The Hadley Academy for the Improbably Gifted

by Conor Grennan

  Freddy splashed helplessly as the others reached desperately for him. Asha’s ladybug pinched at his fingers when they came above water, tiny wings beating upward but unable to lift him. The sharks circled.

  “Empty the Atrium,” Sanders-Watson said absently. The water rushed back into the well, sucking the sharks back with it. Asha leapt off the post and grabbed Freddy, who was caught in the outward flow. Together they stood on the wet ground, panting.

  Voss was on one knee, warily eyeing the well. Operative Sanders-Watson walked into the grove. The sheen of the air around her shifted as the sap melted away to form an archway. Then the wall sealed back up behind her.

  “Why are you calling the Council?” Jack asked. “We’re not lying.”

  The operative reached into her pack and pulled out a small black cube, the size of a die. “You haven’t seen a news feed in the last few hours?”

  “We haven’t seen a news feed since we’ve gotten to Elk Island,” Freddy said, whisking his wet hair with his fingers. The ladybug fluttered over and blew hot air from a tiny funnel onto his head. Freddy mumbled his thanks to the little drone.

  Sanders-Watson pinched the cube by the corners and flicked it into a spin. A wide holographic screen sprung into the air. The image was blurry before sharpening into high definition. Two anchors sat behind a desk with the BBC logo.

  “If you are just joining us, we’re looking at what are being called the Belgian Riots,” said one anchor. Behind the desk a live feed from a helicopter showed a street filled with rioters. Houses burned in the background.

  “At least 260 are confirmed missing from St. Michael’s Cathedral in central Brussels, where they were attending the morning wedding ceremony of Prince Verhoeven of Belgium. According to early reports, Prince Verhoeven and his bride themselves attacked and incited the crowd.” An image of the prince flashed on the screen, alongside the bride Jack had seen in the back. The one Wyeth touched. The darkened bride.

  “We stress that these reports are early and unconfirmed,” the anchor continued. “The search for the missing who were inside the cathedral has been severely hampered by rapidly escalating violence spreading across Belgium this afternoon.”

  The BBC image minimized. Then it was joined by one telecast after another on the floating screen. Each one focused on the Belgian Riots.

  “. . . authorities are refusing to speculate what would cause civilians in Brussels to turn on each other with such astonishing murderous rage . . .”

  “. . . What would have compelled royalty to incite a violent riot . . . ?”

  Voss rose to his feet and pointed dumbly at the image. “What is all that?”

  “That’s what we are going to find out,” Operative Sanders-Watson said.

  In that moment, the faces of the Council appeared on the glassy sap walls surrounding them. “What’s so urgent, Discern,” asked Superior Blue. “We are extremely busy.”

  “The Council needs to hear this, sir.”

  “And you have found their statements to be completely accurate, Discern?” Director Darius asked the operative. Thirteen had just relayed every detail of the simulation that they could recall. Jack noticed that Darius stood in a dark command station. The Bunker, Jack thought. He could see a corner of a large screen behind her, which he assumed was the shadow map.

  “Completely, Director Darius,” Sanders-Watson replied. “They all experienced the same simulation.”

  “What does the shadow map tell us, Iliana?” Superior Blue asked. “The AI of the Dome powers the map. Surely we had surveillance in the vicinity?”

  “The map gave its usual alert of reaper activity,” Darius responded. “We received no warning that this was another dead zone. We have not yet been able to create an algorithm that allows the shadow map to detect a dead zone. We couldn’t have known in advance that it would happen . . . One moment.”

  Darius’s feed muted as she listened to somebody offscreen. “I need to step away,” she said when she came back online. “We’re tracking a team of operatives that went missing a few hours ago.” Her image blinked out.

  “Instructor Bakari, how would you explain what happened this morning?” Superior Blue asked.

  Bakari shook his head. “I am as bewildered as you,” he said. “There is absolutely no evidence that anyone entered the Dome. And yet, in tracking the events in Belgium, it seems the Dome mirrored, in real time, the events in this Belgian cathedral.”

