The Accidental Invasion (Atlantis Book #1) Read online

  “Nope.”

  He climbed on her back as the agents stomped into the aisles behind them.

  The two kids jumped off the window ledge and drifted into the distance, higher and higher above the street below. In front of the theater, a few concertgoers were being shoved into a black, windowless transport. Kaya whistled again, turning her drive up to full power, and they crossed two neighborhoods in silence. Then she lowered them down to the ground.

  For a moment, they stayed quiet, each of them catching their breath.

  “Do you think those were really the Erasers?” Kaya asked.

  “Definitely,” Rian replied.

  “You heard Elida. That stuff about the surface . . . the People of the Sun. What if they’re not just stories? What if there is a whole world up there?”

  “Kaya—”

  “I’m going.”

  “Me too. My parents will be wondering—”

  “No,” she said. She pointed up. “I’m going to the surface.”

  “Great. While you do that, I’ll head down to the planet’s core.”

  “I’m serious, Rian,” Kaya insisted. “I don’t care what everyone says. There has to be life on the surface. Maybe even people. We’re being lied to. All of us. There has to be more to the world than Atlantis, and I’m going to discover the truth.”

  MYSTERIOUS EXPLOSION OFF NEW YORK CITY

  Navy calls blast in Long Island Sound a standard military training exercise

  —The New York Times

  GEOPHYSICISTS SEEK ANSWERS AS TSUNAMIS PUMMEL COAST

  Experts stumped; leading scientists fail to find explanation for destructive waves

  —Popular Science

  WORLD ECONOMY IN PERIL AS SHIPPING LANES CLOSE

  Unpredictable tsunamis render ocean travel too dangerous for container ships

  —Xinhua News Agency

  SENATE APPROVES PLAN TO MOVE U.S. CAPITAL

  Rising seas, dangerous waves prompt vote to shift government inland

  —The Washington Post

  SCHOOL PLAY A SMASH

  Local production of Romeo and Juliet deemed hilarious due to dancing costar

  —Plainville Gazette

  2

  A Perfectly Good Plan

  The hovercar had a few dents. Some rust. One of the headlights flickered, and the motor had kind of sputtered when his dad had piloted the vehicle over their backyard and down onto the grass. But the thing had character, too. If the hovercar were a person, he’d have a bulging belly and more hair in his ears than on his head. He’d tell hilarious stories, and his name would be Carl.

  No, Chet.

  A beam of moonlight broke through the thick clouds.

  The moon was like a spotlight shining only on Chet.

  Lewis had to go. How could he not? The moon even liked the idea.

  He wasn’t just excited now. He was excitement. If he were a superhero in a comic book, exclamation points would shoot out of his fingertips. Or even his . . . toes.

  Slipping quietly out of his first-floor window, he dropped into the garden below. He stopped to listen. The backyard was empty. To his right, he could hear his parents arguing in the kitchen.

  Nobody called out to him.

  His bedroom stayed dark.

  All that day it had rained, and as he tiptoed through the soaked garden, his left foot slipped out of his untied sneaker and sank into the muck. The cold muddy water seeped through his sock, between his toes. But he would not be stopped. No. Forget the shoe. Who needed two shoes, anyway? He didn’t even like the left one. A spot of pizza grease stained the canvas near his big toe. Plus his dad would probably buy him a new pair of hiking boots when they got to the mountains.

  Creeping forward, he already felt like an adventurer, or even a secret agent. An undercover spy with one shoe. His code name could be Lefty. Other spies would wonder how he earned the name. Did he have a deadly left foot? Or a particularly odorous one? Did he use it to coax confessions out of his enemies? Tell me everything, you villainous traitor, or you will breathe these foot fumes for the rest of your life!

  Behind him, his brother yawned. “What are you doing?” Michael asked.

  He was leaning out the window. Michael was eight years old, four years younger than Lewis. Alien slime hung from his left nostril. “Wipe your nose,” Lewis whispered.

