Chapter 72: Finn

How did I think I could defend myself from this?


This force of nature?


Finn Murphy, the kraken says. I don't know how it knows my name. I don't know how it speaks English. No— speaking and English are the wrong words. The kraken has it own language, and it resonates. Its voice resonate inside my head like thoughts, and it's completely fucking terrifying. Boy. Need you. Help.


A tentacle passes in front of my face. Blood leaks from a dozen gunshot wounds, purple flesh rent apart by bits of metal, and I wonder if the kraken is showing me something. Or trying to make a point. Two yellow eyes with black slits for pupils stare meaningfully at me.


The eyes are so bright that water lights up around them. That's when I realize— Lightlake. The lake is light because the kraken's eyes are so powerful they act like a giant, underwater flashlight! Holy hell. It's all starting to make sense now. Wolsley said it was named Lightlake because of the explosion, but he's wrong. It's because of the kraken.


I stare at the kraken in wide-eyed amazement. It's so fucking huge. The head alone— if I can even call it a head— is bigger than a pickup truck, and the body is so colossal, I can't even make out the extent of it. Tentacles ripple past my head like oil come to life. Meanwhile, the unwavering yellow eyes light up the black water, watching— me.


Your tentacle, I think. Can the kraken die from a gunshot wound? I don't think it can; it looks so powerful— but I'm worried all the same. Are you okay? Are you— hurt?


But all the kraken does is stare.


My lungs are starting to ache painfully, reminding me of other current problems. Air, I mouth. The kraken just looks at me with its big, yellow eyes. I'm dying.


A single tentacles undulates towards me, and fear flickers through my oxygen-deprived brain. I kick away, but my limbs feel leaden. I think my body is slowly starting to shut down. Isn't that what happens when you hit your head to hard? Or when you're about to die?


I hope that whole life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing doesn't happen to me. I don't need to see how disappointing my short existence has been.


The tentacle wraps around my wrist, and I gasp in pain. An explosion of bubbles escapes from my mouth and races towards the surface. Heat sears through my arm. I try to swim away, but I can't even see straight anymore— black spots are fizzling and sparking in front of my eyes— and my entire body is screaming in desperation as the lack of air becomes too much to bear. Blood seeps into the lake around my arm. Twisting swirls of crimson highlight the black water. The tentacle tightens, and I feel a crunch— not bone, but my plastic watch. The clock face must have shattered under the pressure. Is the kraken trying to drown me to get revenge on Owen for shooting it?


Or does the kraken really have a perchance for ripping off arms, and now it's going to do to me exactly what it did to Emory?


The kraken draws me closer into its embrace.


And then... something strange happens.


I look down at my wrist. It's oozing blood, but it doesn't hurt anymore. I don't think it was meant to hurt me in the first place.


I exhale, and air bubbles expand from my mouth. Air— I'm breathing again! I'm meters below the surface of the lake, and I'm breathing. Oxygen floods into my body. The haze in my head clears, and I blink black spots from my vision. I'm breathing. It's impossible, but I'm breathing.


The kraken turns its yellow eye on me. Like it wants something from me.


Like it wants me to understand.


I glance down at my arm again. The kraken's tentacle is still there, and I'm still breathing. That's when I realize— the kraken wasn't trying to hurt Ronan and Emory— it was trying to help them. Somehow, the kraken has the ability to let people breathe underwater. Magic. It has to be magic. I don't know what else could create something as wonderful as this.


I raise my head and look the kraken in the eye. It blinks slowly. After everything— Owen, the motor boat, the gunshots— it still wants to help me.


It's not just a scared animal. It's more than that.


This is more than that.


"What do you want from me?" I ask. My words come out garbled and muffled, but it's a miracle I'm able to speak at all. I'm talking. And breathing. Underwater. It's incredible! The kraken is magic; pure magic. When it stares at me with that yellow eye I feel like I've uncovered all the secrets in the world. "I understand now. You can tell me!"


And then, the kraken speaks. Not out loud, but in my head.


I need you to tell them.


"Wait— tell them what? And how are you speaking to me? Is this telepathy?"


I am speaking because you need to listen.


I stare up at the kraken's yellow eyes in confusion. "I don't get it," I say. The magic is fading, now. My hands clench up on their own accord— I want to know what the hell is going on. I want to know why I'm breathing at the bottom of the lake and why my counselor just tried to shoot me and why my two friends left me here to drown. "What do you mean? What do I need to tell them?"


