There’s a click from the front of the bus, and one of the handleless panels slides smoothly open. Inside is a tub of plastic-wrapped food – prepackaged triangle sandwiches. There are more water bottles, too, and a fresh pad for Sandra.
No burritos. Riley groans with disappointment, but tears the wrapper from his sandwich anyway, and devours it in two bites.
The sandwiches are rubbery, filled with mystery meat paste.
Nia makes a face. ‘I hope I’m not a vegetarian,’ she says. ‘Although after this, maybe I’ll become one.’
She is definitely a vegetarian. Probably a vegan, and I bet she’s constantly talking about animal cruelty and how a plant-based diet is better for the planet.
I nibble at a corner of my sandwich, my appetite gone. Is all food this dry and flavourless?
I can’t stop thinking about the cold eyes of the criminal, and that flicker of – what was it? – as we hit him. It was like he recognised me – or recognised something in me. Like he could see through the fog to the very core of who I am. And I can’t bear the idea that he knew, he knew something about me that I don’t. And it’s something that made him – a criminal – smirk.
Except he didn’t. He couldn’t have done, because he wasn’t real. I’m just getting in my own head.
I force down the rest of my sandwich, because who knows when we’ll get fed again. Then we put the rubbish back in the tub before returning to our seats. I wonder how much longer this will go on for. Surely we’re nearly there, or at least the bus will have to stop and refuel.
The sun is up now, glinting golden on the ocean.
‘I wonder if there’s any good surfing around here,’ Paxton muses.
He’s such a jock. But a hot jock. I pat his knee fondly. I would seriously love to lounge on a beach while Paxton surfed. I could read a book, and then ogle him as he came out of the water, glittering droplets clinging to that broad, firm chest.
‘Holy shit,’ says Nia, jerking me out of my reverie.
I stand up and lean over the back of her seat. Her seatback display is spitting out line after line of code.
‘What is it?’
She doesn’t look away from the display. ‘I’m in.’
Who is the Blue Fairy?
If you know anything about anything, you’ll know all about Westbridge Academy’s Blue Fairy.
You know Westbridge, right? Full of super-rich, super-elite kids. Squillion-dollar facilities. Well, if those kids weren’t lucky enough to be going to the fanciest school in the world, they now have a LITERAL fairy godmother looking out for them.
Here’s how it works: A Westbridge student sends a message to an anonymous account. They make a wish and pay a fee, and abracadabra! Their wish is granted. Want a teacher disgraced? The answers to an upcoming exam? Revenge on an ex? Supplies of a legally dubious nature for an upcoming party? A report card forged? The Blue Fairy can make it happen. She’s thrown Westbridge into a chaotic frenzy. The faculty are offering rewards for any information on the Blue Fairy’s identity, but so far nobody has come forward. We have a report from an anonymous inside source that Westbridge Principal Hanabi is beside herself – parents are complaining because Westbridge has been in the media for all the wrong reasons.
There are many theories about the true identity of the Blue Fairy, but none have been confirmed. She’s clever, leaving no trace, physical or electronic. Copycat accounts are springing up all over the world, but nobody has managed to achieve the kind of chaos of the original. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, wishes are only granted if they’re made by a Westbridge student. Believe me, we tried to make a few of our own!
5
DAY 2
07:32
‘What is it?’ I ask, literally on the edge of my seat.
‘It’s taking a long time to decrypt some of these files,’ Nia says. ‘But they’re coming.’
I lean over and look at her display.
Erasure_Initiative_log.tx 89% decrypted
20.1.25.11.txt 77% decrypted
Eleos_delivery-schedule.txt 52% decrypted
WG_BlueFairy.pdf 46% decrypted
TopSchools_p14.html 41% decrypted
CATCLOUD.pdf 28% decrypted
Error_log.txt 17% decrypted
Criminal_Data.pdf 6% decrypted
Consent_Forms.pdf 0% decrypted
[load more]
The numbers on the first file creep towards completion, but before it reaches 100%, the seatback in front of me blinks on with another cursed problem.
