The Dark Academy (Supervillain High Book 4)

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “The interception mode is dynamic,” Vlad said. “Trust the program. Every time you interrupt a flight path, the machines will pause as the program recalibrates. This means you lose some forward momentum.”

  “Got it.”

  Tina checked her phone. “Poser’s in place.”

  Brendan saw the program allowed three of the tiny drones to be slaved together, but only one had a camera. The footage was dark and blurry. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Fly them up high,” Vlad said.

  Once Brendan did, the image stabilized. He had a clear view of the bleachers and field. The bright lights left white streaks on the tablet screen. “We’re in business.”

  A small group of West Presbyterian High students were looking for a place to settle in to watch the game. A few of them looked Brendan’s way. Tina pulled a noisemaker from her pack and started blowing into it, startling Brendan. It sounded like an off-key bugle, and it had the intended effect: the students moved along.

  Whistles blew. Drummers of both bands started in on dueling percussive routines. Cat Valley’s drummers were drowned out as West Presbyterian’s band joined in, their heavy brass section blaring as loud as they could. The crowd cheered them on. The game started.

  “So what are we shooting for here?” Tina asked. “Proof of concept? You want to see if they’re actually cheating by doing it ourselves?”

  “We’re doing just enough to make Lucille happy,” Vlad said. “Right?”

  Brendan focused on the screen and on getting his drones moving to get a feel for the controls. Not having a pair of joysticks and a control pad was less than ideal. The touch screen had no subtlety or feedback. As the game went on below, he practiced targeting the ball with Vlad’s program. It locked on just fine, but each time the ball went up, it moved too fast and the play was over well before the drones could respond. He tried acquiring the ball earlier, as soon as it was visible in the quarterback’s hands. He felt a rush of excitement as the drones moved into position. The quarterback threw the ball. It would have landed in the Cathedral Valley receiver’s hands, but Brendan executed the program and the drones shot in, pushed the ball further along in its path, and departed. The pass went over the receiver and was incomplete as the ball tumbled out of bounds.

  Brendan felt like cheering but kept it in. “Think anyone saw anything?” he asked excitedly. Vlad tried to pull the tablet away but Brendan kept a firm hold of it.

  “No way to tell,” Tina said. “But you do that too many times and someone will know something’s up.”

  Cat Valley was close enough for a field goal. The drones easily targeted the ball while the kicker lined up. He kicked, and the ball flew straight. Then as it tumbled through the air, the drones pushed it to the right of the posts.

  “Hardly subtle,” Tina said.

  The Cathedral Valley coach marched onto the field to complain, and two of the referees examined the ball. The visiting team took possession, evaded Bull Johnson, and scored. The half ended with Cathedral Valley seven points behind. Brendan landed the drones at their point of origin behind the bleachers, and Poser returned with them.

  “Please tell me someone bet on this game,” Poser said. Before anyone could reply, he continued, “I know, I know. That would be unethical.”

  A security guard was heading their way, winding through a group of spectators coming down from the bleachers. Brendan stashed the bag with the drones and the tablet and acted as casual as possible as the guard passed by. Two more security guards were coming from the opposite direction, one speaking into a radio. They scanned the crowd. Brendan felt his heart race. He tried not to look at the three guards as they converged near them.

  “Calm down,” Tina said.

  Brendan nodded. He realized he was breathing fast and doing everything that attracted the wrong kind of attention. Like looking down and purposefully avoiding eye contact. He tried to smile.

  “When’s the next basketball game?” he asked.

  “Next week. Thursday night. Why, are you going?”

  The guards split up and moved along, showing little interest in any of them. Lucille approached. He hadn’t seen her during the game. She was shivering again. When she got to Brendan, she nodded approvingly. “Tyler’s happy. But now the officials think a bat flew into the ball.”

  “Want us to lay low?” Brendan asked.

  “I want them to lose. Think you can do it?”

