The Goliath Code (The Alpha Omega Trilogy)

by Suzanne Leonhard

  “Welcome back.”

  “David?” I croaked. I tried to shake off the disturbing dream, but I could still feel razor teeth against my skin. “W-where am I?”

  “The font. You panicked and hit your head.”

  I rubbed the painful lump on the top of my scalp and it all came flooding back to me. The wedding. The earthquake. My mother.

  Fresh tears stung my eyes. “How long was I out?”

  The light on David’s wristwatch flared red, reminding me of burning red eyes. I saw the quick illumination of his face, dirty and dripping with sweat. “About twenty minutes,” he replied.

  “The air—”

  “We have plenty of air, Sera. It’s full of dust, but it’ll last forever.”

  Forever? “I don’t plan on being down here that long.” A board creaked above my head like a ghostly footstep. I lunged to my knees and started pounding on the underside of the stage. “Help! Help us! We’re down here!”

  Almost in answer to my shouts, something crashed above us. It shook the font, sending a rain of dust falling onto our heads. I shrieked. “What was that?!”

  “The church—what’s left of it, anyway. It isn’t stable. Like I said, we’re a lot safer down here than wandering around up there.”

  “But there could be people out there looking for us.”

  “I’ve been beating on that door for the past twenty minutes.” That explained his sweaty face. “There’s nobody out there right now. Nobody alive anyway.”

  Panic nudged at my brain again. “They’re going to find us, though, right?”

  “Of course. We just have to stay calm and wait it out.”

  Stay calm, I coached myself. Wait it out. I sat down and began dividing out a strand of my hair. “How…how big do you think the quake was?”

  “Based on the damage, the movement, and the fact that we live on a mountain made of volcanic rock—I’d say pretty big.”

  I braided my hair with trembling fingers. “Gimme a number,” I pressed. If I was going to stay calm, I needed him to keep talking.

  “I’m not a seismograph.”

  “Guess.”

  “I don’t guess.”

  “Then hypothesize.”

  I heard an echoing thud and figured he’d slammed his hand against the font. “I don’t know!”

  Like me, he was processing a lot. Unlike me, he preferred to do his processing in silence.

  We sat quietly for a moment, my fumbling fingers working and reworking the braid. The darkness pressed in. I started to imagine the world above me, annihilated and filled with bodies. My mouth went dry.

  “What kind of jet do you think it was?”

  “Jet?” David repeated.

  “The pastor said the big boom was a fighter jet from McChord.”

  “Probably a Raptor. In dry air, they’re capable of breaking the sound barrier at—” He cut himself off.

  “At what?” I reached for him in the dark. “David?” I hated that I couldn’t see him. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” He sounded distracted. “It…it was at least a seven.”

  “A seven?” I realized he was talking about the earthquake now. “Seven… That sounds big.”

  Silence threatened again.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  He sighed. The red light flared on his watch. “Five seventeen.”

  Another question popped into my head. I opened my mouth, then hesitated, not sure I wanted to hear his answer.

  He must have heard me take a breath. “What?”

  “Do—” I swallowed hard. “Do you think Seattle’s okay?”

  His answer was quiet. “Dad’s building is built to withstand earthquakes.”

  “Can it handle a seven?”

  “Definitely.”

  The universe wouldn’t be cruel enough to take our mom and dad on the same day, would it?

  Moments ticked by, turning into anxious minutes. My thoughts went to my mom, bringing hot tears to my eyes. I swallowed hard. “Do you think Ms. Hutchins will give us time to finish our History—”

  “Enough, Sera. Conserve your energy and try to sleep.”

  I felt him roll away from me and knew he was taking his own advice, but sleep wasn’t an option for me. I was too afraid I’d close my eyes and wake up dead.

  I heard his deep, even breathing and fought the urge to reach out and pinch him for leaving me alone in the dark. I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to think about something pleasant—something other than crumbling buildings, bloody faces, and eerie white lights that stole mothers away from their children.

