The Lost Code (7 page)

We moved over and saw five camera views displayed. They showed panoramic views of the outside world, flicking from one angle to the next, always down the side of a dome. Labels beneath identified each Eden location.

“Wow, cool, a pyramid!” said Mike, pointing at the camera marked EdenEast. For a moment, we all saw the giant stone structure, perfectly pointed and immense, before the camera switched. Now, we could see a large statue like an animal sitting, though it was nowhere near the size of the pyramid.

“Guess we can’t expect any of you to know that’s the Great Pyramid at Giza,” said Aaron. “And the Sphinx.”

I actually knew what they were, but had no interest in telling Aaron that.

“What’s that?” Xane was pointing at the view in the EdenCentre camera. Far below, on the burned brown plains, stood a series of tall stones in a circle.

“That would be Stonehenge,” said Aaron.

“It’s believed to be an ancient astronomical clock,” added Paul.

“The other domes are near cooler stuff,” said Jalen, like he was disappointed that EdenWest wasn’t.

“Yes,” said Paul, “my counterparts in the other Edens have much nicer things to look at.” I thought about how Paul had said there were Viking ruins near here. I figured he’d mention that, but he didn’t.

“What about this one?” Bunsen was pointing at the screen for EdenSouth. It was blank.

“Aaron,” said Paul, “why don’t you show them something else.”

“What happened to EdenSouth?” Noah asked.

Leech punched him in the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Ow, okay, fine.”

“Yes, let’s go find something else to amuse you,” said Aaron.

I had heard that EdenSouth was destroyed in an attack by the followers of Heliad-7. Nobody knew much about them. There were rumors that they were some kind of sun-worshipping cult modeled after ancient religions.

“How about this?” Beaker asked. He was looking at the next bank of monitors. I was near the back of the group and could see what he saw. It was a circular grid of triangular spaces. Most were colored green, many were yellow, and a few were red.

“That there, my young and curious friend . . . ,” said Aaron, his teeth gritted as he darted over and slapped at the screen, making it go dark, “was not what I asked you to look at, was it?” He threw up his hands. “This is a workplace, not a nursery!”

“Sorry,” Beaker mumbled.

A loud beeping sounded throughout the room.

“Mr. Cane,” a young woman called from a nearby console. “We have another fail in arc segment fourteen.”

Something boomed in the distance, and the entire Eye shuddered. Everyone stumbled, grabbing tables and railings for support. For a second I wondered if the Eye was going to drop free, and imagined us falling to our deaths, but the shaking subsided.

Another alarm began beeping. Aaron glanced at Paul. “You want to take them out?” he asked.

“They are old enough to know the true dangers that we face,” said Paul, “and to see our response.”

Aaron scowled. “Fine. Kill the alarms and bring it up!” he called.

A large video projection illuminated in the center of the room. We all saw the dome wall and a triangular panel that had caught fire. Black smoke billowed from it. Chunks were melting off and falling in little molten streaks.

“Okay, scramble air units,” said Aaron, moving around us and tapping on a monitor. Screens flashed beneath his flying fingers.

“And now let’s open the arc fourteen emergency vent.” A vibration shook the room again, and on the screen we saw a large, multipanel section of the dome slide completely open. The smoke immediately began to siphon out of it, up into the blinding real sky.

Meanwhile, two small helicopter-type vehicles were soaring toward the fire. They each had two short wings with propellers on the end. As they neared, the blades rotated to vertical, making the two-person craft hover. Streams of pink fire suppressant burst from their underbellies, coating the burning panel. The flames died out.

“Give me a heat reading on the surrounding panels,” said Aaron.

“Stable,” called out a nearby worker.

“Close vents,” said Aaron. He stopped typing. “Deploy RadDefense to replace that tile.” He turned and looked at us. “And that, children, is how it’s done.”

Leech and Paige and a few others burst into applause.

“Thank you, Aaron. We’ll leave you to your work,” said Paul. He motioned us toward the door. “Can everyone please thank Mr. Cane for his time?”

We all mumbled thanks and headed out. As we walked up the hall and onto the tram, I started scratching gently on my bandages. The heat had been growing inside throughout the visit.

“How are you feeling, Owen?”

I looked up to find Paul right beside me, looking down, or at least, it seemed like he was. I wanted to step away but we were crowded in the hall. I tried to just be calm, normal.

“Oh,” I said, lowering my hands. “You know, getting better.”

“You’ve been on my mind since yesterday,” he said. “Is your neck still giving you trouble?”

“Not really,” I lied, hoping it sounded sincere. “No big deal.”