You are in a moving vehicle. Before you the road forks. Ahead, there is one human. On the side road there are ten cats. You can press a button and the bus will turn off onto the side road. The bus will not stop.
Do you press the button?
YESNO
0/7 responses logged.
Paxton snorts. ‘Cats? This is getting ridiculous.’
‘Getting?’ Sandra mutters.
‘So what do we do?’ Riley asks.
‘We save the cats,’ Nia says, flicking her display back to look like everyone else’s. ‘We established in the first problem that multiple lives are worth more to us than a single one.’
‘But we also decided that some lives had more value than others,’ Sandra reminds her. ‘And cats are a nuisance. They kill native wildlife. If they escape out there they could destroy whole species of birds and little animals.’
Catherine sighs happily. ‘I love cats,’ she says, and taps her display.
1/7 responses logged.
Nia is frowning. Sandra’s point about the native species has touched a nerve. ‘But they’re not real cats,’ she says. ‘So they can’t hurt the birds and animals around here.’
‘None of it is real,’ I say. ‘Which is why it doesn’t matter.’
I don’t want to get lectured by Sandra again, so I jab my finger at NO, because that’s what I’ve done the last two times, and NO best represents how I’m feeling about this whole situation.
Nia glares at Sandra and presses NO as well.
3/7 responses logged.
Paxton, Sandra and Riley all press YES.
6/7 responses logged.
‘You’re the tiebreaker, dude,’ Paxton tells Edwin.
The single person appears on the road in front of us. It’s the brown-skinned woman in the yellow dress again. She turns around to look at us. Her lips move, but we can’t hear what she’s saying. Up the hill I can see the side road, with a tangle of cats sunning themselves on the cracked bitumen.
Edwin goes greenish. ‘Incommensurability!’ he squeaks.
‘Dude, what?’ says Riley.
‘You cannot compare those two things!’ Edwin protests. ‘I can’t decide whether a cat’s life is worth more or less than one-tenth of a human’s. A cat’s average lifespan is around one-fifth of a human’s. A cat has never started a war. Cats don’t contribute to climate change. They provide companionship to lonely humans. On the other hand, cats are predators. Their empathy is questionable – is there even a way we could tell if they did have empathy? I don’t know. I’m not equipped to make that kind of decision. Nobody is. Ten cats and one human are incommensurable.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Just pick one,’ I say.
Edwin stands up and turns around to face his seat. He screws his eyes closed and drags a finger over the garish upholstery, muttering to himself.
‘What’s he doing?’ Nia asks me.
I shrug.
Edwin’s finger stops on a particularly lurid patch of neon pink. He nods, then turns around and presses YES.
7/7 responses logged.
‘What was that about, little dude?’ asks Riley.
‘I have no right to make a choice like that,’ Edwin says. ‘So the only fair thing to do is select randomly. If my finger lands on aqua or lime, I choose NO. Mustard or hot pink, I choose YES. It’s not a truly random system, but it’s the best I can do in these circumstances.’
The bus accelerates and turns off on the side road. W
e approach the cats. They are different colours. Two kittens tumble over each other adorably. One cat has its hind leg straight up in the air to wash itself.
Catherine lets out a loud sigh as we hit them and they explode into pixels. ‘Poor kitties.’
‘Cecily.’ It’s Nia, speaking low so the others won’t hear. I look at her seatback and see the number next to the first file tick over to 100%.
Nia taps out a command, and new text spills across the display. It’s a simple text file, only a few lines. I scan it twice to make sure I’m not missing anything.
ERASURE INITIATIVE TRIAL RECORD
TRIAL ONE, PHASE ONE: REBOOTED AFTER 6 HOURS, 11 MINUTES
TRIAL TWO, PHASE ONE: COMPLETE AT 28 HOURS
TRIAL TWO, PHASE TWO: REBOOTED AFTER 22 MINUTES
TRIAL THREE, PHASE ONE: COMPLETE AT 28 HOURS
TRIAL THREE, PHASE TWO: REBOOTED AFTER 18 HOURS 6 MINUTES
TRIAL FOUR, PHASE ONE: ONGOING
‘Does this mean …?’ Nia looks at me.
