Omega City (8 page)

I CAN'T TELL YOU WHO STARTED SCREAMING FIRST. TRUTHFULLY, IT might have been me.

But after a few seconds of shrieking ourselves hoarse, we sort of tapered off. After all, it wasn't a roller coaster, dropping us down into nothingness. More like . . . an elevator, clanking us down in slow, steady fashion. And who screams in an elevator?

This one apparently came complete with elevator music. A tinny, tinkling melody started playing, and we all quit shouting “Help!” and “Stop!” And “Howard! What did you do?”—that one was Nate and Savannah combined—to listen.

We were only a few stories down when the music was replaced by words.

“
Greetings, survivors!
” said a cheery man's voice.

Survivors? It was tough to see my friends' faces in the pale running lights. But since we'd all gone from screaming our heads off to shocked silence, I imagined they were making the same face I could feel I was. Eyes wide, mouth wider.

The voice went on, as calm and carefree as ever:

Congratulations on escaping the attack, plague, or natural disaster that has brought you here. Our condolences on the family members and/or appendages you may have lost during the end of the world.

“The end of the world?” Savannah choked out.

“Appendages?” bleated Eric.

Rest assured, you have reached safety.

We would like to take this opportunity to remind you that pets, plague-infected persons, enemy combatants, and firearms are not permitted entrance. Please terminate or discard these items before your descent.

The music started up again, no doubt meant to accompany our efforts to do whatever it might take to . . . discard our pets or plague-infected loved ones. Down and down we went, as the music looped through the speakers and echoed up into the endless tunnel that we could still make out beyond the metal grid at the top of the elevator. We all stared up into the shaft as it receded into shadow and we descended deeper into the Earth.

“What's happening?” Sav asked. “Where are we?”

We all looked at Howard, but he was staring through the grate above our heads as if it would provide some sort of answer.

“Gillian?” Eric prompted.

I shook my head. This wasn't in Dad's book. I don't think this was even in Dad's
world
.

Finally, with another enormous grinding of gears and screaming metal, the elevator touched the ground. The music morphed into a brassy little fanfare, like we were about to meet a king, and the disembodied voice said:

Welcome . . . to Omega City.

“Oh,” said Savannah, Eric, Howard, and I in unison. “
Omega
.”

Wait . . . Omega
City
?

“This means something to you?” Nate asked. But no one answered, because just then, the doors slid open.

Howard was the first to peek out. “There's nothing here,” he said flatly.

I pushed past him and out the door. “That's impossible.” And I wasn't about to trust anything Howard said after his little button-pressing escapade.

We were standing on an odd sort of platform, an artificial cement island in the middle of a vast underground lake, like a giant dock. About ten yards in front of us I saw black waves lapping the side of the platform, and distant drips and splashes resounded through the chamber. If there was an opposite shore, I had no idea how far away it was. To our left and right on the platform were several other cylindrical elevator shafts, just like the one that had taken us down. They all wound upward and disappeared into the inky blackness high above. The ceiling—if that's what it was—appeared so far away that I couldn't see it at all. In fact, all I could see were tiny twinkling lights, like stars, far, far away.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, like the whole thing was about to tip over and spill us into the black hole over our heads.

“What,” Nate said, though it sounded more like a gasp, “is this place?”

“It's Omega City.” I tried to calm my nerves. The others had joined me on the platform. I put my hands out to the side for balance.

“Yeah,” Eric said softly. “Didn't you hear the guy on the elevator?”

I was racking my brain, but I knew Dad had never mentioned Omega City before. Whatever this place was, no one knew about it. No one but Dr. Underberg, Fiona . . . and us.

But what kind of city was underground, in the middle of nowhere? And why didn't this place look like a city at all?

Greetings, survivors.

We all stopped moving as that weird voice echoed through the cavern. Floodlights blinked on, lighting the ground around us in a circle of bright white light.

