Road to Abaddon: Book One in the Metricia Series by Vincent Heeringa

Author:Vincent Heeringa [Heeringa, Vincent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Staircase Publishing
Published: 2019-08-26T22:00:00+00:00

They spent the remainder of that week steaming on the surface, heading nor’west (according to the compass on the bridge) to reach the NMA headquarters. Jonah had no idea where the base was but he figured they were heading into what was once the Arctic Circle. Through the eye-like domes they saw incredible sea life, flying fish and diving sea birds and dolphins that flipped around the bow. Late one afternoon, as Jonah snoozed in his hammock, the diving bell rang and he rushed to the bridge to see the surface lap against the glass and then disappear into the foamy grey of the ocean. They’d come across a group of ships that looked dangerous. “Pirates,” Midas said.

For the most part, though, the journey was slow and Jonah paced the metal ramps and fake wooden hallways trying to relieve the tension in his mind. Talking with Tria helped. She listened patiently as he revisited the conversation with GK, questioning yet again why his grandfather had restrained him, perhaps even drugged him and certainly lied to him about Abaddon. He felt betrayed – and confused. Everything had changed. His enemies were friends, his friends were enemies. His family was now cut off by mistrust and deceit. And the vengeance he felt for his father’s murderers now waned as he contemplated just who or what had killed Petreus.

Whenever he thought of Nassim he felt a stab of fear and guilt. Here he was obsessing about his own family when her fate and that of Wadid was unknown.

The dread of that place stayed with him and it took all of Tria's efforts to reassure him that what he’d done was right. “You can’t ignore what you saw at Abaddon. You have the truth and you must tell the world. You cannot run away, Jonah.”

It was a relief when late on the third day they were shaken from their hammocks by Midas. “It’s time,” he said and led them to the bridge. At first there was only darkness but the flickering iridescence in the ocean revealed they were submerged and moving slowly forwards as Weitz clanked a series of levers. The Schork groaned under the pressure and tiny cracks appeared at the edge of the windows. The circus act was fraying.

“Look!” exclaimed Tria and pointed at a light that grew brighter by the second. A second light appeared and it became obvious that they belonged to the same object. Another sub that was travelling towards them at high speed. Soon it was on them and floodlights lit up the cabin like a stage show. They had to shield their eyes until the craft flicked itself around and pulled away, blinking a red beacon at its stern.

A radio crackled. “S-46 this is Atlantica. You have clearance to enter. Follow the guide. Do not deviate.”

“Roger Atlantica,” replied Weitz into a hand-held microphone. He opened his mouth to say more and looked for a moment like he might break into song but Midas clicked his tongue, irritated. “Maybe later, huh? They have karaoke here,” he muttered.

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