White Hat Black Heart (Cyber Teen Project Book 1)

by D. B. Goodin

  Everything else appeared to move in slow motion. Just as Ioann released the trigger, the kid known as Milo suddenly pulled on Nigel's jacket for no apparent reason. The sudden motion caused the bullet to miss its intended target. Instead, it grazed the top left temple of Nigel's head. Nigel suddenly went stiff as blood started dripping down the left side of his head. Then the world went white as he felt real pain for the first time in his short life.

  Jet tackled Nigel and both landed hard on broken concrete. Jet felt the wind of something zip past her head.

  “Shit,” Ioann exclaimed.

  Nigel was no longer in view. Ioann was positioning himself to take another shot while Milo screamed at the top of his lungs and ran as fast as his legs would take him. Ioann waited. He had grazed his intended target, but he wasn’t visible. He heard a brief surge of panic sirens. Ioann controlled his breathing; he had to maintain control. He would wait until the last possible second before taking his next shot.

  Nigel was in extreme pain, and writhed on the ground like a wounded animal. He screamed, whimpered, and cried. Jet kept pressure on the wound.

  “Stop wriggling. You need to be still; I have first aid training,” Jet yelled in one breath.

  Jet knew from her first aid class that she had to keep pressure on open wounds. She pressed with her bare hands. Her mind was racing, trying to take in what had happened.

  As Jet continued to put pressure on Nigel’s wound, she seemed to relive the previous few seconds. She remembered hearing a distant pop just as Nigel was hit.

  Jet didn't know where the shooter—or shooters—may be hiding, so she stayed put, trying to prevent Nigel from bleeding to death. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard sirens.

  As the sirens wailed and got louder, Jet's mind drifted. She was suddenly transported back six years. She was in a ballerina outfit. She could hear soft music in the background.

  The Nutcracker? she thought. Yes. Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

  Jet’s dance instructor was a harsh woman in her late fifties. Mrs. Anderson? Ms. Davis? She couldn't remember her name. The woman screamed at her again, more urgently. Then, after stumbling for what seemed like the twentieth time, she screamed something unintelligible.

  “Josephine! I will not tolerate this disruptive behavior in my class.”

  As the words trailed off, the woman began screaming in agony. Blood started rolling down the side of her instructor’s face.

  Jet snapped back into reality.

  She tried looking at Nigel, but her vision was obscured by something gooey and sticky. She realized that it was blood, and just as she had this thought, she passed out.

  She dreamed she was in Nigel's arms, hearing the lap of ocean waves. They were in a hammock, rocking before a black sand beach. A mist of ocean water sprayed her face. It felt so good. She looked up and saw a strange man speaking Russian. Before she could react, she was pulled from Nigel's arms. Nigel was motionless. She called out to him as blood poured out of several wounds in Nigel's face. Jet screamed.

  Jet’s first sight when she awoke was a bald, lanky man who was well over six feet tall and dressed in a suit. He was talking with a nurse. Jet felt pain all over, like every nerve ending in her body was stimulated simultaneously.

  Jet yelled in agony, then quickly passed out.

  Some time later, Jet opened her eyes and saw a woman dressed in light blue scrubs. She tried to say hello, but it came out in a mumble.

  Moving her arm was like swimming through a pool of Jell-O. When she tried to move her left arm, she noticed that she was rising, controlling the right arm, spilling over the side of the hospital bed. The nurse rushed over.

  “Lie down, Dear,” the nurse said.

  Jet had no idea that she was trying to sit up. Her actions seemed utterly foreign to her. Simple movements took a lot more effort to produce than Jet thought was possible, and they happened out of sequence. It was as if someone had taken her motor functions and reprogrammed the movements in the wrong order.

  “Now, now,” the nurse said. “Let's calm down.”

  "I...am calm," Jet said in a shaky voice.