  “Why are you wearing one shoe?”

  “It’s the new trend. Everyone’s doing it.”

  “Why are you in the garden?”

  “I’m checking the kale.”

  “I think you killed it.”

  Lewis looked down. His sneakered foot was crushing a clump of greens. The kale was definitely dead. “It’s a science experiment. I want to see if it recovers.”

  “You look like you’re sneaking out.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then why do you have your backpack?”

  The backpack was undeniable. Overstuffed, too. But it’s not like he could travel without a soccer ball.

  Lewis backtracked to the window. He was almost at eye level with his brother. He sniffed the air. “Did I ever tell you that you smell like cheese?”

  “Do not.”

  Oh, but he did. Cheddar, in particular. A cloud of cheesiness hovered around Michael wherever he went. If a lactose-intolerant supervillain ever tried to take over the world, Michael could be his archenemy, the Batman to his Joker.

  “I’m telling Mom.”

  “Telling her what?”

  “That you’re going to hide out in your dad’s hovercar.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “What if I give you twenty dollars when I get back?”

  Michael wiped his nose before responding. “Then I never saw you.”

  In the moonlight, Lewis noticed that his little brother was wearing one of his favorite T-shirts. Michael pulled up the collar and sneezed into the cotton. “You can have the shirt, too,” Lewis said.

  Michael wiped his nose again. “Really?”

  “Really. But you never saw me. We’re not even speaking now.”

  “Except about the twenty bucks. You promise you’ll actually give it to me?”

  “Promise.”

  Michael yawned again. “Okay. Good night, Lewis.”

  “Good night, buddy.”

  “Don’t stay away too long.”

  “Okay, buddy.”

  The window closed behind him. Did spies bribe their little brothers? He didn’t know and didn’t care. Chet was waiting. Lewis snuck through the garden, across the damp grass of the backyard, and into the back of his dad’s hovercar. He squeezed himself onto the floor behind the front seats. Something metal pressed into his ribs—a wrench. He tossed it up onto the back seat, then allowed himself one final glance at the house.

  The solar panels were clean. The wind turbine spun gently. The pipes snaking down from the water collectors on the roof were shining and white. The place wasn’t big, but it worked. His mom and stepdad, Roberts, slept at one end. Lewis and Michael—who was really his half brother, since Roberts was Michael’s dad—squeezed into a room on the other side, through the kitchen. The only thing the house was missing? His own dad. Well, and maybe one of those robotic kitchens. A kid on Lewis’s soccer team had one, and it made whatever you ordered, no questions asked. Thick milkshakes, grilled chicken, peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Lewis even demanded a fried rat burrito once, as a test, and the kitchen churned out a hot dog. Close enough.

  Tonight, his dad was here at the house, but it wasn’t a happy visit.

  Roberts was probably in the basement, fixing something, or polishing his gleaming red hovercar out back. Lewis could see his parents arguing in the kitchen.

  His mom was circling the table.

  His dad sat with his arms crossed, grimacing.

  Their conversation wasn’t going well.

  But their talks never really went well anymore.

  This time, his mom was mad bec
ause his dad had tried to cancel their trip to the mountains and the Blackwater River. Again. She said it was the fourth time he’d canceled. Lewis thought it was only the second or third. His dad had apologized to him. And sure, Lewis was disappointed. Totally. The Blackwater overflowed at this time of year, so there were pools for swimming and diving, and water rushed through wide channels in the rocks. You could jump in and ride them like slides. Lewis had been so excited about the trip that he’d been packed for weeks. Then his dad messaged him to say he couldn’t make it because of work.

  Now he was here to apologize to his mom or something. But she didn’t have to yell at him. His dad had super important stuff to do.

  Plus, Lewis had figured out a solution.

  One that would make everyone happy.

  Suddenly his dad jumped up from the table.

  Lewis slid back down into his hiding spot.

