war with Atlantis. “Abby, neither Chelsea nor Sophia are the Atlanteans that captured you. They didn’t torture you. They’ve been my friends for years. You have to believe me.”

  “It’s not that they’re Atlantean that’s the problem,” Abby said. “It’s what they are.”

  The genetically modified super soldiers Atlantis tried creating to end the war? Chelsea and Sophia were descendants of those soldiers.

  “I’m telling you they’re okay,” I said. Sophia stood in the corner, not about to re-enter the conversation. I glanced over Abby’s shoulder to her. Sophia pursed her lips. She wanted to talk, but not here and maybe not now. “Please trust me, Abby.”

  She nodded numbly. “I do.”

  “Then trust Sophia. She’s here to help you.”

  “What about Valerie?” Abby asked.

  I didn’t know where Valerie was. “I don’t think she’s going to be around for a while. Sophia may not be Lemurian, she may not have the same powers, but she does have some. She can help you.”

  Abby’s eyes narrowed, her brows scrunching together. She lifted a finger to the side of my face and pressed her fingertip against my temple. “Like she helped you with the map?”

  My stomach dropped. She knew about me having the Waterstar map in my head, and that Sophia had tried walking me through ways to deal with it? But how could she know?

  My eyes lifted to Sophia, whose body had gone rigid. No one here other than Sophia and Dr. Gordon was supposed to know about the map being in my head. Chelsea still didn’t. She couldn’t even see it through our telepathy for some reason. And Abby hadn’t said anything when I’d visited her in her facility four months ago, so why now?

  I swallowed my fear, but it didn’t go down easily. “Yes, like she’s helped me.”

  Conflict waged a war across Abby’s face, concern and fear mixing with trust. It gutted me. I wanted to help her like I always had, only now I was in a better, more obvious position to do that.

  “Okay,” Abby said reluctantly. “What do we do now?”

  I peered over at Sophia again and asked for her opinion without words. Sophia stepped out of the corner and held a hand out to Abby.

  “We start over again,” Sophia said, her words calm and smooth despite her thick Irish accent. “My name is Sophia.”

  Abby took her hand and shook it cautiously. “I’m Abby, Trevor’s cousin.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.”

  And, finally, we were making progress.

  9

  Chelsea

  Two weeks had passed since the night Abby had appeared on SeaSat5. Sophia made headway with training, but Abby still couldn’t handle more than one Atlantean super soldier being in the room with her. Whatever they’d done to Abby when she’d been kidnapped, they’d really done it.

  It broke my heart, and I didn’t even know her that well. I couldn’t imagine what was going through Trevor’s mind right now. Mostly because he’d somehow built a massive mental wall since Abby had arrived.

  Ever since the first time Trevor had told me about Abby, back before he’d had Valerie’s hypothesis about what role Atlantis might have played in her sickness, I’d wanted nothing more than to help her. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I was meant to help Abby. Sophia had been at this whole super soldier thing longer and was a significantly better teacher than me, so I’d let her take the reins. Besides, there was already some sort of weird friendship-bond between them, and I got the distinct feeling it had to do with Trevor. I couldn’t figure out what happened between Sophia and Trevor while I was gone to cause the change.

  Either way, I’d get away from it all tonight at the Thanksgiving show in Boston for Phoenix and Lobster. I circled the backstage of Tangent, a much bigger venue—a massive pavilion-stadium with lawn seats—than the Franklin. This wasn’t the first time we’d played here, but it was the first time we were the main show. It wasn’t until the Juxe tour over the summer that we’d gotten big enough to headline our own stage this size.

  Word said this show was sold out. I wasn’t sure how much I believed that, but our manager—something else that’d changed for the better over the last few months—had never lied to us.

  I climbed up the stairs and found one of the stage doors. I stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, and listened to the crowd. Rumbles of talking and cheering rolled over the space at regular intervals, like waves roaring toward the shore before cresting and crashing over the sand. Loud, raw, and deafening, the crowd’s sound drove goosebumps down my arms.

  This show was absolutely, one-hundred-percent sold out.

  My hands shook. I clasped them behind my back, military style, to steady them, but nothing stilled my heart. Since Juxe, Phoenix and Lobster hadn’t really played a show. Sure, there were the smaller guest spots and radio interviews, a few Friday nights at the Franklin, but nothing like this. I’d worked my ass off to get to those concerts and events around SeaSat5’s schedule. And Captain Marks had been more then lenient about that. But now, months after the Juxe events, here I stood, about to play the biggest show of our career. The most important show I might ever play as lead singer of this band.

  I gulped and slinked back off-stage. Holy. Hell.

  “You okay?”

  I glanced down the other end of the hall. Sarah, my sister, and Jeremy, lead-singer of our once-rivals Audio Striker, were headed our way. It was Jeremy who’d asked the question.

  I nodded. “As okay as I’ll ever be. That crowd is insane.”

