The Power of Five Oblivion

Anzio in six or seven hours. From there we can get a train directly into Rome. I would suggest that you get some sleep but that won’t be easy. We have no dry clothes … and no hot food either. I’m sorry.”
    “I’m very glad to be here,” Pedro said. “Please thank Angelo for saving my life. And tell Giovanni that I’m sorry he had to separate from his family.” Pedro thought of Francesco and the others, huddled together in the three rooms. If the police hadn’t killed them, Vesuvius probably would. He fought back a great wave of tiredness. Where was this all going to end?
    It was one of the most miserable nights of Pedro’s life. As the light failed – apart from the endless glow of red in the sky behind them – the Medusa ploughed through the inky water, following the coast of Italy, heading north. Still wearing his sodden clothes, there was no chance of sleep, no relief from the cold. He could only stand shivering as Angelo turned the wheel and Giovanni crouched in a corner. Eventually, and despite himself, he did manage to drift into a light doze, although he wasn’t aware of it at first. He only realized what had happened when he found himself back where he most wanted to be, in the dreamworld, at the bottom of the hill that led down from the library. He was sure that no time had passed. It was as if he had been arguing with Jamie, and Scarlett only seconds before, refusing to tell them the truth about Scott.
    He wished now that he hadn’t walked away in such a hurry. He wanted to be with the others, especially with Matt, who always had the answers. He still remembered the moment in the desert in Paracas, when Matt had worked out the location of the second gate and had set off to face the King of the Old Ones on his own. And later, when they had been making their plans after the death of Professor Chambers, the woman who had looked after them in Nazca. It seemed to Pedro that command came easily to Matthew Freeman. It was as if he had been born to lead them.
    He wanted to ask what he was supposed to do in Rome. Carla Rivera might have connections but how exactly could she help him? How was he meant to reach Oblivion, far away at the southernmost tip of the world? He thought of going back to the library and was both pleased and surprised when Matt suddenly appeared, walking over the crest of the hill and towards him.
    “Matteo…!” In the real world he was cold and exhausted. But in the dreamworld he was smiling. There was nobody he would have been happier to see.
    “You’re doing the right thing,” Matt said. “You’ve had a worse time than any of us. I know that. But there’s the door in Rome that will take you to Antarctica. Just be careful who you trust, Pedro. We’ll see each other soon.”
    Pedro examined his friend with concern. Matt was talking as if everything was all right. But he himself looked broken, defeated. Pedro had never seen anyone who looked so sad.
    “I don’t understand, Matteo. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? What did you see in the library?
    “Pedro…”
    But there was nothing more. With a sense of despair, Pedro felt himself being sucked away and opened his eyes. He was swaying on his feet, next to the steering wheel. He had barely been asleep at all. If Matt had been about to tell him something more, he was doomed never to hear it.
    Somehow the next day arrived and although the smoke from Vesuvius had followed them even a hundred and fifty kilometres up the coast, the sun managed to break through and Pedro did his best to dry himself in the early rays. He heard the tone of the engine rise and saw Angelo spin the wheel. The Medusa changed course and began to head for the coast and Pedro saw Anzio spread out in front of them and, high up on a cliff, a single white tower, a lighthouse, sticking up like a finger.
    They drew closer, heading for a fishing harbour, which on a bright day might have been somewhere pretty and peaceful to stop for lunch. But now it was a tangle, a mass of boats of every size, bringing refugees from Naples and perhaps from other parts of Italy, more and more of them drawing in from every direction. It was lucky that the huge wave that had nearly crushed the Medusa seemed to have missed this part of the coast. The town, with its solid line of five- and six-storey buildings, many of them right up against the waterfront, looked untouched.
    Angelo expertly steered them between two trawlers, each so weighed down with passengers that