  Instructor Suzuki chimed in. “Is that even possible? A dead zone shuts off all surveillance. How would the Dome know what was happening in the cathedral?”

  Bakari hesitated. “You’re right. The moment the dead zone occurred, the Dome would have been blind, so to speak. Theoretically, however, the Dome could have gone back to collect data from that area the instant before the dead zone occurred. With that vast amount of data and the power of the Dome’s AI, the Dome could have possibly predicted and recreated what the Dome believed was happening inside the dead zone. If it did that, it could create something of a simulation of those events.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence.

  “I knew the Dome was intelligent,” Instructor Santori said, awed. “I had no idea it would be capable of such a thing.”

  “And yet I have no idea why the Dome would do it,” Instructor Bakari admitted. “And why it would bring in a team to witness it in real time.”

  “I think I do,” Superior Blue offered. “The Dome knew that it would be blocked from gathering data inside the dead zone. It also knew how critical surveillance was, given the presence of Wyeth. So it not only created a simulation of what was happening, it introduced a key element: a real team of improbables that could interact with the simulation it had created and report back what happened. At least, what happened in theory.”

  “But if that is the case, why choose Team Thirteen? Why not bring in operatives?” asked Instructor Vishnarama. The question hung in the air unanswered.

  Darius reappeared in her holographic window, looking disturbed. “Superior Blue. Council. We have tracked down the missing team. They were the team of operatives deployed to Brussels when we believed we were facing a standard reaper engagement. They were inside the cathedral at the time of the darkening.”

  “What did they see?” Suzuki asked, leaning forward.

  “You misunderstand,” Darius said, her voice heavy. “They are gone. Missing. They were caught in the riots, overrun by the darkened. Our team of operatives were darkened.”

  Instructor Santori sat up. “That’s impossible. An entire team killed and turned into these monsters?”

  Darius nodded gravely. “I am still getting information. We’ve never lost an entire team in one engagement.”

  There was a long silence as the Council and Thirteen absorbed the news. Superior Blue rubbed his forehead. “The Dome sent in Team Thirteen. They must have experienced something along the lines of what our lost team experienced.” A notion seemed to occur to him. He turned to Voss. “Torque. You and Ice both said you were fighting to get to the prince and his bride. You said you couldn’t get past one of the members of the security team.”

  “Yes, sir,” Voss said. “He met me blow for blow. It was weird. I know I’m just a recruit, but I shoulda been way stronger than a dormant.”

  Asha nodded in agreement.

  “Did you get a good look at him?” Blue asked.

  Voss considered that. “Actually, no. I couldn’t really see him well, now that you say it.”

  “Hoods,” Freddy said under his breath. He gazed at Jack, wide-eyed, then at the images of the Council members. “Hoods! They were hooded. I saw the security team too. Or rather, I didn’t see them. I couldn’t get a look at their faces either, even though I had a good angle on them. They were wearing hoods. Like this!” Freddy pulled up his hood. His face fell into shadow, his features became indistinguishable. He whipped his hood back off.

  “Civilians don’t have access to Hadley uniform hoods,” Darius replied.
>
  “Operatives are fighters. They’re survivors.” Freddy’s two hands shot up in apology for interrupting. “But maybe the operatives couldn’t survive fighting off a cathedral full of darkened and being ambushed by the security detail. Whoever that security detail was, they stopped a team of operatives. Who could do that?”

  “That’s the question before us,” Superior Blue said thoughtfully.

  Someone in the Bunker handed Director Darius a piece of paper. “This was found in the cathedral. It’s in the handwriting of one of our operatives,” Darius explained. The paper appeared to be a bloodstained wedding program. “She scrawled it, knowing she would not make it out alive.”

  Darius held it up to the camera, so everyone could see it.

  Prince’s security = traitors

  The Council erupted.

  “Wyeth has recruited one of our own teams to protect himself,” Director Darius declared above the noise, her voice dripping with fury. “We will identify this Rogue Team. We will take them out.”

  CHAPTER 20

  BREAKING NEWS

  At least we’ve got TV now.” Voss hung over an armchair in front of the Watchtower’s fireplace.