  Jet didn't like the sound of her own voice. It didn’t sound like hers at all. All of her confidence had been poured out like a pitcher of water and replaced with something foul. She could smell it, and it sickened her. She closed her eyes again.

  When Jet regained consciousness again, she was like a new person. Her left arm felt stiff and a little painful, but moved normally. Her right arm felt better, but she could not move it very far because it was restrained by some sort of harness. She turned her head from side to side. It moved normally, but if she stretched it too far to the left, a sharp pain was present. As she became aware of her surroundings, her mind wandered back to the site of the accident.

  “‘Accident,’ my ass,” she said. “That was an assassination attempt!”

  As soon as Milo heard gunfire, he ran as fast as he could and didn't look back for a very long time. Milo’s skin felt like it was covered in mosquito bites.

  Several blocks later, Milo spotted a dumpster that had an open lid. He leapt into it, and the force caused the lid to shift and come down toward his head. Milo ducked, narrowly missing the impact of the very large and heavy lid. His ears were ringing, but he could hear sirens in the distance.

  Milo had felt the wind of the bullet fly past his head, narrowly missing him. The exertion from the run caused sweat to get into his eyes, causing more tears. Milo felt something else prick the side of his face as he ran faster.

  Milo felt his heart pounding in his chest and pains in his side and arms. Is this a heart attack? Dozens of thoughts raced through his head at once, paralyzing him. Milo had a sickening feeling as he dared to hope Nigel and Jet were okay.

  He cursed at himself for running away. As far as he knew, his friend was lying on the ground bleeding to death. Jet had jumped on top of Nigel to shield him while Milo ran and hid in this dumpster, like a coward!

  The sirens were almost on top of him now. He squirmed in the dark, wet dumpster, trying to get into a comfortable position. In an attempt to conceal himself, Milo was able to move a couple bags over his body. He heard footsteps. He froze.

  Is this the shooter? He couldn't tell where the steps were actually coming from; they seemed to be coming from all directions. Milo remained completely still and even held his breath as the footsteps came closer. However, some less-than-stable bags below him began to shift and his body was plunged into the inner side of the dumpster. Milo's heart skipped a beat. The footsteps fell back out of range. He sat very still for a long time.

  As he sat in the dark, smelly, dirty dumpster, the wail of sirens continued. He dared not open the dumpster lid.

  Milo thought it was unlikely the shooter would have accomplices, but he didn’t want to take chances.

  He decided it was best to stay put. Then Milo remembered the radio sitting at the bottom of the backpack! Milo immediately started fishing through his backpack. He had to rely on his hands to guide the way. He found it after a minute of intense searching.

  Milo was obsessed with radios of all kinds, which is why his civilian volunteer father let him use his handheld scanner.

  Milo fiddled with the dials until he heard a rather loud squawk and the radio came to life in his hands, sounding as if several people were talking at once. He managed to find the volume button and lowered it as much as he could.

  Ioann wasn't completely sure that Nigel was dead. It looked like he was hit. He didn't expect the smaller kid to jump up and pull Nigel like that! From Ioann's scope, it appeared that Nigel was hit on his temple. As the bullet hit Nigel, the other kids jumped in panic, and the smaller child ran away. Ioann had him in his sights and could have ended him, but hesitated since the only approved target that deserved the hit was the older kid, Nigel.

  By the time Ioann changed positions and fired again, Nigel was out of sight. Did he hit the girl by mistake?

  He sat in indecision
for several seconds which felt like minutes. He needed the kill confirmed.

  Ioann was confident that he hadn't been seen; his hiding place was well hidden. However, the rifle was louder than expected. He did so much research when choosing his location but missed one important element: the acoustics of the alley! Even if he used the best suppression silencer, there would have been some noise—the click-click of the gun, the clank of the barrel.

  Sweat poured into his eyes as he performed the cleanup process. He wiped each piece of the rifle clean of prints and disassembled the weapon.