  A while later I checked David’s watch, thinking an hour had gone by since the last time he’d checked, but only minutes had passed. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, trying to focus all my energy. I willed rescuers to find us. Thoughts of my mother eventually crept in again; I ended up sobbing quietly in the darkness.

  Two hours later, David shivered against me in his sleep. I could feel cold air drifting over my skin. The sun must have gone down outside. I fumbled in the dark for my shoes and tugged them on, then huddled against my brother’s back to keep us both warm.

  A low rumble made my heart leap into my throat. I braced myself, imagining the font tilting sideways with the roll of another earthquake—until I realized the rumbling came from inside of me. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but, with my stomach tied up in knots, I doubted I could. I licked my dry lips. A glass of water sounded amazing, though. I thought of Mr. Beckham, our science teacher, who’d taught us the rule of threes. The average human body could survive three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food.

  Thinking of what would happen to me after being trapped in the font for three days made me shudder. What would it feel like to die?

  At around one in the morning, my ears perked at the sound of a faint voice. At first I thought I imagined it, but then the voice came again, louder, and this time it woke David.

  “What’s that?” he murmured.

  “It sounds like somebody calling out. Hello?” I called back.

  “Hello!” came the excited female reply. “Yes, help me! I-I’m over here! My legs are trapped! I can’t move!”

  My heart sank. It wasn’t a rescuer. It was someone trapped in the dark like us.

  “What’s your name?” David called back.

  “Felicity,” she whimpered. “Please. Please help me.”

  Our cousin had survived and now she lay out there in the dark, in the shifting church with the carnage. Images of smoldering wreckage and death filled my mind; suddenly the font didn’t seem like such a bad place to be.

  “We can’t help you,” David called back.

  “Don’t tell her that!” I snapped.

  “I’m sorry, Sera, was it supposed to be a secret?”

  “Saying it like that will just upset her.”

  “The woman is trapped under a church. I’m pretty sure she’s already upset.”

  “Hello?” Felicity called to us.

  “Let me do it,” I told him. “Felicity?” I called sweetly. “It’s your cousin Sera. I’m sorry, but David and I are stuck, too. We’re under the stage and we can’t get the trapdoor open.”

  “Ohhh. Oh, nooo.” Felicity moaned. She started crying again, then screaming. “Help! Somebody help me!”

  “You were right as always, Sera,” David said dryly. “Your way was so much better than mine.”

  I scowled at him in the dark. “It’s okay, Felicity,” I called out. “We’ll be rescued soon.”

  David grunted. “Now who’s saying things they shouldn’t?”

  “It’s true,” I insisted. It had to be.

  Felicity kept yelling. I could hear her struggling against whatever had her trapped.

  “Try not to move,” David advised her. “The building isn’t—”

  There was a CREAK, a GROAN, and then a loud BANG! I felt the sound jolt through my body.

  �
��Stable,” he finished.

  Felicity’s pleading stopped.

  I held my breath. “Felicity?” There was no response—not even a whimper. Tears filled my eyes. “Hello?”

  David squeezed my hand. We didn’t hear from our cousin again.

  At some point, I must have finally fallen asleep because I woke a few hours later to David nudging me. “Sera?”

  “Hm?” I woke up groggy and disoriented.

  “Listen.”

  Several cracks of sunlight now filtered down between the floorboards, offering enough light to make out the shape of my brother’s dirty face. He looked like he’d been through a war. I cleared my head of sleep and listened. It was faint, but I could hear the distinct sound of something scraping above our heads.

  My heart lurched. My brother and I locked eyes, then launched into a flurry of shouts. “Help! Help us!”

  Excited, muffled voices echoed above us.

  “We’re here!” I screamed.

  “Under the stage!” David cried.

  We pounded on the trapdoor, beating on it with everything we had.

  We heard a flurry of activity—banging, scraping, voices yelling. The light filtering down between the boards broadened and intensified. Plumes of dust fell into our eyes and drifted into our mouths. We kept pounding.

  Finally, the trapdoor opened above our heads. We blinked in the blinding light of morning.

