I’d forgotten to ask for more, what with everything that was going on. Still, I had enough to last until tomorrow, at least.
The last thing I needed was an episode. Someone had to keep their head around here. I unscrewed the lid and popped a capsule into my mouth, swallowing.
“Come on, then,” I said, walking on towards the security hub.
“Dr Tomas, should I return to my quarters?” Olive asked, sounding terrified at the thought of me being alone for a second.
“I’m sure you won’t mind. You’ve probably got some spreadsheets to play with, or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”
She laughed. “Spare time? Doctor, looking after you is a full-time job, twenty-four-seven.”
“Sorry to be such a handful.”
“No need, I enjoy my work.”
How the hell could she remain so cheerful? It wasn’t normal. Perhaps Olive was the exception to the rule. Perhaps her quarters should be locked. And bolted.
And then set on fire.
I smiled to myself as I reached the hub door and swiped my ID card over the reader. The door clicked and I walked into Moore’s domain, happy to see that he was off playing Hitler somewhere else. The operation room was on the other side of the open plan office, which Moore’s team used as a rec room, chairs and coffee tables dotted around.
I slipped inside Ops, glancing up at the wall of monitors, rotating through camera feeds from around the complex. Only the top eight screens—the feeds from the children’s dorms—were static. That was odd.
Someone had attached a scrap of masking tape beneath each screen, scrawled with the children’s names:
Ruth. David. Matthew. Samuel. Michele. Katy. Adam. Dawn.
It was a strangely personal touch.
I watched the screens for a moment. Some of the subjects were reading, some were playing on their games consoles. Ruth was sitting at her desk, building a model from LEGO. All so normal, save for the near identical clothes and lack of hair. Children without a care in the world. Did they even realise how important they were?
How could they?
My eyes lingered on the picture of Samuel’s empty room, the lights still shining but no one home.
You must think we’re made of money, my mum echoed in my head. Turn your lights off when you go out. It was like the Blackpool illuminations in this house this morning!
“Dr Tomas?”
Olive’s gentle prompt snapped me back to the present. I looked around in shock, suddenly aware of my surroundings again.
“Sorry. Miles away. Now, where are we?” I pulled out the operator’s chair and sat down in front of a PC on the desk. A wiggle of the mouse and its screen sprung to life, a box appearing and requesting a password. I typed my own, which could access any computer on the base.
Incorrect Password.
Please try again.
I blinked at the message. Maybe I’d typed it wrong.
I tried again, the chunky keyboard clattering.
Incorrect Password.
Please try again.
“This can’t be right.” One more failed attempt and I’d need a network administrator. I frowned at my hands, as if it was their fault.
“Perhaps you’re using an old one,” Olive suggested, making me want to throw the keyboard at her stupid smug face. Of course I wasn’t. I knew my password. I’d only changed it last week.
I tried again. One last chance.
Incorrect Password.
Please contact the administrator.
I slammed my fists down on the desk, and then jumped as a voice spoke behind me.
“Excuse me, but what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
KILL
N OW EVERYONE HAD torches, although I’d told them to kill the lights as soon as we crept out into the field.
“I could break my neck,” complained Fenton.
Only if there was a God...
“We don’t want to advertise our presence,” I suggested, pushing through waist-high grass. “There’s no way of knowing who’s watching—so keep your voices down for that matter. Sound travels after dark.”
The night air was
The last thing I needed was an episode. Someone had to keep their head around here. I unscrewed the lid and popped a capsule into my mouth, swallowing.
“Come on, then,” I said, walking on towards the security hub.
“Dr Tomas, should I return to my quarters?” Olive asked, sounding terrified at the thought of me being alone for a second.
“I’m sure you won’t mind. You’ve probably got some spreadsheets to play with, or whatever it is you do in your spare time.”
She laughed. “Spare time? Doctor, looking after you is a full-time job, twenty-four-seven.”
“Sorry to be such a handful.”
“No need, I enjoy my work.”
How the hell could she remain so cheerful? It wasn’t normal. Perhaps Olive was the exception to the rule. Perhaps her quarters should be locked. And bolted.
And then set on fire.
I smiled to myself as I reached the hub door and swiped my ID card over the reader. The door clicked and I walked into Moore’s domain, happy to see that he was off playing Hitler somewhere else. The operation room was on the other side of the open plan office, which Moore’s team used as a rec room, chairs and coffee tables dotted around.
I slipped inside Ops, glancing up at the wall of monitors, rotating through camera feeds from around the complex. Only the top eight screens—the feeds from the children’s dorms—were static. That was odd.
Someone had attached a scrap of masking tape beneath each screen, scrawled with the children’s names:
Ruth. David. Matthew. Samuel. Michele. Katy. Adam. Dawn.
It was a strangely personal touch.
I watched the screens for a moment. Some of the subjects were reading, some were playing on their games consoles. Ruth was sitting at her desk, building a model from LEGO. All so normal, save for the near identical clothes and lack of hair. Children without a care in the world. Did they even realise how important they were?
How could they?
My eyes lingered on the picture of Samuel’s empty room, the lights still shining but no one home.
You must think we’re made of money, my mum echoed in my head. Turn your lights off when you go out. It was like the Blackpool illuminations in this house this morning!
“Dr Tomas?”
Olive’s gentle prompt snapped me back to the present. I looked around in shock, suddenly aware of my surroundings again.
“Sorry. Miles away. Now, where are we?” I pulled out the operator’s chair and sat down in front of a PC on the desk. A wiggle of the mouse and its screen sprung to life, a box appearing and requesting a password. I typed my own, which could access any computer on the base.
Incorrect Password.
Please try again.
I blinked at the message. Maybe I’d typed it wrong.
I tried again, the chunky keyboard clattering.
Incorrect Password.
Please try again.
“This can’t be right.” One more failed attempt and I’d need a network administrator. I frowned at my hands, as if it was their fault.
“Perhaps you’re using an old one,” Olive suggested, making me want to throw the keyboard at her stupid smug face. Of course I wasn’t. I knew my password. I’d only changed it last week.
I tried again. One last chance.
Incorrect Password.
Please contact the administrator.
I slammed my fists down on the desk, and then jumped as a voice spoke behind me.
“Excuse me, but what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
KILL
N OW EVERYONE HAD torches, although I’d told them to kill the lights as soon as we crept out into the field.
“I could break my neck,” complained Fenton.
Only if there was a God...
“We don’t want to advertise our presence,” I suggested, pushing through waist-high grass. “There’s no way of knowing who’s watching—so keep your voices down for that matter. Sound travels after dark.”
The night air was
Similar Books
