The Dark Water

by Seth Fishman

Genres: YA Fantasy

Synopsis

To escape Blake Sutton’s army at the end of the enthralling The Well’s End, Mia and her friends jump into the newly gurgling fountain of youth and swim to its very bottom. When they resurface, an astounding world awaits them—an entire underground civilization of humans, the Keepers of the Well.
 
But instead of finding a safe haven, Mia and her gang are quickly embroiled in a dangerous, high-stakes battle royale. If Mia wants to save everyone she loves and make it back home alive, she’s got to get to the water’s Source before Sutton and his troops, who are still hot on her trail.
 
With new characters and new threats, Seth Fishman has upped the ante fantastically and delivers another tense, fast-paced adventure in a richly imagined world just below our feet.

Release date: March 3, 2015

Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers

Print pages: 288

Sample

1

THE WATER FEELS THICK, SILKY ALONG MY SKIN. I TREAD easily, the way a bird might fly, lazily pushing down against the current. Even with Odessa’s ski jacket on, the water’s welcoming. It’s buoyant and warm and massages me softly.

Rob and Jo float nearby, and every few moments one of their hands brushes against mine as we tread, like we need to remind one another that we’re really here. I open my mouth to let some water in and swallow, tasting copper, like the earth, like our blood. My body shivers, craving more.

We’ve been in the water for a while now. Ten minutes maybe. We haven’t said a thing. It’s so quiet, like we’re drifting in a vacuum. The shore isn’t so far away, but I’m reluctant to move. I think I could stay here for days.

The basin we swim in is large, about the size of the lake that borders my prep school. I can’t believe that only two days ago I swam across that lake—under three inches of ice—and nearly froze to death. That feels like a lifetime ago now, though not a good lifetime. This place is something new and impossible and it makes everything I’ve ever seen or believed seem smaller. On the shore, some hundred yards away, there’s a haze of light, as if the ground itself is glowing. There are trees, plants, a full vibrant green forest leaning as far over the water as possible, as if the water itself were the sun. I peek above me, and can only see black. The darkness is complete and presses down on us. There’s no ceiling, no stalactites dripping over our heads. No stars twinkling through the haze.

Then there are the gates. Giant, beautiful, unreal. They jut from the foliage like Roman ruins. They must be two hundred feet high, suspended between massive gold pillars, the opening in a wall that I can now see stretches off in either direction and curves away from us, seemingly endless. The gates are open, beckoning, and between them are hulking shapes I can’t make out, the light is so weak here. A city, maybe? What else could it be? My mind is having a hard time processing the shapes, the gates, the endless room. It’s just too unreal, this whole thing. But what my mind believes doesn’t really matter because right now the light from the gates is real, and it shines brighter than the brightest building in my hometown of Fenton, Colorado, or the world.

“What is this place?” Rob says, finally breaking the quiet. A small part of me was enjoying that silence, that pause we were having. His voice floats along the water and disappears. It awakes the memory of why we’re here, of the lunatic we’re running from.

“I’m not sure,” I say, looking at my two best friends. They’re watching me, trusting. And why not? I guess I’m the one who brought them here. They actually dove into the well, following me, risking their lives on a hunch of mine that we should swim down and down and down through the water; now we’ve ended up floating in this underground cavern. I sort of can’t believe how amazing they are, how lucky I am to have them.

“How did you know what to do?” Jo asks. “You knew we’d show up here?”

I shake my head and picture the map, the wall of stone covered in paintings that my dad found all those years ago, with its vibrant colors and images and hints. The diving figure, the flowing well, the gates. “Not here specifically. Somewhere, yes. There were a few clues on the map.”

“What, clues to get here?” Jo replies.

“Remember that pale-skinned figure on the map? The one that was upside down and near the well?”

Jo laughs incredulously. “You jumped into the well because of that?”

I make a face. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

“You realize that we swam down, right?” Rob points at the blackness above. “When you swim deeper into water, you shouldn’t break the surface. This isn’t natural.”

I look once more at the endless space above us, like a vacuum of light.

