Terror Byte

by Park, J. R.

  But they were only echoes; ripples from events that seemed so long ago.

  He sat up in bed and looked around, the room bathed in a cold, blue morning light. He looked back at the tall, dark shadows that clung to the wall and concentrated on their centre, looking for the point of deepest black. Could that be a tunnel? A way to get back?

  Norton turned his attention to a photograph on the bedside cabinet; it was a picture of himself and Mel. They were sat in a field with a picnic spread around them. The sun had been beautiful that day and he had surprised her by turning up at her doorstep with picnic food and a blanket. They drove out to the country, not knowing where they were going until they found an entrance to a quiet field and parked the car. It felt like their own world as they sat alone in the glorious sunshine amidst a beautiful countryside vista.

  If only he could crawl into the photograph and back to that scene. To capture that time again.

  The phone continued to ring and buzz impatiently.

  Norton was still looking at the photograph.

  Maybe if he believed really hard he could go back in time, he could. Maybe if he closed his eyes and concentrated on that time, on that place, the picnic, the feel of the sun on his skin, the sound of Mel’s laugh as she practiced cartwheels in the field. Maybe he could open his eyes to find himself back there. Maybe if he closed them really, really tight and concentrated really, really hard.

  Grief does stupid things to the mind. Hope warps expectation. When all realistic hope is gone people look towards the fantastical to keep those dreams alive.

  But he wanted to believe so much.

  So he closed his eyes.

  He opened them again to find himself still alone in the bedroom, rich with memories. His mobile phone continued to ring and vibrate against the table. A tear began to silently slide down his cheek. He picked up his phone to turn it off. He needed to be alone right now. Taking the device in his hand he looked at the screen. The brightness of the display hurt his eyes and forced them to squint. Through his compromised vision he read the name of the incoming caller.

  Mel.

  He stopped breathing for a moment. His stomach clenched, as he scarcely believed what he saw. Had he done it? Had he been successful and managed to go back through time? Did he somehow climb through that photograph or journey into the darkest patch of the shadow, emerging back in time to re-live those sweetest of memories?

  Nervously his finger went to press the answer button. This could not be happening!

  Thwak!

  Just as his finger reached to press the screen his phone was batted out of his hand and slid across the floor. It skidded on the carpeted surface until it came to a stop at the foot of the wardrobe; its vibration sounding even louder as it amplified through the wardrobe’s acoustics. He turned to see Orchid standing beside the bed. Her hands were no longer cuffed and she was no longer adorned in the baggy cell clothes, instead she was wearing the same coat, leggings and boots as on their first encounter.

  ‘That’s Mel!’ Norton spoke like a confused child.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, she’s dead,’ Orchid snapped, ‘and we will be soon if you’re not careful.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Norton. ‘Am I dreaming?’

  ‘Does this hurt?’ Orchid hit him round the head with the palm of her hand.

  ‘Ow! Yes!’ Norton protested, rubbing his head.

  ‘Fine, you’re not dreaming,’ Orchid was impatient in her tone. ‘Get dressed and don’t answer your phone. From here on in I am the only one you can trust.’

  Norton got dressed in a state of bewilderment. He did not know what was happening and tried to piece everything together, but the shock of seeing Mel’s number on his phone haunted him. The phone kept ringing with her number and he desperately wanted to answer it but it couldn’t be her, could it?

  ‘Leave that thing here,’ Orchid said pointing to the incessantly noisy phone, ‘or they’ll trace us. Probably already have.’

  ‘Orchid, what the hell is going on?’ demanded Norton, now fully dressed and sat on the edge of his bed.

  ‘We have to go!’ she said.

  ‘Go where? I’m not going anywhere until you tell me?’

