Complete Atopia Chronicles

I was staring at the floor now. Nothing made any sense anymore. My whole life I’d felt like I was running away from something, fleeing before some unseen danger.

From now on it would stop. Maybe he was right, maybe I could still find Dean out there. I was right in the middle of one of the most amazing places on earth, where the impossible was becoming possible almost daily. I just needed to apply myself, get out of this daze I’d slid into.

“Bob,” asked Martin.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Bob, why are you crying?”

Cripes. The blind spot had caught up . I wiped away my tears.

“Nothing, Martin, nothing. I’m just worried about the storms and Nicky dumping me and all that crap,” I lied.

His face brightened up.

“Don’t worry big brother, I’ll take care of you. Anyway, like I was saying, could you get dad to add me to the evacuation list. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I have a lot to do, so I’d appreciate it if you could help me.”

“No worries Martin, consider it done,” I replied with a sigh.

“Cool. Thanks.”

Martin got up off the couch and prepared to leave.

“Martin,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Martin, I haven’t told you something lately.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

I smiled, pausing, and the world clicked back into sense for me.

“Martin, I love you. I love you a lot, and I haven’t told you in a while.”

He looked away quickly, catching his breath.  Bringing up a hand to wipe the corner of one eye, he looked back and replied, “I love you too, Bob, that is so good to hear.”

“Okay good—now get!” I laughed.

He laughed back and shook his head as he disappeared.

This place, all of it, felt abruptly wrong. Like a switch being thrown, I suddenly knew something wasn’t right here anymore, and that this same something had swallowed Dean in its path. Blind spots—we all had them. So what was it that they were hiding from us, what was it we weren’t seeing?

I decided I was going to find out.

~ NEVERYWHERE ~ Book 5: Nancy Killiam & William McIntyre

PROLOGUE

THE POLICE STATION loomed before me at the base of the vertical farming complex, and I was gingerly making my way towards it.

The Boulevard was the only real street we had, a wide pedestrian thoroughfare that crossed from the eastern to western inlets, crossing between the four gleaming vertical farm towers that center–pinned the island of Atopia.

Glamorous palms lined both sides of the street, bordering the tourist shops, restaurants, and bars whose terraces spilled out into the kaleidoscopic melee between them. Even with the storms threatening and the evacuations announced, the atmosphere was still carefree and festive.

It had been ages since I’d been above, and I hadn’t been to these parts since I was a tween. I blinked in the sunshine and confusion around me and tried to think my way through what was happening.

I felt so alone and exposed. Here I was, stuck in the middle of something clearly illegal, but what else could I do? I looked up at the towers and imagined myself as one of the psombies inside. Out of options, I just shrugged and opened the police station doors.

Cool, administrative air swept over me and the clerk at the desk, an attractive young woman, smiled at me synthetically.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked, as sweet as a police officer could be.

“Yes, I’d like to file a missing person report,” I replied, walking towards her as calmly as I could.

Her face registered just the proper amount of seriousness before she queried, “And who is the missing person, sir?”

I paused for a moment.

“Me,” I answered.

1

Identity: William McIntyre

A BRILLIANT CARPET of stars hung above us on the moonless night, somewhere in the Adirondacks of upper New York State. Our campsite was nestled between tall, majestic firs at the side of a quiet lake. We’d barely finished the canoeing and portage to get here before nightfall, and we were all spent. A deep silence settled upon the hissing and popping of the campfire. It was nice to hang out with friends and not feel the need to say anything. I almost felt completely relaxed for once—almost.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” I said, leaning forward to pick up a stick and poke the embers of the dying fire. I could feel a breeze blowing across my backside, but I let it go for now.

“You got that right, Willy,” replied Bob, slumped comfortably in his folding camp chair and balancing a beer on his knee.

“Yes sir,” added Wally, my proxxi.

“Willy, do you want another beer?” he asked, seeing me toss my empty can into the fire.

Wally was sitting to my right, Bob and Martin to my left, and Sid and Vicious opposite me on the other side of the fire.

“Naw. I’m good, Wally. Thanks.”

Poking the embers I watched their hot orange and red sparks dance around like tiny demons escaping from the charred wood. I extended my hands toward the coals to warm them and rubbed them together. It was going to be a cold night. A loon called out from the blackness above the lake with a haunting wail. It was time to go soon, but not yet.