by RJ Infantino
Escape
The Ashwood Lies (Prequel)
RJ Infantino
Edited by
AI Editing
Illustrated by
Derek Murphy
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Collapse: Prologue
Collapse: Chapter one
Copyright 2016 RJ Infantino
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First Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
To my family, friends, and everyone who supported my book on Kindle Scout.
There’s no way I could have done this without you.
Chapter One
Before the Collapse, Ashwood Prep seemed like any other boarding school. The classes were tough, the professors were worse, and we broke the rules every chance we got. As much as I complained, it could actually be a lot of fun besides the homework and the uniforms. That was before we learned the truth.
Everyone at Ashwood had secrets. The students. The professors. Even the buildings themselves. Of course, I wasn’t any different. I had my secrets too. Mine were pretty typical for a seventeen-year-old guy. I kept a cell phone hidden up in my dorm room. I snuck out of my room almost every night after lights out. And yeah, there was a girl. There’s always a girl.
Like I said, my secrets weren’t anything special, but Ashwood’s were different. Dark. Deadly. Ashwood’s secrets would go on to break the world. But back in September, when things still seemed normal, we didn’t have a clue.
I don’t think you can really blame us, though. How were we supposed to see the truth when the professors kept us so busy with homework, tests, and girls? Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the school’s fault that I was distracted by a girl, but that didn’t make it any less true.
I know this probably sounds irrelevant, but trust me, it’s all connected. How? Well, if my mind wasn’t stressing over English class the Fall Dance that Friday night, then maybe I would have noticed the signs.
Two months later, the world collapsed. I don’t know if I could’ve changed anything in those two months, maybe not, but I really wish I could’ve tried. Maybe then so many people wouldn’t have died.
But like I said, back in September, I was oblivious. I had my own secrets and my own problems. And one of them was my cell phone vibrating in my pocket, right in the middle of English class.
Cell phones were against the rules at Ashwood, which meant that everyone had one. Of course, most people were smart enough not to accidently bring theirs into class. More than a couple people have accused me of being smart in the past, but pretty much everything I’ve ever done in my life has proven them wrong.
I wasn’t an idiot, just forgetful. And when the phone lurched to life in my pocket, I thought for a second that someone had just scratched my leg. I shot a glance to my left, but was Rosie was staring straight ahead at the board, tugging at the end of her sharp blonde ponytail. She was my best friend, so it wouldn’t have been that weird if she’d scratched my leg, except we were in the middle of class, and Rosie took classes pretty seriously. I tried to get her attention, but she was laser focused. My leg buzzed again, this time right into a pause in Professor Lowe’s mind-bendingly boring lecture about the Lord of the Flies.
Lowe heard it, but he was so absorbed in the droll of his own voice that he didn’t realize what it was.
“Got something to say, Chase?”
I stood up. “Yeah, I need to go to the restroom.”
“Sit down.” Lowe was one of those particularly pathetic grown men who felt powerful every time he refused to let a kid go to the bathroom.
“Sorry, Lowe. I mean, Professor. This isn’t like one of your novels here. Real people have real problems. Sometimes, the hero needs to poop.”
The class laughed, and Lowe was just about to shoot down my hero remark when I grabbed my copy of the book off the desk.
“Actually, it’s exactly like this book. Just imagine I’m Piggy.” I hesitated over the nickname—even though he was a fictional character, I knew he didn’t like that name so I didn’t like using it. “I’ve eaten too much of the island fruit. You get the idea, right?”
I thought about doing a little jig to emphasize my discomfort but thought that might be overselling it.
“Who’s Piggy?” Marcus asked, just as another buzz erupted in my pocket. I’d always found his loud, obnoxious voice grating, but right then it drowned out my cell like sweet music.
“Well, now we know who didn’t do their homework,” Polo said, waving his book in Marcus’s face for emphasis.
Marcus pushed it away, his cheeks burning crimson in embarrassment.
Lowe was losing control of the class. Just one more little push. “Professor? You know what happened in the book when the kids were deprived of modern plumbing? They went nuts, lost control, and ended up doing some rather unsavory things to—”
“Get out!” Lowe roared, and I ducked out the door before he could change his mind.
The quiet hallway was a shock after the chaos of the classroom. It was easy to forget when the halls were crammed with students, but Ashwood Prep really was beautiful. Dark wood lined the walls and the floors for a deep, mysterious aesthetic that was only magnified by the hand carved chairs and desks. Ivy crawled along the stately brick outside. It was all very academic. My English class was in the Main Building, and it was only a short walk up the stairs to the second floor and the safety of my dorm room. My phone was itching at my curiosity, but there was no telling when a teacher might walk by. My room was the only safe place to check it.
I kept my gait casual and strolled through the halls, glancing where I could into the other classrooms at the students inside. I wondered if I looked that miserable in class. But the floor was so worn with dead spots, air bubbles, and divots that I had to keep my eyes trained mostly on the ground just to avoid tripping.
