Liam keeps munching on his. “I guess it’s not terrible,” he says encouragingly as I bite into mine. “No worse than hoofer meat.”
The protein bar tastes chalky and dry, and it’s as hard as concrete. But I’m starving, so I eat it anyway.
After that, we get our ration of water. It’s doled out into small paper cups for us. I swig it down, wishing there were more. I tell myself that soon we’ll be off this submarine.
I look around for Cass or Emma, but I don’t see either of them anywhere, or the boys. I wonder where they are, and if they’re deliberately avoiding me and Liam for some reason. It’s mostly just scientists around us now. They are talking earnestly about what comes next when we reach Southern Arc.
Then the voice on the loudspeaker comes to life. The room falls silent, except for the omnipresent thrum of the engines.
“We’ve made excellent time, and we will reach Southern Arc within the next three hours,” the voice says. “Start preparing yourselves, and gather your possessions. Please be ready to disembark the vessel swiftly when the moment comes.”
“I wonder what Southern Arc is going to be like,” I murmur to Liam. I’m picturing something barren and frozen. Tunnels dug into the ice of a glacier, like the tunnels in the mesa at Destiny Station. Except bitterly cold, and even more vulnerable to attack. The UNA is forcing us to live underground like rats. Is this really the price of freedom? “I hope it’s not more tunnels,” I grouse.
One of the scientists overhears me. He’s slightly chubby and wears wire-rimmed glasses. He turns our way. “You haven’t seen pictures of Southern Arc?”
“No,” Liam says. “I thought they were classified.”
“None of that matters anymore.” The man walks over to a digital display screen on the wall, hanging between two portholes. A few other people start glancing his way. He taps in a code, and the screen comes to life. “Take a look at Southern Arc,” he tells us.
Liam and I crowd around the screen. We’re looking at some kind of live video feed, not a photograph. It must be coming from a camera mounted outside Southern Arc, and being broadcast to us here. I’m surprised by what I see—but not in a bad way.
Southern Arc is an actual building. A huge one. In the gray light of the Antarctic, I see massive concrete walls rising up from a landscape of snow and ice. The building is vast, like a gigantic bunker complex from a past era, at least six stories high. Windows jut out at angles from the thick slabs of concrete.
“The place we call Southern Arc was once a research station belonging to the United States in the late 1990s,” the scientist explains. “It was filled with scientists, monitoring the ice, and doing valuable polar research. But then everything fell to pieces. . . .”
I continue gazing at the screen.
“When the UNA formed, they cut their ties with the station,” the scientist continues. “They left the researchers behind to freeze. They didn’t want to spend the money to come and get them, and they had no interest in polar research. They left them to die, without a second thought.”
“But they didn’t die,” a voice breaks in. It’s a younger, thin woman, with curly red hair. Another scientist. “In fact, they managed to survive by growing food in an underground greenhouse. From there, they formed the nucleus of Southern Arc. It’s the hardest base to infiltrate or attack, because of its location. The UNA has tried to send submarines full of soldiers there, but the rebels at Southern Arc have destroyed them. And they’ve shot incoming missiles out of the sky. The base is essentially a fortress. It’s filled with a mix of six hundred refugees from the UNA, and run by the sole surviving American scientist from the late twentieth century.” The woman pauses. “It’s the most militaristic of the bases, too. It was intended as a place of retreat, if our attempt to reclaim the wheel failed. Now it’s the only safe place we can get to.”
Everyone in the room is watching the screen now, kids and scientists alike. The male scientist punches in numbers, and the screen goes black. Then a face appears from the darkness. It’s a photograph of an ancient, gaunt man with a long white beard and stringy white hair. His face is heavily lined and pockmarked with frostbite scars. His deep-set gray eyes look haunted.
“Dr. Neil Barrett,” the scientist says. “Seventy-three years old. He controls every element of life at the station. He agreed to give us shelter.”
