And that was another thing: Cathryn’s mum, Louisa Hawking, was one of the heads of the Shackleton Co-operative. So why was Shackleton communicating with Cathryn and the others through a locker in the school? Surely it would be easier to just pass their instructions on through her.
Unless not even she was allowed to know what they were up to. If the information he was giving them was so sensitive that he needed to contact them directly.
I watched Cathryn frowning into her compact, brushing at her cheek with the back of her nail.
Not that I had any idea what she was supposed to be doing for Shackleton – but was she really the best he could come up with?
The room eventually began to empty. I finished getting changed and sat down on the bench, pretending to untangle a knot in my shoelaces.
Finally, the last two girls zipped up their bags and headed for the door. I stood in the doorway, watching until they’d left the room completely, then started tip-toeing across to the guys’ change room.
I paused at the door, listening for any signs of life.
Empty.
I slipped inside, steadying myself against the nauseating cocktail of spray deodorants, and scanned the room for Mike’s bag.
Most of us just used the standard Phoenix High backpack that they gave us when we got here, but Mike had a hessian satchel thing covered in badges and patches. It should have been easy enough to find, but at first I couldn’t see any sign of it. I circuited the room. Mike’s bag would be somewhere near Tank’s. If I could find that –
Ah.
Over in the far corner of the change room, I spotted a strap of brown fabric poking out from under a pile of discarded clothes and shoes.
Typical, I thought, sliding the bag out from under the mess and shaking off a pair of underpants. I checked the door again and snapped the satchel open.
The notebook was right at the bottom, wedged down underneath all Mike’s schoolbooks. I pulled it out and reburied the bag.
I could hear Ms Jeffery on the other side of the wall, picking teams for whatever we were playing today. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed I was –
Footsteps.
Somebody was coming.
I crept to the door and peered outside.
No-one there.
I dashed back out across the gym, figuring it was better to get caught out here than to explain why I was rifling through the guys’ bags. Straight through the door to the girls’ change room.
I was halfway to my bag before I saw Cathryn.
I staggered to a stop, almost tripping over myself. She was standing with her back to me, taking off a pair of earrings. I shoved the notebook down the back of my gym shorts.
Cathryn turned around.
She pulled another face, like she’d just stepped in something, then looked away again.
I sidestepped across the room, keeping my back away from her, and sat down, pretending to search for something in my bag.
Cathryn stuck the earrings in her purse and dropped it into her bag. Then she wheeled around and stormed over to face me.
‘Just can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?’
Uh-oh.
‘Sorry?’ I said, sitting up straighter against the wall.
She stepped closer. ‘Oh, right. Like you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
I played dumb. ‘Cathryn, seriously, what are you trying to –?’
‘He’s freaking wasted on you,’ she spat.
And she turned and walked out of the room.
Chapter 9
TUESDAY, JUNE 16
58 DAYS
I was the first one out of the gym at the end of the lesson, more than happy to get clear of Cathryn’s continued face-pulling.
It was insane. The two of us were on opposite sides of a plot to kill seven billion people, and the biggest drama she had with me was that I was hanging out with Peter?
How could she even think there was a problem there? It was one thing for Peter to keep convincing himself that something was going to happen between us, but I would’ve thought it was pretty clear from the outside that –
Of course.
She was getting all this from him. The way he told it, it was probably only a matter of days before the two of us ran away together.
Like any of us had time to worry about that now.
I leant back against a wall, waiting for Luke and Peter to hurry up and get changed. I hadn’t told them about the notebook yet. We’d spent all of PE on opposing teams, and whenever I got close enough to talk to them, Mike or one of the others seemed to be hovering somewhere in earshot.
It could be nothing, anyway, I reminded myself. It could be his stamp collection for all you know.
But it was more than that. More than coincidence. There was a reason I’d found that book.
I walked back over to the door. Tank’s voice had suddenly risen up above the noise of the guys’ change room. ‘Hey – No, don’t you – Mate, no, you’re a dead man!’
A loud snap, shouts of laughter from the other boys, and Mike came running out of the gym, shirt unbuttoned, bag swinging from his shoulder. Tank ran out after him, tie stretched tight between his hands. He flicked his wrist and caught Mike right between the shoulder blades. Mike shouted, whirled around, and raised his tie into the air to return fire.
‘That will do, gentlemen!’ called a voice from across the grass.
It was Mr Hanger. Mike and Tank both started talking at once.
‘Come on, sir!’
‘We weren’t even –!’
‘Quiet,’ said Mr Hanger. He narrowed his eyes at the gym. ‘Where is Peter?’
Mike grinned and ran back inside.
‘Hey, Pete! Guess who’s come to visit?’
A minute later he was back, with Peter and Luke behind him. Peter saw Mr Hanger and immediately did a one-eighty back towards the gym.
‘PETER WEIR!’
‘What, sir?’ snapped Peter, spinning around again.
Mr Hanger pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper. I recognised it as the ‘essay’ Peter had handwritten in the ten minutes before school started this morning.