  “Here!” someone bellowed.

  The world became a blur of faces, lights, hands, and shouting. And then green eyes, capped by shaggy silver brows, stared down at us. Grandpa Donner. His sheriff’s uniform was caked with dirt and sweat; worry and fatigue shadowed his face. When he spoke, the bushy ends of his thick silver mustache twitched with emotion.

  “My God,” he rasped. “They’re alive.”

  Chapter Three

  Several pairs of hands reached in to pull us from the font. The moment we stood on our own feet, Grandpa dropped to his knees and hauled us into a powerful hug. “I thought I’d lost ya both,” he croaked.

  David and I cried hysterically out of sadness and relief. Grandpa was here. He would keep us safe. He would know what to do.

  I buried my face in his broad shoulder and never wanted to let go.

  Finally, he shifted back. He wiped the tears from his own face, then looked us over carefully. “Are ya hurt?”

  We shook our heads. Scratches crisscrossed our exposed skin and I had a lump the size of a walnut on the top of my head, but, other than that, we were both fine.

  Grandpa looked past us, at the workers still shining their flashlights into the dark font. “Anybody else in there with you?” he asked us.

  I glanced at David. His chin quivered. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

  “No,” I rasped. That single word again. Small, but devastating.

  Tears pooled in my grandfather’s eyes. I forced down a sob. He pulled us both close again. David’s chest shook with heavy emotion and I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying. I was the only one who knew the truth. And the truth was so much more horrible than either of them could imagine.

  Grandpa took a breath and pulled himself together. “Let’s get you two someplace safe, okay?”

  David and I each took hold of one of his big hands, letting him lead us from the tangle of lumber and stone that had once been the Roslyn Bible Church. I glanced back only once. The stage we’d been hiding beneath was unrecognizable. The force of the quake had twisted and smashed it, just like the rest of the church. Everything was destroyed—except the font.

  We left the church parking lot in the early morning light. The sun, just above the horizon, cast a dim glow over a totality of destruction like nothing I could have ever imagined. The historic neighborhood around us was in shambles, like a wrecking ball had bowled through it. Fires burned up and down the streets; hazy, black smoke shadowed the southern horizon and concealed the snow-capped mountains.

  Sirens screamed through the city.

  We headed down North Second Street, sidestepping ragged fractures in the road where the asphalt had thrust upward, leaving deep, angry rips in the earth. We wove through downed trees tangled in dead power lines and skirted around cars crushed by debris. I made the mistake of looking into one of the cars. When I saw the dead woman behind the wheel, I almost threw up. I didn’t look into any more cars after that.

  All the old houses on First Street were piles of kindling. Even the newer structures like Cascade Dental had suffered collapses. I saw Lisa Butler, a local realtor, sitting on her lawn, rocking her dead dog. A few houses down, hardware store owner Mike Jorgenson stood on his sidewalk, staring blankly at a large sinkhole that had swallowed his house whole. When we crossed onto Idaho Street, a loose horse charged out from a side yard and almost trampled us before racing off down the block.

  The world had come unglued.

  Grandpa led us toward the city hall building, which, aside from a few broken windows, had sustained very little damage from the quake. He ushered us through the shattered glass front doors, propped open with two heavy wooden desks, and led us toward a first aid station set up by the curving staircase. People in various stages of shock and despair packed the rotunda, lying in cots, slumped on metal chairs, and sitting in groups on the floor. I stared at the familiar faces as we passed, wondering if any of them had lost someone they loved in the flash of a bright white light.

  Otto Reinkann, our family doctor, looked up as we approached. Normally a cheerful, friendly man, the doctor looked ashen and exhausted. He tried to smile when he saw us, but the effort got lost in the lines of fatigue drawn on his face. “How are my two favorite patients?” He sat us down in a couple of metal folding chairs and quickly assessed our health. “Some blankets and water, please?” he called out.

