The Bully Chip

by Glenn Wood

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Logo

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Also By Glenn Wood

  A year after they defeated Lester Smythe – the evil mastermind – Callum, Sophie and Jinx are having problems with the new kids at Thanxton High. The bullies seem to be targeting them. And the friends soon discover they’re in the middle of a dangerous plot for revenge.

  Who’s behind it? And what is the bully chip?

  Prologue

  The girl sat nervously in the large padded chair and shivered, even though the room wasn’t cold. She ran her fingers through her short spiky hair and looked around. She was in a brightly lit space that had the sterile feel of a hospital examination cubicle. The room contained several machines that would have been equally at home in a scientific laboratory, which was odd because she was in the arrivals area of her new boarding school.

  She hadn’t wanted to leave her local school, but her parents weren’t happy with the education she was getting, so they had bundled her off to Sethel Stymer Preparatory School – an exclusive establishment that had just opened nearby. No one bothered to ask her opinion. She knew through bitter experience that when you’re a teenager, no one’s interested in what you think.

  Her first impressions of the new school weren’t promising. That morning, she had been picked up at the train station by an extremely tall, powerfully built, unsmiling man with a bald head and an ill-fitting suit. He’d escorted her to a black four-wheel drive, which had heavily tinted windows and carried the school insignia – two red interlocking letter Ss – on the side. The vehicle was brand new. It smelled of money and leather. The girl was the only occupant, which made for a lonely trip, as her escort had barely spoken since picking her up.

  When they finally arrived, she hadn’t been able to see much of the school. The tinted windows of the car were just as opaque from the inside, and her surroundings were reduced to a series of blurred shapes.

  She was hustled from the vehicle and through the school’s side entrance, noticing only that the facade was dull and grey. The building had obviously been designed for practicality rather than aesthetics.

  The girl hadn’t seen another living soul since being deposited in the room where she now sat, left alone to stew. No teachers, no students, nothing. She didn’t know how long she’d been there but it felt like hours.

  Bored, the girl took out her mobile phone and checked the home screen – no signal. She clicked on a game app. Might as well have a bit of fun while I wait, she thought.

  A sudden flash of static disrupted the screen; the icons grew larger and then exploded into thousands of pixels. The mobile sparked, sending a shock through the girl’s hand. She shrieked and dropped the phone, the casing shattering as it hit the floor. A low-pitched hum filled the room; the sound was so intense that it unsettled the air.

  Panic surged through the girl. She was about to leap from the chair and sprint for the door when strong thin straps burst from beneath the armrests and coiled around her wrists. Thicker straps wrapped around her chest, thighs and ankles, pinning her in place. She screamed and pulled against the bonds, but was no match for the fastenings.

  A high-pitched hiss, like a warning from a snake, sounded above her. She looked up and watched in horror as a sprinkler head dropped through a hole in the tiles and began to pump out a swirling purple gas.

  As the mist engulfed the girl and her consciousness began to slip away, she saw three figures, their faces distorted by clear perspex gasmasks, creep into the room. She couldn’t be certain but she thought that, underneath his mask, the thin man in the lead was smiling. As he came closer, she saw it wasn’t a smile. Radiating in a jagged semicircle from under his nose to high on his left cheek was an ugly puckered scar.

  The girl passed out before she had a chance to scream.

  One

  Callum McCullock sat in his wheelchair at the top of a large wooden platform and surveyed the mountain bike track that wound through the forest below. He was a nice-looking fourteen-year-old boy with short sandy brown hair and a face that was normally open and friendly. At the moment, however, the look in his hazel eyes was one of pure determination.

  He turned to a slender girl of a similar age who stood beside him on the platform. This was Sophie Barnsworth, his best friend.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  A gust of wind caught the girl’s chestnut brown hair and flicked it over her pretty face. She hardly noticed; her attention was on the track that twisted through the forest beneath them.

  “Are you absolutely, one hundred per cent sure you want to do this?”

  Callum gave a sharp nod.

  Sophie persisted. She pointed to a sign nailed to a tree at the track entrance. “It says this trail is for expert riders only.”

  Callum rocked forwards in his jet black Thunderkit X5 wheelchair. He slapped a gloved hand onto one of its fat knobbly tyres. “I’ve been on wheels since I was four, so if I’m not an expert, I don’t know who is.”

  Callum was born with a defect in his spinal column and had never had the use of his legs. When he was younger, he’d gone through a series of painful orthotic devices, before the doctors finally gave up and admitted he’d be in a wheelchair for life.

  The Thunderkit was the latest in a line of chairs he’d been confined to and was the best by far. Callum had found new confidence using the lightweight carbon fibre chair. It had a five-wheel set-up with two small wheels at the front and a single stabilising wheel trailing behind its two, much larger, main wheels. Both the front wheels and the trailing wheel were fully retractable, which made it perfect for both off- and on-road use.

