Doomsday in Pompeii © 2015 Focus on the Family
ISBN: 978-1-58997-803-4
A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188.
Focus on the Family and Adventures in Odyssey, and the accompanying logos and designs, are federally registered trademarks, and The Imagination Station is a federally registered trademark of Focus on the Family, 8605 Explorer Drive, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.
TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of Focus on the Family.
With the exception of known historical figures, all characters are the product of the authors’ imaginations.
Cover design by Michael Heath | Magnus Creative
For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.
Build: 2015-04-23 11:15:43
To Chase
—MKH
Contents
1: Eugene
2: The Dog
3: Beth
4: Pompeii
5: Lost?
6: The Laptop
7: The Soap Shop
8: Explosion
9: The Old Car
10: The Villa
11: Cave Canem
12: The Temple
13: The Tree
14: Escape
15: The Lava
Secret Word Puzzle
Eugene
Gray clouds covered the Odyssey sky. The misty morning drizzle had turned to rain.
Patrick stopped on the sidewalk. He pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt.
Patrick was on his way to the public library to meet Beth. But the rain changed his mind. Whit’s End was closer. And more fun.
Patrick took a quick right and jogged to the front door. Suddenly the sky flashed orange and white with lightning.
Patrick silently counted, One Mississippi. Two Mississippi . . .
Boom! The thunder came.
The lightning was less than a mile away.
Patrick pushed open the door. He heard the bell above the door jingle. He also heard a familiar voice.
“Greetings,” said Eugene Meltsner. Eugene often worked at the ice-cream counter at Whit’s End. Today he was fixing a large blender.
There were no other guests in the ice-cream shop. The storm must have kept people at home. He set his backpack under a table. Then he pushed back his hood.
“Hi, Eugene,” Patrick said. “Where is Mr. Whittaker?”
Mr. Whittaker, also called Whit, owned Whit’s End. He was an older, mysterious inventor.
“Mr. Whittaker is attending a board meeting for the Universal Press Foundation,” Eugene said.
“Does that mean he’s not here?” Patrick asked.
“Yes,” Eugene said. “Mr. Whittaker is required to attend all strategic gatherings.”
Eugene liked to use big words in long sentences.
“So he’s not here,” Patrick said. He wanted to make sure.
“He is not.” Eugene smiled. “May I assist you in Mr. Whittaker’s absence?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I need help with a report for school. It’s about soccer.”
“I know more about sports than some people suspect,” Eugene said. “Or you could use one of our computers to access the Internet as a research tool.”
Patrick shook his head. “My teacher, Mrs. McNeill, said we can’t use the Internet.”
Eugene asked. “So you may use only books?”
“What else is there?” Patrick asked.
Eugene adjusted his large, round glasses. He picked up the blender. “Well, Mr. Whittaker has created a few options,” he said. “Come with me.”
Eugene led Patrick to the workshop in the basement of Whit’s End. That was where Whit tinkered with many of his inventions.
One of those inventions was called the Imagination Station. It was kind of like a time machine.
“Are you familiar with the Imagination Station?” Eugene asked. He set the blender on a table.
Patrick walked over to the invention. It looked like the front end of a helicopter. “I’ve been in it a few times,” Patrick said, smiling.
“Perhaps we can program the Imagination Station to assist your research about soccer,” Eugene said. “What would you like to know?”
“I’m writing about the very first World Cup event,” Patrick said.
“Ah yes,” Eugene said. “That was in the thirties, I believe. I’ll input the program.”
“Thanks!” Patrick said. He pushed a button, and the door slid open. He climbed inside the machine.
The dashboard twinkled with different colored lights. He sat in one of the two seats. The empty seat reminded him that his cousin Beth wasn’t there. He felt funny about that.
The cousins had been on many exciting adventures in the Imagination Station. They had opened an ancient Egyptian tomb. They had battled a dark knight. They had even caught a spy for George Washington.
Patrick knew Beth wouldn’t mind missing a trip like this. She didn’t care about soccer.
Patrick peeked out through the open door. Eugene stood at a nearby workstation. He tapped the keys on a laptop computer. He said, “The first World Cup was in 1930 in the country of . . .”
“Brazil?” Patrick asked, guessing.
“No,” Eugene said. “Uru—”
Just then, there was a boom. The lights in the workshop flickered. Then they turned bright again.
“That was close,” Patrick said. “Are we safe?” He thought about his parents at home. They were probably unplugging all the appliances and technical equipment.
Eugene moved to a wall. He flung open a metal panel. “We have surge protectors for the entire shop,” he said. “Several lightning rods have also been installed.”
Another kaboom rocked Whit’s End.
The lights flickered again. This time the room was dark for three or four seconds. Then the lights came on and stayed on.
“The city could lose power. But we have a large propane tank outside,” Eugene said.