“Yeah, this shouldn’t be possible,” I reply. We were being chased by Sutton and his men, running through the Cave and now I don’t know if we’re better off at all, or if we can even get back. “Come on,” I say, and begin swimming toward the shore. The winter gear I wear is bulkier than the drag suit I have to use in practice, but I’m soon far ahead of the others. I can’t help but swim fast, years of training refuse to go to waste. So it’s me who steps on the shore first, lifesaving water gushing from my pockets and squishing out of my boots. There’s no sand, only a very fine moss that carpets the earth. I kneel and rub my hand gently on the surface, and it’s so soft I almost want to take off my boots and go barefoot.

“I wish Odessa were here,” Rob says, splashing up from the water and grabbing at an overhanging leaf. It’s wide and thick, like a giant piece of iceberg lettuce. Almost as pale too. “She’d know what all this plant life was.” I try not to think of how Odessa and Jimmy might be captured already. Prep school townies, they escaped Westbrook with us, and now they’re stuck back in the Cave with soldiers-for-hire. Maybe they stand a chance; they’re fully grown adults now that they’ve contracted the virus and it’s aged them some. Weird how just one drop of water was enough to kill the virus in them. One drop was enough to halt their premature aging, saving them from dementia and a wrinkled death, like what happened to our teachers. To Jo’s dad. Weird to think that there’s probably enough water in this lake to eradicate all illness in the world.

“I doubt anyone would know the plant life down here,” Jo says, taking off her jacket to wring it out. The nylon doesn’t make it easy, but she has the right idea. My jacket weighs a waterlogged ton.

I remember the story Dad told us about finding the well as a student some thirty-four years ago, spelunking on a class excursion. He tripped into the water, the same water that we just dove through, and he found out that it that heals everything it touches.

“Do we get to name everything we see?” Rob asks, wiping his face. His jet-black hair is plastered to his forehead, as if he gelled it to look that way. He blinks water away from his eyelashes, then pulls out his Warbys from an inner pocket and tries to put them on. Of course, with the water coursing through his body, his vision is perfect now and he doesn’t need them. He gives a goofish smile and puts them away.

We all stop and look into the underbrush. There’s a hum to the air, and the branches sway; something, maybe a bird, flits. I’m suddenly aware of the sound of nature, as if I hadn’t been hearing it before. Rustling underbrush, quiet chirps. A bug flies slowly by, its butterfly wings familiar but its cicada-like body an odd fit. There’s an entire ecosystem deep in the earth, one that’s never been seen before. It’s thick and impenetrable, like a rain forest, dense enough that standing here below the trees makes it difficult to see the wall and the gates.

“Check this out,” Jo calls, squatting near the base of a tree. She’s tied up her hair already, looking at ease even in her scrubs. It’s like she’s back in our dorm, pointing out some mistake on my calculus homework. If my dad had died two days ago, I’d be a mess. She’s not even fidgeting her fingers the way she does when she’s nervous or distracted. I know she has to be feeling it, that she’s purposefully pushing it away, but I don’t see it at all. Man, she’s impressive.

She’s hovering by a patch of tall flowers with long, shivering petals, their stems no thicker than a millimeter each. Almost like spaghetti, like tiny Medusa heads. The petals are white, incredibly white, enough so that they actually shine. Looking around, farther into the trees, I can make out another dozen clumps, some flowers even dangling like vines from the branches, illuminating the woods. They make their own sun down here.

Jo reaches out and gently plucks one from the ground, and immediately the remaining flowers in the patch go dark, shockingly fast, as if hurt. But the one Jo holds keeps its light. On a hunch, I squeeze my wet hair and put my moist fingertip to the broken stem she’s holding, and as the flower shines brighter, I can’t help but smile. I’m suddenly ridiculously grateful for these flowers and the light they bring. How awful it would have been to arrive here completely blind.

“What now?” Jo says, waving her flower around her head in fascination. She’s gone a few days without makeup, and she looks like a softer version of herself. Her lips are a pale pink and fade into her skin, her eyes still intensely blue, but without mascara, they seem more dominant.