  Orchid sighed and acquiesced. She sat down on the bed next to him and explained. ‘After I left you and slipped the cuffs some weird things started to happen. First of all my bank account had been frozen. That wasn’t a problem as I have many accounts, however every time I used another one that was then frozen too. It was like the cash point was clocking my face then freezing my account. The CCTV cameras started to follow me. Now at first I thought I was being paranoid but then I heard rumours that the Death’s Head program had been sent after me. I scanned police radio to discover they were claiming evidence had been found linking you to the deaths in the Areas building. I thought that was a bit weird so I came over to watch you. See what happened.’

  ‘You slipped your cuffs?’ Norton looked amazed. ‘I’m a suspect for murder?’

  ‘The cuffs? Yeah, it’s not easy, but it is possible,’ she began to look a little impatient again, ‘and I thought it weird about the evidence. You don’t look like a psycho murderer. That phone call. Isn’t Mel your dead girlfriend?’

  ‘Nicely put,’ Norton replied.

  ‘I’ll make time for niceties when I’m not being hunted by a government funded computer program assassin. It seems like Royal and his men want our heads. Come with me, I know a man who can help us.’

  Norton had suggested taking Royal’s BMW, but Orchid rightly pointed out that the car would be spotted quite easily. Not only would they be looking for the number plate and model, the huge scratches down the sides from yesterday’s chase made it rather conspicuous. She, on the other hand, had acquired a car this morning and changed its number plates. Norton looked at the white Porsche Boxster. He had to admire her work despite the bruises he had suffered from their previous encounters. They got in the car; Orchid started the engine and they drove off. Norton was a good detective and was used to putting pieces together but he didn’t have all the facts to hand on this case. He continued to question Orchid who seemed more willing about giving information now they faced a common peril.

  ‘I thought I’d destroyed the Death’s Head program,’ he asked as they drove through the city.

  ‘You destroyed a copy of it,’ Orchid answered, her eyes fixed on the road, ‘that copy was downloaded onto the flash drive for a deal. Someone was selling it, but as you know it got…lost. That’s why I was called in.’

  ‘And it’s after us?’ he asked, as things began to become a little clearer.

  ‘Seems so. Looks like Royal wants us dead.’

  ‘So where are we going?’

  ‘I like to research my targets and cargo,’ Orchid admitted, ‘I know more about the Death’s Head program than I let on. Sure I told you a lot, but only enough to keep you interested so you’d hunt the thing out for me. Shame that plan backfired when you destroyed it.’

  ‘You certainly let your feelings be known,’ Norton softly stroked the bruises on his face.

  ‘Sorry about that. I’m impulsive. You also lost me a lot of money.’ She got back to her train of thought, ‘I did some research on the program. It’s amazing what you can find out with the right contacts, a bit of persuasion and a bit of hacking. Most importantly I found out who was responsible for the damn thing. I found out who the creator was and where he lives now. If anyone can help us he can.’

  Orchid put her finger to an earpiece in her right ear. She strained to listen to the information that was coming through it.

  ‘There are stop and searches all over the place,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be a random route getting out of the city, but trust me.’

  Using information from the police channel she was monitoring through her earpiece Orchid successfully navigated them out of the city limits and into the country. It had taken a good few hours but they were free, for now.

  The lush, green landscape made
for a beautiful view as they cruised along country roads.

  ‘Ah, smell that,’ said Orchid, her body relaxing now they had passed the threat of the stop and searches, ‘good country air.’

  Norton held his nose as his face screwed up, ‘It smells of cow shit and grass. I thought country air was clean.’

  ‘This is good honest air, Norton,’ she said, her mood at ease for once. ‘It’s real. If there is shit at least it actually smells like shit. Not like in the city. Everything is false and pretending to be something it’s not.’

  ‘You’re a country girl then?’ he asked, intrigued to find out more about her.

  She turned to face him and realised that perhaps she had given away more than she should. ‘Most girls go through a horse phase,’ she answered then turned back to face the road, her concentration back on the journey.

  After nearly an hour of driving the roads had begun to look less and less like roads and more like forgotten dirt paths. Orchid turned off into a field and Norton had to ask:

  ‘Is this even a road?’

