The Viperob Files

by Alister Hodge

  “Yeah, they’ll be fine,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Smoke filled the top thirty centimetres of the room as Harris wiped blood off his knuckles with a rag. Nik sagged forward in his chair, only held in place by the cable tie about his wrist. The man’s face was a mess, swollen and torn with a gaping maw where his left eye had once resided. Nikolai’s right hand now ended at his palm, thumb and fingers neatly clipped off at their roots.

  He’d talked. They always did, it was just a question of individual threshold. When Harris had moved the sharp-edged spoon toward his remaining eye, Nikolai had finally cracked. He’d told of the data chip concealed in the diving bang stick that was now offsite with his son. When a severed thumb yielded no further information, Harris finally concluded that he had as much as the man knew. He considered turning his attentions toward the wife, but he was running out of time and the woman looked more defiant than her husband.

  Neither parent knew the current location of their son, or his friends Jaego Tan and Gwen Russo. If they somehow survived the storm, he’d find them if the Tri-Claws didn’t beat him to the prize. No one on the island lived outside Viperob’s walls for long.

  As Harris ducked out of the apartment, he wondered for a moment if he’d delayed his exit too long. The communal area was now empty of moving bodies while fire raged at the far end of the corridor. An external window exploded from the heat, allowing the storm inside. Within moments, cyclonic winds gusting through the empty frame fuelled the blaze with oxygen, whipping it into a raging entity of destruction. Flames leapt down the hall at a blistering pace, consuming all with a white-hot, ravenous hunger.

  Harris ran, ignoring the inviting doors of the lift for the certainty of the fire escape stairwell. He’d already forgotten about Nikolai and Jeanie Claymore. They’d be nothing but ash within minutes.

  Jeanie looked over her shoulder, bloodshot eyes wide as she confirmed that the Spec Ops lieutenant had left the apartment. Her hair was dishevelled, face smudged with grey from the thickening smoke except where tears and snot had cleared lines below her eyes and nose. She flicked her attention back to her husband.

  “Nik! Wake up!”

  Her husband stayed where he was, slumped forward from his chair. They needed to move, and fast. For the thousandth time, she flexed her arms against her ties, but the wooden frame of the chair was too thick for her to break. Jeanie looked around, trying to think of a way to free herself. Flames were starting to lick up the left side of the apartment door, raising paint in diseased blisters from the wood.

  In desperation, Jeanie shuffled her chair backwards until the plastic cable ties at her wrist touched the flame. She gasped in agony as the fire caressed with a demon’s touch, melting through layers of skin along with the plastic. Finally, the tie came apart and she whipped her hands away, screaming as a long section of skin was left behind, stuck to the back of her chair. Jeanie grasped a knife from the kitchenette and cut the last ties at her ankles to gain freedom.

  Standing up, her head and shoulder were plunged into thick smoke that filled the top third of the room. Coughing violently, she bent over and ran back to her husband. Tears sprang from her eyes as she looked on the trauma he had endured to protect their son, all for naught.

  “You stupid bastard, what have you done to us?” Jeanie muttered under her breath as she squatted behind the chair to cut his ties with the knife. She still didn’t truly understand what was on the file her husband had taken, only knew that he’d condemned their whole family by stealing it. As the blade severed the last plastic band about his wrist, she had to catch his weight as his body threatened to topple off sideways.

  “Nik! You need to wake up!”

  Jeanie slapped him hard, making his empty socket weep tears of blood. The pain finally roused him, his remaining eye blinking open and focusing on his wife as consciousness returned.

  “Get up, we have to find our boy before that bastard does,” she yelled.

  Nikolai nodded, shoving himself to standing. The pair turned for the doorway. They had only taken two steps forward when the fire raging in the corridor passed the threshold, blocking off their only escape with a wall of heat. Jeanie threw a hand up before her face, stumbling back from the inferno as she felt eyelashes and fringe singe away in an instant.