  “Of course.”

  “We’ve carried the visiting team this far, haven’t we?” Poser said.

  She rolled her eyes. “Game’s about to restart. Pay attention.” She headed off towards the opposite end zone.

  “Not sure why you gave her up, Vlad,” Poser said.

  Before Vlad could respond, both bands kicked into gear and the whistle blew.

  “Take the drones and get ready to launch,” Brendan said. “We won’t do anything unless Cat Valley takes the lead back.” He gave Poser the drones and watched him leave.

  More students began crowding in next to them as the excitement mounted in the third quarter. He felt like there were eyes on him and tried to act engaged by the game. No one scored. Then in the fourth quarter, Cathedral Valley ran in a touchdown.

  “Time to fly,” Brendan texted with his tablet. He opened the program. Vlad and Tina stood on either side, giving him a degree of privacy and the elbow room to work. As the drones climbed from Poser’s position, he did a shoulder check. No security was in sight. But then he saw the black girl who had been signing with her friend at the Temecula game. She was staring straight at Brendan. When she saw him look, she shifted her attention to the field.

  “Something wrong?” Tina asked.

  “Maybe we’re not as anonymous as we think.”

  “Just relax. Don’t be paranoid.”

  Cathedral Valley didn’t kick for the extra point. Instead, they gave the ball to Bull and he ran it in for two points, muscling four members of West Presbyterian’s defensive line along with him into the end zone. Cathedral Valley went nuts, with fans chanting, “Bull! Bull! Bull!”

  The visiting fans tried for a rejoinder but it didn’t take.

  “Less than two minutes left,” Tina said. “Doesn’t give us much opportunity.”

  “I’m not sure what to do to help West Presbyterian score,” Brendan said. “Tapping the ball in flight won’t help them.” He looked down at the drone’s feed and watched as West Presbyterian moved the ball up for two first downs before failing a pass and two runs. They would try for a field goal.

  “How’s their kicker?” Vlad asked.

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to try helping him.”

  He positioned the drones above and behind the West Presbyterian players and targeted the ball.

  “I didn’t program for that,” Vlad said.

  “I’m going to do this one by hand.”

  The ball went back into play. It was passed to a player who placed it on a tee. The kicker ran and kicked the ball, which went straight but looked as if it would fall short. Brendan sent in the drones, and they were about to intercept and give the ball a push when his screen went blank.

  The visiting team groaned as the ball fell just shy of the goal’s crossbar. Cathedral Valley took possession and ran out the clock.

  Brendan tapped the tablet and hit the power button. An electric tingle ran through his finger and he shook his hand. But when he touched the button again, the sensation was gone.

  His phone pinged and vibrated.

  “What happened?” Tina asked before he could answer the same question from Poser.

  “It went dead.”

  “Did you run out of power?” Vlad asked, leaning in.

  “No, I had just…” he turned and looked behind him. The girl was gone. Cathedral Valley players were running past them and onto the field. “Time to find the drones and get out of here.”

  The tablet finally rebooted. Brendan handed it over to Vlad, who got the program up and running. He watched
as Vlad entered a passcode.

  “You added a lockout on the program,” Brendan said.

  Vlad nodded. “Can’t let it get into the wrong hands.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  Vlad kept working for a moment before handing the tablet over. He didn’t volunteer the password. “Program’s up.”

  The drones still hovered in place. After giving Poser instructions to find a more secluded place, he brought them down where Poser could recover them.

  Their chaperone came over. “Enjoy the game?”

  “Sure,” Brendan said.

  “You spent a lot of time on your device.”

  Brendan shrugged.

  “Missed a close one,” the chaperone said. “Doesn’t get more exciting than that.”

  ***

  They waited for Lucille and Tyler in the lobby of Brendan’s dorm. Tyler scowled as he surveyed the room.

  “You told everyone?” Tyler asked.