  When he finished, he calmly walked away from the scene. The rifle set looked like a large duffle bag to the untrained eye. He walked across a board that was placed between two buildings. When he was on the other side, he pulled the board toward him, then placed it gently on the roof. He walked quickly down a fire escape. As he approached one of the dumpsters in the alley, he heard a radio come to life. He also heard a series of sirens coming closer by the second. He lifted the first dumpster lid. It was half full, so he reached in and made room toward the bottom for his duffle bag. He knew it was a matter of time before it was discovered. Better found here than in his possession.

  Some time later, Nigel awoke to the chatter of several men, some in plain clothes, others in Milford police uniforms.

  “He’s awake!” said a large bald man.

  “The patient needs his rest. Get out of here,” a nurse demanded.

  “Your patient is a witness to a crime, and I need to question him.”

  “Fine, just you.”

  The room emptied so fast that it alarmed Nigel. He looked around the room.

  I’m in the hospital, Nigel said to himself. He reached up reflexively and felt bandages on his head.

  The bald man held out his hand.

  “I’m Detective Foster. I need to ask you a few questions.”

  Nigel just nodded. His throat was in a knot.

  “Do you know who shot you?” Detective Foster asked.

  Nigel opened his mouth but couldn't speak. It all flooded back. If Milo hadn't grabbed him at just that moment, Nigel would be dead.

  “What’s the matter with him?” Detective Foster asked a nurse.

  “He’s in shock. I need to get the doctor.”

  Chapter 17

  “How are you feeling?”

  The first person Nigel saw when he opened his eyes was a tall bald man in a suit. The room was large enough to accommodate two beds. He heard beeping sounds. Something was pulling at his arm; it was tubing that led up to an IV. Nigel could easily see out the window; he had a view of the inlet that led to the ocean. The bed next to his was unoccupied. I'm in the hospital?

  “Who are you?” Nigel asked the man.

  “I’m Detective Foster of the Milford Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Where are my mother and brother? Where are my friends?”

  “Your family is in the waiting room. Your friend, Josephine, is recovering in the room next door.”

  Nigel just stared into space, taking it all in.

  “Do you know why someone would want to harm you or Josephine?”

  “I had a third friend with me, Milo.”

  “We found him hiding in a dumpster several blocks from the incident. He is being questioned now.”

  “Can I see them?”

  “Not until we get this sorted out,” Detective Foster said. “Now, please answer my previous question: Do you know who would want to hurt you or your friends?”

  “NO!” Nigel shouted.

  “Please calm down, Nigel. We cannot leave until this matter is resolved.”

  Nigel sighed.

  The questioning lasted several hours. Detective Foster asked the same questions over and over.

  “I will be right back, Nigel. Please stay here.”

  Nigel winced as he started pulling the tape connecting the IVs to his wrist. The floor was cold to the touch; he started shivering as he made his way across the room to the closet where his clothes were kept. He put on his jacket and shoes. He kept the rest of his clothes in a plastic bag.

  He opened the door which led to the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible. Two uniformed officers were talking about twenty feet from his room.

  He walked quickly past the nurses’ station, then proceeded left down another hallway. A door blocked his way and wouldn’t budge. He scanned the walls for a way to control the door. A large hand grasped his shoulder. Nigel spun his head so fast he felt something pull in his neck.

  It was Detective Foster and two uniformed officers.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  The uniformed officers escorted him back to his room.

  “See to it that his door is manned until all of my questions are answered.”

  Nigel was interrogated for several more hours before Detective Foster was satisfied.

  “Thank you for your cooperation. Your family will be permitted to see you now,” Detective Foster said as he left the room.

  Permitted to see me? Am I a suspect?

  Several minutes later, Ellen and Ralphie appeared.

  “Nige!” Ralphie said excitedly as he ran over to him.

  Tears were forming in Ellen’s eyes. She gasped as she examined Nigel’s bandages. The doctor told her that Nigel was lucky; the bullet grazed his temple. Other than some scarring, there would be no permanent damage.

