The Ghost Network (book 1)

by I. I Davidson

  “Nightmares?” Slack started. “Me too.”

  “You have?” John gaped at him. “You haven’t said—it didn’t show—”

  Slack shrugged. “I’m a really sound sleeper. I just wake up, and they’re gone. But they make me so angry.”

  “Look, I swear I’m not panicking over nothing.” John took a breath, forcing himself to be calm and deadly serious. “There’s something strange going on here. Something wrong.”

  Salome stared at him for a few long seconds. “You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I am. I don’t know for sure that the messages are from Roy. But someone here is up to something bad, and whoever they are, they think I’m a threat.” John’s throat tightened. “The trouble is,” he whispered, “I think they might be right.”

  “You,” said Slack. “A threat? You’re having bad dreams is all, and—”

  “It’s not just the nightmares.” John looked up miserably into Slack’s eyes. “I’m getting the same feelings during the day. I keep wanting to kill them. Adam and Leo, I mean. I can hardly hold myself back. And I’m scared. I’m scared one day I’m going to do it.”

  “You’re thirteen years old,” said Salome. There was a fearful undercurrent in her voice. “How could you kill anybody? Don’t be silly.”

  John bristled. “I’m not being silly. I’m honestly worried. I think—Salome, I think there’s something wrong, for sure. But it’s something wrong with me.”

  Slack was very silent, staring at the floor. “If there’s something wrong with you,” he said, clearing his throat, “there’s something wrong with me too.”

  “What?”

  “I get the same thing. I mean, the nightmares are like wish fulfillment. I love them. Why do you think I’ve been spending so much time in the gym? I need to work out the rage.”

  “You didn’t say anything!”

  “No, and I didn’t say anything about the nightmares either,” snapped Slack. “And neither did you. Because it sounds ridiculous.”

  “Somebody’s sending me messages,” said John. “Somebody who can bypass the worst malware I’ve ever seen, one the teachers can’t even fix. Maybe it’s Roy; maybe it’s the same person who installed the bug. It’s telling me to get out. I don’t know if that’s because this person hates me or because they want to help me. I don’t know.”

  Salome was looking from John to Slack and back again. Her expression was unreadable. She was so quiet, for so long, that at last they turned to stare at her.

  Her expression made the back of John’s neck prickle. “I’ve had the nightmares too,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “The same ones. I’ve dreamed about killing Adam and Leo, and it feels real, and it’s terrifying, but it’s not gory real, it’s like—”

  “Like you’re just deleting them,” said John quietly.

  They stared at one another. Salome’s jaw tightened. Her eyes once again held a cool, rational light.

  “It’s a strange coincidence,” she said at last. “And I don’t believe in coincidences. I take it none of us started having these dreams till we came here, right?” She glanced questioningly at them and nodded. “So it’s something in this Center.”

  “But we can’t just leave,” objected Slack.

  “Indeed.” Salome made a face.

  John gulped. “And if we’re imagining the whole thing—which I don’t think we are—”

  Salome said, “We’re not imagining it.”

  “What?” The two boys spoke together.

  Salome held out John’s phone. “There’s another message,” she whispered.

  John snatched it from her hand. He stared at the screen, frozen in shock.

  The flashing words were gone, and a fuzzy black-and-white image had formed. For a crazy moment he thought the device was streaming a movie: the silhouettes of two black helicopters were flying low toward him across a snow-covered ocean.

  The flies are already caught.

  Why did Ms. Reiffelt’s overheard words suddenly trigger a hideous premonition in his brain?

  Six weeks and five days. The flies are caught.

  John shuddered as he took a breath. There were letters and numbers in the bottom corner of the screen, ticking in some sort of countdown.

  “Is this real?”

  “It looks real,” said Salome. “It looks like security cam footage.”

  “But they look like military,” said Slack. He looked utterly confused.

  “They are.” Salome took the phone back. “And it’s live. Look at the time stamp.”

  “But that can’t be anything to do with us!”

