As Atticus leapt to his feet and rushed toward the sprawled object, he could hear the crowd muttering as one. Kronos suddenly veered his head toward Atticus. Skidding to a stop in the sand, Atticus realized he still didn’t truly trust Kronos or his motives. But as the large yellow eyes met his for the second time, he felt that same intelligence and connection.
Atticus held out his hand. A reflexive gesture.
Kronos leaned in close. Atticus could smell the foul fishy breath. The sharp teeth looked even larger up close, nearly the size of Atticus’s forearm. Kronos stopped a few feet short of Atticus’s outstretched hand and stared at him. Atticus looked into Kronos’s eye up close. “Thank you.”
With that, Kronos reared up, twisted around, and began pushing his massive body through the shallows and into deeper waters. A cry escaped Atticus’s mouth as he turned back to see the wet-suit-clad form of his daughter struggling to stand. His voice was full of anguish, joy, and relief. Giona heard the voice and turned.
“Daddy!”
As he reached her, Atticus fell to his knees and embraced his daughter, who was now sobbing uncontrollably. He held her, oblivious to the rank smell of rotten fish in her hair or the uproarious cheers of the spectators, who clapped louder than a Super Bowl crowd.
“I love you, baby.”
Atticus leaned back and looked Giona up and down. Her skin had paled and wrinkled, as though she’d spent far too long in the water. Her purple hair had lost its dye and returned to its natural black. And her deep brown eyes, so much like her mother’s, had lost some of their innocence, but had gained something else.
“I love you too, Daddy.”
Atticus held her again, afraid she would disappear, and didn’t let go until a distant roar coupled with a shrill whistle told him the Air Force had arrived. He looked out to sea. Kronos still skittered across the surface of the ocean, an easy target. Giona saw it too. They stood together.
“Kronos! Go down!” Atticus shouted.
“Run away!” Giona chimed in. “Go deep!”
And then he did. One by one the humps of Kronos’s massive body slid beneath the surface of the Atlantic. The last one disappeared just as two F-16s and an A10 Warthog flew low overhead, the roar of their engines drowning out the shouting and excited crowd of beachgoers. With their target now submerged, the jets peeled away and began a long, lazy circle along the coast.
Atticus turned and looked at Giona, whose eyes were still on the ocean. She’d spent five full days living inside Kronos, and yet, only moments after being expelled from what was surely hell, she shouted in concern for the beast, fearful for his safety. An odd pattern scratched in the sand behind Giona caught Atticus’s attention. He leaned back and found a single word etched into the sand.
He craned his head and read the word aloud, “Exeter.”
Giona turned to him and smiled. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Atticus smiled wide, staring into his daughter’s amazing, living eyes, and burst out laughing. He hugged her again, and she squeezed back with all her strength. By the time they separated, the crowd had made its way back to the beach and was headed in their direction.
“So,” Giona said, looking at his stitched arm, bandaged shoulder, and bruised face. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”
Atticus smiled wryly. “Like you said, we have a lot to talk about.”
Giona giggled, which made Atticus’s heart soar. His girl was back, his little baby whole and intact. He put his arms around her and started through the crowd, who were shouting questions and clapping. “Let’s go home.”
57
Exeter, New Hampshire
It was a perfectly brisk Sunday afternoon in October, the kind that always inspired Atticus to go apple picking or hiking in the woods. The earth smelled raw and alive, and the crisp clean New Hampshire air invigorated the lungs.
But the quiet pleasures of the orchard seemed to be a faraway land. Giona had spent the morning in church, as she had every Sunday since Kronos had deposited her on Hampton’s sandy shoreline. While her recent research on the topic of God was understandable, Atticus still found it odd that she was attending church. Atticus knew she was still trying to work out whether what she had experienced was genuine or a delusion. Of course, regardless of what conclusion she finally came to, the effect on their lives because of the summer’s events had been profound: first in the struggle for understanding, then, in a total redirecting of their lives.
Their return home had been short-lived, as the couple who’d bought their home in Rye cared little about the ordeal they’d gone through or the fact that the house wasn’t packed. On that first Sunday, when Giona attended church for the first time in her life, a moving crew came, packed up their personal belongings, and took them away to a storage facility. Of course, after all the videotapes of Giona’s dramatic reunion with Atticus on the beach hit the news, they became worldwide celebrities.
While keeping Giona sheltered from the media blitzkrieg, Atticus took full advantage of it. He’d signed a book deal, sold the movie rights, had appeared on Good Morning America, Oprah, and The Colbert Report. He’d been front-page news in every paper around the world, while news of Trevor Manfred’s disappearance had been pushed back further than the classifieds. He’d even graced the cover of Time magazine, which had hailed him as “Father of the Year” for first saving his daughter from rapists, then five days later rescuing her from the world’s first honest-to-goodness sea monster. Atticus had explained that Kronos had delivered Giona of its own accord, but the videotapes showing Atticus jumping from the Seahawk and extending his hand toward the giant sea creature was all the evidence people needed to set their imaginations soaring.
Only two months after their ordeal, they had seen Atticus, Giona, and Kronos action figures in the hands of children; posters featuring Atticus raising his hand to the giant Kronos in the windows of shops; and Giona’s personal favorite-plush toys. She had one each of Atticus and Kronos on her bed, which for the past two months had been a hotel suite in Portsmouth.
Conner had stayed with them for a week, helping deal with the initial media rush, but had returned to Ann Arbor and his family. Atticus’s father recovered and returned home, but his parents had yet to visit. They planned on coming as soon as he and Giona found a new house.
Giona insisted that they live in the town whose name she had etched in the sand. They’d been looking for a house in Exeter ever since, but had found nothing that felt right. While their housing budget had skyrocketed in the past two months as the massive checks began to clear, Atticus had no intention of changing their lifestyle. A simple house big enough for two would suit their needs. While the money would help with Giona’s future, he was through being a celebrity. It seemed there was nowhere he could go, save the open ocean, to escape the wide-eyed stares of passersby. It was the same for Giona, and she’d begun home schooling as a result.
Atticus pulled the fire-engine red Ford Explorer to the side of the road. He resisted buying a new car, though he gave the old Ford a much-needed tune-up and installed a new sound system. It was important to him, that after such a life-changing ordeal, they retain as much of who they used to be as possible.
Atticus opened the door and took in the neighborhood. It was a pleasant New Hampshire suburb-a mix of old Colonials and modern ranches. Giona exited the passenger side and took a deep breath.
“I like it here,” she said.
Atticus looked at her and smiled. Her hair was still as jet-black as her mother’s. She dressed in black still, but much more stylishly, and her clothes looked far less depressing. Whether that was because they had more money to spend on clothing or an outward expression of her internal changes, he wasn’t sure, but he liked it.