  Like a predator sensing an easy target, the flames spilled into the apartment, flowing over the floorboards in pursuit. Behind the couple, the cracked window became terminal, imploding in a vicious hail of shrapnel. Jeanie barely registered the pain as countless slivers of glass stabbed into her back and legs.

  Her mind was blank of thought, consumed with only terror as she and Nik were pushed ever closer to the gaping hole left by the smashed window. With less than a metre separating them from a hundred metre drop, Jeanie felt her hand taken in a grip. She looked to the side and saw Nikolai staring at her, his one eye conveying the despair she felt. They had failed, leaving their only son to fight alone against an enemy that as yet, he didn’t even know existed.

  The couple turned their back on the fire and stepped to the edge of the empty window frame. There was no other option. Wind buffeted their faces and clothes, fuelling the fire at their backs with oxygen. Jeanie took Nikolai’s hand in hers and found herself pulled into a final hug of bone-cracking strength. The gale whipped away her words, turning them into a nothing more than wordless mouthings as she tried to tell Nikolai that she loved him one last time. Her husband kissed her before they turned to face the storm hand in hand.

  The fire reached their feet, climbing clothes and turning hair into haloes orange flame.

  Jeanie and Nikolai jumped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ethan awoke to the sense that something was wrong. It took a moment for him to realise it was the absence of noise, a silence that seemed alien after the previous night of cyclonic fury. The lantern’s batteries had run flat hours before, leaving the cellar in near-complete darkness. The only light available filtered through cracks surrounding the trapdoor above their heads, notifying of the morning’s arrival. Gwen was still asleep, hugged in under Ethan’s left arm against his chest. As he looked up at the exit, the slight movement roused her, eyelids stuttering open in the dark.

  “The storm’s passed?” she asked, slipping out from under his arm to stretch.

  “Yeah, I think so. We should probably get moving.” Ethan climbed to his feet, groaning softly as he stretched stiffness from legs and back. Sitting against the wall to sleep hadn’t done his back any favours, but when Gwen had curled up against him, he’d not wanted to move in case she found somewhere more comfortable.

  “Jaego. Time to get up, mate,” said Ethan, nudging his friend with the toe of his boot.

  Jaego’s eyes barely opened as he pushed himself to sitting. He sat there for a moment, a slight sway to his torso before suddenly turning to one side and vomiting. His gut heaved a few more times, bringing up nothing but bile. An acid tang wafted from the puddle, making Gwen crinkle her nose in disgust.

  “It feels like my brain is trying to gnaw through the front of my skull,” mumbled Jaego as he cuffed vomit from his lips with a sleeve.

  “There’s some painkillers in the first aid kit upstairs,” said Ethan. “Are you all right to walk? We’ve got to get back—our folks are going to be worried sick.”

  “What’s the hurry? They probably haven’t even noticed we’re missing yet. You guys looked comfortable enough there a second ago, might as well sleep a while longer,” said Jaego as he massaged his temples with eyes closed. “Yeah, that’s right. I awoke earlier to see you two lovebirds snuggled up and making the most of the storm.” A smart-arse grin spread briefly across Jaego’s face before he winced and rubbed at his temples again.

  Ethan chose to ignore his comment, thinking he best not read too much into the night’s sleeping arrangements. Gwen said nothing either, but a slight smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.

  “Get your arse off t
he ground, you idiot,” muttered Ethan, turning to climb the ladder. He reached a hand up, unlocked the latch and pushed against the trapdoor. It didn’t budge.

  “Is it stuck?” asked Gwen.

  Ethan stepped onto a higher rung, so he could get both hands onto the trapdoor. “Something’s on top of it,” he said through gritted teeth as he strained upwards. “Jaego, get up here, I need some help.”

  His mate climbed the ladder like an old man to lend a hand. Balanced precariously on the same rung, they heaved against the wooden panels, faces darkening and veins standing out with the effort. Gradually the door began to lift, joined by a heavy grinding noise of sliding masonry. Finally, the weight slid free, allowing them to throw open the trapdoor fully.