  “Who knows?” Salome thrust the phone back into John’s hand. “But it’s one more weird coincidence, and it’s not good.”

  “We need help,” said John desperately.

  “But whom can we ask?” said Slack. “Not Ms. Reiffelt, that’s for sure. McAuliffe? Ramirez? Imogen Black?”

  “No.” Salome shook her head. “We barely know them!”

  “I trust Roy. But I don’t know where he is,” said John with rising fear. “He’s not on the basketball court. He’s probably in the east wing at the mainframe by now.”

  “And that is a problem how?” snapped Salome, as she indicated the room around them. “We’re not in the basketball court either.”

  “The door’s locked!” said John impatiently.

  “But it’s not electronically locked,” said Salome. “They can’t use any computerized devices, remember? They locked it with an actual key. And if you think I don’t know how to pick a lock . . . ”

  “Uh,” said Slack, his eyes boggling. “That’s exactly what I think.”

  “Then you’d be wrong.”

  John gave her a startled look. Prissy, too-good-to-be-true Salome? She could pick a lock?

  He shook himself. There wasn’t time to ask. “If we really can get out and contact him, Roy’s going to know what to do. And even if he thinks we’re being ridiculous, he won’t laugh at us; he’ll explain why we’re being ridiculous.”

  “Which we probably are.” Slack’s expression was filled with desperate hope.

  “Then let’s go and make fools of ourselves,” said Salome, “before we change our minds.”

  “Your feet are too loud.” Salome turned around glaring at Slack.

  “I’m trying.” He returned her glower.

  “Let’s just stay in the shadows,” said John nervously.

  The atrium was deserted and so were the corridors leading from it. There was no one to see them as they crept from the gym complex, but instinctively and without even discussing it, they’d all slunk close to the wall as they made their way toward the east wing.

  “It’s going to be fine,” whispered Salome, as if she were talking to herself. “Nearly there, nearly there . . . ”

  The passage that led to the mainframe was ahead, just beyond the pool corridor; it was filled with darkness like all the others. Maybe, thought John, the technical staff wasn’t even there. Maybe Roy wasn’t there.

  But they had to be at the mainframe. Where else would they go when malware had infected the Center? John paused, his back to the wall, his heart pounding.

  We’re being crazy. We’re imagining the whole thing. Why do I feel so scared?

  But those helicopters . . .

  As they passed the pool corridor, Salome halted abruptly and darted into its entrance. She didn’t say a word, but she clutched John’s arm tightly enough to hurt. He got the message. He turned quickly to Slack behind him.

  Quiet, he mouthed and pulled his friend back into the shadowed corridor. The smell of chlorine stung his nostrils.

  Salome was pointing around the corner as her finger shook. Her breathing was silent, but John could see her chest rising and falling rapidly. He and Slack peered pas
t her.

  Roy Lykos stood at the darkened entrance to the mainframe corridor. And beside him stood a man dressed entirely in black.

  Not fashionable black, like Roy himself. Military black, with boots and a Kevlar vest and a balaclava. Even his eyes were in shadow. And none of that was as unnerving as the gun he cradled in his arms.

  John didn’t dare to voice aloud the questions he was desperate to ask. Is Roy in trouble? What does this guy want?

  Why is his gun lowered?

  And why does Roy look so calm?

  In the echoing emptiness, Roy’s murmuring voice carried clearly.

  “I’ll bring them from the gym complex. They’re there now, and they’re not going anywhere.”

  The gunman nodded once. He’s not threatening Roy, thought John, his lungs contracting painfully. He’s taking orders.

  “Let me be clear: I want those kids secured. Once I turn them over to you, they’re not to be out of your custody at any point. They’re not to be out of your sight.”

  The gunman spoke at last, hoarse and throaty. “What about the Vygotsky girl?”

  “I’ll deal with the faulty one later. The functioning subjects are the top priority.” Light gleamed on Roy Lykos’s eyes, and they were steely and cold. “I need those three out of this Center and under my sole control. No mistakes, do you understand?”

