A Stranger Thing (The Ever-Expanding Universe) (20 page)

“Well, lead on, MacDuff,” Dad says to me brightly. “You’re our guide now. Which way?”

“Funny how I always end up the guide on this boat,” I grumble. I point to the door on the opposite wall, which has remained mostly shielded from the elements. “We can go through there and see if the stairwell is passable. If it is, we can take it all the way down to the bottom level. If not, we’re going to have to zig-zag arou—” Dad grabs my arm as I’m about to lead the group to the exit.

“Hold on a second, dearheart,” he says, his voice suddenly deathly serious. He walks over to a wall console that used to sit next to the side entrance into the pool area. The screen on the console is completely gone, leaving the guts of the wiring underneath exposed.

“What is it?” I ask as I walk over to him.

“Elvie,” he intones gravely. “Tell me what you see.”

I stare at the panel for a few moments. I want to say it’s just a bunch of junk, but I know my dad, and he wouldn’t halt our search before it even began without good cause, so I take another look. LED backlights, all pulverized, magnesium filaments . . .

“The power coupling,” I say.

“What’s a power coupling?” Cole asks.

“They’re conduits for the electricity these computer consoles use,” I explain. “Like wiring but without the wires. One module is connected directly to the power source, and it transmits the energy along a beam to one or more satellite modules throughout a piece of equipment.”

“So what’s wrong with the power coupling?” Zee asks, stepping forward to take a look for herself.

“It’s missing,” I say.

“Not missing,” Dad says. “Removed. Very precisely, I might add.”

“Which means . . . ?” Cole asks. The freezing sweat on my brow starts to thaw a little bit as fresh perspiration wells up underneath it. I swallow hard to get the lump in my throat down before I answer.

“We’re not alone.”

“What do you mean, we’re not alone?” Cole asks. “Just because a couple of pieces of junk aren’t there doesn’t mean much. They could have fallen out or been crushed by something, or—”

“No,” Dad corrects him. “The seals that lock the modules into place are intact. These have been removed manually. And that’s not all.” He shifts over to the poolside wall, which has been broken through. The steel panels that used to reinforce the plaster foam outer wall have mostly buckled and bent, or come loose altogether, leaving mounds of now-frozen dust at the base. Dad bends down and brushes away one of these piles, revealing a perfect twenty-centimeter-diameter hole in the floor.

“This is where the titanium supports should be anchored,” Dad goes on. “Even if this wall was blown out on impact, it shouldn’t have collapsed completely. And the support frames would still be here.” He stands up and dusts off his pants. “Those supports have been removed too. And that’s no easy task.”

“Meaning,” Zee says, “that whoever’s here has access to some pretty heavy machinery.”

“Or they’re very strong,” I say, almost in a whisper. We all stand in deathly silence for a minute as Dad and I look at each other, quietly assessing the new threat. Finally, Cole adds his two cents.

“So what are we talking about here? I thought you guys said this was the wrong pole for polar bears.”

“Oh, Cole, for Christ’s sake,” I start in on him. “The Jin’Kai are here!”

But Cole just shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense,” he replies. “Desi sent out the misdirecting distress signal, remember? There’s no way the Jin’Kai could have located the crash site.”

“Not those Jin’Kai, you beautiful moron. The ones who were already here.” He blinks at me, still not understanding. “The Devastators are still alive.”

“We need to leave this level—
now
,” Zee says, suddenly very tense.

“Right,” I agree. “But we better be careful—”

“Not that way,” she says, stopping me from moving to the door. I freeze, listen carefully. Far away—but much closer than I’d like—I hear the sound of metal on metal.

Boots. Heavy boots on stairs.

And they’re getting closer.

“Come on!” I scream-whisper, and I bolt toward the side door to the ruined pool area. The others fall into place beside me, slipping and sliding as we do our best to run down across the icy floor.

“Where is this headed?” Zee huffs as she runs.

“The pool?” Dad asks, huffing even harder. “That will just lead us to the locker roo— My God, Elvie, you are a clever little rascal.”

“Don’t get too excited just yet,” I say as we careen past the side of the now-empty pool, thankfully devoid of any of the frozen corpses I was afraid of finding. “This might not be any safer.”