  And Callum’s chair wasn’t exactly factory standard. Sophie, who was an extremely talented inventor and engineer, had helped him trick it out. It now contained many enhancements that would have shocked the original manufacturer. For today’s ride they’d “improved” the suspension and raised the footrests, but, even with all the developments, it was still a wheelchair.

  Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. This track is designed for mountain bikes, not what you’re riding.” Concern flashed in her green eyes. “I’m not even sure this is legal.”

  Callum laughed. “When’s that ever bothered you?”

  Sophie glared at him, not a trace of a smile.

  Callum sighed. “I’ll go slowly, okay?”

  “How is that even possible?” said Sophie, her voice rising a couple of octaves. “The drop-off at the start is almost vertical, the first section is all downhill, and if you’re not hooning it by the time you hit that ramp, you’ll never clear the stream.”

  Sophie pointed to a long wooden ramp near the end of the course. It was approximately three metres long and was raised from the forest floor on a thirty degree angle. A shallow stream ran between the first ramp and an almost identical structure on the opposite bank. The gap between the two ramps was nearly a metre and a half.

  Callum manoeuvred his wheelchair until he was facing his friend. “I’ll stop before the ramp, I promise. Come on, Soph. I’ll be fine.”

  Sophie stamped her foot.
“I hate it when you make me be the sensible one.” Callum watched as she reached into a backpack on the platform. She pulled out a mountain bike helmet and handed it to him. “If you’re determined to go, you have to wear this. And don’t expect me to visit you in hospital.”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen,” said Callum as he clipped on the helmet and wheeled closer to the drop-off.

  Callum looked over the edge at the steep, jutted track and his confidence wavered. You can do this, he told himself.

  He was fitter and stronger than he had ever been. His upper body had filled out considerably in the year since he, Sophie and their friend Jinx had defeated Lester Smythe and his evil brain-sucking machines. He also had much better control of the Thunderkit.

  He took a deep breath, retracted the rear wheel and pushed hard on his wheel rims.

  The wheelchair dropped onto the track and the first sensation Callum experienced was exhilaration. This was closely followed by fear as the Thunderkit rocketed down the dirt trail. He felt every wheel rut and tree root as he fought to keep the chair from tipping.

  The first corner at the bottom of the drop was a sharp left-hander with a built-up right bank. Callum feathered his handbrakes to slow the chair and pulled on the left-hand rim to bring it around. The chair tilted as the outside wheel climbed the bank and Callum was thankful that the dirt was dry and hard packed. He wouldn’t have stood a chance if the track had been wet. He didn’t have much time to dwell on this because as soon as he’d cleared the corner, he faced another drop. Callum leaned back in the seat to keep his weight on the back wheels, knowing that if his footrests caught, the chair would flip.

  As the slope levelled off he could see that the track weaved through a series of tight S-bends. Callum alternated pressure on his left and right rims as he raced through the corners. Every metre of the trail required his full attention. It had been designed for the much thinner frame of a mountain bike and his wheels were frequently off the path.

  He also had to contend with rogue tree branches slapping at his chair and, on more than one occasion, his face.

  As he cleared the last of the S-bends, Callum allowed himself a whoop of pure joy. Adrenaline surged through his body as the Thunderkit hit a small mound and briefly left the ground, before landing safely on the downhill gradient that led to the wooden ramp.

  Callum lined up the ramp and hesitated, hands hovering over the brakes as he remembered his promise to Sophie.

  He clamped his hands back on the push rims and accelerated. I’ll apologise later, he thought as the wheels bit into the dirt and propelled him towards the incline.

  In midair, halfway across the stream, Callum knew he wasn’t going to make it. The chair was too heavy and he simply didn’t have enough speed or elevation to reach the second ramp. He closed his eyes and waited for the impact.

  When he hit, he hit hard.

  The water caught the footrests first and the chair stopped as if it had collided with an invisible wall. Callum didn’t. His body flew from the seat and he slammed, headfirst, into the opposite bank. The helmet took most of the impact, but Callum’s head jolted back viciously. He saw a flash of light and his vision swam. Mud smeared his face and he tasted blood as he slid down the bank into the water.

  Sophie was moving as soon as the wheelchair boarded the ramp. She grabbed her backpack – there was a first-aid kit in it – and cursed Callum as she raced through the forest. Branches tore at her clothing and roots threatened to trip her, but she didn’t slow. She ignored the mountain bike trail and ran in a straight line, smashing through bushes and shrubs without pausing, heading directly for the crash site, knowing every second counted.

  She hadn’t needed to see the impact to know it was bad, though she wouldn’t allow herself to consider just how serious Callum’s injuries could be.

  Sophie wondered if not strapping him to the chair had been a mistake. She and Callum had talked about it on the way to the mountain bike park and they’d decided that if he did crash, the chair could do him more damage than the ground.

  As Sophie clambered down the last slope, she felt panicked. She couldn’t see either Callum or the wheelchair. The ramp was blocking her view. She pulled herself up the side of the wooden structure and ran to the edge.

  Callum lay with his back against the opposite bank, water up to his chest. He was fully conscious and he spat a mouthful of blood into the water.

