Doomsday in Pompeii

by Marianne Hering

  Beth went to the counter. “Is anyone here?” she called out. “Mr. Whittaker? Connie? Eugene?”

  No one answered.

  Beth slipped behind the counter. She pushed through the swinging door that led to the kitchen. It was empty.

  She saw an intercom on the wall next to the door. She pushed one of the buttons. “Is anybody here?” she asked. “Mr. Whittaker?”

  A few seconds passed. The intercom suddenly buzzed. She heard static. Then came a series of broken words: “In workshop . . . come down . . . lightning . . .”

  Beth recognized Eugene’s voice. He must be in the workshop, she thought.

  Beth went to the workshop door and down the stairs. She looked around the workshop. Many of Mr. Whittaker’s inventions were on. Some had lights that blinked like Christmas trees. Others hummed loudly. She smelled a faint musty burning odor.

  “Eugene?” she called out.

  “Here!” Eugene said. He stood next to the wall near the Imagination Station. He was flipping levers on a large control panel.

  Beth looked at the Imagination Station. Patrick’s backpack lay next to it.

  “Hi, Eugene,” Beth said. “What’s wrong?”

  Eugene turned around. His thick, brown hair was covering his forehead and part of his glasses. He pushed it back and said, “It would seem that a sudden electrical surge of remarkable magnitude has circumvented our protective systems and interfered with—”

  “You mean a lightning bolt fried the circuits?” Beth asked.

  “Exactly,” Eugene said. “I’m glad you’re here. Would you assist me by reading the gauges on the Mega-Mix-O-Matic? I’ll attempt to adjust the circuits accordingly.”

  The Mega-Mix-O-Matic was a large, voice-activated blender created by Mr. Whittaker. It could create dozens of ice-cream sundaes in just minutes. The kids loved to watch it work.

  Then one day it began to throw the ice cream, bananas, and syrup at the customers. Whit moved the machine to the workshop for repairs.

  Beth walked toward the blender. Then she noticed that the display on the Imagination Station was flashing. She went to the small screen. “Eugene,” she said, “is Patrick on an adventure?”

  “Indeed,” he said.

  “But there’s an error message on the display,” she said.

  Eugene came quickly around the machine to look over her shoulder. “An error message?” He went to a laptop and typed. He looked up again. The error signal still flashed.

  “No,” he said softly.

  Eugene knelt behind the Imagination Station. He muttered for a moment. Then he stood up with a long cord. He plugged it into the side of the laptop. His fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Beth watched the error message. It kept flashing.

  Eugene made a small noise like gulp. He stared at the laptop.

  “What’s wrong,” Beth asked. “Where’s Patrick?”

  Eugene looked at her. “I don’t know,” he said in a worried tone.

  “You don’t know?” Beth asked.

  “He was supposed to be in 1930 Uruguay,” Eugene said. He raced to the Imagination Station again. He opened a small compartment beneath the display. His fingers pushed on the small buttons there.

  “Well?” Beth asked.

  The error message kept blinking.

  Eugene waved a hand at the display. “The coordinates aren’t showing,” he said.

  “Then where is he?” Beth asked.

  Eugene made a high-pitched sound again. He turned to Beth. His eyes were almost as round and as large as his glasses. He said, “Patrick could be anywhere—at any time.”

  Pompeii

  Patrick felt awful. He had just helped a burglar escape.

  He rushed out of the villa.

  Snowy was barking. She was also pulling hard on the chain.

  Patrick looked for Junius. But the burglar was long gone.

  “I’m sorry, Snowy,” Patrick said. He stroked the dog’s ear. “It’s all my fault. You had him trapped. I let him go.”

  Patrick saw an empty clay dish by the fountain. He filled it up with water. Then he set it down for Snowy.

  “I hope your family returns soon,” he said.

  Snowy picked up the cowboy hat. Her tail was wagging.

  “I can’t play now,” Patrick said. “But you can keep the hat.”

  Patrick glanced at the leather saddlebag. He wondered again about the cowboy gifts. That’s not for this adventure, he thought. It must be a mistake. I’ll just leave it here.

