The Grid 2 Read online

  There was nothing else for her to do. She’d have to continue contributing to the trial. It was kill or be killed. Hannah would have to trust that the others could find a way to communicate with her so that somehow they’d be able to bring the slaughter to an end.

  She felt weary and drained, but there would be little rest. The fire was subsiding in the first trial scenario now; the Justice Seekers would be given some time to recover before they came under threat again.

  She nodded at 97TRaider, acknowledging that she’d carry on and not draw attention to herself. At least she had an ally within the Gridders, somebody to look out for her and guide her. She took a deep breath and braced herself for what was to come. She looked at her screen, eager now to get to grips with the latest data and anticipate where the trial might go next.

  There were three deaths indicated. She checked the screen again: surely that wasn’t correct? She’d sacrificed the man with the crutches to spare the others. One dramatic death to deflect from the loss of multiple lives, it seemed the best way. But three lives? She’d thought they would all get out alive once they’d figured out how to escape the radiant heat of the fire.

  The information was accurate. The first death had been the man with crutches, but there were two more. They’d died in their shallow trenches. Life-sign indicators showed one further death from smoke inhalation, another from heart failure. There were only ten Justice Seekers left to fight for their freedom now.

  Communication

  Wiz was stiff and aching after his time in the sewer. His clothes were wet where he’d stumbled along the pipe-way. He couldn’t afford to indulge himself. He had to stay alert for Centuria. He was seventy flights up Pegasus tower block: five more flights to go and he’d reach the top.

  Even though he was cursing Mitchell for his absence, Wiz had to hand it to him – he’d come good with the tech. Wiz had successfully set up a wireless link to hop the data from the sewers to Harry’s apartment. Mitchell had even had the good sense to bring some relays so the signal could be boosted as it made its way across The Climbs to his new base.

  Wiz had a long night ahead of him. He had two more tower blocks to climb. He’d attach the relays to the roofs: that way he’d be able to preserve as strong a signal as possible. Pegasus block was on the outskirts of The Climbs, it was perfect because it gave him a line of sight with the sewer. It was also very high.

  He’d encrypted the data flow which scrambled the two feeds they’d accessed: the link to Fortrillium and whatever it was that lay beyond The City’s walls. It was too risky to enter the sewers again. He’d succeeded in disabling the cameras and audio feeds for a while, but he didn’t think his nerves or his back could take another trip like that, not on his own.

  Once he could set up a base and get access to some decent sunlight for a solar charge, he’d be able to dig in and see what he could find. He’d recorded and scrambled Delman’s conversation and was desperate to get to somewhere safe where he could clean up the audio and have a better listen.

  At last he reached the top floor and forced open the door to the roof. From that height he could hear the boom of the screens below. The commentators were in a frenzy of excitement. Wiz scolded himself for not running faster up the flights of stairs – his friends were caught up in that trial, their lives were in danger.

  The roof was littered with debris left by those who’d taken sanctuary there. As far as Wiz could tell, there wasn’t anybody on the roof with him. He knew enough about life in The Climbs to understand that if anybody were there, they’d make themselves scarce, like a rat scuttling down a drain.

  He looked up at the decaying communications masts from a former world. This equipment hadn’t been used for at least a hundred years and it was rusting and twisted now. Wiz needed to get his relay as high as he could. There was the remainder of a scaffold frame he’d have to climb to reach the highest aerial. He’d attach it there so the signals could be hopped across The Climbs. Wiz didn’t much like exposed heights, but he had no choice in the matter. He placed one of his bags at the base of the scaffold, made sure the other was securely fastened around his shoulders, then started the climb to the top.

  He could hear the scaffold creaking as he reached for each bar and pulled himself higher. He didn’t weigh much. He was sure that if it could still hold the aerial cluster at the top he’d be fine. He’d pulled himself three levels up the scaffold frame when he noticed that one of the bars had rotted through – it wouldn’t take his weight. He cursed, wishing he’d seen that before. He could have saved himself some time if he’d avoided that route.