I’d probably end up in detention after that little stunt with Lowe, but it was a lot better than losing my cell phone for the semester. I mean, it was barely even my fault. Lowe was one of those new professors—young and painfully aware of it. Like the rest of his type, he was always overcompensating. My guess was that the only reason he became a teacher in the first place was because high school had been the best years of his life and he was having a tough time adjusting to the fact that those glory days were over. Instead, all he could hope for was respect, and the fact that he tried so hard to force it meant that he’d never get it. He wasn’t even actually our teacher. He taught English to the first years, and the only reason he was in our fourth year class at all was because the more important teachers were having a faculty meeting.
I had half a mind to sneak outside and spy on that meeting. It would have been easy. The weather was nice, and there was a perfect hiding spot in the bushes beneath that window. But I was breaking more than a few rules already, and I wasn’t one to push my luck. There were a lot of rules at Ashwood: from how we kept our rooms down to the clothes we wore, but I always considered them more like . . . guidelines. The funny thing was, I think the professors did too. It wasn’t that they wanted us to break the rules, more like they expected it. Still, they came down hard whenever they caught us. But want to know a little secret about me? I was pretty good at not getting caught.
It was because I was cautious. Careful to a fault, my friends would say. I probably broke more rules than anyone else, but I always did it on my terms. That was the key. Of course, even I made the occas
ional mistake, which was why I hustled up the stairs to rid myself of the incriminating evidence in my pocket.
And the crazy thing was, it was still blowing up! Text message after text message. Whoever was sending them needed to get a hold of me. Now.
The second floor hallway was a mirror image of the main floor, except the ground was lined with a carpet that was somehow harder than wood. A central room split one long end of the hall from the other, separating the Boys’ End of the dorms from the Girls’ End.
I was hoping beyond hope that the hallway would be empty, but it was a Friday afternoon. Most people didn’t have class during last period, and even the unlucky few that did would be freed when the bell tower tolled the end of the day in a few minutes. Sure enough, there was a crowd.
I smiled and nodded and fist bumped my way down the hall, maneuvering between pockets of guys chatting and volleying a soccer ball back and forth. Almost there. Professor Sprawling was working his way in my direction from the far end of the hall. He was the last obstacle to safety, but I was a lot closer to my room than he was.
I would have made it, no problem, had someone not grabbed my elbow. I jerked it away reflexively and spun my head, only to realize that it was Ian. Annoying-but-usually-harmless Ian.
His eyes held a conspiratorial look. “Hey, Chase! You know what tonight is, right?”
Obviously, but Ian wasn’t a person who could leave the obvious unsaid. “Fall Dance!” He said. That voice would have been inappropriately loud outside, let alone in the hallway. “And you know what that means, right?”
Professor Sprawling was eyeing us now.
I swung the door to my room open and shoved Ian inside. I didn’t even try to be gentle.
Giving Professor Sprawling a reassuring smile, I closed the door behind us. Ian hadn’t stopped talking the whole time. My phone buzzed one last time for good measure.
“. . . and it’ll be the perfect time for us to try and hit the attic.”
For a moment, I considered lecturing him about the close call, but there wasn’t any point. Ian had always been like this, and no amount of rage was going to change that. In a way, I was jealous how oblivious he could be to his surroundings, or perhaps how little he seemed to care about consequences. I wasn’t that lucky.
“You’d have to be a moron to sneak up to the attic tonight,” I said. “And I’m not a moron.”
“What do you mean? Everyone will be distracted by the dance.”
“All the students will be distracted. And excited. And mischievous. All the faculty will be on high alert.”
“But—”
“But nothing, man. Trust me, it’s a bad idea. Besides, we still can’t even get in there without the keys.”
Ian let a sly grin slip onto his face as he reached into his pocket. “You mean these keys?” He jingled them in my face for good measure.
“Where the hell did you get those?” I was impressed and nervous all at once. Of course, even as I asked, I already knew the answer. The attic was strictly off-limits to students. As far as any of us knew, no one had ever snuck up there. The only obvious ways in were a padlocked hatch in the rooftop bell tower and the elevator, which didn’t run unless you had the keys. Only the faculty had those.
Ian’s grin beamed. “Swiped them off Professor Monroe.”
I shook my head. “You’re an idiot. And you’ll be an even bigger one than I thought if you don’t listen to my advice. Trust me. Marco and Polo will say the same thing.”
Marco and Polo were my usual partners in crime. They were legends, and their names had almost nothing to do with it. I was mischievous, but they operated on a whole different level. Ian was eager, young, and dumb as a rock. He’d learn.
“But—”
“No buts. Unless you go to the dance. Then there’ll be plenty of butts.”
He deflated as if I’d just popped every balloon at his birthday party. And the thing was, I couldn’t even feel bad. I was doing him a favor. If he couldn’t see that now, he would eventually.
“Now get out,” I said as nicely as I could. I guided him out into the hall just as the bell tower chimed. No point in going back to class now. My backpack was still down there, but Rosie would grab it for me.