  ‘No,’ came the short reply followed by, ‘no cameras, no Internet, no phone signal. If you live here you really live here. Know what I mean, Norton?’

  After a short drive across the field they came across a shack that stood in a rather pathetic condition at the base of a hill.

  The shack was a crude affair made from corrugated metal sheets, rope and timber. It leaned slightly to one side and creaked in the wind. Outside a goat grazed on a patch of grass by the entrance, a rope from its neck led to a stake stuck firmly in the earth. Three chickens walked around pecking at the ground and to the side a small plantation of crops grew in a square of ploughed soil. An old man with a large, bushy, ginger beard sat on a crate, a make shift stool, and eyed the pair of strangers as they got out of their car and walked towards his home. His face was dirty, weathered and tanned; his skin was an off brown suggesting little in the way of washing. He wore a pair of dirty jeans that had turned a grey colour, a woolen, striped jumper and a battered straw hat. He rested a set of fingernails, thick with dirt, on the front of his hat and tilted it towards the oncoming visitors in a form of greeting.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ whispered Norton to Orchid as they made unsteady steps across the uneven surface of the field.

  ‘Hello,’ Orchid called out to the grubby stranger, ‘are you Jon Newman?’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ the man replied.

  The two approached the shack.

  ‘Well there can’t be many other people living out here,’ Orchid said as she stood in front of the rural dweller, looking directly into his eyes. ‘You are Jon Newman. You created the Death’s Head program.’

  ‘You must be lost,’ said the old man, standing up to reveal a crooked posture.

  ‘Mr Newman,’ Orchid implored, ‘we are being hunted by the program. I know it’s you, I found your details on the Security Services archives.’

  Orchid held up a printed picture of the man wearing the same hat and beard outside of his own shack. It wasn’t a posed portrait, but a photograph that had been taken during secret surveillance.

  ‘It’s a good likeness don’t you think?’ Orchid commented dryly.

  ‘Oh god,’ the man’s face grew pale underneath the layers of mud, ‘I knew they’d been watching me. But you can’t just steal surveillance photos from their archives and not expect to be traced. No one’s that good,’ he shook his head in disbelief and annoyance. ‘If they’re after you, it wouldn’t take a genius to work out you’d eventually end up here! You fools!’

  Jon Newman looked up at the sky wildly like a meerkat checking for an unseen, airborne threat.

  ‘Come inside quickly,’ he waved them into the shack with panic and urgency in his voice.

  Inside, the shack was orderly and well kept. Fur lined the walls and floor and a lamp burned in the centre. Jon took the burning lamp from the hook it was suspended from. He hurriedly moved a fur skin from the floor to reveal a trap door. Opening the door he motioned them in.

  ‘Follow me,’ he beckoned and disappeared down the hole.

  Orchid and Norton followed to find a big narrow tunnel dug from the earth. It smelt damp as they caught up with Jon who was making a terrific pace down the passageway despite his crooked posture. Norton’s large frame barely made it through, but it did and he pushed on, his shoulder’s scraping the sides as he went.

  ‘Keep moving,’ shouted Jon to the two behind him. ‘Do as I say and keep going!’

  Suddenly the sound of a loud explosion was heard coming from above ground, the tunnel shook and bits of earth began to fall on their heads. Their pace quickened as they understood the threat. Behind him Norton heard a crash as part of the tunnel collapsed. There was no way back now.

  ‘Keep moving,’ yelled Jon over the noise of explosions that continued above ground, ‘we’ll hit the stronghold any minute.’

  That news couldn’t come soon enough. The tunnel behind Norton was collapsing and the avalanche of rock and earth was getting closer and closer. They ran as fast as they could on the unsteady surface of the tunnel, using their hands on the sidewalls to help stay upright. The tunnel opened up to a large room; this must be the stronghold! First Jon ran in, then Orchid. Norton felt the crumbling tunnel behind him as pieces of falling dirt began to roll down his neck. He ran and dived through the entrance of the room. Hearing a thud he looked behind to see Jon sealing the entrance with a solid metal door and bolt.