“No side effects?” Paul asked.

“Nah,” I replied. “Dr. Maria says they’re healing right up.”

“I see,” said Paul.

We arrived back at the tram, and everyone filed in.

“Well,” said Paul, “just remember: you know where to find me.”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound like I thought that was a fine idea.

“Good.” Paul patted my shoulder as I boarded. As I moved to a seat, I saw Leech watching me. He was looking around Paige, who was sitting on his lap. It was a weird look, like he was studying me, like he was trying to figure something out. I waited for the next wise comment, but it didn’t come.

“I’ll be staying behind,” Paul said to the group. “Have a nice afternoon.” He turned and walked briskly inside.

As we rode back to the elevator, I heard Bunsen saying to Beaker, “If panels keep going out like that, they won’t be able to replace them fast enough.”

“I know,” said Beaker, “and did you see that map I found, and how many panels were red?”

Bunsen nodded. “I think the dome is screwed.”

“Hey, Bunsen!” Leech shouted. “How many times do I have to tell you: shut the hole!”

“Quiet down,” said Todd from the front of the tram. He sounded stern, sullen, like maybe he was thinking the same thing that Bunsen and Beaker were.

Soon, the flirting started back up again and led to all kinds of loud laughing and whispered jokes as we descended back to camp.

I thought about the panel fire. How often did that happen? What kind of danger was this place really in?

But my thoughts were drowned out by the burning in my neck. The sensation had been growing through this entire visit, and now I almost couldn’t stand it. I felt like I wanted, needed, water again. I tucked my chin down and moved my head back and forth, making the collar of my pullover scratch against the bandages.

It helped, but it must have looked weird, because Noah said, “Hey, Turtle, what’s with you?”

“Nothing,” I muttered. I glanced at him but then looked away. The last thing I needed right now was to have to deal with anyone from Leech’s pack. I leaned back against the tram window, hoping the itching would stop.

BUT IT DIDN’T. NOT ALL AFTERNOON, NOT AFTER
dinner. By the time we got to bed that night, I was rubbing my knuckles against the bandages nonstop. I’d thought about trying to ditch dinner again, thinking maybe the shower would help, but I was still constantly hungry from having thrown up and missed eating the day before. I saw Lilly from a distance in the dining hall, but there was no chance to talk to her.

While my cabin spent the night playing games and tormenting each other, I was just lying in my bunk, burning up. Todd read more to us, and everyone eventually fell asleep, except me. Hours passed, and I kept thinking,
Come on
, but I was stuck awake, neck scalding.

I don’t know what time it was when I finally sat up. I gazed around at the sleeping faces in the cabin. Everyone looked younger, their brows round instead of sharp, their closed eyes making straight lines. Leech’s mouth made a little
o
as he snored. From the other room, I could hear Todd sawing away. There was a chorus of breathing, ins and outs, a peaceful, musical sound compared to the steady whir of the air compressor in my dad’s nebulizer.

It wasn’t soothing me, though. The burning was worse than ever. I couldn’t stand it anymore. And I had a feeling, a certainty, that there was something I needed to do.

I got up and slowly climbed down my ladder, slipped off my sweatpants, and put on my bathing suit. I had that weird feeling again, like with the shower, of just doing things, and not really knowing why. All that mattered was stopping the pain.

You’re doing great.
The new technician was back again.

I slipped on my sneakers and pushed open the side door. It squeaked, but no one stirred. I slid out onto the steps and slowly let the door close. It locked from the inside, a fact that Todd had pointed out to us for precisely this reason.

“Try to sneak out, and the only way you’re getting back in is through the front door,” he’d said. “And I’m a light sleeper.” His rumbling snores seemed to refute that.

I headed down the dark, winding path through the trees, shivering. The night air had been cooled to fifteen. Above, an owl called.

I crossed the fields. The grass was bathed in MoonGlow. The moon itself was halfway up the wall, being projected at three-quarters full, and the stars were sprayed across the ceiling, a faint river of Milky Way meandering between them.

Cold wet seeped through my sneakers from the dew, and there was a strange smell, kind of like flowers but tangy. I looked down and saw tiny rectangular segments clumping on my sneakers. Cut grass. I’d never seen it before. My feet made swishing sounds in the chopped plants.

Neck burning, I kept moving. Ahead was the beach. The lake sparkled with little diamonds. The sand caked over the layer of grass already coating my shoes.

Why am I here?
I wondered.

Just relax, we need to do this
, said the new technician
.
And I felt like, yes, we did. Had to stop the searing, all-consuming itching on my neck, and there was only one way. I felt a pure certainty about this—kind of like before with the shower—one that was growing with every minute of agony and every step I took.