  The kitchen door slammed against the side of the house, and he could hear his dad stomping across the lawn. Lewis was already smiling, almost laughing. His father was going to be so surprised! But he couldn’t pop out now. No. Not yet. If he did that, his dad would probably tell his mom, and he’d have to go back inside. The whole plan would be ruined.

  Patience, Lewis reminded himself. Patience.

  “Battery power low,” Chet announced. “Please recharge immediately.”

  The whole vehicle tilted to one side as his dad sank his huge body into the driver’s seat.

  He let out a long, slow seat rippler and sighed.

  “Excuse you,” the car replied.

  Lewis tried not to laugh. Chet!

  The four fans in the hovercar’s short, stubby wings started spinning. “Never mind that,” his dad replied. “And stop complaining about the battery. You’re fine.”

  The fans spun faster. The motors hummed, and a whiff of the seat rippler coated the inside of Lewis’s nose and mouth as the hovercar lifted off the lawn. He wanted to spit.

  And yet his plan was working. Meriwether Lewis Gates was named after one of two famous explorers who had crossed North America centuries earlier. But Lewis wasn’t much of an explorer himself. Not yet, anyway. He was only twelve years old. He did have plans, though. Enormous plans. And once his dad finished up his work at the lab, they were going on an adventure of their own, hundreds of miles from home, deep into the mountains.

  When they arrived at the lab, he would jump up and shout . . . what would he shout, exactly?

  Hi? No. That would be lame.

  Surprise?

  Too obvious.

  Good evening?

  A little formal.

  Unless he bowed, and added an accent. Then it might be kind of funny.

  Actually, though, what he said wasn’t important. What mattered was that he’d finally get a few days with his father.

  Chet roared forward, pushing Lewis back against the base of the seat, and the hovercar’s computer continued to insist that his father recharge. Normally Lewis would’ve said something. Hovercars didn’t just roll to a stop when they ran out of battery power—they literally fell from the sky. He’d seen one drop into a tree once on his way home from school. His friend Jet had laughed. The driver hadn’t died or anything, but the crash looked like it had hurt.

  Still, if his dad thought the vehicle had enough power, then it had enough power.

  The hovercar tilted forward and dove.

  The right kind of dive, though. Not a free fall into a tree.

  Lewis squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need to look around to know where they were and what they were doing. The edge of one of the thousand-foot-tall cliffs wasn’t far from his house, and they were speeding down the slope to the flatlands below.

  His stomach turned and tumbled as they soared down the side of the cliff. Then the vehicle’s nose swung up, and the spinach from that night’s dinner bubbled up into the back of his throat. A vile, wet burp erupted. Lewis clenched his teeth and breathed in through his nose. Normally, his talent for burping was unmatched. He could let out tiny little burps that popped as gently and quietly as soap bubbles, or he could call forth belches that poisoned the surrounding air with their power. His friend Kwan wanted to run an experiment on his burps. Kwan was convinced they could kill plant life. He wanted to test one on a tulip.

  The hovercar steadied, cruising level to the ground.

  Lewis grimaced and swallowed the spinach.

  “Battery power critically low. Please land immediately.”

  That sounded important.

  The warning kept repeating.

  His dad kept ignoring it.

  Finally, Chet slowed and landed with a gentle crash. Lewis’s shoulder crunched into the seat and his ankle was uncomfortably twisted.

  His dad patted the dashboard. “See? We made it back here after all. You had plenty of power.”

  Next, his father climbed out, and Lewis heard hurried footsteps.

  Lewis waited a minute, then jumped to his feet. “Surprise!”

  No response.

  No Dad, either.

  The air tasted salty. Lewis looked around. They’d landed on a building near the shore. The flat, empty roof was scattered with puddles reflecting the gray moonlight, and the dark ocean was only a short walk away. Far in the distance, Lewis could see the tall steel warning towers. They lined almost every coast, all over the world, and they blared out alarms whenever a giant wave was approaching.

  The night was warm, but he shivered at the sight of the towers.

  “Dad?” he called out. “Dad?”