  Patrick hurried through the door in the garden wall. All of a sudden, he lost his balance. It was as if the earth tried to shake him off.

  Patrick grabbed hold of a nearby tree. The ground made a strange groaning sound.

  He gasped. A tremor.

  Patrick looked at the mountain again. A wisp of smoke was coming from the top.

  Patrick let go of the tree. The ground was steady again. He followed a path leading downhill. Soon the path widened to a road.

  He walked for a ways. He came to a fork in the road. Down one road he saw a city. He could see the sea beyond the rooftops. He took the road that led to the sea.

  Groups of people were ahead of him. Patrick approached an elderly man and woman.

  The woman looked as if she had been wrapped in a green bedsheet. Her hair was piled high on her head.

  The couple strolled downhill with short, careful steps. Both carried empty baskets.

  “Excuse me,” Patrick said to them.

  The couple slowed their pace. They looked at Patrick with curiosity.

  “There was a rumbling a minute ago,” Patrick said. “Was that an earthquake?”

  The man laughed. He had a bald head and a large belly. His toga was dull white.

  “That was just the ground burping,” the man said. “Now, a real earthquake would topple the city. Why, I remember—”

  The woman playfully slapped his arm. “Don’t you go on about the big one, Rex,” she said. “This young fellow wasn’t even born.”

  “Things changed after the last quake,” Rex said. “People left and never came back. But Juliana and I stayed. This is our home.”

  “Why are people leaving?” Patrick asked.

  Rex leaned against a shade tree. “The wells, for one thing,” he said.

  “What about them?” Patrick asked.

  “They’re all dried up,” Juliana said. “And the fruit trees and grape vines have withered.” She held up her empty basket. “This should be harvest season. But the pickings at market are pitiful.”

  Rex said. “Some people are afraid of the strange smells. And the dying animals.”

  “Mostly the rich people are afraid,” Juliana said. “The ones who own large villas are leaving. They’re moving to other towns.”

  Patrick remembered Junius. The slave said the villa had been “abandoned” by its owners.

  “Why don’t you leave?” Patrick asked.

  “We have no place to go,” Juliana said. “We’re too old to start over. Like Rex said, Pompeii is our home.”

  Pompeii?

  Suddenly images of plaster statues came to Patrick’s mind. He’d seen them in a book.

  Patrick looked at the mountain again. Is the smoke even thicker now? he wondered. He studied the city below—the high walls and the tile roofs.

  The people of Pompeii had first been covered in ash. Then lava from a volcano flooded the city. A scientist made molds of their bodies centuries later.

  Yet he couldn’t remember the details of what happened. Beth would remember, he thought. She was better at history than he was.

  Patrick turned and faced Juliana and Rex. “That mountain is going to blow up. You should get out of here,” he said.

  Juliana giggled. “You’re so serious for one so young,” she said.

  “How can you know what the mountain will do?” Rex asked.

  Patrick said, “I can’t explain how I know, but I do.”

  Rex laughed and pushed away from t
he tree. “You sound like the priests at the festival of Vulcan yesterday,” he said. “They predicted fire-rain if our temple offerings weren’t good enough.”

  “They’re right about the fire-rain,” Patrick said. “But temple offerings have nothing to do with it.”

  Rex leaned in close toward Patrick. He whispered, “That’s what I say. I don’t believe in the gods anymore.” He patted Patrick on the arm to comfort him. “We’re safe.”

  Patrick felt helpless. He didn’t know how to convince them to leave. He wondered who was in charge of the town.

  “What about your leaders?” Patrick asked. “What do they say you should do?”

  “Our senators can’t make up their minds,” Rex said.

  “Where are they?” asked Patrick.

  Rex hooked a thumb at a nearby road. “They’re meeting in their chambers at the Forum.”

  Patrick saw a large, flat rectangular area of the city. It had tall, white buildings all around it.

  “Go to the south end of the Forum,” Rex said. “You’ll find them.”