  He gave Sophie a half-smile. “Bit my tongue.”

  Relief washed over Sophie but she didn’t let it show on her face. She took the first-aid kit from her backpack and waded through the stream to where Callum lay.

  She kneeled down beside him. “Are you badly hurt?”

  Callum moved his head from left to right and rotated his neck, then tried to raise his arms. He winced and stopped when they got to shoulder level. “Don’t think so, nothing broken. Ribs are a bit sore, and I almost blacked out but I’m okay.”

  Sophie opened the first-aid kit and took out a cloth. She dipped it in the river, carefully removed his helmet, and began wiping the mud from his face.

  “Am I still beautiful?” asked Callum with a weak grin.

  Sophie was too angry to smile. “A few cuts. You’ll heal.” She stopped wiping. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Callum held her gaze. “I was thinking that I could make the jump. And I would have too, if I’d had a bit more thrust.”

  “You promised me you wouldn’t try,” snapped Sophie. “You could have broken your stupid neck!”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t. I’m sorry I went back on my promise, Soph, I really am, but I had to try. For ten minutes today I felt like any other kid and I didn’t want it to end.”

  Callum smacked his hand into the river in frustration. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  Sophie stood up, sadness in her eyes. “I’ve been your friend for ten years, Cal,” she said quietly. “Of course I understand.”

  She walked away from him, splashed her way to the middle of the stream and began pulling his half-submerged wheelchair out of the water.

  By the time Sophie and Callum made it back to her parents’ house, they were exhausted. Sophie had fitted Callum’s wheelchair with a winch and they’d used it to get him back up the steepest parts of the mountain bike track, but even so, it had been hard work. It would have been much worse if the Thunderkit had been damaged, but aside from a few new scratches and a soaking, the wheelchair was fine.

  They were holed up at Sophie’s place in her parents’ garage that she’d converted into a high-tech workshop. A wide array of tools lined the walls and spare parts and electric equipment sat in organised boxes.

  So far managed they had managed to avoid any contact with adults. Neither teenager wanted to explain their sodden and battered appearances.

  Sophie flung her backpack onto the workbench and collapsed into a ragged armchair she’d installed at the end of the garage. “At least the winch worked,” she said with a sigh.

  Callum wheeled gingerly over. “Yeah. Sorry I put you through that. If it’s any consolation, I actually had a great time, right up until the crashy bit.”

  Callum coughed and gasped as a wave of pain shot through his ribs.

  Sophie leaped up and crouched by his side. “You’re pretty sore, eh? We’d better go to the hospital; you might have broken your ribs.”

  Callum shook his head. “They’re probably just bruised and there’s not much you can do for ribs anyway. No doctors, okay?”

  “Why not? It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “I don’t want to upset Gran.”

  Callum lived with Rose, his grandmother. He had never met his father, and his mother had run off when he was just a baby. Rose was the only parent he’d known and she had officially adopted him at the end of the previous year.

  Sophie understood Callum’s reluctance to upset his grandmother; she was also very fond of the old woman.

  “She’s going to know something happened
by the cuts on your face,” said Sophie.

  “I’ll tell her I rode into some branches. Please, Soph, you know how she worries about me.”

  Sophie relented. “All right, but you have to promise you’ll go to the doctor if the pain doesn’t improve. A real promise this time.”

  “Absolutely,” replied Callum. “A real promise.”

  Two

  Rose McCullock leaned heavily against the kitchen bench and struggled for breath. She had been preparing dinner for her grandson when the latest dizzy spell struck. She made her way to the living room of their two-bedroom cottage and collapsed into an armchair.

  The attacks were becoming worse and more frequent and her biggest fear was that she would have one in front of Callum. She’d been lucky so far; but if things didn’t settle down soon, she’d have to tell him something was wrong. But not yet. Rose hoped the attacks would go away by themselves, which was why she hadn’t seen a doctor.

  No point bothering them with something silly like this, she reasoned to herself. And Callum has enough on his plate without more worry.

  Rose was heading back to the kitchen when she caught her reflection in a mirror that hung on the living room wall. She stopped, looked more closely and gasped. She barely recognised the old woman who gazed back at her. She seemed frail and drawn. Even her hair had become a whiter shade of grey. Rose hurried to the bathroom to apply blusher. She didn’t want to look ill when her grandson arrived home for dinner.

  Callum woke the following morning stiff and sore. The ache in his ribs was still there but hadn’t worsened. He took this as a good sign.

  He had kept a low profile the night before, worried his grandmother would spot his discomfort. She’d made the expected fuss about the cuts on his face, but had bought his story about running into a bush (which was true if you substituted the word “riverbank” for the word “bush”). Then she had gone to bed early. Callum had encouraged this to avoid further questioning but also because she looked tired.

  Callum dressed carefully, struggled through his morning routine, put on a brave face for his grandmother at breakfast and was out the door in plenty of time to wheel gingerly to school. It was the first day of a new term and he didn’t want to be late.