You have arrived at the Omega City Welcome Center. Please prepare for your decontamination showers. This step is a prerequisite for entrance into the city. It will rid your person of any chemical contaminants, diseased cells, or radioactive dust you may have acquired on the ruined surface of the Earth.

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Eric.

At the count of five, your shower will commence. For your safety, please remove all electronics, infants, and corrective contact lenses.

Five.

Four.

“Where is this shower?” Savannah asked frantically.

I looked around. I didn't see anything that looked like a shower head.

Three.

Two.

Just then, a panel opened at the base of our elevator shaft and what looked like a small cannon emerged.

One.

Begin decontamination showers.

A blast of heat and water and blinding light hit me all at once. Howard was knocked off his feet by the wave, and his GPS went clattering out of his hands and over the side into the black water. Savannah and Eric tried darting to the side, but the cannon just followed their movements. I couldn't even see Nate. I fell to my knees and cowered as steamy water pummeled my skin. It was like standing in
front of a heated fire hydrant. Pulses of light rained down from above—white, red, yellow, white, red, yellow.

“Make it stop!”

After a few moments, it was over, and we crouched there, dripping wet and blinking at one another. My skin tingled and steam rose from my hair and clothes and everything smelled like industrial-strength cleaner. I'd never felt cleaner, or more gross.

“Everyone okay?” Nate asked. Savannah and I nodded as he and Eric helped Howard to his feet.

“The GPS!” Howard cried. “Oh, Nate, Dad's going to kill me.”

“No,” said Nate. “He's going to kill
me
. I managed to get myself and four twelve-year-olds buried alive.” He started squeezing water out of his shirt.

“To be fair,” I said, “your brother is the one who pushed the button.”

Nate glared at me. “And who dragged us out here in the first place?”

I looked away.

“Okay, that's it,” Nate said. “We're getting out of here before that thing decides we're ready for our delousing.”

“What,” asked Eric, “is
delousing
?”

“You don't want to know,” said Nate, and turned back toward the elevator.

Savannah was holding her sopping pink hoodie away
from her body, but she scurried after Nate. “Come on, Gillian. We found . . . well, whatever it was Underberg was talking about in his diary. Now let's go home.”

“How?” Eric asked. “Aren't Fiona and those guys just waiting up there for us?”

Nate looked at the endless elevator shaft. “Okay. We'll take one of the other ones. There have to be a good half dozen, see?” He started striding toward the next one, across the damp cement floor, with Savannah hot on his heels. Eric shrugged and jogged a few steps to catch up. The floodlights, I noticed, followed their every move. Just as the cannon had.

“Um . . . guys?” I said, my eyes on the lights. Why were they watching us?

And who were
they
?

Despite my recent steam bath, a full-body shiver started in my toes and went all the way to the tip of my ponytail.

“Howard,” Nate barked, marching along. “Let's go.”

Howard was standing where they'd left him, on the very edge of the platform, where the floodlights didn't reach. “The lights in the ceiling,” he said softly, almost to himself, “are constellations. It's like a planetarium.”

“Isn't that nice,” his brother said. “Now it's time for you to keep
your
promise. I said we're done here. We're going home.”

Eric turned and looked at me, and I saw the same sentiment echoed in his eyes. “You made your point, Gillian. There's something here, okay? Now let's go and tell Dad about it.”

Something, sure, but . . .
Omega City
? This was light years away from a prototype on a dusty old shelf. I turned around, looking from platform to elevator shafts to dark lake. It was too much to take in. I should have brought a camera. But I wasn't even sure I could photograph what I was seeing, let alone try to explain it to Dad.

And the elevator message—
Greetings, survivors
—and all that other stuff about plagues and attacks. We were back in Cold War, they're-going-to-nuke-us-all territory. Was this the treasure the riddle was leading us to? It sure didn't look like a city. Underberg's last gift to mankind—was it a bunker of some sort? A refuge from the nuclear disaster he'd been so certain was going to befall humanity?

And if so, maybe he could have thought about putting a few cots in for sleeping? Or how about a couple of shelves for canned food? I hugged myself and toed the cement floor. Decontamination showers but no towels? Lights but no people?