  Patrick bowed to the kind couple. “Thank you,” he said.

  “May the gods speed you on your journey. And keep you safe,” Juliana said. It sounded like a formal blessing.

  Patrick didn’t know how to respond. So he said, “May you live long and prosper.” He waved good-bye and ran toward the Forum.

  Lost?

  “Lost?” Beth asked Eugene. “You lost Patrick?”

  Eugene nodded. “Inasmuch as he was in the Imagination Station with my permission. Then, yes, I lost him.”

  “Can’t we just shut off the machine?” Beth asked.

  “I’m not sure what would happen,” Eugene said. “Patrick is in the middle of the program. To disrupt it could do him harm.”

  Eugene drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Then what can we do?” Beth said.

  “Mr. Whittaker knows his inventions better than anyone,” Eugene said. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call him.”

  Beth looked at the Imagination Station. It seemed dark and forlorn.

  Eugene dialed. A few seconds passed. He said, “Greetings, Mr. Whittaker. Eugene Meltsner here. We have a somewhat urgent situation at the shop. Please call me as soon as you can.”

  Beth’s heart slumped. “Mr. Whittaker’s voice mail?” she asked.

  Eugene groaned. “I have to think through our options,” he said.

  Boom!

  Beth clapped her hands over her ears. Everything went dark. She could hear the rain pounding against the building.

  “The backup propane generators will kick in,” Eugene said. “Four, three, two, one . . .”

  A low hum filled the room. Then the lights came on. The hum grew louder.

  “I wish that storm would move on,” Beth said.

  Then the Mega-Mix-O-Matic gurgled. It spat out some chocolate milk. Other machines went wacky too.

  The lights on all Whit’s inventions blinked. The machines also buzzed and beeped

  Eugene went to the control panel. He flipped several levers. The noises grew louder as the machines went crazy.

  “What’s going on?” Beth asked.

  “The electrical system appears to be shorting out,” Eugene said. “I’ll have to go upstairs to the Master Control Room. Please stay here in case Patrick comes out of the Imagination Station.”

  “How will I let you know?” Beth asked.

  Eugene pointed to a small speaker in the wall. There were two buttons next to it. “Use that intercom.”

  Eugene rushed out of the workshop.

  Suddenly a strange laughter filled the room. It sounded like a crazy clown.

  The hairs on the back of Beth’s neck tingled. A chill slithered down her spine. She spun around to look.

  A large robotic clown was sitting on one of the tables. Its head nodded to her.

  The workshop door banged closed.

  Beth had never thought of Mr. Whittaker’s workshop as a scary place. But now she thought, I’m trapped!

  Patrick stood in the center of the Forum. People walked past him. They seemed to be going about their normal business. It was like Pompeii’s rush hour. There was no panic or worry.

  Patrick studied the tall, beautiful buildings. The red tiles on the roofs glowed in the midmorning sun. The marble columns seemed to stretch to the sky.

  Patrick felt as if he were standing on top of a birthday cake. The white columns were like candles.

  The walls of some buildings had pictures carved into them. The images looked like Roman gods. Patrick guessed that those buildings were temples. He wondered which building held the senators’ chambers.

  Patrick headed toward a group of men. They were gathered in front of a temple. Some men were in togas with purple trim. Some wore Roman military uniforms.

  One of the men was standing on the steps. He held a staff in one hand. His free arm was raised.

  The man shouted, “Repent! A day of judgment is coming. Jesus, the Christ, will return!”

  Jesus? Patrick wondered at the man’s words.

  Patrick moved closer to the group.

  “Keep quiet, Valen,” said a red-haired man. “We don’t want to hear about a dead Jewish prophet. We have enough gods to keep us happy.”

  “Or unhappy,” another man said with a smirk.

  The red-haired man swept his arm wide. “Over there is the temple of the great god Jupiter,” he said. “Behind you is Vulcan, god of fire. You should give them honor!”

  Patrick looked at the wall behind the crowd. In the marble was carved a giant god with a hammer.

