“Come help us, Rod,” Alex said.
“Sorry, I hate a cappella.” Rod sidled over. “Well, belies is like ‘contradicts.’ Nomenclature is the name of something. So he’s talking about a place with a name that means the opposite.”
Alex nodded. “Like the country he mentions. Greenland, which is not green, but snowy and cold and icy. What other place in the world is like that?”
“Greece!” Max said. “It’s not greasy. It’s really dry.”
Rod howled with laughter, and Alex elbowed him. “You think of something better, smarty-pants. Or I’ll tell that singing group you want to join them.”
“What about the title?” Max said, pointing to the top of the text. “Verne calls it a ‘voyage to the center of my soul.’”
“So?” Rod asked.
“So that may be a hint,” Max replied. “Because when you think about it, voyage is another word for . . . ?”
He looked at Alex, who darted over to him and glanced over his shoulder. “Journey?” she said.
“Exactly,” Max replied. “It’s staring us right in the face—journey to the center of my soul. Which sounds just like . . . ?”
“Journey to the Center of the Earth!” Rod said.
“You rock, Max!” Alex exclaimed.
“I thought of it,” Rod protested.
“I wish I’d read that book,” Max said. “I never did.”
“I did, when I was about ten,” Alex said. “It’s about this young dude and his professor uncle who go into a volcano way up north—Greenland, maybe? Norway? Anyway, the professor thinks they can find a place where you can travel all around the world below the continents, in some secret underwater passage. Along the way, they discover lakes, coasts, sources of light, and some . . . surprises. I don’t want to spoil anything.”
“I get that you guys could travel Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,” Rod said. “And you could go Around the World in 80 Days. Those are plausible. Human scale. But hello? Journey to the Center of the Earth? It’s like a bazillion degrees down there.”
“Fahrenheit or Celsius?” Max asked.
“It doesn’t matter!” Rod replied. “It’s impossible. The Earth has a molten core. You’ll be toast. Literally.”
“The professor guy in the novel, Liedenbrock, says there is no molten core,” Alex said. “His theory is that the Earth actually traps coolness. Anyway, it doesn’t matter because they don’t really go all the way to the center. So the title is kind of misleading.”
“I guess Journey Pretty Far Down into the Earth wouldn’t have the same effect,” Max said. Now he was accessing a world map, zooming in to the Arctic Circle so that Greenland was on the left and the Scandinavian countries on the right. “OK, look, Greenland is totally white on the map. It’s inside the polar ice cap. But to the east, Sweden, Norway, and Finland aren’t. Between them you can see the Gulf Stream flowing up from the south, joining with the currents of the North Atlantic Drift, warming the eastern countries.”
“And the one smack in the middle,” Rod said, “is Iceland! Which is actually pretty green. Unlike Greenland, which is icy. Just like he said in the message. Opposites.”
Alex was researching on her phone too. “Bingo. Confirmed, Journey to the Center of the Earth does take place in Iceland. The name of the volcano is . . .” She pointed on her phone screen to the name Snaefellsjökull, also known as Snaefell. “It’s a real place too. Not fictional. Anyone want to take a crack at pronouncing it?”
“I think Snuffle will work,” Max said.
“It’s a volcano, not a Muppet,” Rod said.
Max took Alex’s phone and toggled back to the translation. “I think Verne was writing about that exact place. Look.”
He turned the phone sideways and zoomed out to reveal a section of Verne’s note:
* * *
—————————————————leading us into——————————smoldering———————————S AE LL.
We——————————————difficult to notate ————————————descent
* * *
“S, A, E, L, L . . . those are all letters in Snuffle—I mean, Snaefell,” Max said.
“Which means he did go there,” Alex said. “But why? What does it have to do with the serum?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Max grabbed his backpack from the floor. “And that’s to catch Stinky and Daughter while they’re on their way down there. Is there an international airport in Iceland?”
