by Nick Thacker
Jen just stared at him.
“Seriously, Jen, this isn’t going to be pretty. How attached are you to keeping this machine in working order?”
She just rolled her eyes.
“That’s what I thought. I’ve been saving this baby since I picked it up off a dead Russian,” he said as he reached for a grenade he’d stashed in his pack. “It’s gonna to be messy, but it will definitely do the trick.” He waited a moment. “I’d, uh, recommend standing back if I were you,” he said.
He hurled the grenade toward the machine. Jen wasn’t optimistic about the plan until she saw the accuracy of his throw. The small round object bounced through an opening in the machine’s side, directly below the connection to the main ventilation pipe.
“Come on,” Mark said, grabbing her arm and pulling her away.
She turned just as the grenade exploded. The initial blast wasn’t large enough to cause much damage, but she heard the popping of gaskets and pressurized piping. They ran for the nearest building, trying to put at least a little distance between themselves and the overheating power plant.
Finally, Jen heard the noise she was waiting for. A loud pop sounded throughout the level, and she turned to watch the large pipeline sever itself from the main artery of the plant. It fell away, leaving a billowing gust of steam and smoke from the grenade’s blast. The pipe wriggled free of the machine, leaving it dangling precariously from the ceiling, still connected to the long channel of pipe that stretched from one end of the level to the center.
But it was enough.
Jen knew the damage had been done. Now, it was only a matter of time before the entire level filled with smoke and steam, generating too much heat for the power plant to function properly. She planned to speed up the process as well. Jen stopped. There was one more thing they could try.
“Get to the stairs!” she yelled. Saunders, Nelson, and Reese were already running. Mark waited for her to take the lead and kept pace as they ran for the open metal doors marking the entrance to the level. “Mark, close those doors when we get through. We need to keep the heat and exhaust contained in this level. On Level Four, we can get to the power station and see if there’s a way to route as much energy as possible to this level.” It was a long shot, but it was all they had.
Mark nodded, and as Jen ran over the threshold, he and Nelson swung the heavy doors closed.
Would it be enough?
Jen pushed the thought out of her mind. It didn’t matter anyway. We’re trapped here with a giant drill, waiting for either the entire base to collapse on us, or the machine to tap into the earth’s mantle.
Either option spelled out the same fate.
But overheating the plant would work, she knew. It just needed to work before the drill finished its final rotation.
When she thought about the drill once more, she realized the shaking and rotations had subsided.
It’s almost done.
One more rotation and the drill would be complete. It seemed to be spread over three distinct timeframes, the first alerting the rest of the base, via the loud alarm system, that the first rotation was to begin soon. The second was the rotation that had just finished.
The third would begin within minutes.
It was only a matter of minutes before the drill punched its way through the bedrock, splitting the two adjacent shelves made up of the trench walls, and unleashing a fury of molten lava, earthquakes, and cataclysmic events upon the unsuspecting world.
The thought pushed her exhausted legs harder and faster.
Keep going.
She willed herself to continue.
Level Eight.
Level Seven.
The entrances to the levels flew past as the group made their way upward to Level Four.
CHAPTER 55
SYLVIA KNEW THE CLOCK WAS ticking. After reaching Austin’s office and finding the controls for the machine, she had unlocked his console and entered the bypass code for the station. As the only other functioning scientist besides Austin remaining at the station, Sylvia had been privy to much more sensitive information than Austin would have liked.
Now, she knew he’d have been proud. When she’d first enlisted into Nouvelle Terre, the organization had branches around the world that were struggling to survive. They were mainly philosophical meeting groups; places where like-minded individuals could gather and discuss ideas. Gone were the days of government funding, massive research grants, and private interest. Gone was the original excitement and energy that existed within the Agartha Base project team. The organization had dwindled to outliers; a fraction of what it was in Austin’s and Storm’s early days.
But Jeremiah Austin wanted more. He’d wanted to bring back the glory days of Nouvelle Terre, and with his connections in the United States government, he did it. He assumed control of the organization, funneled its resources into his own pocket, and orchestrated the takeover of the Agartha Base facilities. Jeremiah had explained its meaning to her once before, telling her it was named for a secret inner-earth city that could only be fully understood “when the anarchy of our world is replaced by synarchy.” Austin loved the symbolism, and now that the original Agartha team was out of the picture, he was free to carry out Nouvelle Terre’s work alone, five miles below the surface of the Atlantic Ocean. He’d brought her along as an assistant, but Sylvia knew she was there to be more of a plaything.
She pressed the last key in a string of commands, and within fifteen seconds she felt the gentle shudder of the base coming to life. She shut down the computer and looked around the plant-filled office. Jeremiah was a strong leader, unwilling to make compromises. But like all men, he had his vices. Plants were one of them. A strange hobby, she thought, but it had kept him sane in the face of unbelievable stress. Also, like all men, he had a weak spot: taking advantage of the vulnerability of others.
This had been his primary form of abuse toward her as well. Stringing her along on a never-ending emotional roller coaster, dangling the carrot of a long-term relationship, then finally dumping her after a passionate binge. He would then start the process over again, eventually resorting to more scientific pursuits.