We make it to the locker room. The rows of lockers, which are about two and a half meters tall and twelve lockers deep, have collapsed like dominoes. I maneuver around them, fingers pinching the walls for a grip against the incline, and head to the opening in the wall to the back left. Above, the sign remains hanging:
DIRTY LAUNDRY
.

“Where does this lead?” Zee asks, looking down the dark chute.

“Down to the main laundry room,” Dad chimes in. “If I’m not mistaken.” He knows he’s not. “I’ll go first. It could be a very bumpy ride.” And he swings his leg over the edge and hoists himself inside. It’s a tight fit for him, but he’s got enough clearance that he should be able to slide down easily, assuming the chute hasn’t buckled and broken anywhere along the way—which is entirely possible. But seeing as the other option
is facing a group of ruthless extraterrestrial meanies that Cole once described as a cross between the Alien and the Predator, I’m willing to take my chances. Dad looks at me and nods, his expression a mix of fright and exhilaration.

“See you down there,” he says, glancing down one last time. “Hopefully.” And with that, he lets go. The clunking sound of my father sliding down the metal chute echoes up.

Without waiting to hear any kind of confirmation that he’s landed, Zee hops over the edge as well. “No time to make sure it’s safe,” she says, then releases her grip and follows her former husband, making considerably less noise as she slides. I start to climb in after her when Cole stops me.

“Elvie, this is nuts,” he whispers. “How are you so certain the Devastators are still alive? They were trapped in that shuttle when the ship crashed.”

“Yeah, at the back end of the ship,” I counter. “If those things are as badass as you claimed, do you really want to lay odds that they couldn’t survive?” Cole makes a face like he’s actually trying to calculate the odds. If he calculates even twice as quickly as he diagrammed sentences back in Mrs. Kwan’s English class, we could be here all day.

“Into the laundry chute, pretty boy,” I say, climbing into the opening.

I let go of my grip on the edge and start gliding down the chute. Well, not so much gliding as banging back and forth against the sides like a human (er, hybrid) pinball. The incline on the chute is so steep that it’s mostly a freefall, like the “Death by Water” slide at the waterpark down the shore that Ducky and I were gaga for when we were little. Only,
instead of water waiting for me at the bottom, there might just be a jagged pile of burning metal shards, or something equally as pleasant.

After only a few seconds I hear the telltale sound of Cole jumping in the chute behind me, and I make a mental note that if I’m not impaled by something on the way down, I better tuck and roll when I land so that I don’t get smushed under 95 kilograms of dumbass. Seriously, first he drags his feet, and then he gives me a head start of less than three seconds before he comes barreling down after me? Timing is not Cole’s strong suit.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, and it doesn’t appear to be jagged or on fire or anything like that. I exit with a
fwoosh!
and touch down first with my feet, the jolt riding up through my knees and into my hips before I curl up, pitch forward, and roll like a toddler in kiddie gymnastics out of the way as Cole lands with a heavy
thump
right behind me. My momentum nearly sends me crashing into the wall, but Zee is there to catch me.

“Whoop!”
Cole screams out. “That was awesome!”

I’m a little dizzy from the ride down and especially my landing (which I’d reckon would earn me a 6.5 from the international judges). I shake my head, trying to clear away some of the fuzzies.

“Cole, only you would think that was fun,” I mutter. I glance at Zee, expecting her to join in on the Cole-bashing, or at least look like she wants to. But she’s giving me that same tense grimace she had up on the lido deck.

“What?” I ask. Cole has tensed up too, moving into a
defensive crouch. Zee’s eyes move past me over my shoulder. I turn around, following her gaze. There is my father, leaning against a table, rubbing his knee.

And staring down the barrel of a gun.

I suck in my breath when I see who’s holding the gun on my father. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit lately, but this might be the first thing that seems absolutely paranormal. A little ragged and a lot scruffier than the last time I saw him, it is none other than the man I very clearly remember shooting. Three times. And that was
before
Cole dropped him face-first off a ten-meter catwalk.

“Jesus Christ,” I tell Dr. Marsden. “How many times do we have to kill you?”

I have to say, Dr. Marsden looks genuinely surprised to see me. Almost as surprised as I am to see him—although, to be fair, I think I get the edge, seeing as I was pretty sure he was a pancake of guts at the bottom of a space wreck.