Or at least, no people we could see.

I squeezed the water from my ponytail and hurried after the others. The first few shafts Nate approached were empty of elevators, and there was no call button or
anything to get them down there. But on the far side of the platform, next to the wall of the cave, he found another type of elevator. Unlike the one that had brought us down, this elevator wasn't connected to a solid tubelike shaft. Instead, the elevator itself was a solid metal box affixed to a rail along the rock wall. I paused at the entrance.

“We have no idea where this goes,” I said, pointing up at where the metal rail and its accompanying service ladder vanished into the gloom.

“It goes,” Nate stated as he ushered the others inside, “to the
surface of the Earth
. After that, I don't care. Now get in.”

I got in, and saw the others frowning at what looked like a control panel.

“It's in gibberish,” said Savannah.

“Russian,” Howard corrected. “They use the Cyrillic alphabet—”

“How do you know that?” Eric asked. “Wait, don't tell me. You read cosmonaut textbooks.”

“That's a great idea. But, no, I just see a lot of Russian writing in space books in English. I'm working on my Mandarin, too, since the Chinese space program . . .”

Oh, no. Here we go again. Why did everything have to be a five-part essay with him? The one good thing about getting back to the surface was that we wouldn't have to deal with his weirdness anymore.

“Can you read the instructions, Howard?” Nate broke in, frustrated. I was relieved I didn't have to be the one to say it.

“Maybe.” Howard stared down at the funny letters. “This one says
close
, and this one says
up
.”

Why was there a Russian elevator in Dr. Underberg's survival bunker? He was a Cold War scientist. He hated the Russians and thought they were going to start the war that would destroy the world. There was no reason he'd put any Russian technology here, unless . . .

“Wait,” I said, and my hand shot out to stop Howard.

But it was too late. He pressed the buttons anyway.
Again
. Sure enough, the doors closed and the elevator started lifting.

“Phew,” said Nate, slumping against the wall.

I wasn't relieved. I was furious. “Why did you do that?”

“To make us go up,” Howard said matter of factly.

“Dr. Underberg wouldn't want to help any Russians who made it down here, not if he thought they were to blame for the bombs or the war or the plague or whatever.” I wanted to shake some sense into Howard, but I settled for stomping my foot against the metal floor and giving him a death glare.

“Um, what are you saying?” asked Savannah, as the box lifted us higher and higher.

“Yeah, Gills,” said Eric, sounding panicked. “What are you saying?”

“If Russian spies made it to this place, he'd never want them to be able to get back up and tell people what they'd found here,” I argued as the elevator shot upward. “He'd try to kill them first.”

Greetings, comrades.

“Oh,” said Howard.

“No,” added Eric.

Nate cursed, again.

THE MAN'S VOICE WAS NOT SO CHEERY THIS TIME. INSTEAD, IT WAS stern, scolding. Threatening.

Your infiltration of Omega City has been noted. Steps will be taken to neutralize any damage you may have done during your visit, and/or any attempts you may make to alert our enemies to our presence. At the count of five, a canister of nerve gas will be released into this chamber. You will all be dead in thirty seconds.

If you have received this message in error,
please press the cancellation key now.

“Cancellation key!” Nate shouted. “Find it.” We all started frantically searching the control panel, as if the Cyrillic letters would suddenly make sense now that our lives were on the line.

Five.

“This one says
stop
in Russian,” said Howard. “That's similar to cancel.”

“Good enough!” cried Nate.

Four.

“No!” I screamed, yanking back his arm before Howard could push yet another button. “Just stop, Howard! Think! This is a trap built for Russians. Why would he make it something the Russians would do? That button will probably release the gas right away.”

Three.

“What are our options, Gills?” Eric asked as both the Nolands glared at me. “English speakers trapped in this
thing are just going to press random buttons. They have no idea what any of them say.”

“We're going to die, we're going to die,” breathed Savannah.

Two.

