the males, and she couldnât help but think of Pepper, and a diagram sheâd seen once of a pregnant woman, who seemed to be digesting her baby. But there was nowhere to go. The side of the boat was digging into her back. âI wasnât looking for you at all.â
âThen what are you doing here?â he asked.
She hesitated. She was still holding the pillowcase with all her belongings, and she squeezed it to her chest. âI didnât mean anything by it,â she said.
He shook his head. âI canât let you go,â he said. He reached out, taking hold of her wrist.
And at that exact moment, the world exploded.
Turn the page to continue reading Lyraâs story. Click here to read Chapter 6 of Gemmaâs story.
SEVEN
LATER THE RESIDENTS OF BARREL Key would tell stories about seeing the explosion. Several fishermen, bringing in their boats, were nearly thrown overboard by a freak wave that came racing over the soundâcaused, it later turned out, by a portion of A-Wing crashing through the fence and collapsing into the shallows. Missy Gallagher saw a finger of flame shoot up in the distance and thought of Revelation and the end of days. Bill Collops thought of terrorists and ran into the basement, screaming for his wife to help him with the boxes of ammo.
The first bomb, detonated in the entry hall, directly next to the bust of Richard Haven, made shrapnel of the walls and beams and caved in the roof. It killed twenty-seven staff members, all of them buried under the rubble. The woman who was carrying the explosives strapped by means of a cookie sheet to her chest was blown intoso many pieces that even her dental records were useless, and they were able to establish her identity only because she had left a bag explaining her motivations and affiliation with the Angels of the First Savior on the mainland, which would subsequently be discovered by soldiers. Her WordPress account, which referenced at length a website known as the Haven Files, suggested she was acting on directives from Jesus Christ to destroy the unnatural perversions at Haven and purge the sinners playing God. The blog had a brief three-hour surge of notoriety and readership before it was permanently and mysteriously erased.
The second and third bombs created a fireball that roared through the halls, reaching temperatures hot enough to sear metal and leave the plastic dinner trays as molten, shapeless messes. Things would not have been so bad were it not for the close proximity of a large shipment of amyl nitrate, which one of the staff members had signed for and thoughtlessly left still packaged in the entry hall, not entirely sure where it was meant to go.
Later, rumors would circulate: that the bomber believed Haven Institute was actually manufacturing humans to use in some kind of devilâs army, and that both the creations and their creators should be punished by fire; that she had every single page of the Haven Files, all seventy-six of them, printed out, underlined, annotated, and laminated in her bag next to a copy of the Bible, a small image ofJesus on the cross, and a half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich; that she must have been onto something, because of the military crackdown, and the men in hazmat suits who spent weeks sweeping the island, carting off debris, leaving Spruce Island bare and ruined and silent. And why didnât the story make it onto the news, or any of the major newspapers? Conspiracy, Bill Collops said, polishing his guns. What a world, Missy Gallagher said, shaking her head.
The official storyâthe one that made it onto the newsâstated that chemicals had been mishandled by a new laboratory technician, sparking a huge chemical fire that engulfed the laboratory. But even this story, once established, was quickly suppressed, and Spruce Island, and what may or may not have happened there, was rapidly forgotten.
Of course Lyra didnât and couldnât know any of this at
âThen what are you doing here?â he asked.
She hesitated. She was still holding the pillowcase with all her belongings, and she squeezed it to her chest. âI didnât mean anything by it,â she said.
He shook his head. âI canât let you go,â he said. He reached out, taking hold of her wrist.
And at that exact moment, the world exploded.
Turn the page to continue reading Lyraâs story. Click here to read Chapter 6 of Gemmaâs story.
SEVEN
LATER THE RESIDENTS OF BARREL Key would tell stories about seeing the explosion. Several fishermen, bringing in their boats, were nearly thrown overboard by a freak wave that came racing over the soundâcaused, it later turned out, by a portion of A-Wing crashing through the fence and collapsing into the shallows. Missy Gallagher saw a finger of flame shoot up in the distance and thought of Revelation and the end of days. Bill Collops thought of terrorists and ran into the basement, screaming for his wife to help him with the boxes of ammo.
The first bomb, detonated in the entry hall, directly next to the bust of Richard Haven, made shrapnel of the walls and beams and caved in the roof. It killed twenty-seven staff members, all of them buried under the rubble. The woman who was carrying the explosives strapped by means of a cookie sheet to her chest was blown intoso many pieces that even her dental records were useless, and they were able to establish her identity only because she had left a bag explaining her motivations and affiliation with the Angels of the First Savior on the mainland, which would subsequently be discovered by soldiers. Her WordPress account, which referenced at length a website known as the Haven Files, suggested she was acting on directives from Jesus Christ to destroy the unnatural perversions at Haven and purge the sinners playing God. The blog had a brief three-hour surge of notoriety and readership before it was permanently and mysteriously erased.
The second and third bombs created a fireball that roared through the halls, reaching temperatures hot enough to sear metal and leave the plastic dinner trays as molten, shapeless messes. Things would not have been so bad were it not for the close proximity of a large shipment of amyl nitrate, which one of the staff members had signed for and thoughtlessly left still packaged in the entry hall, not entirely sure where it was meant to go.
Later, rumors would circulate: that the bomber believed Haven Institute was actually manufacturing humans to use in some kind of devilâs army, and that both the creations and their creators should be punished by fire; that she had every single page of the Haven Files, all seventy-six of them, printed out, underlined, annotated, and laminated in her bag next to a copy of the Bible, a small image ofJesus on the cross, and a half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich; that she must have been onto something, because of the military crackdown, and the men in hazmat suits who spent weeks sweeping the island, carting off debris, leaving Spruce Island bare and ruined and silent. And why didnât the story make it onto the news, or any of the major newspapers? Conspiracy, Bill Collops said, polishing his guns. What a world, Missy Gallagher said, shaking her head.
The official storyâthe one that made it onto the newsâstated that chemicals had been mishandled by a new laboratory technician, sparking a huge chemical fire that engulfed the laboratory. But even this story, once established, was quickly suppressed, and Spruce Island, and what may or may not have happened there, was rapidly forgotten.
Of course Lyra didnât and couldnât know any of this at
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