  He’d have to make his way along the secure pole he was standing on, towards the side that faced outwards from the tower block. He baulked for a moment. As he looked down, he was only three scaffold levels up and seventy-five levels above ground after that. It wasn’t great for him, but he could deal with it. With his path now blocked, if he wanted to head upwards he’d have to navigate around the frame.

  Wiz took a moment to breathe and compose himself. He cursed Mitchell again, then checked himself when he thought about Joe and Lucy – they were all that really mattered.

  Step by step he worked along the frame to the corner. He held on tightly and looked down. He felt himself sway – it was a long way up, he could barely make out anything below. Nervously, he inched around the corner of the frame. It was a sheer drop, and he clutched tighter and steadied himself on the bar.

  It was windy up there. His hair was blowing in his eyes and it was difficult to look up to check his route. Wiz pulled himself up to the fourth level of the scaffolding frame, then the fifth. Each time he had to release his grasp of one pole to pull himself up to the next. The only thing keeping him from a fall of over 320 metres was the grasp of a single hand.

  One more level to go. He was beginning to feel light-headed. If he focused on the task, he could keep his mind off the height. Wiz steadied himself once again, then prepared to thrust his right arm upwards to grab the final pole. Once he reached the top level of the scaffold, he’d have access to the aerial and would be able to attach one of the relays in his bag.

  He concentrated, tightened the grip of his left hand, then released the grasp of his right. As his right hand found the upper pole and he moved his left hand to join it, he heard a worrying creak. Before he had time to bring his right hand back to the secure pole beneath him, the upper shaft broke free from its rusting bracket and swung outwards.

  Wiz let out a cry of panic as the pole swivelled around forty-five degrees, leaving him hanging in the gap between two tower blocks, high above the ground. He was just dangling there, a bag on his shoulders, both hands gripped around a scaffold pole, anchored to the entire frame by a single bracket. Wiz tried to stay calm. He was terrified. His palms were sweaty from the stress, and he could feel them beginning to slip on the pole. One at a time he unclasped each hand, then attempted to re-establish his grip.

  His only choice was to make his way back along the pole to the corner of the scaffold. Although the post looked to be securely held in the bracket, there was a lot of play in it. Every time he inched along the pole, it swung, forcing him to wait until it steadied.

  Wiz’s arms were beginning to tire. He was supporting his full body weight – they felt as if they were being wrenched out of their sockets. He heard another creak of metal and looked towards the bracket. He wasn’t sure how long the bolts would hold under such stress.

  He was so near the tethered end of the pole, close enough to throw one of his arms towards the secure scaffold frame and hoist himself over. He was scared to put that final strain on the bracket and force himself forward, but Wiz knew it was the only thing he could do. He removed his right hand from the pole and thrust it forward towards the secure rod to his side. As he did so, the end of one of the bolts sheared off, releasing the post from the bracket. Wiz started to fall before his hand could find sanctuary.

  He dropped like a dead weight. He knew it was over. Death would surely
follow. How long would it take? From that height, it would be just an instant before he hit the ground. He’d seen the bodies of jumpers before, it wasn’t pretty. He’d barely had time to register what was happening when he felt a jolt and heard a voice.

  ‘Reach up!’

  Wiz was disoriented, he wasn’t dropping anymore.

  ‘Reach up, quickly, your bag won’t take your weight much longer!’

  Wiz looked towards the voice. A hand was being thrust in his direction. He reached out and felt his weight taken by a man who was much stronger than him. He’d grabbed the strap on Wiz’s bag as he was falling, and was now helping him back to the side of the tower block roof.

  Wiz was so relieved when his body weight finally came to rest on the roof once again that he had to steady himself to make sure it was real.

  ‘Jeez, thank you so much!’

  He checked his bag. It was still there, even though the fabric had torn in the rescue. He reached out to his side to steady himself, then looked towards his rescuer.