They both look at me like I’ve got the answer. Sure, the map gave me clues, but I wouldn’t have had the guts to jump into the well if not for Sutton and his men chasing me. They’re probably up there right now, searching for us. My stomach churns, thinking of Brayden, how he might be there with them. What if he had found me, if he’d looked me right in the eyes and then shouted for Sutton? I don’t like the feeling, the churning, because it betrays me as much as he betrayed us. Brayden, new to Westbrook, the boy who escaped with us, who helped us. Brayden, with his scarred chin and his sly smile. I blink away the thought. He’s back in the Cave, helping Sutton get his supply of the lifesaving water. I wonder if they’ll leave Dad alone when they catch him. Does Sutton hate my father that much, to hurt him even now? Will he care enough to try to contain the outbreak at Westbrook, to distribute water to all of my classmates and heal them if it isn’t already too late? Does that fall into his game plan at all? He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t care about them. I think of the party where I met Brayden, how everyone there’s probably dead. I remember the infirmary, where the first infected went. Where our teachers died, their bodies piled on top of one another, their hair turned gray, their faces so wrinkled they were hard to recognize.

I bite my lip and pull my jacket closer, and I realize I’m not cold. The water keeps me warm as my blood paces through my body. I pull my own flower and it shines enough so that I can see through the webbing of my fingers.

I take a breath. They’re waiting for me. Even if I don’t have the answer, it still falls on me. “I saw the well in the map, and I’ve seen the gates there too—”

“Look,” Rob shouts, interrupting me to point down the shore. My instinct is to jump back into the water, where I’m safe and confident I can outswim anything, but I force myself to get a grip and follow his finger. There’s a lump of something out of place on the beach, something blue and familiar.

My stomach sinks, knowing what I’m seeing before my mind does. I hurry over, maybe twenty, thirty yards, and realize halfway there that those are scrubs, like the ones we’re wearing. The only person I can think of who could have had those on and made it here is my dad. I pick them up, as if I might find him underneath, maybe a smaller version of himself—maybe the water shrunk him, maybe I’m going crazy. The shirt is wet from the lake, but it’s also stained red, a smear of blood.

“Whoa,” Rob says. I flare up inside. Whoa doesn’t really cut it. Apparently, my dad came before us, and now he’s gone. Hurt too. I can’t see any blood on the beach, though. What exactly happened here? Did he know about this place all along? Why didn’t he tell us? Why didn’t he tell me?

I look toward the gates, wondering whether I can see him, whether he’s only a few hundred yards ahead of us, limping in pain. But he’s not there. The forest has broken, and there’s a clear path from the lake to the gates, which are gaping and bright, but no naked Dad. Tall shadows loom beyond the gates, like burnt-out skyscrapers. I don’t know what Dad’s doing here, but I know where he’s gone. If we hurry, maybe we can catch him.

“We should go back,” Jo says.

“What?” I have to stop myself from shouting. “You’re kidding, right?”

She’s taken a few steps toward the lake, and stares out over its black surface. “We should wait a halfhour for Sutton and his men to clear the room, and then dive back down and swim wherever the hell we need to go to get back out.” She turns and looks at us. “We have to save Fenton, and Odessa and Jimmy and Todd and my mother and Rob’s family and everyone, if we can.” I fight down a sense of panic. I never expected this from Jo.

“What about the map?” Rob says, digging into his pocket. “It’s a gigantic golden gate, Jo. We can’t not go check it out.”

“Forget the gates, what about my dad?” I say, still incredulous, holding up the bloodstained shirt for them to see.

“There’s no blood on the ground, Mia,” Jo says, trying to sound soothing. “That’s an old stain.”

I rub my fingers against the fabric, unsure.

Rob, meanwhile, pulls out his OtterBoxed phone and starts messing with it.

“You won’t get a signal here,” I say, clenching my teeth.