  “It’s not TV, Voss. It’s a media feed.” Freddy lay on the rug, turning the small black cube over in his hand. “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of computer genius.”

  “You gonna turn it on, or are you just gonna play with it?” Voss said.

  “Blue didn’t tell me how to turn it on. He said our new teammate would know,” Freddy said.

  “What new teammate?” Jack asked.

  “Me.” Claire Lacoste stood in the doorway.

  “The quiet girl,” Voss mumbled. “She speaks.”

  “Don’t be a jerk, Voss.” Asha pushed herself up from a chair and walked to Claire, extending a hand. “Hey—I’m Asha.”

  Claire held up a hand rather than taking Asha’s. “I’m fighting a cold . . .” She stopped herself. “Actually, that’s not true. That’s just what I’ve always told people. The truth is, I don’t really like to shake hands. Is that okay?”

  Asha dropped her hand. “Totally. It’s a no-judgment zone here. Anyway, I’ve seen you in the Dome, and we’ve heard a lot about you. From Jack, I mean.”

  Claire glanced at Jack. “Oh yeah?”

  Jack fought back the blood rising to his cheeks. “Short on people skills much, Asha?”

  “It’s fine. I know people talk,” Claire said. She shot Voss a cool look. “And yeah, I’m quiet. I don’t take that as an insult. Did you mean it as one?”

  “Nah. I’m good with quiet. Not enough of that around here.”

  “Then we’ll be fine.” She nodded at Freddy.

  “Hey, Freddy.” “Hey, Claire.”

  “Sorry I didn’t say hi when I saw you.”

  Asha’s ladybug picked up the cube. The drone flew the tiny box over to Claire and dropped it in her hand. “Can you work that?” Asha asked.

  Claire held the cube but stared at the ladybug. “Where did you get that?”

  “I made it. I make things when I’m anxious. Which is all the time.” She exhaled and her shoulders relaxed. “I like this honesty thing.”

  “This thing is awesome,” Claire said, watching the hovering ladybug. “How did it know to bring me the cube?”

  Asha bit her lower lip in thought. “Huh. I don’t know.”

  “Oh, yeah. I messed around with its intel chip last night,” Voss told Asha. “I tweaked the learning code in its processer and uploaded a facial recognition program, specific to you, so it’ll follow basic commands without you giving it verbal orders. Sorry, probably shoulda asked. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “I love it!” Asha exclaimed.

  “It’s like a pet,” Freddy said happily. “You need to name it. I’ve got some ideas.”

  “Lady,” Asha interrupted. “Short for ladybird. I already call her that.”

  Freddy rolled his eyes. “Seriously? You name your dog Dog too?”

  “She built that thing herself, man,” Voss said. “She can name it whatever she wants.”

  Jack nodded at the cube in Claire’s hands. “So can you work that thing?”

  Claire held the cube between her thumb and forefinger and spun it. A matrix of news feeds projected into the air. The cube, Claire told them, aggregated data about ongoing reaper engagements. It collected any media reports from the dormant world about operatives in battles into one resource for Hadley operatives. The cube also pulled from surveillance footage, video cameras, and social media feeds.

  Almost all of the current news feeds centered on Brussels and the surrounding areas. Most showed helicopter footage of a bright sunny morning on the streets of Brussels, capturing the moment civilians and darkened flooded from the cathedral into the streets.

  The darkened attacked the spectators waiting in the street for the bride and groom’s exit procession. Jack’s body shuddered.

  The darkened had been even worse than the shadow reapers in Jersey City. While the reapers were mindless extensions of the Shadow, the darkened were rage incarnate, attacking everyone who wasn’t another darkened.

  “Jack? You okay?” Asha was watching him.

  “Yeah . . . Yeah, I’m fine.”

  The cube switched to a feed from CNN. “It’s day three of the Belgian Riots, with no end in sight,” the anchor said. “There is still no confirmed inciting event for the riots, which began at the wedding of Prince Verhoeven and his bride. But images have confirmed a physical change in those that were in the cathedral. Their eyes seem to have gone completely black. By comparing footage we are able to confirm that most or all of the missing have been afflicted with this change. It is accompanied by a kind of rage-filled psychosis that is thus far unexplained.”