I nod. ‘Whatever this is, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.’
‘Do you think …’ Nia swallows. ‘The other times, the other trials. Was it other people? Or was it us?’
It was us. I know it was. The knotted blue thread in the toilet – I did that. The idea that I’ve been here before, made these same decisions, sat in this same seat – it’s terrifying. Like I have no choice. No agency. No opportunity to learn from my mistakes.
‘I wish I could get into the server,’ Nia mutters. ‘I bet that’s where all the good stuff is.’
‘Why can’t you?’ I ask.
‘It’s protected. SSH and proxies.’
‘Right,’ I say, like I know what any of that means.
We sit and stare at the list of files as the numbers tick higher towards decryption. It’s agonising, looking from the time on our wristbands and back up to the display again, over and over and over as minutes and percentages inch forward.
When it finally arrives, the next file is nothing but meaningless numbers and letters, all jumbled up. It feels like a betrayal after waiting so long.
The file after that is a list of dates and times.
‘Delivery schedule,’ reads Nia. ‘What do you think keeps getting delivered on Thursdays at eleven in the morning?’
‘Not burritos, is my guess.’
We pass another wrecked plane on the beach, almost exactly the same as the last one, a rusted ancient skeleton. Behind it I see the barnacle-encrusted remains of an old jetty.
I glance down at my wrist.
10:33
I hope we’ll get lunch today.
The coastal road begins to climb, skirting the edge of a cliff-face. The view is incredible. Someone could make a fortune by plonking a resort right here. Perhaps villas down on the beachfront. We sail past a wide, grassed promontory that juts out over the ocean. A restaurant there would be perfect, with floor-to-ceiling windows to really take advantage of the view.
I sigh, imagining sitting in a fetching gown, sipping a glass of champagne, picking at a decadent dessert. I wouldn’t even mind if Nia was there, although she’d have to behave herself. I try to imagine her all dressed up, with makeup and a frock. No, she’s not really the frock-wearing type. Maybe a tuxedo, perfectly tailored to hug her curves. She’d look amazing.
I wonder what champagne tastes like.
‘What are you looking at?’ she demands, her brows descending in a frown.
‘Nothing.’
Nia stares at me suspiciously for a moment. ‘Liar.’
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I was thinking about putting a restaurant over there on that grassy spit.’
Nia looks over at the grass, and the view. ‘Really?’ she says. ‘We’ve been kidnapped and held against our will, and you’re planning your real estate empire?’
I shrug. ‘You gotta start somewhere.’
‘I told you that you were rich.’
‘You could come for dinner, you know,’ I tell her. ‘My treat.’
‘You’re the worst.’ I think there’s a smile hidden somewhere beneath her glowering expression.
‘You love it.’
Colour floods Nia’s cheeks as if I’ve said something scandalous. We lock eyes and something very odd passes between us. It feels weirdly familiar.
Why was I planning a romantic date with Nia, and not Paxton?
Nia coughs and turns to look out the window again. The moment is gone.
‘Um, should we tell the others?’ Nia asks, glancing over her shoulder.
For a moment I think she’s talking about the weird thing that just happened between us.
‘No,’ I reply automatically, and even while I’m saying it I realise she’s talking about the files.
‘Tell the others what?’ It’s Paxton, leaning over the back of the seat.
Damn.
‘Nia figured out a way to hack into the thing,’ I tell him, raising my voice so everyone can hear.
Sandra stands up and makes her way over to look at Nia’s seatback display.
‘Have you found anything useful?’ she asks.
‘Not yet,’ I say, but at the same time Nia speaks.
‘Not much.’
Sandra raises her eyebrows and looks between us.
‘The files are still being unencrypted,’ I explain, trying to cover up my mistake with information. ‘All we’ve been able to find so far is some evidence that we’ve done this before. That this isn’t the first time we’ve woken up on the bus with no memories.’
‘The questions.’ It’s Edwin, nodding. ‘Whoever it is, they’re asking us the same questions each time. Tweaking the environment, the circumstances. Comparing our answers each time to see if they change. We’re effectively our own control group.’ He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. ‘It’s rather clever,’ he says with grudging respect.