  Sarah slid her arm around mine and drag-pulled me down the dimly lit, smoky hallway to our other band-mates. “We know. That’s what we were looking at. This is the biggest show we’ve ever played.”

  “It’s going to be sick,” Jeremy said. He lifted a hand up for me to fist bump and I returned it like our bands didn’t use to have three years of bad blood between us.

  “Let’s get it done,” I said.

  We rejoined our respective bands and Audio Striker went on first. Phoenix and Lobster watched from the sidelines as Jeremy and his band killed it. We used to hate each other, but ever since that first anniversary of SeaSat5’s disappearance, when they’d watched out for us when we thought the crowd might turn on the band, we’d become close friends. Seeing them play this sold out show in Massachusetts’s biggest venue was absolutely breathtaking. I’d never seen or experienced anything like it. I was so proud of what they’d become, what we’d all become, over
the last couple of years, I got goosebumps thinking about what might be next.

  Then it was our turn.

  Phoenix and Lobster took the stage playing the first song we’d ever performed live. The crowd went absolutely nuts. Cheering flooded the air, all headed for the stage. My throat closed up with my first ever round of stage fright seconds before I was supposed to start singing.

  I took in the size of the crowd between the sweeping of the stage lights. Almost everyone had their hands up and were jumping in time to Sarah’s bass beat. Seas of people, all waving about. Their faces blurred together with each new one I took in. I knew some of the SeaSat5 crew were somewhere in the crowd, but I couldn’t pick them out any more than I could my best friend Logan, who I knew was somewhere in the first row, center stage, among the ocean of faces. My breath came in short, shallow gasps.

  Then one single, awful thought permeated the fuzziness. Phoenix and Lobster are too famous for you to continue at TruGates.

  I froze, eyes not seeing, ears not hearing. My lungs stopped inhaling. This is what General Allen had warned me about, when I still thought he actually wanted me to continue at TruGates.

  But this very moment, with thousands of people screaming the band’s name, with my friends on either side of me living out our dream—this moment was everything I’d ever wanted for Phoenix and Lobster.

  Kris, our lead guitarist, sang out the first verse of the song in my stead, ever attune to my stumbles. Sarah eyed me as my finger slipped over the guitar strings. I struggled to find the right place to join in, to start up the rhythm of the song, but I eventually found it.

  As soon as I was back into the pattern, I sang. Lyric after lyric passed by as we made it through one song after another. The longer the show went on, the less nervous I got until I was hopping up on amps and wildly playing breakdowns like this wasn’t the biggest show we’d ever played.

  The crowd loved it. They sang along to every word and joined in when backed off our instruments to let their words stand out against our softly played music. Hearing them sing back the lyrics I’d written, the songs we’d all created, sent goosebumps tidal-waving up my arms and neck.

  This is real. This is really happening.

  The second half of the show flew by, and by the time we started the third-to-last song, the crowd was rowdy. A massive mosh pit had formed in the center at the front of the arena, so large that it now threatened to swallow up innocent bystanders who just wanted to watch the show. Those unwilling participants stood pressed against the sides and the front barricade, unable to move.

  Security kept looking up at me with expectant eyes. What’d they want me to do, ask nicely for them all to stop? Not likely at a rock show. I conveyed as much to the closest security guard. He hurled me a hard stare as he pulled yet another person out from the crowd.

  Fine.

  After the song ended, I signaled to the band to not start the next one on the list. Instead, Sarah and Kris began strumming the opening chords on repeat quietly in the background.

  “All right,” I said, addressing the crowd. “We’ve got two last songs for you guys tonight. Thank you so much for coming out and making this the biggest, best show we’ve ever played.”

  The crowd screamed their approval.

  “But before we do this, I’ve been asked to address the mosh pit issue,” I added.

  The offending pit cheered, some throwing up triumphant rock fists and middle fingers.

  I swallowed down the laugh I wanted to give them. Their rebellious attitude was something I’d normally enjoy, but I didn’t want anyone to get seriously hurt. “Can we please calm it down some? Just don’t want anyone getting caught up that doesn’t want to be.”

  The crowd cheered again.

  I stepped off to let Sarah’s bass skills kick off the second-to-last song when I saw it. Or rather, him. A guy stumbled around in the momentarily quieted mosh pit. My vision narrowed in on his broken body—the super soldier half of me bubbling unwillingly to the surface. He clutched one arm and blood ran down the side of his head where a bruise had started forming. His eyes were empty, wide, and raw.

  It was a disturbing image, a fear I’d always had of mosh pits. To be stuck in one, to be injured inside of one and have no one care, to be that claustrophobic—

  A light flashed over his face, revealing his features. Recognition slammed into me, stealing my breath. Weyland.

  No. How?

  I darted to the edge of the stage, pushing down any further disbelief, and tapped a security guard on the shoulder. It was too loud for him to hear me without me using the mic and ruining the band’s intro, so I pointed in the Weyland’s direction. Then I stood, searching the crowd again as the words of the first chorus slipped off my lips.