Then I remembered why I left class in the first place. I ripped the phone out of my pocket and glared at the screen. Eight unread text messages. From Tre. I tapped the first one.
You better not bail tonight
Chase?
You know she’s going
Stop ignoring me Chase
. . .
I’m beginning to think you’re not answering on purpose
I sighed and tossed my phone onto the lumpy, old couch stuffed in the back corner of the room. The dorms weren’t anything special. The rooms were small and packed with the school issued furniture. The couch was the only extra thing we could fit, besides the eclectic road signs we hung to decorate the walls.
My phone buzzed one more time, but I ignored it.
“You aren’t going to answer those? They’re probably important.”
The voice seemed to erupt out of thin air, and if it wasn’t so familiar, I would’ve flinched. My roommate Tre popped his head over the edge of his sky bed, grinning. His dreads swung in the air like rope.
Sky beds probably sound kind of weird and maybe a little hard to imagine, but the idea was pretty simple. Think of it as basically just a top bunk without the bottom. They helped maximized the little space we did get, and they were pretty convenient for hiding all sorts of things from prying eyes, people included.
“You know I was in class, right?” I asked rhetorically.
“And I was bored, so which one was really more important?”
“You’re always bored.”
“I know, but that’s why I picked such an excitingly stupid roommate.”
I dropped my backpack and started peeling my uniform off starting with my tie. “Ah, so you were eavesdropping.”
“I hope you’re not actually going to try breaking into the attic.”
“You heard me. I told him it was moronic.”
“No, you said it was stupid to do it tonight. Pretty specific choice of words.”
I kicked off my shoes and climbed the wooden ladder to my own sky bed. “And Ian is a particularly specific guy. I wouldn’t risk going up to the attic with him even if all the professors suddenly vanished from campus.”
“Again with those words, Chase. One day you’re going to find a problem that you can’t just talk your way out of.”
“Probably, but I doubt today is going to be that day. I’m tired. Wake me up on Monday.”
“No such luck, my friend. We’ve got a dance to go to tonight.”
Chapter Two
I riffled through Tre’s closet, looking for a new shirt for the third time in the last fifteen minutes.
My hands found a starchy button-down. I yanked it from the hanger and flipped it on over my head. I know being a guy means I’m not supposed to care about things like clothes, but the only people who believe that girls hold a monopoly on appearance anxiety clearly never went to high school.
This was the problem about wearing a uniform every day for school—everything else just felt weird. Too loose, too long, or just too uncool. Which was ironic, considering that there was nothing more uncool than an Ashwood Prep school dance. And yeah, I know, all school dances are unbearably lame, but that awkwardness is only magnified at a boarding school. I mean, there were only two hundred girls at Ashwood. And considering we were out in the middle of nowhere, those same girls were the only two hundred girls for miles. It was hard to reconcile going from operating a Bunsen burner in chemistry class on a Friday afternoon to rubbing up against one of those girls in the dining room later on that night.
Which was another weird thing. Why in the world did they hold the dances in the dining room? We ate meals in there three times a day, seven days a week, all school year long. It was hard to make eyes at your crush while you cou
ld still smell the pierogis the whole school had for lunch.
Like I said, there were plenty of secrets at Ashwood, but few of them stayed secret for very long. If I wanted to dance with a girl, I had to be ready for the whole school to know about it. And forget mistakes. The slow fade did not exist when you had to see her every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
My new shirt bunched uncomfortably under my armpits, so I threw it off into the growing pile on the floor. I turned to Tre, who had already performed his own dressing ritual and was now dousing himself in his third waft of cologne.
“Dude, let's just skip this. They’re always so lame anyway.”
Tre didn’t take his eyes off the mirror. “You're thinking of regular dances. This is the first dance of the year. You know what that means.”
“We have to suffer through a whole year of these?”
“Nah man, it means fresh meat. The new girls don’t know how lame you are yet.”
I could only shake my head. Of course Tre liked dances. He liked anything that involved girls. And the girls seemed to like him plenty too.
A nervous knock at the door interrupted our banter. “Don't come in, I'm naked,” Tre shouted.
The door opened a crack and Ben stuck his head inside. “Can I ask you guys a question?”
“Is it, what does don't come in mean?” Tre shot back.
Ben came in like he didn’t even hear the taunt. Tre’s eyes went back to his mirror, while mine followed Ben as he trudged to the back of the room and dropped heavily onto our couch. I don’t know if he sighed as he sat down, or just deflated.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. He looked even less enthusiastic than I felt.
Ben eyed me warily. “Look, you guys have to promise not to tell anybody about this.”
“In good faith, I can't promise that,” Tre said over his shoulder. Ben had the habit of saying, and doing, such unexpectedly embarrassing things that it was almost impossible not to share the story. Ben was a second year, but he was on the basketball team with me, and I actually enjoyed his farm-bred brand of naivety. It was refreshingly honest compared to the fronts that everyone else tried so hard to put up.