She shuddered as she thought again about the night in his office. This office. She gritted her teeth and left the room.
After leaving Level Ten, Sylvia ran for the main level, trying to intercept the remaining members of the ragtag crew that had caused her so much grief. She never would have lured them here, but she knew the situation had played directly into Austin’s own perverted sense of desire. He didn’t just need Mark Adams for his knowledge of the company’s computer systems; he needed to see his family suffer.
It was sickening, but Sylvia also knew it was necessary.
The ends justify the means, he had once told her.
It was true. A “New Earth”—a Nouvelle Terre—meant freedom from government, religion, politics, race, and all of the myriad forces suppressing the human race. The ironic part was, Sylvia knew, was that all of these things were created by humans. Only by starting over—by pressing the reset button—could they survive.
Sylvia and Jeremiah wouldn’t be among them, but it was for the best. Through their martyrdom, they would ring in the New Earth for the few who would be. They had almost finished the largest project mankind had ever seen, and they would be hailed as heroes for the next thousand millennia.
They were saviors.
CHAPTER 56
“JEN, IT’S TOO LATE!” MARK yelled. “The final rotation has already started!” He had sprinted ahead of the group, cradling his injured arm with his other. He had reached Level Four and shouted back down the stairs, just as Jen rounded the final half of the stairs leading up from Level Five.
She didn’t need to hear the warning. As Mark turned to face her, she saw through the metal doors into Level Four. Beyond the housing district, a section of wall at the opposite side of the wide-open round level crumbled. Water quickly replaced the wall, tumbling in a growing wave towar
d the opening to Level Four where they stood.
The movement was followed by a massive change in pressure. The wave fell over them, then quickly subdued into a gentler current. But the shock of the cold seawater was soon replaced by something else. Jen felt her ears pop, and her eyes closed instinctively. She screamed, and fell forward into a crouching position. Reese’s small hand found hers, and she could hear Nelson and Saunders recovering behind her.
“What the bloody hell—” Nelson said. He helped Jen to her feet, and only then did Jen notice the new sound.
It was the sound of rushing water, and when she looked up again, she saw it.
Seawater poured through a hole in the side of the dome surrounding them. It had breached the outer shell of the station and the inner layer, and the water shot unimpeded through the hole, pressed forward to fill the empty space by countless atmospheres of pressure.
The line of water sprayed in a straight line, only changing course due to gravity as it found the center of the level. The water felled hundreds of rows of corn, and obliterated two structures standing immediately in front of the hole.
“Jen!” Mark yelled again. “Come on! It’s falling apart out there. We’re never going to make it to the power station!”
But Jen couldn’t move. She watched as another hole burst in the side of the research station’s reinforced hull, the diamond-shaped frame held in place by a metal alloy and feet-thick plates of glass. The structure was truly beautiful, and she hadn’t yet taken the time to realize it. About twenty feet above the ground floor, above the catwalk through which they’d ran after disembarking the submarine, the thick concrete walls gave way to the diamond-shaped glass struts and reinforced beams. For the remainder of the dome, up to the apex where the gigantic lighting fixture hung, the darkness of the ocean peered through to her.
The deep black of five miles of water fought in vain with the lighting structure, and Jen wondered what undiscovered forms of sea life awaited her out there.
It will only be a matter of time, she thought. She looked up at Mark, still holding Reese’s hand, and shook her head.
“No,” she whispered.
“What?” Mark stepped down the first stair, coming toward her. “Jen, what’s up?”
“No,” she said again, her voice stronger this time. “No, Mark. It’s—there’s no point.”
“Mom?” Reese looked at her, squeezing her hand.
“Listen. I’m sorry, Mark, but…”
“Bollocks, Jen,” Nelson said. “What do you mean?”
“Look around you!” She shouted. “What’s the point? There’s nothing left here. No submarine, hell—even the docking stations are destroyed. And this station! What’s left is either going to be crushed under five miles of ocean, or we’ll be smashed between these two plates and left to melt in the inferno.”
“Jen!” Mark shouted again. “That’s enough!”
Jen noticed her son’s eyes, startled, gazing upward. “No!” she said. “Stop lying to yourselves! There’s nothing for us here.” Then she spun around to face Nelson and Saunders. “And you two! What’s the plan? What are we going to do, now that we’ve shut down—maybe shut down—that machine downstairs? It’s clearly too late!”
“Jen, I—”
“Stop! Stop it, all of you! I’ve been strong long enough! I’ve been holding myself up as we’ve all been murdered, abandoned, and left for dead. But that’s it. Mark, Reese, come on. Let’s just go somewhere where we can be together, and—”
“No.”
This time the person arguing caused everyone to pause.
“No. Mom, you stop. You came here for me, right? You came here to get me back, and you did. You stayed alive, even though that monster tried to kill you all, and you beat him. Now we need to get home together.”
Another pop sounded, followed by another brief change in pressure. Water began trickling down the stairs they were standing on.
“Reese, I—”
“No, Mom. Listen. That submarine, out in the center of the field. It’s old, but it might be able to hold up under the pressure.”