  “Are you okay?” Ellen said in a quivering voice.

  “I have a headache—probably from all the questioning—but I’m okay. Do you know if I can leave?”

  “The doctors want to keep you another night for observation, but I will be back here in the morning.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Visiting hours have long passed. The doctor said I could see you before I had to leave, but I can’t stay over.”

  Nigel’s face flushed as he watched his mother and brother leave. He was angry that his time was cut short by Detective Foster, who offered absolutely no information as to who was trying to shoot them.

  Nigel got up and opened his door; there weren’t any uniformed cops or anyone else in sight.

  He opened the door to the room next to his and saw Jet lying on a bed next to a window. She appeared to be sleeping. Nigel’s heart skipped a beat when he noticed her condition. Bandages covered most of her face. Her left arm was in a sling.

  “Can I help you?” a female voice said.

  Nigel spun around and saw a woman in hospital scrubs. “I’m checking on my friend.”

  “She’s lucky to be alive. She suffered two gunshot wounds. One shattered several bones in her left arm; another grazed her forehead.”

  Nigel felt paralyzed. All he could do was stare at Jet for a very long time. His eyesight blurred. Nigel felt emptiness inside.

  Nigel couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Jet on top of him—and not in a good way either. His eyes, blurring with blood, distorted Jet’s lovely features.

  He awoke in a cold sweat. The rays of first morning’s light appeared in the room. The nurse forgot to close the blinds again—no matter. Nigel loved the sunshine. He observed how the rays came in and reflected on various pieces of equipment in the room, creating wonderful projections on the walls and curtains separating the hospital beds.

  Nigel heard some commotion outside his room; it sounded like it was coming from the room next to his. Is Jet awake? Nigel carefully jumped out of bed, taking care not to pull the IVs that were held in place by medical tape. Nigel wheeled the unit carrying the IVs into the hallway. He felt a cool breeze across his backside as he made his way to Jet’s room.

  Jet was eating breakfast from a tray; none of the food looked appetizing to Nigel. C’mon, who serves Jell-O for breakfast anyway?

  Jet smiled as Nigel made his way over to her bedside. “How are you holding up?”

  Jet looked at Nigel’s bandages on his head. She was relieved that Nigel retained most of his facial features. During
the incident, Nigel’s face was covered in blood, and it was difficult to determine how many wounds he had.

  “I’ve been a whole lot better.” Nigel winced as she attempted to eat the Jell-O with a spoon in her good hand.

  “I’m left-handed. I’m not sure if you knew.”

  Nigel shook his head.

  “Which makes it almost impossible to eat.”

  Nigel shifted his IV unit around to her right side. He took her spoon and fed her using slow and deliberate motions.

  “I’m being released today,” Jet said.

  “Wow, that was quick.”

  “Doctors treated my injuries as best as they can. My mother is supposed to pick me up any minute now. The nurse wants to make sure I eat everything first. Do you want something from my tray?”

  Nigel’s nose crinkled. “No thanks.”

  Jet laughed.

  “We should discuss the attempt on our lives. I want to compare notes. Something is very wrong here,” Nigel said.

  Jet gave Nigel a concerned look. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it. I mean, I do…I just need more time.”

  Nigel nodded. “I understand. Let’s plan to meet soon.”

  “If I can,” Jet said.

  What does that mean?

  Before Nigel could process that thought, he was interrupted.

  “Mr. Watson! I need for you to return to your room. Josephine’s mother is waiting at the nurses’ station. She doesn’t want to see a half-naked teenager.”

  Nigel flushed.

  Jet gigged.

  “Pick this up later?” Nigel asked.

  Jet nodded and gave him a smile.

  Milo tossed his radio frequency scanner into his backpack. As he entered the alley where the incident happened, he froze as he relived the experience of being chased. Police tape was strewn around the alley haphazardly. Milo wondered if they even finished processing the crime scene.