  Across the room, a group of kids from school manned a table stacked with blankets, boxes of granola bars, and bottles of water. The town had obviously been busy while David and I were trapped in the font. It wasn’t uncommon for snow and ice storms to take out the power in the winter, so people living in a town like ours, at the top of a mountain pass, knew how to pull together in times of need. I’d never seen anything like this relief effort, though.

  A petite blonde turned our way. Milly Odette, a sophomore like me, had her hair pulled back in a neat braid and still had on her cheerleader sweater with the big ‘W’—for Warriors—on the front. I rolled my eyes and sank in my chair. The very last person I wanted to deal with right now was the annoyingly cheerful Texas transplant who, even in the aftermath of an apocalypse, still managed to look perfect.

  Milly hurried over to us, carrying thermal blankets and two bottles of water. I ignored her.

  Doctor Reinkann shined a penlight into David’s eyes. “Do you have any pain?”

  David shook his head.

  Milly draped a shiny Mylar blanket over my shoulders, did the same for David, and then hurried off to help someone else.

  The doctor’s light glared into my eyes. “And how about you, Sera?”

  I squinted. “Just here.” I touched the sore spot on the top of my head.

  He sifted through the hair on my scalp and probed the wound mercilessly. I grimaced. “Yes, I bet that does hurt,” he said. Finally, he turned to Grandpa. “Water, food, and rest.”

  Grandpa nodded. “Give everybody what they need, Doc, but go easy on the supplies.” In a low voice, he added, “We still don’t have any idea how far-reaching this thing is.”

  I looked around the room full of people. Some were sobbing inconsolably. This wasn’t anything like an ice storm or even the blizzard two winters ago that knocked out our power for ten days. It would take a long time to recover from this.

  Two young men barreled through the front doors carrying a man on a stretcher. One of those young men was Tim Odette, Milly’s older brother. “Unconscious man!” Tim shouted.

  Tim—or, as my best friend Alyson liked to call him, tall, dark, and Texas—had a bruise the size of
a plum on his cheek, but it only made his eyes look bluer. He still had on his number five jersey. That, plus Milly’s cheerleader sweater, told me the quake must have hit during football practice.

  The doctor, already halfway across the room, called out, “More blankets!”

  They placed the stretcher on a long table and, even from across the room, I could see that the man was in bad shape. As the doctor worked, a shocking flow of blood streamed onto the tile floor at his feet. I watched the crimson pool funnel into the grout and wondered if it would stain. Would people point to it in years to come and say, “That’s from the day of the big quake.”

  The injured man started screaming.

  A bottle of water appeared in front of my face—my grandfather’s way of getting my attention. He pulled up a chair in front of me and David, then sat down. I snatched the bottle from his hand and drained it in several gulps.

  Grandpa gave me a gentle look. “Can you tell me what happened to your mom?”

  David’s eyes settled on me. Panic tightened my chest. The blinding light. Her whispered words. The crushing loss.

  Tears clogged my throat and I lowered my head.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart.” Grandpa smoothed back my hair. “It’s all right. We’ll do our best to find her.”

  But they never would.

  The injured man finally stopped screaming. I was afraid to wonder why.

  “Mom saved us,” David rasped. “She…she put us in the font and saved our lives.”

  Grandpa gave a tremulous smile and dashed at the moisture on his face. “That doesn’t surprise me a bit.”

  “Have you heard from Dad?” David asked.

  I watched my grandpa’s face, looking for any sign that he was keeping something from us. He shook his head. “Phone and power are out. Can’t even get a cell signal.” David’s expression fell and Grandpa patted him on the knee. “Seattle’s built to withstand stuff like this. On top of that, I raised your dad to be tough as old leather. I’m sure he’s okay.”

  Eliza Cole drifted past, wrapped in a blanket, her face red and splotchy from crying. She was the school nurse, but she was also Pastor Rick’s wife. I’d never liked her. She was one of those Christians who walked around acting like their halo was shinier than anybody else’s, but everybody knew she was having an affair with Coach Stephens. A picture of her husband flashed through my mind—on his knees, Bible raised, glass jutting from his neck—and I squeezed my eyes tight against the image.