“The tank is attached to that generator,” Eugene told Patrick. He pointed to a long machine on wheels. “When the electricity goes off, the propane-powered generator kicks in. The emergency power is already hooked up to the workshop. It’s as good as using normal electricity.”
Patrick was impressed. “You guys have thought of everything,” he said.
“We do our best,” Eugene said. He returned to the laptop and began typing. “Are you ready for the first World Cup in Uruguay?” he asked.
Patrick leaned back in the seat. “I’m ready! Just don’t tell me who wins. I want to be surprised.”
Eugene chuckled. He pressed a button. The door sealed shut.
Patrick reached forward and pushed the red button.
The machine started to shake. It rumbled. Then he heard a loud sound as if someone had popped a bike tire.
The lights on the Imagination Station’s dashboard flashed wildly. The needles on the meters swung back and forth. Was that lightning? he wondered.
Suddenly everything went dark.
The Dog
The doors on each side of the Imagination Station opened.
Patrick was suddenly afraid that the Imagination Station was on fire. He jumped out of the machine. He took a few steps. Then he turned around to make sure everything was all right.
The machine faded and disappeared.
Patrick looked around. The
morning sun was low in the sky. In front of him was a Roman villa. It had a tile roof, marble columns, and plaster walls.
He’d been to ancient Rome with Beth. And this looked just like the buildings there.
“This isn’t Uruguay,” he said softly.
“Arf! Arf!” Barking was coming from somewhere beyond the villa’s walls. They must have been at least eight feet high.
A little fountain trickled near him.
He felt confused. How had he wound up in ancient Rome? Hadn’t Eugene set the program for Uruguay in 1930?
Patrick wondered if lightning had struck Whit’s End. It may have messed up the machine.
The dog kept barking inside the villa.
Patrick took a step toward the villa’s front door. He almost tripped over a leather saddlebag. It was the kind a Western cowboy would use. What’s this doing in a Roman town? he wondered.
Then Patrick noticed the sandals on his feet. He was also wearing a white tunic. A green cloth was draped over his left shoulder. It wrapped around his waist.
“I’m dressed like a Roman. But I have a cowboy’s saddlebag,” he said.
Patrick knelt to look at the bag. It was branded with a horseshoe design.
He threw open the flap. Inside he found several bandanas and carrots. There was a star-shaped sheriff’s badge. And a pair of thin wire glasses. At the very bottom of the bag was a coil of thick rope.
Patrick reached up to scratch his head. His hand brushed something on his head. He pulled it off. It was a brown cowboy hat.
Something was definitely wrong with the Imagination Station.
The dog inside the villa barked again. Patrick now wondered why it was so excited.
Then a voice cried out, “Help! Get this dog away from me!”
Patrick went to the door and pushed it open a little further. “Hello?” he called out.
“Help!” the voice replied.
The door opened to a courtyard.
Patrick crossed a stone patio to a house. The walls held small alcoves. Inside the alcoves were tiny figurines. Patrick knew they were idols of Roman gods.
He followed the barking and shouting. They led him into a room with several marble columns. At one end stood a wide stone table.
A boy was standing on top of it. He looked to be about thirteen years old.
The dog was large with white fur. It barked and growled as it jumped up at the boy.
The boy saw Patrick. “Help me!” he called. “This dog is trying to kill me.”
The dog snarled at the boy. It had white, pointed teeth.
“It doesn’t have rabies, does it?” Patrick asked.
“No. It just hates me,” the boy said.
The dog glanced at Patrick. Then it went back to jumping at the boy.
“Throw something at it,” the boy said.
“Then it’ll want to attack me,” Patrick said. Instead, he asked, “What’s the dog’s name?”
“Umm . . . Snowy,” the boy said. “It’s a girl.”
Patrick crouched down. “Here, Snowy,” he called in a gentle voice.
Snowy looked at Patrick for only a second. Then the dog lunged at the table again. “Arf! Arf! Arf!”
Patrick looked around for something that would distract the dog. He remembered his hat. He took it off and waved it. “Here, Snowy,” he said. “Here’s something fun.”
Snowy turned and ran at Patrick. Her paws slipped on the tile floor.
Patrick was afraid the dog might go for him. He stepped aside as Snowy leaped forward.
The dog caught hold of the hat with her teeth.
Patrick let go.
The dog shook the hat back and forth. It looked at Patrick and wagged its tail. Then it dropped the hat at Patrick’s feet.
“She wants you to play,” the boy said. “Keep her distracted so I can get down.”
Patrick picked up the hat.
The dog jumped at it again.
Soon Patrick had the dog playing a friendly game of tug-of-war.
“Take Snowy outside,” the boy said. “There’s a collar and chain near the fountain. Chain her up so she can’t get loose again.”
Patrick grabbed the hat with both hands.
The dog held on to the other end.
Patrick tugged and pulled the dog outside to the fountain.
The chain lay on the ground. A leather collar was attached to one end.
