The 13th Continuum (Book 1: The Continuum Trilogy)

Chapter 8: The Heathens

The sound of footfalls reached Myra's ears.

She glanced at the blueprints clutched in her clammy palms. As quickly as she could, she shoved them back into the secret compartment and replaced the panel. Then, she climbed into the vent and clicked off her flashlight. Dark- ness flooded back into the tight space. She pressed her ear to the grate and listened to the footsteps—it sounded like more than one person. This made her heart pound even faster. The footsteps halted right outside the office. The scanner beeped its approval, and the door swung inward.

Three dark shadows extended across the room. They shuffled inside and then shut the door behind them. The lock clicked back into place with a beep.

"You're sure it's safe to meet?" said a gravelly voice. "It's never been safe. You know the risks."

That was her father.

"You don't think he talked, do you?" said a higher- pitched voice.

Her father again: "Then we wouldn't be standing here, would we?"

He flipped a switch, causing harsh light to envelop the office. Myra peered through the grate at the two men with her father. She recognized the first one—Stan Decker, the Dissemination worker who oversaw the Spare Parts Room. Like the items over which he presided, he looked broken down. His back hunched over at the shoulder blades, his cheeks were pockmarked, and he had more than a few miss- ing teeth.

Her father started pacing. "We're just lucky he withstood their torture, but we need to hurry. The Synod is growing suspicious . . . we're running out of time."

He turned to the other man, whom Myra didn't recognize. He had wiry spectacles wedged over a bulbous nose. His mus- tache was waxed and twisted to fine points.

"Bishop, tell us what you found," her father said. That jogged Myra's memory—the man was Philip Bishop. His twin daughters were in Tinker's class.

"Well, it wasn't easy," Bishop said in his nasal voice. "I dug into Records as far as I dared. The Synod keeps careful watch over us. They tried to erase everything, and they did a bloody good job, but I managed to salvage some drives and rebuild them—"

"In layman's terms?" Decker interrupted. "Right. I've pieced together a timeline."

From her hiding place, Myra had to strain to see through the grate. Decker and her father exchanged a solemn glance. "So, were our guesses correct?" Decker asked.

"It's been a thousand years," Bishop confirmed. "Since the Founders?"

"Yes—based on my calculations." "Could you be wrong?"

"Well, it's possible," Bishop said. "There are lots of holes in the data."

"But what if he's right?" her father said. "Doesn't it make sense with all the leaks and the machines breaking? This place wasn't built to last forever. We were meant to leave." He paused to let that sink in. "There's a chance the Surface is livable again."

Myra nearly gasped when she heard him speak the banned words. The Surface was destroyed in the Doom. It was blasphemous to suggest otherwise.

Decker shot him a reproachful look."A chance is all it is—you can't know that."

Bishop bobbed his head. "He's right. We could all perish if we go up there—"

"We'll perish for sure if we stay down here," her father cut in.

Bishop looked like he'd just been slapped in the face. His eyes darted from Decker to her father. He punched his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "Jonah . . . what do you mean? We'll perish for sure?"