As if in response to him, the displays spring to life again, and I groan.
You are in a moving vehicle. Before you the road forks. Ahead, there is one person with a terminal illness. They have six months to live. On the side road there are ten healthy cats. You can press a button and the bus will turn off onto the side road. The bus will not stop.
Do you press the button?
YESNO
0/7 responses logged.
Everyone makes the same choices as before, and Edwin’s random pick tips the scales in favour of the cats. The woman in the yellow dress explodes into pixels, and we continue on.
Nia and I watch the percentages next to the files on her seatback tick higher and higher. Progress is agonisingly slow.
Catherine has fallen asleep again. Riley, Paxton and Edwin play I-Spy, although it doesn’t go well because Edwin keeps using the Latin names for things, and Riley and Paxton get frustrated. Sandra does laps of the aisle, swinging her arms up and down to loosen stiff muscles.
‘Is it just me,’ Nia murmurs as she passes, ‘or do Sandra’s boobs look bigger than they did before?’
‘I wasn’t really paying attention to her boobs,’ I say. ‘Although I am now.’
Sandra’s T-shirt is stretched tight across her chest. Were they like that before, and I didn’t notice? They must have been. Boobs don’t suddenly inflate.
‘This is a weird day,’ I say to Nia. ‘Don’t you think? Psychology experiments. Magical boobs. Secret compartments inside legs. It’s not me, right? There’s something odd going on.’
Nia sighs the sigh of the perpetually irritated. I feel a tickle of pleasure – making her angry is weirdly satisfying.
‘Are my boobs magical too?’ I ask, looking down at my chest. ‘What do you think? Are they doing anything weird? Ooh, maybe mine will be magical in a different way. Maybe they will start talking. Or singing. My magical singing boobs.’
‘Stop trying to make me look at your boobs,’ Nia says. ‘You’re neither funny nor cute.’
‘I think you’ll find I am both funny and cute.’
Nia groans. ‘Shut
up, there’s a new file decrypted.’
It’s called WG_BlueFairy.pdf, and I’ve had my eye on it since I first saw the list. I’ve almost mentioned Nia’s tattoo several times, but something has stopped me.
The file is a cached page from a gossip site. The title is ‘Who is the Blue Fairy?’.
‘I don’t get it,’ Nia says. ‘Why is there some random blog post in the encrypted data?’
The file vanishes suddenly, and is replaced by now-familiar text.
You are in a moving vehicle. Before you the road forks. Ahead, there is one person who once killed a cat for fun. On the side road there are ten healthy cats. You can press a button and the bus will turn off onto the side road.
The bus will not stop.
Do you press the button?
YESNO
0/7 responses logged.
This time only Sandra chooses to save the person. I choose NO, because if Edwin’s right and the dickhead who’s behind this is trying to compare our answers, then I’m going to screw with him by always choosing NO.
‘You can’t kill a cat for fun,’ says Riley. ‘That’s not cool.’
Paxton nods. ‘I hear you, bro,’ he says.
The cat-killer – a weasel-faced white man with a porn-star moustache – explodes into pixels, and a new problem immediately appears on the display. This time it’s three cats versus three dogs. While everyone is debating the merits of each, Nia opens the next decrypted file.
It’s another cached webpage – some stupid listicle about the best schools worldwide. I notice the name immediately, though. Westbridge Academy. And it mentions the Blue Fairy again.
‘This is one posh school,’ Nia says. ‘Floatation tanks? An equestrian centre?’
‘But why is it here?’ I ask.
Nia shrugs. ‘You probably go there,’ she says. ‘And maybe Dudeface McSurfbro back there.’ She jerks her head at Paxton, then chuckles. ‘Hey, maybe you’re the Blue Fairy prankster from that article.’
I laugh too.
But I’m not the one who can hack into a closed, encrypted computer system. That’s the kind of thing you would need to know how to do if you were some weird high school avenger-for-hire who needed to obtain exam questions and change grades and expose cheating boyfriends.
The Erasure Initiative Page 6