  Trevor, if you’re here—and I wasn’t sure he was—get to the front of the stage NOW. Weyland is here. He’s hurt.

  I couldn’t explain his presence or his injuries. Weyland wasn’t a small dude. No one would have screwed with him in the middle of a mosh pit. What the hell happened? Were the others here? Oh, my god, was Josh here?

  Gotcha, I heard Trevor respond. He’d come to the show after all.

  Sarah hip-checked me, her way of getting my attention while onstage. I looked at her as I sung the second verse of the song. Her wrinkled eyes asked what was happening. I shook my head, not now.

  I had to get through these last two songs. The hardest part was still putting my all into this show knowing that Weyland—and maybe Josh and the others—were here. Why were they here? I sang out the rest of the songs like I would on any other night—with confidence and spunk and a love of music.

  But as soon as the stage lights died out and the amps faded, I fled backstage, hoping against all hope that Trevor was still with Weyland. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, dialing Trevor’s number. Sarah and Kris trailed close behind me. My lungs weren’t working. Every time I tried to take a breath to steady myself, my throat closed.

  Things hadn’t exactly returned to normal regarding the war and TruGates, but they’d slowed down. Of course everything would go to shit now.

  “What’s going on?” Kris asked, drawing me from my thoughts.

  Sarah tapped my shoulder. “Do you know the guy from the pit? He looked pretty bad.”

  Kris nodded. “Yeah, man. I don’t know about that one.”

  “We’ve never had a show like that,” said Sarah.

  “The venue is huge,” I said as Trevor’s ringtone echoed across the line. “The crowd was insane. It’s not our fault.” But Weyland being here might be mine.

  I rushed to the ready-room, expecting to find it empty save for my wallet and the keys to my rental car. If Trevor was any kind of smart, he’d have called an ambulance for Weyland. He had not looked good.

  Instead, I found both of them in the room, Weyland seated on one of the couches with his head between his knees, a wad of tissues against his head. Kris and Sarah froze behind me, the rest of the band not far behind.

  “What the hell is going on?” I shouted, unable to control the rolling sea of emotions inside of me. Surprise. Anger. Fear. Guilt was there too. For leaving them behind when it was clear General Allen had some sort of alternate agenda.

  Weyland winced but didn’t otherwise speak. My gut wrenched. What’d happened?

  Trevor stood and rushed to my side. “He’s seriously injured, but he won’t let me call an ambulance.”

  “Of course he won’t.” I’d probably have to take him to SeaSat5, if the Captain would allow the Infirmary to treat him. I approached Weyland with slow steps in case this was all some sort of ruse to get me back into General Allen’s super-soldier-killing hands. “Leave, Sarah. And shut the door behind you.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Just do it. This is a military thing.”

  “You’re scaring me, Chelsea,” she said, her footsteps shuffling forward.

  I glanced over my shoulder. “And he’s scaring me, but I need that door shut and you
to not be in here in case things go south. I promise I’ll explain it to you after, but right now you need to go.” Panic seeped into every limb, every breath, around the thought that she’d get caught up in this. If the others were here, if General Allen was ready to finally kill me, the last thing I wanted was for my sister to witness it or become collateral damage.

  “Trevor, go with her. Make sure she leaves,” I told him. General Allen had threatened her, too, I said in my thoughts.

  “No way in hell am I leaving right now,” Trevor argued.

  “Fine, I’ll go,” Sarah said. “But I’m only giving you a few minutes, then I’m coming back with security. This is nuts.”

  I nodded. “Thank you. That’s all we’ll need.”

  If Weyland was a friend, we’d bring him to SeaSat5. If he wasn’t… I’d still bring him. Judgment and punishment weren’t my duty, not with him. Captain Marks could take care of that.

  As soon as Sarah and Kris were gone, I crossed the room to Weyland, ready to lash out if needed. Conviction surged through me. “What’s going on?”

  Weyland lifted his head, his broken gaze meeting mine. Blood seeped out of a cut on his temple and trickled into his buzzed, dark hair. “You can’t bring me to a hospital. Promise me. No hospitals.”

  “Why don’t you give me a reason to not turn you in to the military first,” I snapped. “After what you guys did to me, that’s the least you deserve.”

  His lips tightened into a frown, his words quiet. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want any part of that, I swear. I didn’t know until it was all over, and by then it was too late.”

  Trevor sat beside Weyland, way more trusting than me. My stomach lurched. Was he close enough that I couldn’t step in if Weyland attacked? “Too late for what?”

  Weyland didn’t remove his gaze from mine. “Everything changed after they left you in Boston. The missions General Allen sent us on…” He shook his head like he was trying to shake the memories themselves from his mind. “They were all like the warehouse mission where Truman—” Weyland stopped.