“Duh,” he replies in a way that I know doesn’t mean any harm. To Rob, everyone’s a step behind. He flicks his screen a few times and then holds it up for us to see, his face smug. I remember now, in the Map Room, when he was taking pictures. His obsessiveness pays dividends, because he’s holding up an image of the map. Even from here, on the tiny screen, I can see the painted gates. He points to them. “The gates are here, so all these other things must come after.” He waves at the remaining images: a city, a waterfall, a cup, a prone figure in white, a spear-like thing sticking right through another pale figure, the strange objects we’d have to decipher if we don’t turn back. I can’t help but notice that he’s at 23 percent power.

“The well. This lake. Dad clearly figured out the map like I did, so he’s probably just following the clues. The same ones that led us here.”

“To what?” Rob asks. “I mean, I understand that this place is crazy. It’s a miracle. Yay. But there’s a virus outbreak and you were in the Cave. Why would he come here right now, especially if he knew Sutton was about to break in?”

“I don’t know,” I say uncertainly. “But he wouldn’t come here for no reason.”

“That’s not good enough, Mia,” Jo says, insistent. “We have to go back.”

I can’t believe this. I know she’s mourning her father, but that doesn’t mean we should abandon mine. “You know I can’t do that. He’s my dad.” I hold up his scrubs and wave them at her. “Why’d he strip? What if he’s really hurt?”

She turns to me, her face anguished. “Don’t you think I know that, Mia? Of course I do. I want to find your dad too, but you aren’t looking at the big picture.” She pauses, gathers herself. I can see how hard this is for her, and an ounce of my disbelief fades. “The virus broke out two days ago. It’s already infected our friends. We know that the quarantine didn’t work. That the virus managed to infect soldiers in hazmat suits. It’s spreading, Mia. And the only thing that can stop it is this water.” She rubs her thumb and forefinger together, still slick from our swim. “Even if this place is like Narnia, even if there’s a magical talking bird that spits water from its mouth and teaches you the secrets of the universe, we don’t have time. We have to get back and figure out a way to get past Sutton and bring the water to Westbrook and Fenton. If we don’t, the whole town dies. Maybe more.”

“Jimmy and Odessa can handle him.” Even as I say the words, I know I don’t believe them at all.

“Are you serious? Jimmy and Odessa? They’ll stop Sutton all by themselves?” she asks, eyebrows raised. “Mia, do the math. Every second we’re here, the greater the odds that we won’t have a home to go back to. Not only that, you said yourself Mr. Kish came here on purpose. He came here for a reason, without you. He knows what he’s doing and he knows how to get back. The town doesn’t have the luxury of seventeen years of planning.”

We’re quiet, all of us. Breathing deeply. My skin tingles I’m so angry. I’m angry because she’s right. Dad came on purpose. He’s fine, with or without clothes.

Rob seems to agree; after a moment, he looks at me apologetically and I’ve lost. “She’s right, Mia.”

His parents live in Fenton too, and he must be just as concerned for their safety, but it doesn’t make his siding with Jo sting any less.

I take a shuddering breath. “I mean, what’s down here? What’s he walking into?” I say out loud, but Rob and Jo have the sense not to answer. He’ll come back, of course he will. I stare at the giant wall spreading out before me, and feel sorry for myself. Until I see something move.

“Mia, I’m sorry,” Jo says, but I cut her off, grabbing her arm and squeezing hard.

“What’s that?”

There’s something bobbing up ahead—many somethings—coming through the gates. Rob puts a hand over his eyes, as if to shade them from an imaginary sun.

“There are six of them,” he says.

“Six of what?” I reply.

“Mia, we should go,” Jo pleads.

Suddenly, the shapes become tall pale figures moving at incredible speed. I remember the images from the map. The white characters, the brilliant blue eyes. I take a step backward, my foot sloshing in the water. They’re only fifty feet away, and it may be a trick of the light from the gates, but their eyes seem enormous, too big to be real. They each have something in their hands, knives or spears or something.

“Oh shit, hurry,” I shout, and turn to the water. The others follow and we dive in. The skiwear is problematic, but I don’t want to waste any time shrugging it off. I buzz across the surface, letting my adrenaline push me. I hear sounds, one two three six splashes behind us as they follow us into the water. I swim possessed, the water guiding me, until suddenly I’m there. I can feel a suction below me, as if there were a drain. I stop, look around for my friends, but I’m alone.