  He waited.

  Nothing.

  “Good evening?”

  He tried it one more time, with a British accent.

  Still nothing.

  Lewis grabbed his backpack and hurried over to the edge of the roof. The building was bigger than he’d realized. Three stories tall, at least. Small waves were breaking on the sand below. The water was almost black, and the whole coast was empty. There were no other buildings around. No hovercars. No trees. And certainly no people. This part wasn’t surprising. No one was crazy enough to build anything on the coast anymore. Not after years and years of huge waves, earth-shaking tsunamis that pummeled everything within a few miles of the shore. So what was his dad doing here? Was this his lab?

  Near the front of the hovercar, Lewis found a square trapdoor in the roof. He yanked on it. The metal was cool to the touch. The hatch wouldn’t budge. Knocking, he yelled, “Dad? Are you down there?”

  His father didn’t answer.

  The warning towers did.

  The towers were only supposed to sound their alarms when a giant wave was on its way. When Lewis was younger, the waves used to strike all the time. Sometimes the alarms would wake him up in the middle of the night. He would rush into his mom’s bed and she’d sing him a song. Her voice calmed him every time.

  If the alarms sounded when he was at school, they had to climb under their desks, which seemed really pointless, since they were tucked away safely behind the giant cliffs. That was the whole reason the city had moved the school there in the first place. Nothing could make it over the cliffs. And if a wave did wash all the way in from the coast, up and over the towering cliffs, was hiding under your desk really going to help? The water would wash them all away. Plus Lewis always got gum in his hair when he crouched beneath his desk. He couldn’t even get mad at anyone, though. He was the one who’d stuck the gum there.

  So he’d heard the alarms before, but this time was different. This time he wasn’t safely tucked behind the cliff, at school or at home. Now he was so close to the towers that the wailing made his whole body shake.

  “Dad!” he yelled.

  The wind stopped.

  The horns blared another warning, and Lewis began to count. The time between alarms told you how close the wave was to the shore. They even made you calculate the distance on math tests in school. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—”

  Another chest-shaking blast cut him off.


  Eight seconds?

  Was that even possible? Maybe he’d miscounted.

  The warning system was supposed to start when the waves were far away, so people would have plenty of time to move to safety. There should have been at least ten seconds between alarms; that would mean the wave was an hour from striking the shore.

  He counted again.

  Eight seconds. He’d been right the first time. His father had made him memorize the Everett Scale, which matched the number of seconds between warning blasts with the distance the wave still had to travel, and the number of minutes until it was expected to hit. The average tsunami rolled through the ocean at five hundred miles per hour. Ten seconds meant five hundred miles left to go, which gave people about an hour to flee. Nine seconds meant two hundred miles. Eight seconds? That translated to a hundred miles, or about twelve minutes until destruction.

  Lewis rushed to the ocean side of the roof. For now, the water was still, but somewhere out in the darkness, a giant wave was speeding toward the coast. And when it roared forward and crashed onto the shore, it would obliterate the building.

  The wave would crush everyone and everything in its path.

  Including Lewis himself.

  The horns blared again.

  Lewis reached into the back of the hovercar and grabbed the wrench off the seat, then banged it against the metal trapdoor. Pain shot through his forearm. “DAD!”

  Chet was beeping behind him.

  The lights on his control panel blinked red, then switched off.

  Lewis tossed the wrench aside and leaned into the cabin. He could call Roberts. His stepfather was in the Coastal Patrol. He’d rescue Lewis.

  When he tried to turn on the radio, though, nothing happened.

  Chet wasn’t lying when he had warned Lewis’s dad.

  The hovercar’s battery was dead.

  Suddenly the metal trapdoor in the roof swung open and his father popped out. He was a huge man, wide across the shoulders, with a thick chest, thick legs, and the fists of a brawler, but he moved quickly. Lewis was frozen. He felt like he was immersed in a game, watching everything through his virtual reality goggles, listening through his headset.