  Wiz cursed himself once again for letting his guard down. He should have taken more care to see whose hand was being offered to assist him. He was standing in front of three Centuria, and they were all heavily armed.

  Chapter Three

  Regrouped

  Joe began to stir. He’d found a strange calm in the dirt trench. After the violent death of Zach and the terror of the flames, it had given him a welcome sense of peace to be face down and alone with his thoughts. He’d heard the crackling of the flames as they ripped through the woodland around them, but he’d immediately seen the sense of Clay’s strategy.

  They were in no danger from the flames, even though they were surrounded by them. Until the final stages there was always a way out of The Grid trials. Joe had just been slow to see it. Clay was fast to respond. He’d already saved Lucy’s life when the jumper had thrown her out of the cage in The Soak. He’d have to follow Clay’s lead if they were going to live. He needed to be sharp and look for the solutions. Most Justice Seekers were intimidated by the challenges, and only Clay had shown the steadiness of mind required. And Lucy too, she’d taken care of Chris, she probably saved his life by calming him. He’d been all but ready to run into the flames in his panic.

  Joe shook the dirt off his back and turned around in his pit. The flames had stopped, the heat was gone. He had to remember this was an artificial environment, it wasn’t real. It certainly felt as if it was authentic, but they were in some Fortrillium installation at all times, he had to remember that.

  Everything they saw could be touched. There was smell and texture – his senses were alive with the surroundings. The flames certainly seemed to exist, there was nothing about their sound and their heat that didn’t feel real. Yet Joe understood that it was all a simulation. There was no trickery in the way Zach had died, though. He’d experienced the pain and terror for himself as he held on to his friend’s hand.

  The other Justice Seekers were beginning to move now. They’d sensed it was safe. As they brushed off the dirt and scanned the area for hazards, they began to stand up to breathe the fresher air.

  It occurred to Joe that in spite of the smoke and flames the airflow had seemed strong. Even in his pit, as the flames roared all around them, the air had been stale, but present at least. Maybe this was how they were kept alive in The Grid. There was an audience to entertain on the screens after all.

  Clay came over to Joe and put his arm on his shoulder by way of reassurance, as if he wanted to check it wasn’t an illusion. Lucy was standing up with Chris who was calm and coherent. Joe wondered why he’d been placed in the Institution in the first place.

  Two of the trenches lay undisturbed, the bodies still covered in dirt. Joe moved towards them with Clay. They brushed the dirt away and shook the Justice Seekers who’d taken shelter there.

  Both were motionless and cold.

  ‘They’re dead,’ said Clay, unnecessarily.

  They’d lost two of the smugglers in white overalls, one of them a man – they didn’t know his name – and the other the woman in their cell who wouldn’t reveal her name to them. They hadn’t been able to save these two Justice Seekers, they hadn’t even had time to learn who they were. At least they were not alone when they died, they’d had other people to help them.

  Joe scanned the surrounding environment. Any evidence of the fire was gone, and they were back in the greenery of a copse. Joe recalled wooded areas like this from his short time on Silk Road, but in The Climbs you grew accustomed to concrete.

  He could hear water. His throat was dry and raw, the ashy smoke clung to his lungs like a thick fog. Nine of the Justice Seekers made for the stream, gulping down the fresh water and washing the sooty blackness from their hands and faces. Only Clay remained to cover the dead with dirt once again. These shallow graves would be all they could offer in The Grid.

  Joe knew how it worked. They’d get a short period of respite to regroup and explore, then some new challenge would come along at night-time when the audiences for the screens were at their highest.

  In the meantime, they’d show reruns of Zach’s death. They’d replay the sequence where the inmates dug frantically in the soil to create the protective trenches and they’d hope for the group to become divided as leaders stepped forward and different factions were created from the survivors.

  ‘Are you okay, Lucy?’