“Yup, in the capital, Reykjavík,” Rod said. “But wait. You’re not—?”
“This is a job for Brandon the Pilot!” Max declared.
“Already texting him,” Alex said, thumbs pecking at her phone.
“I’ll find out information about how to get to the volcano from the capital,” Max said, taking his phone from his pack.
“You guys,” said Rod, sinking back onto the sofa, “are out of your minds.”
10
Hello im max. Jules verne was
my great-great-great-grandfather.
Just fyi
Hello from the Icelandic Museum of Unusual Phenomena
That is very interesting!!!
What an ancestor to have!
I am Kristin Zax-Ericksson.
How may I help you?
Whoa. This is cool that u answer on
ur soc media account so fast.
I wasn’t expecting that
Hahaha there’s not so much
to do here right now, I guess.
My cousin alex & I are on our
way to Reykjavik which I am glad I
have autocorrect bc it is very hard
to spell ☺ anyway I was reading
about your museum is it true u have
a jules verne wing?
Yes we do! It will be an honor
to meet you! Do you need a guide?
Yes!!!!!!
I’ll consider it my honor and pleasure.
Thanks oh also have u seen a girl
with an English accent & an old guy
w hair that looks like a skunk?
Can’t say I have, sorry. But I’ll keep an eye out.
When will you be arriving?
I will be happy to pick you up at Keflavik.
That’s our airport.
I’ll check with brandon the pilot
& let u know
Looking at his phone, Max walked directly into Alex’s back. She fell forward, catching herself on the steel rails of a rolling staircase. “Walk much?”
“Yes, every day!” Max had to shout to be heard over the sound of a nearby landing jet. He slipped past Alex and took the rail. “I call the copilot seat. Technically, I own the jet.”
Alex yanked him back. “Technically, your parents do, and no, you’re thirteen. To be in the copilot’s seat, you need to be older than eighteen. It’s a rule. Ask Brandon.”
“That makes no sense!” Max said. “Rod let me sit in the front of his car, all the way up to the airport. Statistically, driving is much more dangerous than flying. Especially driving in Boston. Besides, when you sit there you never even try to copilot!”
But Alex was already taking the steps two at a time. As she jumped into the seat, she stuck out her tongue at Max and buckled herself in. Max reluctantly scrambled into the back.
Brandon the Pilot had flown the Tilt family plane ever since they’d bought it with the treasure money. Max didn’t know his last name, but he was sure Alex did. Alex seemed very interested in everything about Brandon.
“Weather reports aren’t great in Reykjavík, guys,” Brandon announced. “Thick cloud cover. High winds and rain. I had to twist arms to get clearance.”
“You’re good at that,” Alex said.
“And you’re good at getting yourself to sit next to him,” Max said.
“Max!” Alex said.
“Guys—what I’m trying to say is, are you sure you don’t want to
wait a couple of days?” Brandon asked.
“No!” said Alex and Max at the same time.
With a lopsided smile, Brandon turned the ignition key. “OK, it’s your funeral.”
Alex slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re terrible.”
“If he’s terrible, then why did you giggle?” Max asked.
“Ignore him,” Alex said to Brandon.
As Max buckled in, he caught a glimpse of his phone screen. “Oh. Almost forgot. When are we getting to Iceland? Kristin wants to know. I found her online. We’ve been texting.”
“Kristin?” Alex turned, with a raised eyebrow. “You’re using some junior dating site?”
“Our guide in Reykjavík,” Max said. “She says she’ll give us a private tour of Snuffle. Her museum has a whole Jules Verne wing, so I figure she knows a lot. I should answer her before we lose cell service.”
“Sweet,” Brandon said. “We’ll be five and a half hours, maybe six, depending on headwinds. Problem is, if the weather’s too windy, they may reroute us to Norway or Scotland.”
“I’ll tell her,” Max said, typing a reply into the phone.
Brandon adjusted his headphones. “OK, guys, we have a lane, so prepare for takeoff. You’re going to need to power off, dude, so finish up.”