Movement catches my eye out the porthole, and I look away from the screen. We’re rocketing through the water, past another group of large icebergs. Some of them are now only thirty feet from the submarine. I feel the engines turn our vessel slightly, altering our course. The entire submarine groans from the pressure and the motion. I glance back at the screen, but it goes dark again as Dr. Barrett’s face disappears from view.
The pinging of an electronic warning system begins to sound. The captain’s voice bursts over the loudspeakers: “We are nearing the base of the ice field. The water may get rough. Please find seats and secure yourselves for the duration of our journey.”
People immediately start moving around. Liam and I take seats near a wall. There are no seat belts, so I just grip the armrests. I can feel the currents of the water making the engine noises change and shift. My stomach flip-flops. The submarine continues its rapid passage forward. Increasingly large chunks of ice are visible from the portholes.
Liam and I sit there for the next few hours. The ride is increasingly bumpy, and sometimes terrifying. But finally, we draw nearer to the station.
“We’re coming up,” Liam says, glancing out the nearest porthole. “Look.”
“It’s going to be so cold,” I say. Despite the heated air in the submarine, I can sense the freezing temperatures behind the metal and glass hull.
A current of water buffets our vessel. Everyone sways in their seats. Minutes fly past as we sit there, navigating the ice field, moving even closer to the base.
Finally, the voice on the loudspeaker says, “We are nearly there. Prepare for—”
Right then, the submarine shakes again, and everyone slides sideways. A few people gasp.
I fall into Liam. The lights flicker for an instant and then come back on. I stare out the porthole. I see a mountainous slab of ice just a few feet away from us in the water. “That was way too close,” I murmur. We keep moving, but we’re rapidly slowing down. “Did we hit something?”
“No, I think we’ve arrived,” Liam replies. “This must be Southern Arc.”
I keep looking out the porthole. Liam is right. This isn’t an iceberg but the base of some larger frozen landmass. The lights flicker again, and the submarine starts slowing even more.
I feel farther away from the wheel and our friends than ever before. And I’m desperate to know if my mom is okay, and where she is. I know that coming here to the Antarctic is a necessary step to prepare for our assault on Island Alpha. But I want to be back on the wheel, saving Gadya, David, Rika, and everyone else whom I care about.
I think about my dad and his stories about Sisyphus. About how it’s important to find meaning in repetitive suffering. Those stories kept me going on the wheel. But I feel like I’ve passed beyond the boundaries of that Greek myth. Sisyphus was stuck pushing his boulder up the same mountain over and over, but Liam and I managed to actually make it off the wheel. I just don’t know what to do next. Maybe I need to find a new myth to get me through each day.
I think about the book by Camus in my pocket. Maybe I’ll find some answers in its pages somewhere—if I ever get a chance to read it.
Warning signals keep pinging from the loudspeakers. Outside, I only see whitish-blue ice, as though we’re moving along a narrow water-filled channel, right into the frozen heart of Southern Arc.
Eventually, the submarine comes to a complete stop in a rush of water and icy slush. I watch it foaming outside the portholes.
The engines cut off. I’d grown used to their sound, and without it everything is eerily silent except for some creaking noises. I can’t tell if they’re coming fr
om the submarine or from the ice outside.
Then there’s a loud metallic crash above us. The submarine’s hatches are being thrown open.
We’re finally here.
Liam and I both get to our feet, along with the rest of the passengers around us. Everyone starts moving toward the stairways.
When Liam and I reach the top level, we walk to one of the open hatches and ladders. Hands swiftly help us up and out of the vessel. Soon, both of us are standing there on the deck of the submarine.
I was expecting that we’d be inside a giant, icy cavern. Instead, we’re inside a strange domed structure. Around and above us is a mosaic of colorful tiles, arranged in a checkered pattern. It’s almost like we’ve entered a huge swimming chamber. It’s not what I imagined. Banks of flickering fluorescent lights illuminate the space.
“Hey, it’s not that cold in here,” I say to Liam, startled. While the air is definitely cool, it’s far from freezing.