You must tell them. You must make them listen.


"Make who listen?"


The world.


"Why would the world listen to me? I'm just a kid!"


You have the words. Use them. Tell the world my story, and make them understand.


My heart pounds in my chest— I'm not up to this. I'm just a kid. I'm not a leader— I'm a criminal. And even if I did try to speak up, why would anyone want to listen to me? They'd probably just assume I was crazy and stick me in an institute like Emory.


"What do you want me to say?"


The world is dying.


"Everybody knows that already. The world is dying, and the world doesn't care."


It is not the way of humans to listen. But they will listen to you.


"No. No way. I can't do this— I can't be a leader. I can't even follow the law! Who do you think I am? I broke into my high school, and I punched my roommate in the face, and my sister's getting married and I never told anyone—" Tears brim in my eyes. I blink them away, pointlessly, since I'm surrounded by a million tons of water. "I'm a failure. I can't even make my parents love each other again."


I don't know what brought these words to my lips, but they fall out anyways, raw and hurting. It's not like my parents' divorce is something I like to dwell on— but the pain is real, and present. It rises up in a place deep inside of me, a place that's dark and hollow, one that I like to pretend doesn't exist. It surprises me. But it doesn't surprise the kraken.


Its voice is warmer now, and almost comforting. You are lost. I can help you find the way.


"If you can help me, why can't you help the rest of the world?"


Not all of humankind is like you.


"Yeah, most of them are a lot smarter."


You are lost.


"Maybe I am lost! Maybe I am misguided! How are you supposed to be able to fix that? Fix me?" The hollow pit deep in my chest expands, sucking in light like a black hole, filling me with that hurt, that ache of memories. I remember, suddenly, the time mom forced us to go to family counseling— and they promised to fix us, too, for the price of seventy dollars an hour, but the arguments didn't stop, and soon Sarah was packing her bags and mom was filing her divorce papers... you are lost. Maybe I am lost, maybe I've been lost for years— but how is the kraken supposed to show me the way?


I have given you the words.


"What words?" I yell. "What words?"


The kraken blinks its yellow eye slowly. The words. The ancient words. My words.


"I don't understand—"


Tell them my story.


"I don't know your story."


Tell them, Finn Murphy. Tell them.


There's a stinging sensation in my wrist, and I realize that the kraken has detached his tentacle. A numb sort of panic sets in as I realize I can't breathe anymore— back to drowning now. But this time, will I be able to swim?


I have said enough. Goodbye, Finn Murphy.


"Wait!" I cry out. I forget that my lungs aren't magical anymore, and lake water floods into mouth— I sputter and choke, but it only makes things worse. Please don't go, I think. I don't know what to do.


The kraken's yellow eyes grows dimmer as it retreats into the depths of the lake. My spirit is in every tree and flower, every land animal and sea creature, every mountain and ocean. As long as there are wildlands there are krakens. Remember that, Finn Murphy. Remember the wildlands— for they are our legacy.


I cry out in my head, But what about your tentacle? Is it going to be okay?


Everything heals, the kraken whispers. Eventually.


I watch helplessly as the kraken disappears into the gloom. I can feel myself growing dizzy again, my lungs burning for a gulp of air, but I can't bring myself to swim. It feels like I've been smacked in the face with a sack of bricks. The kraken wants me to change the world— but how? I can't even change myself, or my family. I am lost. I am. I am lost, hopelessly lost, and there's nobody who can fix me but me.


Something whispers up at me from the bottom of the lake. My family... go to the ocean and tell them that... they will always be part of my soul. It has been so long since I saw them last. Tell them... please....


No! I scream soundlessly. Please, come back!


My vision grows spotty. Finally, my survival instincts kick in, and I begin to push myself through the water to the surface. It's not as viscous as it used to be, but swimming is still a monumental effort, and my limbs feel like blocks of cement. I kick my legs desperately, but the surface of the lake is still dozens of feet away. I don't think I'm going to make it.


The water is so quiet. So still. I wonder, Is this what the world was like before humans


Maybe it's better off without us.


My whole body feels so heavy, and I'm so tired.


I close my eyes and surrender myself to the current.

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