  “This isn’t everyone,” Brendan said. “These are my friends. I did what I could. Cat Valley still won.”

  “That just means we’ll have to try harder next week,” Lucille said. “Because that’s when we play them.”

  The dorm monitor came by to let them know it was curfew. Time to go back to their respective dorms. Tyler walked Lucille out, but the others lingered.

  “I thought this would be it,” Tina said. “There’s no reason for you to keep helping Lucille. What else is there to accomplish? Can she do anything else to help find your dad?”

  “Yeah,” Vlad said. “If our team is good enough, they need to beat Cathedral Valley on their own merits.”

  Brendan waited for Poser, who was unusually quiet. “I hate to be that guy,” Poser finally said. “But I want to know what they’ve been doing to win their games. And how they fried your tablet.”

  “Me too,” Brendan said. “I’m not done here. I’m going to be at our game next week, and we’re going to win.”

  11. Raid

  An hour after curfew Tina texted, “U up?”

  Brendan paused a supers video. Fisticuffs between two costumed brawlers in uptown New York had devolved into a pushing match. Both poorly-lit participants looked drunk. He replied, “Reading. Homework.”

  “Fill me in on what’s going on. Lucille? Really? All she did for you was get you drugs.” Brendan felt uncomfortable, as if just reading her text would get him busted. At least she left out trying to dope a federal agent. Their conversation would have to be deleted.

  “The challenge,” he replied finally.

  “She’s going to use you and get you into trouble.” When he hesitated in replying, she continued. “Unless you get something on your dad, come with me to Scottsdale next weekend to visit my folks. Janine from bball is coming, so we won’t be going alone. My parents are not weird, I promise. Plane tix on me.”

  “I’m going to the game. I said I would.”

  He watched the indicator bubbles appear and vanish as she started to reply several times. Finally, all she texted was “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He scrolled through several pages of the newest supers fights. Nothing was new or compelling. He considered the latest music videos but didn’t even recognize any of the bands. Then he disconnected from the school’s Wi-Fi. Using his phone’s network, he found the site that hosted his dad’s last email address. It also served as a gateway to anonymous browsing.

  He searched for “God of Clowns,” “recent,” and “videos.” None of the commercial mainstream sites had anything but rumors and response videos. But it only took seconds to find a hosting site in Cyprus that had a new video with only 798 likes. It was barely an hour old.

  The title was “God of Clowns vs. Sir Duke.” Brendan immediately recognized the hero’s name. It was one of the last people his father had fought during his bank robbery, just before he had been shot. The video started with Sir Duke running away from a man with a video camera. A second camera caught the action in a long shot as the hero descended a parking garage. Some kind of projectile missed Sir Duke, but he stumbled trying to dodge it. From a toolkit he pulled out a small baton, a shorter version of his usual main weapon that packed an energy blast.

  “Back off!” he yelled at the cameraman.

  “Worship,” said a disembodied voice.

  The footage cut to the closer camera, a tight shot, as Sir Duke looked up. He screamed, the camera shook, and the image cut to the distant shot. Sir Duke was rolling on the concrete with some kind of short arrow sticking out of his arm. The baton fell from his hand.

  The large form of the clown stepped into the shot. His hair was even more wild than in the last video. The crown was almost lost in the tangle of hair. He dropped a small crossbow and held out the giant crucifix dangling from his neck.

  “Pray,” the clown said. His voice was electronically altered, deep and echoing. “Repent.”

  Sir Duke’s lips trembled. It was clear he was unable to move away fast enough. From a leg sheath the clown brought up a machete. Brendan felt his palms sweat and his mouth go dry. The clown got closer.

  From somewhere, Sir Duke drew a small snub-nosed revolver. God of Clowns struck it out of the man’s hand. A camera cut to a severed hand still holding the firearm and the image froze. The audio continued and Brendan heard screams.