  ‘Yes, fine. I needed that water, my throat felt like it was closing up.’

  ‘I know what you mean. They don’t want us all dead yet, there’s usually a way to survive.’

  ‘I’m so glad we’ve got Clay. I didn’t know what to do when I saw the flames. I was useless.’

  ‘Me too,’ Joe admitted. ‘They’re going to spare you until the end, Lucy. You’re too valuable to them. Always look for the way out. Until we get through the first set of Modes, there will always be a solution.’

  Lucy nodded. They sat in silence for a while. There wasn’t much to say – all of them needed a moment to process what had happened. Only one of the group was alert. It was the man in black overalls. The serial killer.

  Joe watched him carefully. They’d have to remember that the dangers wouldn’t only come from The Grid. This man was a potential threat too. He oozed contempt and indifference, but Joe wondered how he’d have survived without Clay having taken the initiative. Perhaps he needed them more than he knew.

  They were down to ten people: Lucy, Clay, Joe, Chris, Marjani, Ross and Miron had all survived. There was the man in the black overalls, then another man and a woman – nobody knew who they were, they’d been part of a different group. The man wore white overalls, though it was difficult to tell what colour they should have been, they were so filthy from the trench.

  The woman wore orange overalls – assault – another Justice Seeker with a violent background. Joe had to take care not to judge. They all had their stories to tell, nobody had seemed guilty of anything to him.

  Except for the serial killer, he was worrying Joe.

  ‘I’m Rick Stokley, thanks for your help there.’

  The silence was broken. Rick extended his hand, to nobody in particular.

  Another Justice Seeker from Silk Road – he’d offered a handshake. Joe felt there were more than usual in this trial. Clay rejoined the group.

  ‘Good to have you here, Rick. What’s your story?’

  ‘Contraband!’ he laughed. ‘Smuggling supplies into The Climbs.’

  It was the usual story for Joe. Fortrillium called it a crime, but to those who had to survive in The City, it was just humanity.

  ‘I have family in The Climbs – I’ve been smuggling for years. What else can you do? I’m not leaving them on their own in there.’

  ‘What about you?’ Clay motioned to the woman in the orange overalls. She was reluctant to speak at first. She was aware of the camera drone overhead recording all the details of the conversation.

  ‘I’m Grace,’ she began at last. ‘Grace Makin
s.’

  The name was familiar to Joe.

  ‘I’m in here for assault.’

  ‘Care to explain why?’ sneered the man in the black overalls.

  ‘Most of you probably know why. ‘I left one of the Centuria paralysed after beating him with an iron pole. It was well-publicized on the screens. I was a fugitive for over a month.’

  Joe recalled the news story. She’d been the most wanted woman in The City at the time. Attacking the Centuria was not a good thing to do, it never ended well. They looked after their own. She’d been subjected to a horrific beating herself once they’d captured her.

  ‘I bet you regret that now, don’t you?’ asked Clay.

  ‘My only regret is that I only left him paralysed. I meant to kill him.’

  They’d all seen enough of the Centuria to know what she meant. Nobody blamed her, they all felt enough contempt towards the Centuria to do the same themselves, given the provocation.

  ‘How about you? Care to introduce yourself?’

  Clay was talking to the man in the black overalls.

  ‘You won’t know me,’ he replied. ‘My kind of case is kept away from the screens, they like to hush it up.’

  ‘You’re a killer, right?’ asked Ross.

  ‘If you have to put it like that, yes, I suppose I am. My name is Schälen.’

  ‘Is that your second name?’

  Several of the Justice Seekers asked the question at the same time.

  ‘Just call me Schälen, that’s all you need to know.’

  ‘Never heard a name like it,’ said Miron. ‘You from Silk Road or The Climbs?’

  ‘I’m from The Climbs, but I like to frequent Silk Road.’

  Joe thought his answers were more cryptic than useful, but at least he was speaking to them now. Schälen picked up on the questioning looks that were coming his way.