  The sound of falling earth continued around them but the stronghold did not budge. A sense of protection came over them whilst they heard the storm of explosions from above ground. The lamp Jon carried offered some light in the gloom. As the light licked the edges of the stronghold Norton could make out its construction was formed of wielded pieces of solid metal, reaching from the floor to ceiling. It looked like a bomb shelter. Jon offered them crates to sit on whilst he fetched some water from a container in the corner of the room. As he did so the light of the lamp revealed a stockpile of tinned food next to the store of water. It was apparent that Jon had been prepared for something like this. Did he know he was going to be targeted, or was he just an end of the world crackpot that got lucky?

  ‘Have a drink,’ said Jon as he offered them both water from a cantina, ‘you must be thirsty from all that running and crawling. We’ll need to stay down here for a while. The explosions will have filled the tunnel in, there’ll be no trace of that, but they’ll be checking the area.’

  ‘Who exactly are they?’ questioned Norton.

  ‘They are the people you are running from,’ Jon replied as he sat down on an upturned crate, ‘our very own country and government!’

  They huddled round the light of the lamp in a circle staring into the burning flame. Norton reached out, putting his arm on Orchid’s back he began to rub it gently. She relaxed back into the palm of his hand, enjoying the reassuring touch and closed her eyes.

  In the darkness Jon began to open up, explaining all. Whether it was the fact that they had survived a near death experience, bringing them closer together, or whether it was the fact that he had seemingly lost everything and there was no longer any point hiding, Norton wasn’t sure.

  ‘They’ve been watching me for years,’ Jon started, ‘I’m no fool. But also I was no trouble out here, living a peaceful life off the land. You two coming along must have spooked them. Perhaps they wondered what would happen, so the best solution seemed to kill us. Kill us all in one hit.’

  ‘So you did create the Death’s Head program,’ said Orchid, her eyes opening for the response then peacefully closing again, but still intently listening.

  ‘Yes, yes I did,’ Jon looked down at his feet; a sense of shame came over him, one that he had held for many years. ‘It really was a clever invention. I was so wrapped up in the challenge and trying to improve it all the time that I lost sight of its practical application. To me it was all theory. A weapon that uses the enemies systems against them and t
hen disappears without a trace. To begin with it was more akin to a weapon of mass destruction, hitting large bases and causing havoc, but I refined it. I also made it an assassin of almost unlimited knowledge and accessibly. No system could keep the Death’s Head out of its information banks and that’s one of the reasons why it is so deadly.

  We are so reliant on technology as a civilization. A few lines of code are all it takes, a few megs of memory to hold all your details. Where you go shopping, what you buy, where you hang out. It’s all traceable and trackable. All your messages about work or sent to loved ones, recorded and stored. From phones to email to social media. We all happily give this information and if you collate it all, you can track anyone, get to anyone.’

  Orchid and Norton both sat up straight, beginning to feel ill at ease with what the ex-programmer was telling them.

  He continued, ‘In today’s world everything we do is controlled by computers. We use computers to book a holiday, to pay our bills and do our shopping. From watching TV and looking for a new job to reporting a crime or registering a birth.

  We no longer need to ask people in the street for directions let alone speak to our family or friends. We spend all day at work in front of a computer only to go home and do exactly the same in our free time.

  Laptops, desktops, smart phones.

  So many of us are hopelessly dependent on technology but very few of us understand how it works.

  And all that information doesn’t go anywhere. It just accumulates, building a detailed structure of our lives, understanding more about us than we do ourselves. From the mundane habits of where we buy our morning coffee to our deepest desires, recording all pornographic material we view, to the PIN numbers of our bank accounts. All that information is out there, on all of us, only guarded by bits of code and passwords.