  Sunlight flooded the room, making Ethan wince at the sudden brightness as he hauled himself over the edge and up into the kitchen. The room was a cluttered mess of broken wood and belongings. All the stuff that they had accumulated over the previous years was scattered and broken. Only one window retained a wooden shutter, sagging from a single bent hinge.

  Jaego followed him up, his face falling as he saw the extent of damage. “Well there goes two years of work in one night.” Picking his way amongst the debris, he found their first aid bag in a cupboard. Unzipping the red package, he located the tablets he was after and dry-swallowed them.

  “At least the bones of the house still seem sound,” said Gwen.

  Being so distracted by the devastation found, Ethan hadn’t even noticed her climb out of the cellar.

  “I guess so,” he answered, features flat as he surveyed the room. “No different to when we found the place originally. The walls are standing, and some of our stuff is still ok at least.” Ethan lifted a broken window shutter off the wooden seat they had restored. Except for a single gouge in the timber, it had survived intact.

  “Bit of a sand and re-oiling—it’ll be good as new,” said Jaego over his shoulder.

  “And we’re all in one piece,” added Gwen. “Well, other than Jaego throwing up half a lung downstairs.”

  Ethan nodded, starting to feel a little better about the whole situation. It was nothing a bit of work wouldn’t fix. “Hey, Gwen, the communications tower might be up again. Do you want to try your dad?”

  Gwen nodded and pulled out her tablet, quickly punching in the number for her father. After less than two rings, the call was answered.

  “Hi, Dad…”

  “Is this Gwen Russo?” asked a male voice.

  Gwen bit a bottom corner of her lip. “Um, who are you and why have you got Marco Russo’s phone?”

  “Answer the question. Are you Gwen Russo? Where is your current location?” An edge of irritation entered the man’s voice over the speaker.

  Ethan took the tablet from Gwen’s hand and disconnected the call.

  “Why did you do that?” asked Gwen.

  “For the same reason you didn’t answer his question. Something seemed odd.”

  The colour dropped from Gwen’s face. “Shit,” she muttered quietly. “Security must have hauled him in again.” She turned on the spot and headed for the door. “We need to get back there and find out what’s going on. Now!”

  Outside, the damage wrought by the cyclone was everywhere. Bricks and concrete were scattered like confetti across a bomb strike. Many of the old buildings had lost any remaining sections of roofing, while the gale had reduced others to mere piles of rubble. A few more tropical storms like this, and the island would cease to be anything more than an archaeological gravesite.

  In the distance, a spire of grey smoke rose into the sky. The barest of breezes smudged the smoke to the east, creating a dirty haze that scented the air with ash. The friends walked quickly, reduced to silence by the surroundings.

  On reaching the top of a steep section of road, Ethan paused for a second to catch his breath. Jaego bent over with his hands on his knees, his skin pale and drawn. Although he’d said the tablets had taken the edge off his headache, he was still clearly suffering.

  “Bloody hell,” said Gwen, a distinct shake to her voice.

  Ethan followed her line of sight, realising that they could now see the top of the Viperob community housing skyscraper. Or what was left of it. Ethan’s heart dropped. Their families all lived in the top fifteen floors, however the storm had reduced that section of the building to a shell. Nothing but blackened concrete and melted steel remained. The flames had burnt themselves out, leaving smoke to rise from the funeral pyre.

  Gwen broke into a run, the boys tailing close behind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kane pushed his way out of the crowd and leant back against a wall, taking comfort that at least there was one direction from which he couldn’t be attacked for the moment. He forced a slow breath, desperately trying to calm his pounding heart. He knew he looked stressed, could feel the sweat beading at his forehead and soaking the material beneath his armpits. If he approached the exit looking like this, the security personnel would immediately target him, even if he hadn’t made their watch list yet. Kane reached a hand into his jacket and unclipped the holster of his pistol, readying for a fast draw. If security did nab him, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

  Kane knew it was only a matter of time before he was pulled in for interrogation. The usual speed of the Spec Ops security team had been hampered by the cyclone, and Kane was determined to make the best of the situation and escape before Harris started to cut off body parts he’d rather leave intact.

