Apocalypse Machine Read Online Free

hand, inspecting the wound. “Abe, you grabbed it, held on for a few seconds, said something and then screamed. You never lost consciousness.”
    I stagger back and plop down onto my butt, sitting on the ice. “What did I say?”
    “Veneno mundi,” Kiljan says, his baritone voice reminding me of the dark force’s watery growl.
    “What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
    “Poisoned world,” Phillip says. His translation is followed by a wet gurgle. All eyes turn to the sound’s origin at Phillip’s feet. The small hole that Holly dug is now partly filled with water. Phillip leaps back. “What the bloody hell?”
    We stare in silence, waiting for it to happen again. And then, just as I notice that the water is steaming, a thin stream of bubbles roils to the surface.
    Diego kneels down beside the slowly growing puddle. He holds his hand over the water as more bubbles churn the surface. “These bubbles aren’t gas,” he says. “The water is boiling.”

 
     
    3
     
    There isn’t a single member of our expedition who needs to be told what boiling water atop Vatnajökull means, especially when it’s originating from what I’m now positive is an ancient lava tube. Bardarbunga is going to erupt, probably before I have time to upload the story to my editor. The region is geothermally active. There are vents and hot springs dotting the landscape surrounding the glacier, reminiscent of those in Yellowstone Park, but not on top of three thousand feet of ice. The heat and pressure required to push boiling water to the surface means we’re standing on a powder keg. It also means that a good portion of what we thought was ice beneath our feet is actually boiling water. And the longer we stand here, the weaker the ice will get.
    Kiljan rams his foot into his boot, shouting in pain. He ties the laces fast and pushes his bulk onto his feet. “Leave your packs.”
    “But it will be night before—” Phillip stops when the puddle gurgles again. “Yes, of course. We don’t have that long. But we mustn’t leave empty-handed.”
    We shed our packs and pocket whatever basic survival gear we might need for the return hike—water, rope, energy bars, first aid. Phillip assaults the spike, now rising from a foot deep puddle, with his ice ax. His first strike glances off the top and strikes water. Ice hisses where the water lands, kicking up steam.
    “Phillip,” Holly scolds. “Not now!”
    “This will be our only chance to collect a sample,” Phillip argues. “You were right about the formation’s significance.”
    Kiljan limps around us. “If you wish to leave this place with your lives, follow me now. I will not wait.”
    Diego pockets one last water bottle and starts after Kiljan. He claps his hands at the rest of us. “Let’s go! Vámonos!”
    Phillip cocks his hand back and takes another whack. The ice ax connects with the spike, just above the waterline, where the spire is only a quarter inch thick. From the resounding clang and jarring impact, you’d think the stone jutting from the ice was actually rebar. Phillip hisses through his teeth and pulls back from the puddle. He drops the ice ax and holds his arm. “It’s like hitting a brick wall with an aluminum bat.”
    Holly takes her fellow volcanologist by the coat and drags him away. “Now! Move!”
    Defeated by the ancient stone spike, Phillip relents.
    I recover the ax and step after them, stopping for a moment to look back at the black-red spire.
    “Abe!” Holly shouts at me. They’re twenty feet away and speeding up to catch Kiljan, who has broken into a limping jog.
    I kneel beside the gurgling puddle holding up the ice ax. “What are you?” I say to the small spike, watching the puddle around it inch its way closer to my knees. My memories of the dream world are as fresh and clear as every real experience during the last fifteen minutes. Wanting to know what caused it, and suspecting the old stone, or perhaps something in it—microbes, an