“Rob, Jo!” I shout, treading water.

“Mia, go!” This from Jo, who I can see now, being dragged out of the water. I couldn’t tell how tall they were before, but her captor’s gotta be seven feet. Rob’s there too, held by another one. I feel the tingling beneath me. I could get away. I should. Jo’s right, I need to save Fenton.

But then I hear it, too late. A swish in the water. I spin around and he’s there, eyes like softballs, blinking wet and curious in front of me. I scream, and don’t stop until he’s dragged me all the way back to shore.

2

THEY TIE OUR HANDS WITH ROPE, LOOPING THE ENDS together and then around our waists so that we’re connected, and we’re forced to walk single file. They’re giants, my head only reaching their chests, and they walk on either side of us, sometimes staring at us but not saying a word.

After I was dragged out of the water, thrown together with Rob and Jo in a pile on the shore, I finally got a good look at them. They’re human, I think. Some sort of long-divergent relation. Their bodies are built the same as ours, with their disproportionately enormous eyes and stature the noticeable difference. Their eyes probably adapted for the dark long ago. I wonder if they can see the end of the blackness above our heads. These beings are unreal, but then no figment of my imagination has ever picked me up like a rag doll and tossed me onto shore.

“I guess we’re not going home,” Rob says.

A part of me is relieved. Now I can find my dad. The rest of me is in shock.

“Do not speak, little one,” says the guard at my shoulder, looking back at Rob.

“You know English?” I blurt out, unable to help myself. The guard lifts a hand as if to strike me but a different guard shouts him down in another language, his voice so sharp it echoes.

This guard has high cheekbones and curious eyes. He reaches out his hand and I flinch, but he tsks at me and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the water of the lake from my face, like my dad used to do at the pool when I was young. “I am only trying to be of assistance,” he says, his voice softer than the other one’s, almost bashful. “I have never seen one of you. A Topsider. He should not have threatened you.” The fabric is cashmere-soft and form-fitting. They all wear the same thing, this red long-sleeve shirt that hugs the body and tight pants. They look like they’re ready for a slumber party. My guard has short black hair that curls tight on his head, like a Roman emperor. On the bridge of his nose there’s a smear of paint, also red.

I have to bite my tongue, afraid to speak but now filled to the brim with questions. How’d they know we’d be here, especially if they’ve never seen one of us before? They’re calling us Topsiders, they’ve given us a name. They know of us but they haven’t seen us.

Turns out that the gates are kind of far away, which means I totally miscalculated the size of these things. They’re as tall as skyscrapers, and as we approach them, I have to crane my neck to get a better look. There’s an odd buzz in the air and it takes me a second to realize that it’s coming from the gigantic columns the gates are hinged to. As if they’re plugged in somewhere.

“Stop there, friends.” The voice isn’t from one of our guards. Another pale man, dressed in the same tight-fitting night wear—except his sleeves are bright yellow and his pants and the chest of his shirt are blue—stands by one of the columns. His arms are crossed and his pale head is shaved. Across his face, covering his eyes, is a band of blue paint. I wonder if the paint indicates rank. Jo shoots me a look. Something’s going on here.

“What is this, Keeper Straoc?” my guard asks, hand reaching up to take hold of the thin spear he has strapped to his back.

“I am to take the Topsiders from you.”

My guard shakes his massive head, his ringlets shivering. He says something in their native tongue and the bald new guy, Straoc, interrupts. “No, keep to the Topsider language. I want them to know what you are ordered to do, so that they might better understand who are their friends.”

My guard glances our way, and when he continues, it’s back in their hesitant English.

“It matters not, because we were instructed by Keeper Arcos to search for other Topsiders and to escort them to the Lock. We have searched and we have found. They will join the other, they will stand and be judged.”

That was English, maybe, but I understood almost none of what he said. Either way, it didn’t sound good.

Straoc looks me up and down, then smiles, flashing brilliant white teeth, as polished as a movie star’s. “Of course, friend, but it is from Keeper Randt himself that I have orders to take these. We must separate the Topsiders. They cannot be kept in the same place.”