“Done.”
Max shut his phone as the jet began rolling toward the runway. Out the window he could see a commercial jet taking off overhead, soaring toward the glass towers of the Boston skyline. For a moment Max wondered if Bitsy was on the jet, and he caught the sharp stink of fish.
Stop that, he told himself.
He took a deep breath and sat back. The plane was rolling, picking up speed. He watched Brandon’s hand slowly pulling back the throttle lever.
It took a few nanoseconds to realize that two hands were on the throttle. Brandon’s on top, and Alex’s underneath.
“Ew,” Max said. “Just . . . ew.”
Alex spun around. “Brandon is teaching me! Hey, you were the one who said I should learn how to copilot.”
Max leaned back, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. As the wheels lifted off the ground, he felt as if he were stuck in a cloud of ozone, the sweet-strange smell that happens after a rainstorm.
Ozone meant impatience.
He couldn’t wait to power his phone back on. It was going to be a long flight.
The ending of Journey to the Center of the Earth hit Max like a punch to the gut.
Or maybe that was his seat belt.
He looked up from his phone. Alex and Brandon the Pilot were no longer touching, or holding hands, or whatever they’d been doing while Max was reading. Now Brandon was flipping switches, throwing levers, and muttering sharply into the mic of his headgear.
Max wanted to talk about the book, but the plane jolted again. A sudden flash of lightning washed the cabin in bluish white. Outside all he could see was a churn of gray, spitting water against the windows. “What’s happening?” he shouted.
“Storm,” Brandon said. “Plus, some volcanic activity.”
“We’re there already?” Max asked.
Brandon snickered. “Must have been a good book. We’ve been in the air a long time.”
“Did Snuffle explode?” Alex asked.
“No,” Brandon replied. “Another one. Not too near, but upwind. The island is full of volcanoes. They warned us that something was brewing. The darkness isn’t just cloud cover, it’s also ash.”
Alex was gripping Brandon’s arm now. “Can you lift us out of it?”
“I’ll try.”
Brandon pulled the throttle slowly, and Max felt himself tipping backward. As the jet rose, it shook side to side like a helpless mouse swatted between the paws of a cat. “I’m going to lose my cheeseburger,” Max moaned.
“This isn’t going to work,” Brandon said. “Not enough fuel. They’re telling us to come in now anyway.”
“Can you see anything?” Max asked.
“I don’t need to,” Brandon replied. “We have radar, and they’ll guide me. Hang on. This will be over soon.”
“I don’t like the way that sounds,” Alex said.
Brandon shoved the throttle forward. The jet tilted downward and began shaking violently, as if they’d crested a hill only to slide down a bumpy road. Brandon’s outline blurred, and Alex’s wild mass of hair looked like a storm cloud. Even Max’s words seemed to be rattling as he shouted, “Wha-a-a-at’s g-g-going on?”
“We’re good!” Brandon shouted.
Now the engine made a high-pitched groan that Max had never heard before. As he dug his fingernails into the armrest, his phone slid out of his lap and onto the floor.
Alex was turning around now. Her eyes were wet and bloodshot, and she mouthed the words “I love you, Max.”
Max nodded. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said.
“What?” Brandon shouted into his mic. “We can’t!”
“Can’t?” Alex said.
“They’re telling all flights to turn back,” Brandon said. “Hello . . . come in . . . come in, ground control! Request clearance to land, over! I don’t believe this. I’m—I’m losing contact.”
“Are they going to let you land?” Alex demanded.
“Request landing, do you read me?” Brandon shouted. Now Alex was clutching his arm. “OK . . . we can do this . . .” he said. “Hang tight . . .”
Through the windshield, a mass of black loomed below. “What’s that?” Max yelled.
Brandon pulled back, hard. The jet began to level. The black mass seemed to spring toward the jet, smacking the windshield. Max lurched forward, his seat belt nearly crushing his ribs.