“My goodness,” he says, taking a step away from Dad. “Elvie Nara. I can honestly say I never expected to find
you
here.” He keeps his gun waving somewhere between Dad and Cole, making it look like the weapon’s just lazily drifting around, although if he felt like it, he could easily shoot either one of them between the eyes without another thought.

“The feeling is, obviously, mutual,” I reply. “You know, most dudes would take three point-blank shots to the chest and a long fall onto their face as their cue to shuffle off the mortal coil.”

“What can I say? I’m resilient.” His eyes are wide, and I can tell he’s in a very deliberate physical position, anticipating any potentially threatening move on our part.

“We really did surprise you, didn’t we?” I ask.

“I wondered if the Almiri might send a detachment at some point,” he answers, moving an almost imperceptible half step back toward the door. “But after the first week came and went, I figured I was on my own down here.”

“We’re not here on behalf of the Almiri.” Like that’s any of his beeswax.

Dr. Marsden narrows his eyes at me, curious. “You’re not?” He takes a second look at our ragtag band of adventurers. Two teenagers, a skinny middle-age woman, and a slightly frumpy, well, Dad-like person who twisted his knee barreling down the laundry chute. Marsden turns to Dad, tilting his head to the side inquisitively. “So that would make you . . . ?”

“My father,” I answer. “Harry Nara. Mind not pointing a gun at him, please?”

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, Dr. Marsden breaks into that brilliant smile of his. “Well, I’ll be,” he says, all warm and fuzzy and stuff. “Mr. Nara.” And to everyone’s surprise, Marsden immediately lowers his gun, tucking it away in his belt behind his back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I had the good fortune to have your daughter as a student and patient here at Hanover before we became, well, rather Earthbound. Dr. Marsden, but, please, call me Ken.” And if
that
seemed screwy, what Marsden does next is absolutely Phillips-head bonkers. He actually
extends his hand
to my father. Eagerly, even. Like this was a PTA meeting or something.

Confused, Dad reaches out cautiously to accept the shake. “I admit I’m at a bit of a loss,” Dad says as Marsden pumps his
hand energetically. “You
are
the gentleman my daughter shot a while back, are you not?”

“Well, you know, misunderstandings,” Marsden answers with a shrug, as if I’d dented his fender in the school parking lot. “Water under the bridge. Or ice, as it were.” Marsden widens his grin to show his pearly white teeth, laughing at his own cheesetastic quip. It’s that warmth that made me kinda crush on the good doctor—you know, before I learned he was a homicidal maniac. So I can sort of forgive Dad when he returns the smile.

Cole has a little more experience with Marsden—but unfortunately, he’s still Cole. Seeing that Marsden has pocketed his weapon, he springs forward.

“You murdering Jin’Kai bastard!”
Cole bellows as he lunges at the doctor.

“Cole, no!” I scream, but it’s too late. In the blink of an eye Dr. Marsden has registered Cole’s attack, and the warmth and geniality vanish from his face. In one fluid show of exceptional strength he tightens his grip on Dad’s hand and spins him about in front of him, so that Dad becomes a human shield between him and Cole. With one arm wrapped around Dad’s waist, still holding tight on his hand, Marsden brings his other hand up and clamps down on Dad’s throat. Cole stops dead in his tracks, still several meters away from them.

“Easy, boy,” Dr. Marsden growls menacingly. His face has gone completely dark, and his eyes, so kind and inviting just moments ago, have turned deadly. “We’re all going to be friends today, wouldn’t you agree?”

The air is heavy with the tension, and somehow the
room seems to grow fifteen degrees colder. Marsden’s grip on Dad’s throat is not so tight that my father can’t breathe, but the doc’s not about to let go anytime soon, either. And even if we could get near the guy, Marsden’s still the only one of us with a weapon. Every muscle in my body is rigid, watching my father’s panicked eyes.

“Cole,” I whisper, trembling. “Please.”

Frozen in his attack stance, Cole doesn’t take his eyes off Marsden. But when he hears my voice, he wavers slightly.

“Listen to your girlfriend, Almiri,” Marsden says, his tone taunting.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I whisper back.

“Wait, what?” Cole asks, suddenly confused.