  “Did those gods walk among you?” Valen asked the red-haired man. “Which of them died for your sins? Which of them rose from the dead? More than five hundred men saw Jesus alive after He was crucified!”

  Valen had a calm but loud voice. Patrick moved through the crowd to see him better. He was older and gray-haired. He leaned on his staff. He looked as if he might lose his balance.

  “Where is your Jesus the Christ now?” the red-haired man asked. “Show him to me now or close your mouth. You’re breaking the law if you don’t honor the Roman gods. Everyone must give their loyalty to the temple gods. And their money.”

  A few men in the crowd shouted out, “We are proud to be Romans. Honor to Jupiter and Juno! Hail Senator Rufus!”

  “Repent!” Valen said, shouting over the men.

  Valen stepped toward the red-haired senator. “The gods of your fathers are made of stone and wood,” he said. “They do not live. They cannot hear you or help you. Turn now and worship the living God! Repent or He will judge you, Rufus. Seek His mercy before it’s too late.”

  The senator roared and lunged forward. He shoved the older man in the chest.

  Valen stumbled backward but stayed standing.

  “Arrest him!” Senator Rufus shouted to the guards.

  A Roman soldier stepped forward. His spear was pointed at Valen. In an instant, Patrick stood in front of Valen.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Patrick shouted at the senator and the guard. “Haven’t you heard of free speech?” he asked.

  “How dare you!” Senator Rufus shouted. He face was red with rage. One fist was clenched at his side. His other hand was raised in anger. “Am I to be rebuked by an old man and a boy?”

  “But he’s telling you the truth!” Patrick said.

  Senator Rufus waved a hand at the guards. “Take them both to the arena! Throw these traitors to the lions!”

  Patrick and Valen were surrounded by Roman guards. The soldiers’ swords were drawn. Their spears were raised.

  The Laptop

  Beth went to the laughing-clown invention. She yanked its power cord out of the socket. The machine’s lights stopped blinking. The clown’s cackling slowed to silence.

  “Who’s got the last laugh now?” Beth asked it.

  A laptop computer sat open on a nearby table. Beth walked over and looked at the screen. It was dark. She to
uched the space bar. The screen lit up.

  Documents about World Cup soccer opened. She reached to open a new tab. But then she stopped. She should get Eugene’s permission to use the computer.

  Beth went to the intercom and pushed the talk button.

  “Eugene?” she said into the box. Beth was answered by a burst of static. “May I use the laptop in the workroom?” she asked.

  Then she heard Eugene say something. Beth couldn’t understand it all. But he ended by saying, “An excellent idea.”

  “Thanks, Eugene,” she said.

  Beth returned to the laptop. She pulled up the browser’s history. Someone had been researching natural disasters. Beth found web pages saved. There was information on tidal waves, earthquakes, and floods.

  There were also a few word-processing documents on the laptop. One had been created only yesterday. It contained some numbers and a couple of strange words:

  40.8167 north

  14.4333 east

  4,203 feet

  cave canem

  Beth picked up the laptop. She went to the intercom and pushed the talk button.

  “Eugene,” she said.

  The intercom speaker gave a burst of static. In the noise was Eugene’s voice. Then the static stopped. “The vast electrical surge has impacted the system in a variety of ways. This may take a while to fix.”

  Beth pushed the button again. “I think I found something. It looks like a document Mr. Whittaker created. I think it’s the last program for the Imagination Station!”

  The soldiers moved into a tight circle. They stood shoulder to shoulder.

  Patrick’s breath came in short gasps. The thick air burned his lungs. He couldn’t see through the ring of spears. There wasn’t a gap large enough to squeeze through. He was trapped.

  Valen seemed to stand taller in the face of danger. He tilted his head toward Patrick.

  “Have you heard the good news, boy?” Valen whispered.

  “Yes, sir,” Patrick said quietly. He swallowed to keep his mouth from drying out. “Jesus died to save us from our sins.”

  “Anybody can die, boy,” Valen said. “The good news also tells us that Jesus Christ conquered death. He rose from the grave.”