Patrick yanked the hat away from the dog. Then he threw the hat a few feet away. The dog jumped at the hat.
Snowy trotted back to Patrick. She dropped the hat at Patrick’s feet.
Patrick quickly fastened the collar around her neck. He then latched the chain to the collar.
Snowy looked at him with sad eyes. The dog seemed to know she had been tricked.
Patrick gave her a pat on the head. “Bye-bye, Snowy,” he said.
Snowy licked his hand. Then she lay down and chewed on the hat.
Patrick went back into the villa. The boy was no longer on the table. Patrick heard a noise from another room. He followed the sound deep into the villa.
He came to a bedroom. The boy was kneeling over a large bag. It looked as if it had been dropped. Jewelry and gold candlesticks spilled out of it.
The boy saw Patrick and leaped to his feet. “Ah!” he called out. He was taller and huskier than Patrick had realized.
“What’s going on here?” Patrick asked.
Suddenly the boy dropped to his knees in front of Patrick.
“I, Junius, am at your service,” he said. Junius quickly grabbed the hem of Patrick’s tunic and kissed it.
Patrick jumped back. “Stop that!” he said.
“It’s customary for a slave to give thanks this way,” Junius said. “You saved me from the dog.”
Patrick took a closer look at Junius’s tunic. It was plain white, the clothes of a slave.
“Please get up,” Patrick said.
Junius obeyed.
“Where is your master?” Patrick asked.
“My master has departed,” Junius said. “He has left me to pack some of his valuables. But there’s something he wants that I can’t get.”
Junius pointed to an alcove in the wall. It had a metal grate in front of it. The grate was held shut by a lock.
Patrick stepped closer. He could see through the bars. Inside were several small gold statues.
“My arm won’t fit through the bars,” Junius said.
“Mine will fit,” Patrick said.
“Please save me from a terrible beating. I need those gold figures for my master,” Junius said. “Will you get them for me?”
The job seemed easy enough. Patrick started to reach through the bars. Then he stopped.
“Why didn’t your master leave you the key?” Patrick asked.
Junius looked surprised by the question. He paused for a moment. Then he said, “My master was ill from the air. It gave him a horrible cough. He left quickly without leaving me the key.”
Patrick’s eye went to a window on the far wall. The air was certainly thick. It looked like car exhaust.
Something didn’t seem right to Patrick. But he shrugged it off.
Patrick turned to the alcove. He slipped his arm through the bars. But he saw deep grooves in the plaster around the grate. It looked as if someone had tried to pry it off.
Patrick withdrew his arm.
Junius groaned.
“Why didn’t the dog know you?” Patrick asked him. “She would know you if you lived in this house.”
Junius moved over to the bag on the floor. He pushed the jewelry and other items back inside. “That dog never liked me,” he said. “By the way, what are you doing here?”
Patrick wasn’t sure how to answer.
“You’re not looting, are you?” Junius asked. “Are you a thief?”
“No!” Patrick said. “I was out front and heard the dog barking. Then you started shouting.”
Junius picked up the bag. Everything inside banged an
d jangled. “Are you going to get those gold figures or not?”
Patrick looked at Junius and the bag. He thought about the lock and the grate and the dog. His mouth fell open. “You’re stealing these things,” he said.
Junius snickered. “It’s not stealing if the owners have abandoned them,” he said.
“Abandoned them?” Patrick asked. “Why would the owners do that?”
Junius looked at Patrick as if he had said something stupid.
“The smoke on the mountain,” Junius said. He slung the bag over his shoulder.
“What mountain?” Patrick asked.
Junius nodded to the window.
Patrick hurried over and looked outside. He saw a large mountain to the left. A thin column of smoke rose from the top.
His mind raced. Why had the Imagination Station sent him here?
“What’s happening on the mountain?” Patrick asked as he turned around.
Junius was gone.
Beth
Beth looked at the clock. This is just like Patrick, she thought. He was a half hour late. He should be at the library by now.
She looked out the window. The rain had become a drizzle. She thought, It’s because of the rain. He stayed home.
Beth put on her raincoat. She made her way outside. The columns of the Odyssey library dripped from the rain. She opened up a yellow polka-dot umbrella and hurried off.
Whit’s End, she thought. Patrick would most likely be there.
Beth sidestepped huge puddles. She stayed away from the street. Large fans of water sprayed up from the passing cars.
Beth was half a block away from Whit’s End. Just then, a lightning bolt lit up the sky.
Kaboom!
Beth shrieked. The flash was so bright, it hurt her eyes. The noise was loud. It pounded in her ears. The hairs on her arms stood straight up. And the skin on the back of her neck tingled.
That was too close, she thought.
Beth hurried up the steps and inside Whit’s End. The ice-cream shop smelled of hot chocolate. She looked around. No one was there.
She took off her raincoat. She hung it on the coat rack. Then she folded the umbrella and shoved it into a large stand.
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