Mr Hanger held up the page and read the first line. ‘Why World War II would’ve been so much more awesome if they’d used robot soldiers.’
‘Yeah, sir, about that, I thought your original question was kind of restrictive, so I decided to –’
‘Detention, Peter. Now.’
‘Screw you,’ Peter muttered, pulling his bag up over one shoulder.
Mr Hanger snarled. ‘What was that?’
‘I said you’re an awesome teacher, sir!’ Peter said loudly. ‘Your comb-over isn’t even that noticeable!’
More of the class had arrived by now. Shocked laughter from a few of them.
‘Anybody else care to join us?’ asked Mr Hanger, silencing the class. He grunted and turned back to the English block. ‘This way, Peter.’
‘He’s going to die,’ I said as soon as they were gone.
Luke sighed. ‘Which one?’
The bell rang from somewhere inside the gym, and Ms Jeffery reappeared, shooing the last few students outside. Luke and I headed over to the maths block to get our bikes, with Cathryn, Tank and Mike right behind us.
‘Crap,’ said Luke. ‘Just remembered Mum wanted me to go to the supermarket for her this arvo.’ He dragged his bike out from the rack. ‘See you tomorrow, okay?’
A tug of disappointment. I thought about calling him back, but there wasn’t much I’d be able to say to him with the others still so close. And now that the school day was over, making sure Georgia was okay suddenly felt much more important.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘See you.’
I spun my bike around and headed for the back gate, thinking that if I was quick, I might catch Dad coming in to pick Georgia up. But when I rode down through the primary school, there was no sign of either of them.
I rode straight home and found Dad stooped over his l
aptop at the kitchen bench. He worked from home on Tuesdays. One of those ‘great working conditions’ the Shackleton Co-operative hoped would help distract its employees from the weirdness of life in Phoenix.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Where’s Georgia?’
‘She’s with Mum. Dr Montag wanted to give her the once-over after her fall yesterday. Make sure the damage isn’t any worse than it looks.’
‘Oh,’ I said. My fist tightened around the strap of my backpack. ‘I think I’ll go down there and –’
‘How much of that English homework have you done?’ said Dad.
‘Most of it,’ I said.
‘It’s due tomorrow, isn’t it?’
‘Dad –’
But then I realised he’d just saved me from making a massive mistake.
The suppressor. Shackleton was watching.
If they really were doing something to Georgia, I wouldn’t make it halfway to the medical centre before I got hauled off by security. And then she’d be in even more trouble than she already was.
Had to be smart about this. I took a breath. ‘All right.’
‘She’ll be fine, Jordan,’ said Dad, getting up and putting an arm around me. ‘It’s a concussion at worst. And, hey, compared to our last few visits to the medical centre …’
‘Yeah,’ I said, hugging him back. ‘Just give me a yell when they get back, okay?’
I went to my room, knowing Dad was more worried about all this than he was letting on. But as usual, he was keeping that to himself. Being strong for his family. More than anyone else, I wished I could tell him what was going on out here.
There was no way I was getting any homework done this afternoon, at least not until Mum and Georgia got back. I sat down on my bed and clawed through my bag for Mike’s notebook.
Soft, black, fake-leather cover. Worn around the edges. Bulging in the middle where it looked like he’d glued in a whole bunch of other bits of paper. Elastic strap keeping everything together.
I snapped off the strap and started flipping through the pages.
It was a sketchbook. Page after page of drawings. A map of Phoenix mall, drawn on grid paper and glued in. Bits of the bush around Phoenix, but nothing I recognised. A few random sketches from around town.
But what really got under my skin was the people.
The same two figures, over and over again. All through the book. Sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes one of each. But always in pairs. Always dressed in white. They were angelic, almost. But not wimpy Christmas-card angels with harps and halos and feathery wings. Real angels. The kind that strike you down in awe and terror.
I closed the book, suddenly uneasy.
Don’t be stupid, I warned myself. They’re just pictures. Just pictures that had arrived in my hands thanks to a time-bending supernatural vision.
Voices echoed up the hall from the front of the house, snapping me out of it. Mum and Georgia were home. I shoved the notebook under my pillow and rushed out to see them.
Georgia had sprinted straight through the door and was already stomping up the stairs to her room. Mum came in after her, shooting a weary look at Dad, who was walking down the hall ahead of me.
‘Guess who just lost their job,’ she said.
Dad put his hands around her waist. ‘What? Oh no.’
‘Dr Montag wants me to finish up at the preschool this week,’ said Mum. She sighed, moving past him towards the lounge room. ‘Maternity leave. He doesn’t want to take any chances with the baby.’
Yeah, I thought darkly, following them. I bet.
But if this was the first thing Mum mentioned as she walked through the door, that had to mean nothing too weird had happened at the medical centre.
Mum crashed onto the couch and Dad sat down next to her.
‘Good that the doc is playing it safe,’ he said unconvincingly.
‘Yeah,’ said Mum. ‘And if I do only have eight and a half weeks to go … I mean, when you think about it that way, it’s not that much more leave than I’d normally be taking. I guess it makes sense.’
