The Atlantis Plague (The Origin Mystery 2)

At the end of the corridor, the sound of steel slamming into ice echoed through the chamber. Dorian turned. Beside the bombs, an iron cage sat waiting for him. The lights on the bombs stayed active, but they didn’t advance.

Dorian freed the rest of his father’s body from the ice, hoisted him up in his arms, and walked to the basket. He set his father down gently and stood over him. The basket began rising to the surface.

CHAPTER 12

Old Town District

Marbella, Spain

Kate could see it now: the eight animals weren’t wolves, they were dogs—mangy, emaciated, desperate…

Kate released her trembling hand from Adi’s and reached for the gun in her pocket. As she drew it out, first the larger dog, then its feral companion, bared his teeth and growled. Both dogs’ fur rose as they crouched to spring.

Martin’s hand went to Kate’s, and he slowly forced her to return the gun to her pocket, out of sight. He stared forward, but he didn’t make eye contact with either dog.

Slowly, the air seemed to flow out of the dogs. Their fur collapsed back into matted mounds on their backs, their white foaming teeth disappeared, and they began blinking again. Then they turned and traipsed back to the pack, and they swept out of the street without a sound.

Martin shook his head. “They’re forming packs, but they’re just out here looking for food.” He glanced around, trying to decide which way to go. “And there’s food here they can eat that we won’t.”

The sound of the helicopters was almost upon them now, and Kate saw a single spotlight carving into the sky above. What were they looking for?

Martin took Surya by the hand, and Kate and Adi chased after them. “There’s a church a few blocks from here. It’s close to our rendezvous point,” he said. “If we can last til morning, we can meet the SAS team at the extraction point.”

Kate pumped her legs faster, keeping pace with Martin. With every step, the last vestiges of daylight faded. Above, three lights now carved into the night.

Kate stopped in the street. The helicopters were dropping something. She and Martin practically dove into the nearest alley as the bombs descended. A large one exploded forty feet above them, raining down… sheets of paper all around them. Kate grabbed one. A flyer. The helicopters were dropping pamphlets. The page was in Spanish, but she turned it over and found an English translation.

To the People and Prisoners of Andalusia:

We have heard your call.

Freedom is at hand.

Immari International has come for you, to give you back the basic human right to liberty the Orchid Bloc has denied you.

Stand with us and reclaim your right to live and die as you choose.

Your dictators have revoked your right to select your own government.

Place bedsheets upon your roofs and show the world your choice.

We come in peace, but we will not turn away from war.

Kate scanned the horizon. White sheets drifted down from the helicopters, blanketing the city. The Immari were apparently rigging the “vote.” What would they do? Take satellite photos and show the world, justifying their invasion?

Kate realized Martin was already back in the street, pushing as hard as he could toward the church. Kate stuffed the page in her pocket and rushed after him.

Behind her, the thump-thump-thump of another group of helicopters filled the air. They were dropping something different this time. Parachutes attached to… soldiers? Paratroopers?

Martin glanced back at the helicopters, and for a brief flash, Kate saw the fear in his eyes.

Their heart-pounding escape from the coast and their pace since then had no doubt sent his blood pressure through the roof—not exactly ideal for anyone with a head wound. Kate could see the blood seeping from the gash at the back of his head. She would need to close the wound, and soon.

But they charged on. Block after block of the Old Town district passed, almost in a blur.

Up ahead, a parachute drifted down, silently swaying back and forth.

Martin and Kate stopped, bringing the boys to a halt beside them. They had nowhere to go, but… the passenger at the end of the parachute’s strings wasn’t a person. It was a metal barrel.

The barrel clanged onto the cobblestone street, rolled around for a second, and then a plug at the end popped off and it began spinning wildly as green gas spewed into the street.

Martin motioned for Kate to retreat. “They’re gassing the city. Come on, we have to get inside.”

They searched every building on the block for a store without broken windows, but every storefront was the same: chains around the door and plate-glass windows that had long since been broken out. Adi was slowing down, and Kate pulled at his arm. Both boys were tired. Kate stopped and picked Adi up. She saw Martin do the same with Surya. How far could they carry them? Ahead, a cloud of green gas flowed out of the intersection.

Kate needed to buy some time. She set Adi down and scrambled over to one of the sheets that lay in the street. She tore off four strips. She wrapped the boys’ noses and mouths and handed Martin a piece of cloth. The gas, whatever it was, would affect the boys more than Martin and Kate because they had less body weight.

In the alleys to their right and left, clouds of gas emerged. The scene was the same at the intersections ahead and behind. She lifted Adi and followed Martin into the gas.

CHAPTER 13

Outside Operations Base Prism

Antarctica

Dorian waited calmly as the basket ascended in total darkness. The faint light of the ice chamber below had long since faded, and there was no sunlight or artificial light above, only complete darkness.

Dorian squatted over his father’s body, thinking about what he would do when he reached the surface—and what they would do.

Sending the basket down for him was a shrewd move. They assumed Dorian was an enemy combatant. It was always better to fight on a battlefield of your choosing and near your own army. The Immari could only send a handful of troops down the shaft, and once they reached the bottom, they could find additional Atlantean troops there. Reinforcements couldn’t be sent down quickly, so whatever force they sent could easily be lost—or worse: captured and worked for intel on Immari troop strength and defensive capabilities.

Dorian was certain of one thing: they would incapacitate him the second the basket reached the surface.

He lay down on his back in the basket, shoulder to shoulder with his dead father. He watched and waited. The floodlights of the platform above pierced the blackness, grew brighter, and finally took shape.

The basket snapped to a halt and wobbled slightly in the wind. Dorian listened to the crunch of snow as boots rushed toward him, and then he was surrounded by rows of men pointing automatic rifles at him.