The Power of Five Oblivion

edge. Pedro lost his footing and sprawled on the deck. As he looked back, he saw a man and two women leap towards them, hoping to reach the last sailing boat to leave. But they were already too far away. All three of them fell into the black, churning water. Pedro didn’t see any of them come back up.
    There was a roar like the end of the world, like the universe splitting in two. A twisting column of flame blasted out of the top of Vesuvius, rising straight up into the sky. As the Medusa fought its way out of the harbour, blazing balls of lava rained down, hitting the water all around them, and suddenly they were surrounded by a dense forest of steam. Pedro saw a bigger sailing ship about twenty metres away. It was impossible to say how many people were on board. Every inch of the deck was crowded. But as he watched, it was hit by one of the lava balls, exploding instantly into flames and sinking even as it burned. Two other boats had been trying to get out of the way and crashed into each other, their masts and sails becoming hopelessly entangled. More people, tiny figures, fell into the water. It was all madness. Everything was being destroyed.
    But the Medusa had broken free, racing through the jet-black water with the fire reflected in the surface all around them. The wind had become very hot. It was burning them. Pedro felt warm water lapping at his face, splashing over the side. The boat was pitching and tossing. He was spread-eagled on the deck, unable to move.
    Somebody screamed something in Italian.
    Pedro looked up and saw a wave travelling towards them. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. The wave was the size of a ten-storey building. It was massive, hideous, unstoppable. They were steering right for it. There was no way around it. Pedro reached out. He found a rope and wound it round and round his right arm. He closed his eyes.
    The Medusa was still making for the wave. Angelo was gripping the wheel, his face locked in an expression of total horror. And then the wave was right in front of them and they were climbing, climbing, trying to make it over the top. But thousands of gallons of water were crashing down on them, blotting everything out. Pedro felt himself being battered down. It was as if the weight of the world had fallen on him. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. He was scooped up and swept away.
    After that … nothing.

MATT

TWENTY-THREE
    “How much you want for him?”
    Matthew Freeman stood with his head bowed and his hands tied in front of him, waiting to be sold. He had a cracked lip and there was a thin trail of blood trickling under his chin. A moment before, he had said something without being spoken to – and this was his punishment. He wasn’t alone on the platform. There were four other children, three boys and a girl, with him. They were all younger. The girl couldn’t have been more than seven or eight and she was wearing a black dress covered in sequins, as if this were some sort of high school beauty parade. One of the boys had been beaten and starved. He was standing there, swaying on his feet with an empty expression in his eyes, and Matt wondered if he would even make it to the end of the sale before he collapsed.
    Matt was the centre of attention. Most of the buyers had been drawn to him at once – a well-built fifteen-year-old boy with broad shoulders, close-cropped hair and intense blue eyes. His clothes and the colour of his skin marked him out as a foreigner, and Americans in particular were highly prized at slave markets. He guessed that nobody would be able to tell where he really came from. These people only spoke English with an accent that made every word sound ugly. Their native language was Portuguese. Nor did they really care. For the last fifteen minutes he had been prodded and poked. His shirt had been ripped open to show off the muscles on his shoulders and chest. His eyes, ears and throat had all been examined, and one of the buyers had even checked if he had head lice. He was healthy. That was all that mattered. It meant he was worth more.
    Of course Matt was a world apart from the other poor kids who were being sold alongside him. He had only arrived in Brazil five weeks ago, while they had grown up here, sold as soon as their parents had run out of food and then sold again two or three times, always at a lower price. He shuddered to think what they might have been used for. Manual labour, domestic service … or worse. It was