I reached the edge of the lapping water. MoonGlow reflected on the surface, blackness beneath. The dock’s rusty hinges creaked. Little plunks echoed as water sloshed in the shadows between its Styrofoam floats.

I kicked off my shoes, thinking at the same time,
I just drowned here
, but then my toes touched the water’s edge and though I felt little aching spikes from the cold, I also felt a sudden rush of calm. Water around my ankles in little icy shackles. Even more relief. I pulled off my T-shirt and tossed it back onto the sand, walked out until the water reached my knees. My muscles twitched, cramps quivering in the arches of my feet, my arms and chest sprouting goose bumps. But at the same time, tiny soothing shocks seemed to be reaching my wounds. The pain ebbed further. It was the shower all over again. Water erasing my pain. I looked up to the sky in relief and took a deep breath—

But it didn’t work. The breath passed over my teeth, my tongue, and then stopped in my throat, like it had run into a wall. My chest locked up, nothing getting in. I could hear myself making gagging sounds.

And something felt different about my wounds. They felt open, strange, almost like they were moving. I clawed at the bandages, tearing them away. My fingers scraped my neck and I felt the flaps of skin quivering, like my wounds were creatures coming to life.

Breathe!
It was happening again. I was sinking back inside myself, dark corners, drowning . . . only this time, it was happening in the air. My chest ached. White spots appeared in my eyes. I staggered and my body threw itself over, like it was acting on its own now. I crashed into the water face-first, sinking beneath the surface, water pouring into my mouth once more—

Suddenly I could breathe again. The feeling of panic instantly began to fade.

It made no sense.

It made sense.

I opened my eyes to see the swirling grit of the sandy bottom. Cool air slid across my back. I was doing a dead man’s float in the foot-deep water. My lungs were still; the constant rise and fall of my diaphragm, present all my life except for ten minutes the day before, had ceased; and yet . . .

This time it was fine.

Everything was fine. Because something new was moving.

My mouth was open, my tongue pushing around against a stream of water pouring in, but not reaching my lungs. My cheeks were expanding and contracting, creating the flow. I could feel the water passing into my throat, then pouring out of me in currents, causing movement on the sides of my neck. Fluttering, like the light waving of fingers. I felt there, felt the wounds. . . .

That weren’t wounds at all. They were—

Gills.

Yep, new systems online
, the new technician reported proudly. He turned and started shaking hands with everyone in the room.
Thanks for your patience.

There were a million questions, all starting with,
How.
I had no answers, and yet I didn’t feel worried. And even stranger, just like last night in the shower, or even yesterday on the beach, this didn’t seem surprising at all. It was almost like this was how things were
supposed
to be, like my body had some plan that it was taking care of, without bothering to tell me. But it felt right, and so I followed a new urge:

Swim.

I kicked, moving away from shore. When I reached the dock, I dove under, slipping into the cooler, deeper layer. I checked for pain in my side, from the weak wall, but there was no tension there, no cramp. Without the strain of breathing, of holding air in my lungs, my whole middle was calm, working like . . . maybe like it was always meant to. That was how it felt. But what did that mean? All I knew was that this seemed right.

Under the lane lines now, I was picking up speed. Waving my arms laterally, kicking up and down, I rolled, looking up at the shimmer of the projected moon. Spinning back, I plunged into the icy depths. Felt pain in my ears, the hollow cavities there, strange human things. I couldn’t see very well—my eyes were still the same normal, made-for-air kind—so I arced back up into the warmer layer. It took effort. There was no more giant held-breath balloon pulling me toward the surface. I was a weak creature of air no longer.

I curled back toward the docks. Swimming was so
easy
like this, easier than running, than walking. Nothing had ever felt this obvious. I had a growing feeling like
this
was my world, my domain.
Interlopers beware, or I will drag you under.

I don’t know how much time passed, me looping and darting about in the dark depths, learning how to press against the fluid reality around me. I found faster ways to kick and spin, the best angles to knife up and down, learned water pressures like breezes, thermal layers like rooms in a new home. . . .

Until sharp cracks of sound echoed from above. Groups of concussions. Footsteps on the dock. Then a crash. Something sliced into the water to my right, a trail of bubbles streaming behind it. I saw a long, male body, stabbing deep then sliding up toward the surface. More cracks, and a second breach of my subsurface world. Another male, in a cannonball tuck. Now a third diver, a girl. And another. Each pale body thrust into the depths, but didn’t bob up to the surface like some air-breather. They arced and spiraled, then shot off away from the dock, disappearing in the gloom. The last girl took the longest, doing extra somersaults in the underwater free gravity, like she was enjoying it as much as I did, before kicking away.