  “If there’s trouble, Mr. Freki?”

  “Restrain the children as necessary. But do not harm them—do I make myself clear? These are valuable properties, and the firearms are for persuasion only. Do your men understand that?”

  “If they don’t, I’ll shoot them first,” rasped the gunman. He didn’t sound menacing. He sounded like he was confirming a bank request. “But my men do understand. Perfectly.”

  “Then wait here. I’ll bring the subjects. There are staff members present, several of whom are unaware of this project and entirely innocent. I don’t anticipate trouble, but they may follow me, and they may protest.” For a moment, Roy paused. “Them, you can shoot.”

  The gunman withdrew into the shadows of the mainframe corridor. John couldn’t even move. I didn’t hear any of that. I’m dreaming. Who is Mr. Freki? That’s Roy Lykos! This is insane. Wake up. Wake up.

  A hand gripped his arm, and he almost yelped. “Salome,” he breathed, his heart thundering.

  Her trembling voice was barely audible. “We need to get out of here. We really do.”

  “We didn’t imagine it.” Slack even sounded pale.

  “There’s nowhere to go.” John could hear his voice rising in panic, and he was powerless to stop it. Roy Lykos? Roy is a bad guy? I don’t understand . . .

  “We have to try,” hissed Slack. “Get out through the roof? Steal a boat?”

  “We won’t make it!” Salome’s eyes were white rimmed with fear.

  No, four people were never going to make it out of a cyber- complex past heavily armed gunmen and the digital genius that was Roy Lykos. John’s heart felt as if it would burst with fear—

  Wait. Four people? He turned slowly and stared into black-rimmed eyes. Eva stood behind them, silent and icy calm, her lips a pale straight line.

  “You will make it out.” She was quiet and intense. “I will take you.”

  “How?” Salome clenched her fists, paralyzed by indecision. “Where did you—why would you believe us? I’m not sure I believe—”

  “You’re my friends. You’re in trouble.” Eva glanced at John. “Helping is what you do, yes? You are running out of time. So come with me.”

  She was so calm, so rational, while John’s brain spun out of control and Salome and Slack looked like malfunctioning automatons. What happened back there? Why did Eva come to find us?

  The faulty one. How can she be “faulty”? Eva was a serene picture of sanity in the madness that had suddenly enveloped them. There wasn’t a flicker of panic on her face as she turned to lead them into the total darkness of the pool corridor.

  Yet why could John feel her fear like a tangible, prickling force?

  “I know the ways in and out of this place,” Eva assured them, as they crowded frantically into a cleaning cupboard next to the changing rooms. “I don’t like being confined in this Center, and I like it even less when people always know where I am.”

  She closed the door silently behind them, and they stood for a moment in darkness till she clicked on a tiny key fob flashlight. Slack and Salome’s faces looked ghostly and scared in the thin white glow, and John realized he must look much the same.

  “Where to now?” His voice was still quivering with shock. “We can’t hide in here forever.”

  Eva held up a finger to silence him, then dragged a set of folding steps from behind a vacuum cleaner. Snapping them open, she positioned them in the middle of the cupboard, grabbed a mop, and climbed up. She raised the mop and gave a single jab at the ceiling.

  A hatch gave way, flopping open with a clatter that made them jump.

  “There.” Eva pointed into the darkness above them and handed the little flashlight to Salome. “Heating vents. I’ll show you.” She jumped, grabbed the edge of the hatch, and hauled herself up. Her black boots dangled for a moment, then vanished.

  I have to get a grip, John realized. I don’t know what’s happening or what Lykos is up to, but we need to get out of here. It’s all that matters right now.

  Taking a deep breath, John climbed the two steps, jumped for a handhold, and pulled himself up. Inside the tunnel there was total blackness, but when his eyes adjusted, he could make out the pale glow of Eva’s hair.