Bodies quickly force us forward. Liam and I start walking along the surface of the submarine. The submarine is surrounded by a tiled deck. Metal walkways stretch out to it, much like the ones back at the underground lake near Destiny Station. We reach one of the walkways and head up it. In the tile walls, I now see large openings. Wide arches lead into other massive spaces. Each space is lit by more fluorescent lights.
Voices call out on either side of us. I look around and get my first glimpse at the people who live and work at Southern Arc. They look very different from the scientists at Destiny Station. They’re wearing military-style green and black outfits. And all of them have guns strapped to their leather belts. They look more like unsmiling UNA military police officers than fellow rebels.
I can tell that Liam is observing everything too. Sizing up the situation. “This is pretty weird,” he whispers to me.
I nod. “Let’s be careful.”
We follow a group of refugees from the submarine down a tile pathway and through a huge concrete arch. I now see Cass and Emma in the crowd. I want to talk to them, but they’re too far ahead of us right now to reach.
All of us enter into a massive, heated circular chamber. There are even more military-type men and women in here, hustling everyone along. These denizens of the Antarctic don’t exactly look thrilled to see us. I haven’t seen one of them smile yet.
Video screens on the tiled walls display outside views of Southern Arc. I see windswept glacial expanses of ice and cold. The images suggest great solitude and emptiness. This is, literally, the end of the earth. There’s no farther place that any of us can run.
As we keep walking, I look up and see a balcony high above us. It runs around the circumference of the large tiled space, right at the top. Nearly thirty feet above our heads.
A figure stands up there in front of some kind of digital console, peering down at us. From his white beard and hair, I instantly recognize him as Dr. Neil Barrett. I only get a brief glimpse of him as we walk, but his face is oddly expressionless.
Liam notices him too. “If he’s been here since the 1990s, then that’s more than forty years,” he says. “This place must feel like a prison to him.”
“I know. I’m surprised he hasn’t gone crazy.” I wonder what it would feel like to spend forty years in a place like this. That’s two and a half times longer than I’ve been alive. And more than half of Dr. Barrett’s entire life. It must seem like an eternity.
Liam and I keep walking. Dr. Barrett passes out of view.
Our group reaches another huge chamber. This one has long oak tables inside, arranged in rows. And at one end of the room is a massive window, staring out into the barren wasteland of the Antarctic. Beyond the window I see large satellite dishes and arrays of tall ice-covered antennas.
I think about what Cass said, about the scientists talking to David back at Destiny Station. I wonder if there’s a way to use these antennas to communicate with him now. I know it’s possible that Cass was lying, or mistaken, but it didn’t seem that way to me.
People stand everywhere in the crowded chamber, with an air of nervous expectation. Loud voices are all around me. Everyone sounds tense and afraid, even the scientists. Many of them are talking to the militaristic guards.
“Welcome to Southern Arc,” a deep, gravelly voice suddenly intones. I look up and see Dr. Barrett again, standing up high on the balcony, which continues into this room above us. Now he’s flanked by two armed guards. The noise of the crowd quiets immediately as we watch him.
“As you know, my name is Neil Barrett,” he says. “You are my guests here.” He scans the crowd below him with piercing gray eyes. “I have just received word that the other rebel bases have been bombed—most of them completely destroyed with heavy casualties.”
The crowd starts murmuring again. My heart sinks. I look over at Liam.
“My dad,” Liam says to me, sounding worried. “What if he was alive after all, at the Highveld base?”
I take his hand in mine. “It’s going to be okay.”
Dr. Barrett gestures for silence. “I will be sending out rescue parties to find the survivors from the damaged bases. Some of them have already fled, and they are stranded partway here.” He pauses. “Our mission is now clear. I have been waiting and preparing a very long time for this moment. We must return to Island Alpha and liberate its inhabitants as soon as possible. We will fight anyone there who opposes us, and we will turn the island into our sanctuary. Then we will continue onward to the UNA, and destroy it!” He stares out at the crowd, eyes burning. “And from the ashes, we will create a new world order. One that is fair, and does not try to enslave its own citizens!”