I watched until they were swallowed by the black, then slipped after them. They were swimming beneath the surface, so I stayed deeper, just below the weak reach of the MoonGlow. As I followed them, I wondered, were they like me? Could they be? How was that possible?

A round, bloated form came into view up on the surface. The bottom of the big trampoline raft. The bodies arced up to it and dragged themselves out. Skin whined against rubber.

I darted away and slowly ascended, peeking out, only my eyes and ears above the surface, gills working safely underwater. I could see the back and shoulders of one of the girls, lounging at the edge of the giant doughnut-shaped balloon. White straps crisscrossed her back. Her hair was long and silver-edged in the moonlight. I couldn’t see the second girl.

The two boys were bounding high into the air off the mesh membrane that stretched across the raft’s center. One was Evan, obvious by the hourglass top of his shoulders. “Marco! You first!” he said.

The other boy, Marco, launched high, curling into a double somersault before diving into the water.

“Nice,” said the girl.

“I got this,” said Evan. He bounced and sprang even higher, twisting into a pike, then straightening and grabbing his knee just before he hit the water, bombing Marco’s vicinity with a huge splash that mushroomed upward. The waves sloshed against the raft and calmed, but there was no sign of the two boys. Then, they burst from the water, shooting straight up into the air and landing feet-first on the raft.

“So much nicer without the minions around,” said Evan, gazing over at the silent dock and empty beach.

I smiled to myself. If only they knew I was here. And I even wondered: maybe I could scare them or—

Something locked around my ankle and yanked me under.

What?
I thrashed as the MoonGlow faded away and I was pulled into the frigid dark. The grip was powerful—

Then gone. I looked around wildly. A form appeared right in front of me.

‘Boo!’

Tentacles waved, eyes flashed, and I thought of that siren from when I drowned the first time, but then I saw what it was that had attacked me.

‘Hey, Owen!’ It was Lilly, hovering in the water before me, smiling.

‘Hey!’ I said back.

‘Check it out.’ Her fingers wrapped around my wrist and she guided my hand to her neck, above the thin strap of her teal bathing suit top, past the smooth tension of her neck muscles, to where I felt the fluttering.

She had gills, too.

And we were talking underwater. ‘How are you doing that?’ I asked.

‘What?’ Her mouth barely moved as she spoke. But I heard it. Or sensed it.

‘Talking to me.’

Lilly smiled again. ‘Just am. Same way you are.’

As she said it, I noticed that I was hearing something, like clicks or chirps. It was hard to tell in the water. But also, it was almost like I was smelling the words, too, or something.

‘Looks like you had those urges,’ she said with a smile. Now I noticed that maybe her skin was changing as she spoke too, the color flickering slightly. That was part of it, this fish communication, or whatever we were doing. And like breathing with gills, it was something we just knew how to do without thinking.

All part of the new systems
, said the new technician.

‘Yeah,’ I agreed. So,
this
was what she’d meant by “urges.” ‘But
—’

‘Ssshh.’ Lilly reached out and touched my lips with her finger.

‘Okay,’ I said.

‘Come on.’ She turned to swim off. ‘They’re going to wonder where I went.’ She thrust toward the raft.

‘I can’t—’

‘Of course you can.’

For the first time since I’d entered the water, I felt like my old self, surface Owen, the air breather, the Turtle. I couldn’t hang out on a raft with the CITs. But Lilly was leaving. . . .

Just go with it
, she’d said this afternoon. I kicked after her.

She reached the raft, and before she broke the surface, she turned back to me. ‘When you pull out of the water, push up with your stomach. There’s a little air left in your lungs. It will open your epiglottis, and you’ll breathe fine.’

‘But before, on the beach, I couldn’t—’

‘Come on. Trust me.’ Before I could protest further, she lunged, grabbed the yellow ropes that crisscrossed the side of the blue-and-white raft, and hauled herself up.

I followed. As soon as my head and shoulders were above water, I felt the tightening need for air, my gills fluttering uselessly. I did as Lilly said, pushing inward and up, flexing muscles I barely knew I had. A small gasp of air leaped free, and my lungs kicked back to life, inflating in a huge suck. I felt a wave of nausea, but then it passed.

I checked my neck. My gills were gone. No, not gone, they were still there, but they felt like slits in the skin, and they were getting tighter, smaller, the openings puckering closed. Hidden. Only a slight itching remained. I ran my fingers over the indentations: no more blood.