Dad shook his head. ‘Nothing about this makes sense.’
‘What did they say about Georgia?’ I asked, settling onto the couch opposite them.
But before Mum could answer, Georgia came bowling into the room, carrying a heart-shaped wooden box with a photo of her and Grandma set into the top. She’d got it as a going-away present right before we came here.
Georgia held the box out to Mum, fixing her with a stern look. ‘Remember, I only want green and purple and pink this time.’
‘Right,’ said Mum.
Georgia plonked herself down at Mum’s feet. Mum handed the heart box to Dad. He flipped it open and started sorting elastics, while she got started redoing Georgia’s braids.
I curled up on the couch and closed my eyes. Clearly, Montag had been checking for more than just a concussion, but he’d sent Georgia home in one piece, so that one was less thing to panic about, at least for tonight.
‘It’s good that you’ve finished feeling sick in the mornings,’ said Georgia out of nowhere, breaking the silence. I opened my eyes.
She was looking up at Mum.
It took Mum a minute to respond and when she did, it was hesitant. ‘How did you know that, sweetheart?’
‘You just said it!’ Georgia twisted up her face, like Mum was being slow on purpose.
Mum stopped braiding. ‘Georgia, I wasn’t even speaking.’
Georgia turned around again and leant her head back, waiting for Mum to get back to work.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘You don’t have to anymore.’ I had another look through Mike’s sketchbook before I went to sleep, trying to figure out what it all meant. Trying to distract myself from worrying about Georgia.
Mum and Dad had let the moment slip past without any more comment, but I could tell the weirdness of it hadn’t been lost on them.
I stared down at yet another pair of carefully sketched men in white, my eyes blurring with exhaustion. The longer I looked at them, the stronger the urge to check over my shoulder and make sure I wasn’t being watched.
Get a grip.
I snapped the sketchbook shut and flicked off my bedside light.
Nightmares had been a part of life ever since all of this started. But tonight I had new enemies. Faceless, white-robed figures, chasing me through the bush. Hunting me. The figures flickered, real one second, hand-drawn the next, but always right behind me. I pressed forward, grass rising, trees closing in on all sides, and suddenly I was out over the lip of a giant, flaming crater. I tumbled forward, down into the bottomless darkness –
And then all of it was gone.
Solid ground under me. I was back in my room.
I opened my eyes, drifting up from sleep, trying to get my bearings.
Cold air.
Had I left the window open?
I glanced up at the clock. Just before midnight.
And then suddenly the clock flashed off, blocked by a dark shape slipping past in front of it.
There was someone in my room.
Chapter 10
TUESDAY, JUNE 16
58 DAYS
The silhouette moved on, melting into the darkness of the bedroom, and for a moment I lost track of it. I froze, trying and failing to steady my breathing, disjointed images rushing at me. Knives and cold eyes and grasping hands and gunshots and pillows held down over my –
Shuffling noises from over near my desk. Barely audible. Whoever this was, they were used to getting around undetected.
I closed my eyes for just a second, trying to refocus. Only one way I was getting out of this. I eased out from the covers, slow and quiet, letting my intruder keep on thinking I was asleep.
More movement. There was someone crouched down there on the floor.
A tiny trickle of relief pierced through my chest. The figure was small. Or human-sized, anyway. No billowing white robes. Nothing glowing.
Not that there weren’t p
lenty of humans around who were more than capable of doing me in.
The intruder rose slowly, his back still to me, stretching up to investigate my desk.
I pushed myself up into a sitting position, then swung my legs around and brought them down onto the carpet.
There was a tiny thud as my visitor accidentally bumped into my desk chair. I gasped, startled, then froze again, sure I’d just given myself away.
The intruder hesitated for a second, then gently pushed the chair aside and continued canvassing the desk.
I stood up and crept over, pausing after each step.
Three metres away.
Two metres.
One.
The figure straightened up, backing away from the desk. His head began to turn, but I was already jumping forward. I brought one arm down across his neck, the other around his stomach, trying to keep his hands down.
Then I saw the black hair poking down from the back of his balaclava.
Mike.
He staggered back, writhing and twisting, trying to jerk his body clear. Squeezing him tighter with both arms, I angled my foot around to kick him behind the knees. He stumbled, grunting again, but stayed standing, throwing his head back, trying to catch me in the teeth. I dodged left, kicking him again, and he finally fell, crashing roughly onto his knees beside my bed.
He grunted as the impact jarred his knees, and again as I brought my weight down on top of him, pinning his chest to the carpet.
Mike kept right on struggling. ‘Get – off, you –!’
‘Shh!’ I drove an elbow down between his shoulder blades. ‘You really want my dad coming in here?’
Mike stopped struggling. ‘Where is it?’ he hissed.
Keeping one hand planted firmly on Mike’s back, I reached up under my pillow and brought out the sketchbook.
‘So Cathryn knows how to put two and two together after all, huh?’ I whispered, yanking off the elastic one-handed.
‘Oi, careful!’ said Mike. ‘You do anything to that book and I’ll –’
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