“Ash!” Brandon yelled.
The word hadn’t left his mouth when the engine let out a sputtering wheeze and died.
“What happened?” Alex demanded.
Brandon opened his mouth. No words came out. But a gauge on his dashboard was flickering with the words ENGINE FAILURE.
Then that gauge flickered and went out. Along with all the lights in the cabin.
In silence, the jet plunged into darkness.
And Max began to scream.
11
THE impact jammed Max’s teeth together. Unfortunately his tongue was between them.
He brought his hand to his lips. Blood oozed through his fingers to form a small dark pool on the jet floor. And three things occurred to him:
His tongue was still intact.
So was the jet.
And therefore, he was not dead.
He couldn’t see much in the darkness, but the cabin was bobbing gently up and down. Water splashed against the hull of the jet, sending small sprays against the window.
Brandon had done it. He’d made a water landing. He missed the airport but managed to maneuver the jet over the ocean!
“Woo-hoo—OWWW!” Max cried out, as the tongue pain destroyed the joyful cheer. “Brandon?” he called out, a little more gently. “Alekth?”
Neither responded.
Max unbuckled his belt and squeezed between the two front seats. Brandon and Alex were both slumped forward, hair draped over their foreheads. He put his hand to their noses. They were breathing. In the dim light from outdoors he caught a glimpse of an opened compartment on the copilot dashboard. In it was a box marked by a red-and-white cross, and a white, disk-shaped object that had to be tape. On the floor were random Band-Aids and plastic vials.
One of them was marked SMELLING SALTS.
Max had only seen them used in cartoons, but they always worked. He held one just under Alex’s nose and carefully opened the bottle.
“Yeeeaaccchh!” she cried out, her head jamming back against her seat.
The scream stirred Brandon in the pilot seat, who let out a moan.
“We made it,” Max said.
Alex looked around, her eyes blank and her jaw slack. “We . . . we did?”
“We’re in the water,” Max said, his tongue still thick and bloody. “Thomewhere near Ithela
nd, I hope.”
Brandon was unbuckling his belt, taking deep breaths. “OK . . . OK. We should be just off the coast. The engines sucked in too much ash. Without power, the only hope was to land in the ocean and pray the wings didn’t dip underwater and pull us down.” He pressed his face against the window, squinting. “We’ll have to open the two side doors and paddle this thing to land.”
“Paddle a jet?” Alex said.
“A small jet,” Brandon said. “But seaworthy. And buoyant. We had to do this in training. The oars are long and powerful. I wasn’t able to activate the pontoons, which we could have stood on, but we can lean out the doors. We’ll have leverage. You’ll be surprised.”
Max checked his phone. “I have one bar of thell thervice. That meanth we mutht be pretty near thivilization. We can uthe the GP-Eth to get uth to shore. Thorry, I bit my tongue.”
“I understood,” Brandon said. “You navigate while Alex and I move this baby.”
He scooted around to the door, flipped down a lever, and yanked the entire door out of the wall. Watching him carefully, Alex did the same on the other side.
A cold, wet wind blasted through the cabin, rocking it hard. Immediately Max began to sneeze and his eyes stung. “I—I feel like I thwallowed thandpaper!” he cried out.
“Me too,” Alex said.
“This is a Class A jet, and we are prepared!” Brandon pulled down a hinged compartment on the wall, revealing a long wooden paddle and a secured rope. As he tied the other end of the rope around his waist, he called out, “There’s a pair on the other side too, Alex!”
“Why the rope?” Alex asked.
“In case we fall in,” Brandon said.
“Oh, great.”
“Just fasten yourself and let’s do this.”
In moments, she and Brandon were leaning out the doors, paddling as hard as they could, fighting against the thick gush of sea spray. “This is crazy!” Alex said.
Max kept a careful eye on the GPS. “We’re moving,” he said. “Veer more to the left!”
Enter the Core Page 5