  John scooted along the passage on his hands and knees toward her. Behind him he heard a grunt from Slack as he followed. Finally, Salome climbed up, silent and graceful, the little flashlight gripped between her teeth. She too seemed to have calmed down, and there was a glint of determination in her dark eyes.

  “Where to now?” she mumbled through the flashlight, then took it from her mouth and stretched past the boys to hand it back to Eva.

  “Follow,” said Eva, turning to crawl along the vent.

  Despite the cramped conditions, the Russian girl was as quiet as a cat, and John felt clumsy and far too noisy as he tried to hurry after her. His hands and boots clanged dully on the metal surface, and Eva turned to throw him an exasperated glare, but behind him Slack sounded even more awkward.

  Despite the frequent gym visits, Slack was panting, and as the passage narrowed, he gave a grunt of frustration.

  “It’s hot in here.”

  “It’s going to get hotter,” came Eva’s voice from ahead. “There’s a turn ahead, and then there’s a vertical shaft, so be careful.”

  “It can’t be too high a climb from this level?” whispered John.

  “It’s not a climb; it’s a descent. We’re going to the bottom of the island.” Once again, Eva’s eyes gleamed as she turned her head. “Those helicopters—they’ll have headed for the school’s helipad, right? At least one of them will be landing. It would be pretty stupid to go there.”

  Fair enough, thought John. “How do you know about the helicopters?”

  “I saw them coming. I was outside ten minutes ago. I told you: I do not like being trapped.”

  Of course. She disappeared before everyone was locked in the gym.

  The tunnel narrowed again at the corner, and John felt his shoulders brush against the sides. Eva, small and slight, had squirmed around as easily as a snake in a hole. John wriggled and forced his head through, but his shoulder scraped painfully against the metal to his left, and panic rose in his gut. He wriggled a hand free and tried to push himself forward, but he was jammed tight.

  “I’m stuck. Eva, I’m stuck!” His whisper was high and hoarse.

  She flicked her hair out of her face and twisted to look back. He could have sworn she rolled her eyes.

 
“Grab my ankles.” Eva shuffled backward. “Relax your shoulders.”

  Flailing with his one free hand, he seized her thin ankle just above her boot, and she crawled forward awkwardly. She’s so small, and she’s not strong, he realized with a lurch of fear as his body became stuck again and jerked.

  Then she gave a grunt and a heave and yanked him forward, his shoulders slipping through, his T-shirt sleeve catching on a metal seam. Stifling a yelp of pain, John dragged himself free on his elbows and kicked his legs wildly to get them around the corner. Then he flopped, panting.

  “Get Slack,” said Eva calmly.

  John twisted his head. Slack’s face was behind him, the whites of his goggling eyes shining in the darkness.

  “Grab my ankles, Slack . . . ”

  Slack’s shoulders were even broader than John’s, and it took a mighty heave to get him around the angle of the vent, but at last he tumbled through, landing with a resounding boom on the metal floor.

  “Shh!” came a harsh whisper from behind. “And get out of the way, Jake!”

  Slack scuffled forward a few inches on his belly. “Grab my ankles, Salo—”

  Salome appeared, twisting herself lithely and easily around the bend. “What was the holdup? You made a huge racket.”

  John couldn’t help grinning with relief. Trust Salome to do it with elegance.

  “The vertical shaft is wider, so it’ll be easier,” murmured Eva. “Careful, though. It’s just a few feet ahead of me.”

  She paused and dived forward, and her head and shoulders vanished. John heard a light bump, and Eva’s face reappeared, ghostly white and smiling. “There’s enough room in the shaft to twist so you can land on your feet. After that, it’s easy,” she told him.

  “Are there steps? Rungs?”

  “No. But the sections are crudely welded. Just grip the seams. They run horizontally, every two feet or so.” Eva retreated, disappearing smoothly into the vertical vent.

  John took a few deep breaths and gave himself a moment’s delay by turning his head to relay the instructions to Slack. There was a nagging, shooting pain in his shoulder: I tore the skin along with my T-shirt, he realized.