Random buttons. I stared at the panel. Exactly. I shoved Howard aside and slammed my whole arm against all the buttons, making sure to cover every one.

Ooooonnnn . . .

The voice trailed off. I waited for the hiss of nerve gas. Would we smell it before it killed us? Had I just sentenced all five of us to death in a metal box hundreds of feet below the earth?

Well, at least we didn't have to worry about burial.

Seconds passed. Ten, fifteen . . . all the way past thirty, while we all stood there, cringing.

“I think you stopped it, Gills,” Eric said at last.

I did? That seemed . . . convenient. Maybe it was a slow-working nerve gas. Maybe we'd all drop dead in twenty minutes.

And if we didn't, could I still kill Howard for getting us all into this mess?

“I think she stopped everything,” Nate said. “We aren't moving anymore.” He pried open the elevator doors a crack and peeked out. “Yep. Dead stop.”

“I can try to get it moving again,” Howard suggested, turning back to the control panel.

“Don't touch anything!” I screamed at him. “You and your buttons! You sent us down here! You almost got us killed! Stop pressing buttons! What's wrong with you, you freak!”

Howard flinched as if I'd hit him, then backed as far into the corner of the elevator as the space allowed. Savannah and Eric were gaping at me. Nate was staring daggers.

I swallowed thickly. “Howard, I'm sorry—”

He said nothing. His brother just snorted at me. “Forget it. He's not going to say another word.”

“Howard . . . ,” I tried again. I felt like that decontamination shower must have washed away all my good sense. A few days ago, I thought Savannah had been out of line to call him a freak, and here I was doing the same exact thing.

Then again, here he'd almost gotten us all killed.

I closed my eyes. No.
I
was the one who'd almost gotten us all killed. I was the one who wanted to find Dr. Underberg's treasure. Howard may have pushed the button but before he did, we were just trapped inside a boulder, waiting for Fiona to catch us. If people were going to be mad at someone, it should be me.

Because I was following a crazy old man's directions into the center of the Earth. Who was the freak now?

“Gillian's right about one thing,” said Savannah, breaking the silence. “We shouldn't touch anything else. There could be more traps.”

“So what, you want to just sit here?” Nate asked. “Forever?”

Eric peeked out of the open door. “I think we can climb down. We're only about three stories up. There's a utility ladder on the side of the rail here.”

I shuddered, and not just because I was still soaking wet. Climb three stories straight down to a cement platform? On a ladder? In the dark?

All at once, Howard pushed away from the wall and climbed out the door.

Nate reached for him but he jerked out of his brother's reach, stepped onto the ladder, and carefully started climbing down.

I bit my lip as Nate turned back to me. “You're next, boss lady,” he said, clearly still angry.

I guess I deserved that. I couldn't blame Howard for getting us into this mess. After all, coming out here had been my idea.

The rungs of the ladder were sturdy and wide, and if you didn't look farther than the next step, you could almost
pretend you weren't swinging over your death-by-cement-floor. Eric came down after me, then Savannah, and finally Nate. By the time we got to the bottom, we were all out of breath. Eric splayed out on the concrete floor in the glow of the floodlights, and the rest of us did the same. Howard kept a little way away from us, staring up at the fake starry sky.

“My cell phone's useless,” Nate said at last. “Maybe it was the shower, maybe it's the fact that we're a mile underground.” He groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I can't believe this.”

Neither could I, but for a whole different reason. I looked up into the blackness. This was Dr. Underberg's—all of it. And Dad didn't know about it. No one did. Maybe no one had been here in decades. Maybe this—not the battery—was the reason the government turned on him. And sure, it was super creepy and obviously deadly and awfully cold. But Omega City was
his
—it was where all his inventions must be hidden. Waiting. I could feel it.

I felt a tug on my ponytail. “Hey.” I turned my head to see Nate beside me. “Look,” he said softly, his expression tired. “I need to talk to you.” He drew me a few feet away and lowered his voice. “I know he's not the easiest person, but Howard . . . he doesn't handle stress like other people. He shuts down. And we can't afford that right now.”

