20

"Levels?" Bishop grunts as he drives.

A few miles away, the road was clogged with the rusting husks of cars left behind during the cataclysm, so Bishop steered us off the road. Now the vehicle is lurching over the uneven terrain, rocking me violently in my seat belt. I look over at Sara and she's gripping the rest of the armrest of her own seat tightly. Even with that niiloxin in her system, she's agitated as hell, and I don't blame her. I'm fine with her.

Dr. Lucian, on the other hand, seems completely at ease. Though he's shivering and bouncing in the front seat, he manages to touch the glowing data panel display he's holding in his lap, scrolling through a variety of digital charts and graphs - information coming in from sensors mounted on the vehicle's roof.

"Looks like the levels are at... three-fifty," he calmly responds to Bishop. "We still need to go a little deeper."

Bishop nods and presses the accelerator even harder.

Three hundred and fifty. He must be talking about omega c