Jen’s mind raced. The submarine? In the field?
She couldn’t imagine what Reese was talking about, but she looked in that direction. Past the houses, past the small white building, sat the large propane tank.
What she had thought was the propane tank.
She knew in a moment her son was correct. It wasn’t a propane tank—it was an old submarine. A research vessel, small but reliable. It had been stripped of anything recognizable, or it had been designed that way. There was no paint job, just brushed metal casing and nuts and bolts. It was a long shot, but it was all they had.
“I saw it when they brought me in. That man seemed proud of it; he seemed proud of this place. I hate him. The woman was nicer.” He stopped for a moment, then looked up at his parents. “It might work though, you know. It’s worth a shot.”
“Ha! That sub’s probably older than all of us,” Nelson said. “And besides, I’m not much of a brainiac, but that pressure all at once will crush that thing like a tin can.”
“The pressure won’t hit all at once,” Mark said, starting to walk toward the sub. The others followed behind. “Besides—” he turned to Nelson and grinned. “At least you’ll be in the tin can. Imagine what it would do to you outside of it.”
Nelson’s eyes rolled upward as he considered it. He nodded. “Well, lead the way, Adams. Let’s get inside our casket then.”
“Easier said than done,” Saunders said as she reached the antique vessel. “This is a research vessel, not a military sub. It almost reminds me of NR-1, except much smaller, and much more simplified. The US Navy built it in the sixties and used it as a retrieval sub and for deepwater exploration. Had a crew of ten, but I’d bet we couldn’t get more than five in this one.”
“You mean couldn’t get more than five comfortably,” Nelson said, clearly asking a question. Jen knew he was concerned about his height. She had to admit the vessel didn’t seem to be large enough for their entire group.
“No,” Saunders said. “No one’s ‘comfortable’ in these things. I did some training in one not too long ago—a mid-sized version used by the Royal Navy for digging up cabling and pipelines—and there wasn’t even enough room to stand up in it.”
Saunders approached the submarine and ran a hand down its side. “I’m not even sure it’s operable, and certainly not by me.” She ran around the front of the submarine to the other side.
Another loud pop sounded and another burst of water shot through a weak point in the research station’s outer shell. The water had risen to Jen’s ankles, and she could feel a distinct current now as the water searched for lower ground. Soon the lower levels would be completely flooded and the water would begin to rise in the main level.
“Plus, I don’t even know how to get this thing open.” Saunders was on the roof of the sub now, searching for a way to get inside.
Nelson jumped up on the sub and kicked at a large metal box that was welded onto the center of the roof. He kicked again, and the thin metal was dislodged. “This was added after,” he said, kicking again. “Apparently it looked better than just leaving the original entrance open.”
He kicked another time, and the box of sheet metal broke away completely. He tore the box from the top of the sub, revealing a rounded protrusion jutting upward about two feet. A wheel lay on top of the protrusion, and Nelson placed his hands on either side of it.
“Give me a hand, Saunders. It’s rusted shut.”
“Sure.” She jumped up next to Nelson to help. Together they turned the wheel a half-turn around and then stopped when they heard a loud click. “That should do it,” she said.
Nelson pulled upward on the wheel, and the top of the tube opened. He looked down into the submarine and whistled.
“Hope you’re not claustrophobic,” he said.
Three more diamond-shaped retaining windows popped out and Jen could feel the water risin
g higher every second. It was at knee-level now, and she felt Reese’s hand grip hers a bit tighter.
Nelson stepped into the ship, and Jen watched his buzzed head sink into the submarine’s interior. She nudged Reese forward and helped him scramble over the slippery side of the metal tube. Nelson’s head reappeared, and he extended a hand to the young boy.
Satisfied, Jen stepped back and looked for Mark. He was standing to the side, his head cocked slightly sideways.
“What is it?” she asked.
“The president. Nelson said he left him in one of the buildings around here, and I just can’t imagine leaving him behind.”
“Mark, he’s… he’s not one of us. I mean, he was working with Jeremiah Austin the whole time.”
“I know, but still…”
Before Jen could object, Mark turned and started running toward the information center. It lay about two hundred yards from the center of the level, and was now beginning to flood from the rising water level.
“Mark!”
Mark ignored her and tried the handle on the small shack’s side door. It was unlocked, and he entered. Moments later, he emerged, the president leaning on him for support but still walking. They stumbled toward the submarine, and finally Jen gave in. She ran to meet the two men, and Mark gratefully split the load with her.
Together they carried the president toward the submarine, where Saunders helped pull him over the side of the sub.
A large section of reinforced frame burst, sending a high-pressure water jet mere feet from the back of the submarine.
The president groaned. “Aus— Austin.”
“He’s not here, Mr. President,” Jen responded, heaving his legs up and onto the sub’s roof. Saunders guided his body feet-first into the sub.
He continued to groan and mutter Austin’s name, and Jen knew he’d been drugged.
“What did they give him?” she asked.
“Probably some hallucinative cocktail,” Mark said, “that will probably wear off soon enough. But he’s clearly in on this whole thing. You saw the way he was looking at Austin when he first got here.”