  His finger hovered over the pause button, but he didn’t hit it. Finally the screams stopped and the image faded to black. The video ended and a “What Did You Think?” prompt appeared with an option of an up or down arrow and a comment box. Brendan swiped the prompt closed.

  He fought the urge to look for more. Instead, he scrolled down. The video had hundreds of comments in multiple languages. They kept him reading for a while.

  “Doing the real work.” “The hero we need.” “Is this real?” “WE ALL MUST REPENT!1!” “Fake.” “I am clown. Fear me. Rawr!” “First apostle of God of Clowns.” “Second.” “Third.” “I declare me pope.”

  He turned off the tablet. He lay for a while staring at the ceiling, trying to think about the schoolwork he should have done or anything besides the images he had just seen. At least they temporarily blocked out the memories of Not-Earth. But as always, all too quickly they came flooding back.

  A man burning. Freyda stabbing Nurse Dreyfus. Charlotte trapped in that nightmare world with the remaining warlords.

  He was about to reach for the lamp on his side table when he heard a soft tap on his window followed quickly by another. Heavier than rain, but softer than a rock. But he was three floors up. He checked the window but only saw darkness outside, and the windows didn’t open by design. Another tap, right by his face. He jerked back. Down below on the walkway he saw a figure standing, but couldn’t make out who it was. It beckoned him. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Charlotte,” he whispered to himself. She was here again. Or perhaps it was her ghost, the only survivor from Not-Earth, back to accuse him for abandoning her and her world.

  The figure walked out of the light and began heading towards the center of campus.

  No texts had come in. If not Charlotte, then who could it be? And how had they thrown something so high as to hit his window? Curiosity dispelled his irrational fear.

  The dorm monitor had seen him returning to his room after brushing his teeth. Hopefully that would count as his bed check. He pulled on his sneakers and checked the hallway. Only the dimmed sconces remained on. Even Poser’s room was quiet. Brendan snuck to the stairway and descended, careful not to let the door click or his shoes squeak. A security guard was talking to one of the monitors just outside. Brendan used a side door and took to the shadows.

  He didn’t see anyone and began wondering if anyone had even been there. The frosty air on his face felt real. I’m not dreaming. He decided to do a circuit of the campus. With the security guard accounted for, there would be no others out unless someone called them. The buildings all had their nighttime lights on, but it appeared that the rest of the faculty
had gone home.

  The science building was dark, its external lights extinguished. What’s going on? He rounded the building and saw it was completely blacked out. He heard glass shatter. The sound had come from around the corner. He began to jog, careful not to trip. The window to the electronics lab was broken. He crunched on glass as he peered inside, careful not to touch the edges. Someone was moving. He heard the sound of something heavy inside the lab being dragged, followed by the sharp crack of splintering wood and more crashing glass.

  Brendan got his phone out and fumbled to unlock it, trying to find the flashlight setting and the camera. Something like warm water rolled down his hand. His phone went dead. He stepped back, thinking water from a downspout was somehow getting on him. As he shook his hand to get the liquid off, a tingling shock erupted through his fingertips and he dropped his phone. He almost tripped trying to get out of the bushes. Motion came at him from above. Something large was dropping towards him, turning and banking at the last minute. Brendan fell backwards onto the grass. It was a person, flying, swooping, and climbing upwards again. He heard a boy laugh wildly.

  A large shape was climbing out of the window. “Is this him?” a male voice asked. He sounded young.

  “That’s him,” said a girl behind him.

  Brendan got up and turned. There was enough light to make her out. It was the black girl from Cathedral Valley High.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  He felt sharp pains on his hands and arms, as if a dozen bees had all decided to sting him at once. He tugged at his sweatshirt and swatted at his limbs, desperate to get the pain to stop. When he put his hand to a particular sting, it felt as if a film of oil clung to on his skin. The stinging was concentrated in his fingertips. He began slapping his hands on the ground as the agony spread to cover his shoulders, chest, and neck and moved towards his lips.