My guard hesitates. He looks to his friends for help. One of them shrugs.

“Friend Keepers,” says Straoc, “I will not have Randt waiting. Thank you for your service and please return to your normal duties.”

“We cannot,” my guard says, almost apologetically. “Our Keeper Arcos tasks us to bring them to him.”

“Do I mishear you?” Straoc replies, in mock confusion. “I believe you were tasked to escort them to the Lock. Now you say Keeper Arcos asks for them himself?”

My guard stays quiet, chastised.

“Arcos and Randt rule the city now,” Straoc says, speaking confidently. “Keeper Randt requests the Topsiders and will send them to the Lock in due time where Arcos may have his personal interview, so leave them and go back to your side of Capian, where you and Arcos belong.” Straoc pulls a long yellow ribbon from his belt and lets it drop, hanging from his hand like a whip. The guards surrounding us immediately draw their weapons and tighten their grips on our arms. Jo even squeaks in pain. I can hear the creak of leather against skin. This guy’s either crazy or that ribbon isn’t used to decorate birthday presents.

No one moves for several moments. I hear the sounds of rustling in the forest, of birdcall. Finally, my guard clears his throat. “You make idle threats,” he says, openly reluctant. “There are six of us. You cannot take the Topsiders.”

Straoc sways the ribbon back and forth. What is that thing that they’re so scared of? He smiles, a strangely gracious smile. “It is not you, friend, or your men that I would worry on. I have my own orders, and if I cannot take them to my Keeper Randt, then neither shall you.”

“Did he just say he’ll kill us if they don’t let us go?” Rob asks.

No one answers. My guard rocks forward and back. Another dips his fingers into a small pouch at his belt and leaves them there, like he’s ready to pull something out and throw it.

“I don’t want to die here,” Jo says, her voice soft but carrying.

“My clan leader does not want you to either, Topsider,” my guard says, and apparently this means he’s given in, because hands release weapons, fingers slip out of pouches. “Keeper Straoc, take them as you will. Keeper Arcos will be looking forward to seeing them placed in the Lock soonest.”

“Of course,” Straoc agrees.

The guards separate from us and hurry through the gates at a sprint, their long legs moving them ridiculously fast. The nearby columns hum and we’re left alone, still bound, with the new guy who just threatened to kill us.

“I am sorry about the confrontation. Keeper Arcos and my Keeper Randt have not been entirely friendly of late. And I am sorry for the rope.” Straoc smiles sadly. “But until I take you to Keeper Randt’s tower, it would do well for you to have the appearance of having been captured.”

I catch Rob frowning at what he just said. There’s clearly something bad going on between the leaders of these people. Why would we need to only “appear” to be captured?

He moves toward Jo, and I can see that it’s taking all her willpower not to pull away. He’s not just a strange man approaching her, he’s a strange man. He doesn’t touch her, but it’s clear that he’s checking out every inch of her body—it makes me feel sick just watching. He walks in a circle and finally crouches, looking at her feet.

“Leave her alone,” I say, trying to make my voice as intimidating as possible. I strain in my bindings, as if I could stop him.

He stands in a hurry, hands up in apology. “I am very, very sorry. It is just that I have never seen a Topsider before. So delicate. You do not have the water, and yet you somehow survive. You are different from me, but the same.” He pokes Rob’s arm, and Rob flinches. “I am interested in how you are so small. I just wanted to see. I do not mean any harm.”

“Who are you?” Jo says, scrambling back as far away from him as physically possible, which, with the rope, isn’t very far.

“I am Straoc, a friend. And you are lucky I was ordered to come. You would be otherwise on your way to the Lock. Nothing good would come of it.”

“Right,” Jo says. “And we’re lucky we’re not dead now either.”

“Yes, that is true,” he replies earnestly. My skin crawls.

“Is that where my dad is, the Lock?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Dad? Yes, the Topsider who came earlier.” Straoc whistles. “He is your father?”

“Yeah, is he okay? Is he hurt?” My mind flashes to the blo