Part 27 (1/2)

Lilly had turned toward the door on the far wall. ”I think it was that way. Come on.” She rushed over to it.

I looked back at the screen.

”It needs the thumbprint,” said Lilly, examining the door lock.

There was another shriek. It was eerie, high-pitched but m.u.f.fled, not just by the door, but like through a gag. And definitely made of sheer terror. Maybe someone was tied up down there. At this point, I wouldn't put anything past Paul.

”Come on, Owen!”

I glanced from her to the files. ”But Dr. Maria wanted us to see these!”

Lilly scanned the room, then pointed toward a video sheet printer. ”Download them!”

”Okay, yeah.” I tapped out of the folders, and dragged them to the printer icon.

The printer buzzed to life in the corner. I found a Log Out b.u.t.ton and clicked it, gave Lilly the orange box, and hurried over to the printer.

A video sheet was slowly emerging, the files embedded in its silica fibers. I looked around the table for one of the chargers you needed to read it, little batteries that clipped into the base of the sheet and provided the current, but I didn't see one.

I heard a beep and a thick hissing behind me. Lilly had opened the door.

”Owen! Let's go!” Lilly's panicked tone matched the feeling I was getting inside from having heard those screams.

”It's almost done!” I said. ”What's the-”

Another shriek, and this time, with the heavy door open, the sound was much more horrible than I could have imagined, the note warbling and frayed. It sounded like an animal as much as a person, something terrified and alone, and it made a knot in my gut.

”No...” Lilly's voice trembled. She launched out of sight.

”Wait!” I looked back at the printer. The sheet was still printing. And... done.

I grabbed it, rolling the smooth, clear surface as quickly and gently as I could, and then slid it into the backpack before I hurried to the door.

On the other side, a steel staircase led straight down. I could see another plastic-covered floor at the bottom. ”Lilly?” I called quietly.

I started down the stairs, my feet clanging on the metal. There were sounds down there. Mostly machines. Humming. But also something rhythmic like breathing.

I neared the bottom. Another sound. Like a low voice, speaking to someone else.

Closer.

The voice bubbling, something miserable and lonely about its edges. I thought of the way that mourners spoke quietly to the tiny cinder piles after funerary ceremonies back home, just before setting the ashes free on the night breeze.

I reached the bottom step.

Another agonizing scream clawed at my ears.

The room was perfectly circular, almost like the Atlantean room, everything bathed in white light, reflecting off s.h.i.+ny surfaces.

Brilliant white. Only this room had a very different purpose....

And I felt myself lose touch with my skin, like I'd come unstuck inside, a floating thing, tethered only by the images appearing in my eyes. Things I could never have imagined.

But this was not the dream inside the skull.

This was a nightmare.

Chapter 22

I AM ON A BEACH. STANDING IN A GRAY MIX OF pebbles and sand. Bright morning sun makes the water blinding. The lake is surrounded by an amphitheater of jagged mountains, their peaks topped with snow. pebbles and sand. Bright morning sun makes the water blinding. The lake is surrounded by an amphitheater of jagged mountains, their peaks topped with snow.

In front of me is a little s.h.i.+p crafted of dark wood beams, brilliant copper plating at its joints.

”No, no, no, oh G.o.d, no...” The voice is behind me somewhere. Back in reality.

Don't listen to that. I look beside me to see Luk. He stands before his own similar boat. And there are others to either side of us, in a line, all about my age. I look beside me to see Luk. He stands before his own similar boat. And there are others to either side of us, in a line, all about my age. Stay here Stay here, says Luk. See this. See this.

Are we in the skull? I ask. I ask.

No, Luk replies, we are in your head, inside our shared memory. we are in your head, inside our shared memory.

I look back at the craft before me. It is like the one in the temple: single mast, metal triangular object in the center with the oval-shaped clay pot on top. The curved metal poles arch over the front half from one corner to the other.

”No, it's okay. It's going to be okay....”

Cast out! a voice calls from behind us. I turn to see a teacher in a maroon robe ushering us away. He is large, bald, with a curving pattern of black tattoos across his face that makes him look more like a warrior than a teacher. a voice calls from behind us. I turn to see a teacher in a maroon robe ushering us away. He is large, bald, with a curving pattern of black tattoos across his face that makes him look more like a warrior than a teacher.

Behind him, stone buildings ascend in levels back toward the city. Our city. The sky is blue. This is before the ash and darkness. In the midday sun I can see the s.h.i.+ning mosaic tiles on walls, the copper frames around windows and roofs, the brilliant gold-plated tips of obelisks and domes, the arched bridges spanning from one cl.u.s.ter of buildings to another. I can see the white globes that burn eternally around the square top of the central pyramid.

Like this, says Luk. He steps into his craft with one foot, pus.h.i.+ng away from the beach with the other. Everyone is doing the same. So do I. The craft wobbles laterally as I get in. I steady my balance. With a gritting sigh, the craft leaves the sand and drifts over the lapping waves.

Where is the wind? Luk asks. Luk asks.

I know this. I feel it. To our right, a westerly. About ten knots? To our right, a westerly. About ten knots?

Yes. So run a port-side sail.

Okay. I pop open the seat on my left and pull out a rolled bundle of fabric. Find the corners, marked by copper rings. I rummage back in the box for the short rope lines. They are smooth and stretchy, woven of silk. I tie anchor-hitch knots to fasten the three points of the sail to the junctures of the curved pole structure and the mast, my fingers twisting the rope without thinking, then throw the sail up to the left side of the boat. It billows into the air, catches a full breath, and the craft shoots off away from sh.o.r.e. I pop open the seat on my left and pull out a rolled bundle of fabric. Find the corners, marked by copper rings. I rummage back in the box for the short rope lines. They are smooth and stretchy, woven of silk. I tie anchor-hitch knots to fasten the three points of the sail to the junctures of the curved pole structure and the mast, my fingers twisting the rope without thinking, then throw the sail up to the left side of the boat. It billows into the air, catches a full breath, and the craft shoots off away from sh.o.r.e.

”Stay with me, just stay, okay? Stay....”

Steer with the pedal rudder! says Luk. He is pulling ahead of me. I look down and see a wooden plank sitting on a metal fulcrum. Pressing it down left or right will control the rudder. I turn the craft to grab the wind. says Luk. He is pulling ahead of me. I look down and see a wooden plank sitting on a metal fulcrum. Pressing it down left or right will control the rudder. I turn the craft to grab the wind.

We have to get enough speed to generate a charge for the heat cell, says Luk.