Read Online Underworlds #1: The Battle Begins by Tony Abbott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tony Abbott
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custodian, was untangling the flagpole ropes. Again.
“Can you give me a hand here?” he asked. “It’ll only take one minute.”
Brinnnng! The first bell rang.
In three minutes I would be officially late. But when someone says, “Help,” how can you refuse? Besides, Mr. Kenkins only asked for one minute. I had three.
As I held up one end of the rope, and Mr. Kenkins worked to unknot the other, I looked out behind the school. The dark pinewoods that gave our town half its name were what remained of one of the oldest forests in the state. Beyond them were ten miles of rocky bluffs that gave us the other half of our name.
Mr. Kenkins unlooped and unthreaded the ropes this way and that until — brrrinnnnng! — the late bell rang. Homeroom was starting.
“And … done,” said Mr. Kenkins with a big smile. “Thanks, Owen.”
“Anytime!” I said.
Slamming through the front doors, I found the halls already empty. Argh! I leaped into the main office to grab a late slip off the secretary’s desk and toss Maggie’s pennies in the collection can.
And I leaped right into the secretary.
“Ahhhh!” she cried.
I spun to keep from knocking her over … and spilled Mags’s pennies all over the floor.
“Sorry!” I said, fumbling on the floor to collect them. But I could only find eight blue-haired Lincolns.
Was the missing penny another sign?
“One must have rolled under Principal Carole’s door.” I stood and reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t you dare disturb her!” said the secretary, standing in my way. “Take a late slip.”
I dropped Maggie’s donation in the collection can, snagged a late slip, and raced toward first period. On the run, I fished out the money my dad and the kid on the bus had given me. I shot the dollar airplanes into Mr. Hemlock’s classroom.
“Thanks, O,” he called.
I kept running, down the stairs toward homeroom. The guitar case slammed my back with every step. I could picture my grandma wincing, telling me to be more careful with my guitar. She taught me how to play before she died — folk songs, rock songs, everything. My friend Jon Doyle keeps saying that he and I should form a band. But with me on guitar and Jon on triangle — Strum, bing! Strum, bing! — I’m not sure you could call it a band.
I tore around the next-to-last corner. Almost there. One final turn, then — BLAM! — right into … Dana!
The crash threw her into the wall, and I fell flat on my face.
I leaped up and pulled her to her feet. “Dana! I’m such a klutz. Are you okay?”
She looked into my eyes. Her long blonde hair was tangled. Her cheeks were beyond pale. “Owen, I know the real reason my parents went to Iceland. The monsters. They’re coming here. But you can’t tell a soul, not yet —”
I stepped back. “Monsters? Dana, what are you —”
“Find the book! In my house. It’ll tell you everything. You’ll know it. It’s not like the others.”
“Dana —” I thought I heard someone at the far corner. Before I could see who it was, thick black smoke billowed up from the floor under Dana’s feet. The air roared like a jet engine. And I heard words — hissing — as if from a million miles away.
The … battle … begins ….
Dana’s face went white. “ HELP! ”
She threw something at me. Flames shot up in a ring around her feet, the floor split open, and she fell straight down. I saw eyes, dozens of them. And shiny black stuff. And thrashing shapes. And fire.
“Dana?” I shouted. “Dana!”
But an instant later, the floor sealed up, the fire vanished, and Dana was gone.
“D ANA !” I KNEELED AND HAMMERED MY FISTS ON the solid floor, while the school bell ending homeroom jangled on and on. Classrooms emptied, and kids and teachers crowded the hall.
My brain was spinning.
What had just happened was … impossible! Had anyone else seen it? Was it just me?
Then I noticed what Dana had thrown at me. Her house key.
Seriously? She wants me to go to her
“Can you give me a hand here?” he asked. “It’ll only take one minute.”
Brinnnng! The first bell rang.
In three minutes I would be officially late. But when someone says, “Help,” how can you refuse? Besides, Mr. Kenkins only asked for one minute. I had three.
As I held up one end of the rope, and Mr. Kenkins worked to unknot the other, I looked out behind the school. The dark pinewoods that gave our town half its name were what remained of one of the oldest forests in the state. Beyond them were ten miles of rocky bluffs that gave us the other half of our name.
Mr. Kenkins unlooped and unthreaded the ropes this way and that until — brrrinnnnng! — the late bell rang. Homeroom was starting.
“And … done,” said Mr. Kenkins with a big smile. “Thanks, Owen.”
“Anytime!” I said.
Slamming through the front doors, I found the halls already empty. Argh! I leaped into the main office to grab a late slip off the secretary’s desk and toss Maggie’s pennies in the collection can.
And I leaped right into the secretary.
“Ahhhh!” she cried.
I spun to keep from knocking her over … and spilled Mags’s pennies all over the floor.
“Sorry!” I said, fumbling on the floor to collect them. But I could only find eight blue-haired Lincolns.
Was the missing penny another sign?
“One must have rolled under Principal Carole’s door.” I stood and reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t you dare disturb her!” said the secretary, standing in my way. “Take a late slip.”
I dropped Maggie’s donation in the collection can, snagged a late slip, and raced toward first period. On the run, I fished out the money my dad and the kid on the bus had given me. I shot the dollar airplanes into Mr. Hemlock’s classroom.
“Thanks, O,” he called.
I kept running, down the stairs toward homeroom. The guitar case slammed my back with every step. I could picture my grandma wincing, telling me to be more careful with my guitar. She taught me how to play before she died — folk songs, rock songs, everything. My friend Jon Doyle keeps saying that he and I should form a band. But with me on guitar and Jon on triangle — Strum, bing! Strum, bing! — I’m not sure you could call it a band.
I tore around the next-to-last corner. Almost there. One final turn, then — BLAM! — right into … Dana!
The crash threw her into the wall, and I fell flat on my face.
I leaped up and pulled her to her feet. “Dana! I’m such a klutz. Are you okay?”
She looked into my eyes. Her long blonde hair was tangled. Her cheeks were beyond pale. “Owen, I know the real reason my parents went to Iceland. The monsters. They’re coming here. But you can’t tell a soul, not yet —”
I stepped back. “Monsters? Dana, what are you —”
“Find the book! In my house. It’ll tell you everything. You’ll know it. It’s not like the others.”
“Dana —” I thought I heard someone at the far corner. Before I could see who it was, thick black smoke billowed up from the floor under Dana’s feet. The air roared like a jet engine. And I heard words — hissing — as if from a million miles away.
The … battle … begins ….
Dana’s face went white. “ HELP! ”
She threw something at me. Flames shot up in a ring around her feet, the floor split open, and she fell straight down. I saw eyes, dozens of them. And shiny black stuff. And thrashing shapes. And fire.
“Dana?” I shouted. “Dana!”
But an instant later, the floor sealed up, the fire vanished, and Dana was gone.
“D ANA !” I KNEELED AND HAMMERED MY FISTS ON the solid floor, while the school bell ending homeroom jangled on and on. Classrooms emptied, and kids and teachers crowded the hall.
My brain was spinning.
What had just happened was … impossible! Had anyone else seen it? Was it just me?
Then I noticed what Dana had thrown at me. Her house key.
Seriously? She wants me to go to her
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