  Although he shared Nikolai’s political beliefs, he had no desire to die for them and preferred to stay in the background where there was less personal risk. Kane liked pulling the strings of others such as Nik, a man that had always been easy to goad into action. But this time, he knew he’d bitten off more than he could chew. His buffer against the security branch was gone, and for all he knew, tortured to death. After sending Kane a short warning that Spec Ops was at his door, he’d heard nothing more from the man. That same message had provided Kane with the location of Ethan and the data chip, giving him hope. If he could just find the boy, he’d still have a fighting chance of turning failure into success.

  Kane leant against the wall until the sweat on his forehead dried and breath slowed, feigning interest in his mobile tablet while the crowd weaved about. Feeling back in control of his faculties, Kane slipped the device back into his pocket and stood straight, squaring his shoulders before slipping back into the crowd.

  Within moments he’d joined the queue at the main exit of the Viperob complex. Except for shift changes when some walked to the Maglev station via an exterior route, few aside from adolescents bothered leaving the grounds. Today was different. Hundreds sought to escape the ring wall, the smoking ruin of the tower enough to drive them in search of clear air. Kane hoped that he’d manage to pass beneath the security guards’ notice while hidden in the press. He pulled a black cap from his jacket and shoved it on his head, pulling it down firmly to hide his face in shadow. With eyes downcast pretending sorrow at the night’s disaster, he shuffled forward to the gate.

  A ten-metre-high wall constructed of dull red brick encircled the complex, keeping out roaming Tri-Claw after dark. The gate Kane approached was three metres tall and wide enough to allow five adults to pass, shoulder to shoulder. To either side of the opening stood a security officer, watchful eyes skipping over the faces of those that passed through. Kane felt his pulse increase with a surge of adrenaline as he neared, hands jittery as he shoved them deep into his pockets, ignoring the sweat that soaked damp patches at his armpits.

  To his right, the security officer suddenly lunged into the line of people, grabbing hold of a man’s shirt to rip him aside. Kane slipped a hand to the inside of his jacket and gun in readiness, but kept his face down, watching from the corner of his eye as the man had his hands zip-tied by the officer.

  “What the hell have I done?” asked the man, his face blanched of colour.

  The officer drew hard on the t
ie, making the plastic bite deep into the prisoner’s flesh. “Zach Tan, you’re wanted by Spec Ops for interrogation on the location of your son and his associates.”

  “Jaego? There’s got to be some sort of mistake. He and his mother have been missing since the storm hit; security should be helping me find them for God’s sake…”

  Kane dropped his hand and pushed on forward through the gap while the officers were distracted, finally escaping the complex. The tight-bunched line of people dispersed, fanning out on the exterior road. Kane suppressed the urge to break into a run, and instead kept his head down and tried to avoid drawing any attention as he walked away. Inwardly he exalted at passing the first hurdle.

  He headed south. Nikolai’s message had told him that his son would be holed up in a house on the southern shore of the island. If the kids had survived the storm, that was where he was hoping to locate them. Finding Ethan was of critical importance and held the key to his own escape. Now that Kane’s own life was at risk, he’d lost all interest in bringing the Viperob file to the attention of the Australasian Defence Force. Kane wanted to find for Ethan and Jaego for an entirely different reason. Nikolai had approached him a day earlier, asking him to scope out a buyer for the boys’ jewellery find.

  Five rings with mounted gemstones, an absolute rarity from a different age. Five rings that might just be enough to buy his freedom. And if they were as good as Nik had described, he might only need one or two of them to bribe his way onto the Maglev off the island. The others, well, they’d buy him a new start somewhere else.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I just made contact with one of the targets, Boss.”

  Lieutenant Harris was on his feet immediately, eyes bright despite getting less than an hour’s stolen sleep during the night. “Which one?”

  “I didn’t get a verbal confirmation, but I think it was Gwen Russo.”