“That wasn't stress,” I said. “That was a Cold War booby trap built for Soviet spies. And I handled it a lot worse than Howard.”

Nate chuckled. “True. But on the other hand, you did save our lives.”

I snorted and gestured to our surroundings. “Saved them for what?” Like he'd said, we were buried alive. Right now, our only option was to go back up to the boulder and confront Fiona.

And her guns.

“Is there anything I can do to make up with Howard?” I asked Nate. If anyone would know, it had to be his brother.

Nate cocked his head and looked at me, his hair falling down over his cheek and shading his brilliant green eyes, and I suddenly understood why Savannah got all weird whenever he brought us pizza.

“No one has ever asked me that before,” he said. “I wish more people would. It's better when you figure out how he works.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “How his brain works. My father—he can't understand, because he can't make Howard care about what he thinks he should, but as soon as you try to see things from Howard's perspective, you see it's not worse or better, it's just . . . different.”

“Space.” I nodded. “He likes to talk about space.”

“Yeah,” said Nate with a weak smile. “You pretty much can't go wrong with space.”

Space I could do. I stood up, hating the way my damp jeans felt sliding across my legs, and went over to Howard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Savannah and Eric at the edge of the water. Eric was nudging something with his foot.

“Hey, Howard,” I said as I sat down next to him. He didn't move or acknowledge my arrival in any way. I stared up at the fake sky. “What constellations do you see?”

“Why does your brother call you Gills?”

I blinked. That was unexpected. But any words were good words, I guess. “Um, it's a nickname.”

“No,” he replied. “A nickname is like Nate for Nathaniel, or Howie.” Howard frowned. “My dad likes to call me that.”

“I'm sorry?” Okay, so he didn't
always
want to talk about space. “I'm also sorry for what I called you. I didn't mean it. I was just scared. And taking it out on you.”

“Gills is not a nickname of Gillian,” he said as if he hadn't heard. “It doesn't even make the same gee sound.”

“That's actually how it started,” I said. “Someone called me Gill-ee-an instead of Jill-ee-an, and Eric thought it was hilarious.”

“Also,” Howard continued, “it makes you sound like a fish.”

I sneaked a glance at him. He was grinning.

“Are you making fun of me?” I asked.

He looked directly at me for possibly the first time ever. His eyes were green too, just like his brother's. “You deserve it.” Then, just as quickly, he looked back up at the ceiling. “I wasn't looking at the constellations,” he said. “I was looking at the comet.”

“The comet?” I narrowed my eyes.

He pointed. “See? It's moving. Down.”

I followed his finger and found a new light in the sky, brighter than the others, swinging a bit and definitely moving down the side of our elevator shaft. I stared in horrified fascination as it got closer and brighter.

“Howard,” I whispered. “That's not a comet.” It was a figure, all in black except for a head lamp, and it was rappelling down the side of the shaft.

“Kids!” said the comet. “I'm coming down to get you.”

Savannah jumped to her feet. “Yay! We're saved!”

The floodlights veered in wild arcs and zeroed in on the figure.

Just then, I heard a massive whirring sound, and a few seconds later, a strong wind wafted over my face, lifting the ends of my still-damp hair. I looked at Howard, who raised his hands in defense.

“I didn't touch anything this time.”

Far above us, the comet started careening around.
Whoever it was had clearly lost his footing on the elevator shaft, and was swinging from his rappelling rope.

“What did you do!” he cried. It was definitely a he.

“Clint!” Fiona's voice echoed down from the ceiling.

The wind had increased to a roar, blowing my hair around and plastering my wet clothes to my skin. I had no idea where it was coming from. Above us, Clint—or whoever he was—slammed back against the elevator shaft. He was close enough to see now, as he gripped the shaft and his safety line with his legs and one hand, while with the other he started fumbling with something strapped to his waist.

“Are you okay?” I screamed above the wind.

“Don't move,” Clint cried, and pulled out his gun. “Or I'll shoot.”