Some people around us start applauding, but there’s something about Dr. Barrett that makes me uneasy. I agree with every single word he’s saying, but there’s a fanatical zeal in his eyes—one that reminds me a bit of Minister Harka. I can only guess how much anger he feels about being banished here for so long. Will his desire for revenge cloud his judgment?
Dr. Barrett ignores the noise of the crowd and keeps talking. “Southern Arc has limited resources. That means everyone is under strict rationing orders from this day forth. One quart of water per person each day. We melt water from snow, but that takes time and energy.” He gazes at us sternly. “Time and energy are mankind’s most precious resources. Here you will only be served two meals daily—at least for now. We don’t know how many more refugees will turn up on our icy doorstep. We must conserve our resources, so that we’ll have the ability to return to the wheel and conquer it.”
I just want to get out of here as soon as possible and back to the wheel. I tell myself that even if I feel uneasy, I can’t lose sight of my goals. And it’s up to me and Liam to make sure that they happen. Even if it’s hard, I just have to hope that Dr. Barrett can be trusted—and that he won’t lead us astray on the long journey ahead.
7THE DECISION
WHEN DR. BARRETT’S BRIEFING is over, Liam and I decide to explore as much of Southern Arc as we can. But uniformed guards block off certain areas, with folded arms and pistols. Dr. Barrett seems just as worried about spies as Veidman was on the wheel. Still, there are certain rooms and halls that we are able to move about in freely. Many are filled with other refugees—not from the submarine but from previous incidents over the years. Most of the people here look thin and tired. Lost. Some of them lie listlessly on bunks in small rooms. Others talk among themselves.
Liam and I follow a tiled staircase and try to enter an observation level, but a guard turns us away.
“You’re not allowed up here,” he snarls.
“C’mon. We’re on the same side,” Liam tells him.
“We just want to look out the windows,” I add.
The guard shakes his head, “Go back with the other refugees.” His face is like stone. He barely makes eye contact with us. He just stares straight ahead.
Liam and I turn and walk away, back down the staircase. A lot of Southern Arc is built underground, presumably to conserv
e heat.
“They’re so friendly here,” Liam jokes, shaking his head.
“I guess it’s better than getting injected with truth serum,” I point out. “The villagers weren’t too friendly when I first got to the wheel either.”
Liam smiles. “I’d forgotten about that.”
Turning serious, I say, “It’s weird, though. The guards are treating us like we’re a big annoyance. They should be happy that we survived and made it here.”
Liam nods. “And I bet most of the guards were once refugees themselves, ones that Dr. Barrett probably trained.”
We reach the end of the staircase and turn a bend into a wide hallway. There, we nearly run straight into Cass. I stop walking, surprised to see her.
“Where have you been?” I ask. For once, she’s by herself. She’s changed clothes, and she’s now wearing jeans, boots, and a black hoodie. “Why have you been avoiding us?”
“I didn’t want to cause any trouble on the sub,” she admits, after a moment of hesitation. “My friends don’t like you. The boys, I mean. Not Emma—she’s nice, and she pretty much likes everyone.” She pauses again. “But I’ve been looking for you since we got here, Alenna. I need to talk to you about something.”
“Then go right ahead,” I tell her.
“Alone.”
“Just tell me here and now,” I say, guessing that it must have something to do with David.
Cass glances at Liam. He’s standing right next to me. “Don’t you know what ‘alone’ means?” Cass asks him.
Liam just stares at her, looking both amused and kind of annoyed by her attitude.
“The boys made me promise I wouldn’t talk to you,” Cass finally explains to him. “That’s why it has to be me and Alenna alone.”
“Fine,” I say. I look at Cass. “We’ll do it your way.” I glance back at Liam. “Just stay nearby, okay?”
“I’ll wait at the end of the hall,” he says with a shrug, heading toward a small alcove with some video screens in it, about twenty feet away.
The Uprising: The Forsaken Trilogy Page 8