  Scenes of the carnage flashed in a montage across the screen: smoke billowing from stores as civilians stepped through smashed windows with arms full of canned food and water, injured people huddled outside full hospitals, a makeshift morgue in a parking lot, police stations with doors torn off their hinges. A still image from a video was the most haunting though: a close-up of a woman with pitch-black eyes.

  Claire spun the cube. French troops waited at the Belgian border. Cars trying to leave the city jammed highways in Brussels. Planes lined up far down the tarmac.

  Freddy pointed at one small box in the matrix of live images: a woman with jet-black hair in a dark blue suit being interviewed. “Who’s she?”

  Claire manipulated the cube through the programs until they were watching the interview. A local news reporter in Santa Barbara, California, sat opposite the woman in the navy suit. The broadcast banner identified the guest: Dr. Cynthia Thayer, President, Pacifica Institute.

  “This is what the Pacifica Institute has been warning the public about for years, Julie,” Dr. Thayer said. “We have spent millions of dollars on this research, research that the world has ignored.”

  The anchorwoman peered at her interview subject. “Just so I understand, Dr. Thayer, your institute claims these riots in Belgium are, in actuality, a virus spreading?”

  “You’re seeing the footage. Dignitaries at a royal wedding turning into bloodthirsty monsters? Their eyes completely black? They were in close quarters when the Dark Virus was released,” Thayer said. “Read the reports from the few people inside St. Michael’s Cathedral who survived. The stories tell of normal citizens having some kind of seizure, followed by manic, hyperviolent behavior. This is a bona fide medical emergency. We call it the Dark Virus.”

  “Do you have any evidence that this is an actual virus?” Julie asked.

  “Yes. More importantly, the Dark Virus was created in the labs of the United States government. They are to blame,” Thayer asserted.

  “I’ve heard that name before,” Voss said, “Pacifica Institute.” He sounded it out.

  “Who is this woman?” Freddy asked. “How is she figuring all this out?”

  “She’s a conspiracy theorist,” Jack said. �
��She’s on a tiny local news outlet in Santa Barbara.”

  “Maybe, but her assessment of the virus is pretty accurate, even if it wasn’t created by the government,” Claire started.

  “She’s insane. Turn it off,” Asha snapped.

  Freddy shushed her, staring at the projection. On the screen, the anchorwoman sat back in her chair with a tired sigh. “And why, Dr. Thayer, would the government want to create the Dark Virus, as you call it?”

  Thayer laughed. “Surely you are not that naive, Julie.”

  “Pretend for a moment that I am, Dr. Thayer.”

  “The US government wants to enslave our population,” Thayer said.

  Asha snatched up her books, shoving them in her pack. “Fine. Watch this stupid garbage. I’m going to bed.” She stomped off up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “Glad you’re here, Claire. I guess you’re bunking with me; make yourself at home.”

  Freddy thumbed at her. “What’s up with her?”

  “She doesn’t feel like filling her head with junk,” Voss said.

  “Belgium was just a test,” the blue-suited woman said. “As you can see, it was a success. They will unleash it here next.”

  The anchorwoman’s thin eyebrows raised.

  “Wouldn’t that be suicide? Leaders themselves would be in danger of the virus.”

  “The government has teams of special ops who serve as bodyguards to keep the infected at bay,” Thayer insisted. “They are highly skilled.”

  “Mmm.” The anchorwoman was pretending to listen, glancing at someone offscreen. “And your organization.” The anchor glanced at her notes. “The Pacifica Institute. You have a way of stopping this?”

  “The Pacifica Institute has been preparing a contingency plan for a decade.” Thayer stared into the camera. “We can keep people safe. But people must follow my directions before it’s too—”

  “I’m afraid that’s all the time we have, Dr. Thayer,” Julie said with a practiced smile. “We turn now to events . . .” She faded out as the cube switched to another feed.