The Survival Code Read online

  Me: Tell me.

  Terminus: Their theory is that someone used sonic interference to trigger something explosive that had already been placed in the buildings.

  Me: Like what?

  Terminus: Maybe Tannerite.

  I bite my lip. Before he left his job at the university, my dad had been working along these lines. Investigating whether hardware could be vulnerable to sonic attack.

  MacKenna approaches my desk. “Check something? Like what?”

  Me: Marshall was never able to get that to work.

  Terminus: Well maybe somebody did.

  Me: They can’t possibly know one way or the other. Any evidence must be buried under tons of rubble. It will take months to sort it out.

  Terminus: They brought in Marcus Tork.

  Tork.

  I quickly open another search window and type in the name. The only result that gets returned is a profile for an insurance salesman in Milwaukee.

  “Hello?” MacKenna waves her hand in front of my face.

  We both jump as the home phone rings.

  Me: You know him?

  Terminus: No and that’s really saying something. The PD mainframe says he’s some kind of counterterrorism specialist.

  Me: Great.

  The phone rings again.

  “Could you answer that?” I ask MacKenna.

  I don’t know what’s worse. The fact that this Tork guy is after us. That we can’t find any information about him. Or that someone is sending messages about him to Jay’s laptop.

  It’s all scary as hell.

  Terminus: One of the facilities was under an off-site security audit. Tork was able to get the server logs from that location. Jesen Novak’s credentials were used to access the security system right before the attack.

  Ring.

  “Why can’t you answer it?” MacKenna shoots back.

  “Please?” I plead with her.

  Terminus: They recovered a code fragment from the bundle that

  Ring.

  Terminus stops typing for a second. Like he’s at a loss for what to say.

  My stepsister leans around my desk to get a look at my screen.

  “MacKenna! Can you please answer the phone?”

  Terminus: Someone uploaded. It addresses the building’s built-in speakers.

  Ring.

  MacKenna sighs and moves away from my desk. A few seconds later the ringing stops.

  Terminus: They recovered an IP address.

  I almost hold my breath, waiting for his answer. I can check the logs from our router. Jay was home all day yesterday dealing with the pool repairman. I’ll be able to see what IP address his computer used to access the internet.

  This could prove him innocent.

  Terminus: 192.68.63.231

  I connect to the router and check the listing of IP addresses that it assigned today. There’s a bunch of entries from the morning when we were all using our phones, followed by a gap and then a pickup around four o’clock.

  16:22P 192.68.1.1 SSDP

  16:39P 192.68.1.105 SSDP

  16:52P 192.68.63.231 TCP

  Oh. God.

  The cops think the attacks came from our house.

  MacKenna is in the hall.

  Terminus: You gonna check the router log?

  Me: I have to go.

  Terminus: Okay.

  Terminus: Jinx? Be careful.

  Me: See what you can find out about Tork.

  I do a secure erase of our chat and close all the windows as MacKenna enters my room.

  She holds out the cordless phone from the kitchen. “Stephanie wants to talk to you.”

  Before I can even say hello, Mom’s tense voice fills the speaker.

  “You need to get out of the house.”

  DR. DOOMSDAY SAYS:

  FAILURE TO UNDERSTAND YOUR ADVERSARIES IS DANGEROUS. FAILURE TO IDENTIFY THEM CAN BE FATAL.

  “What are you talking about?” The phone shakes in my hand.

  “I don’t know... I just...” Mom’s voice is stuffy and hoarse. Like she’s been crying.

  Hearing her lose it freaks me out. She used to do all the drills with Dad. She’d be out in the desert for weeks on end. And she never lost it.

  “Mom. Mom. What’s going on?”

  She tries to conceal a sob with a cough. “I’m not even sure I understand it myself. They think Jay had something to do with... And they’re not arresting him. But they won’t let him go either. Not legal. Not legal.” She blows her nose and is able to continue on in a more normal tone. “All I know for sure is that they’re on their way to search the house. I need you to get Charles and go to your father’s house. Wait there until I contact you.”

  I suck in a deep breath. It’s been a while since we spent any time at Dad’s house. “He’s probably not home, and what do I do about—”

  A door or maybe a metal drawer slams in the background. “I can’t talk now, Jinx. They’re coming. Go to your father’s house and wait there until I call you.”

  The line is dead before I get to ask any questions. What should I do with Jay’s laptop? What should I do about the router?

  Frantic.

  That’s what I am.

  Like that one time I had eight shots of espresso while cramming for a test.

  It’s almost midnight.

  MacKenna stares at me.

  “Mom says the police are coming in to search the house.” I stand up but have to brace myself on my desk. “You should pack up whatever you need for the next few days.”

  “Search the house? What are they looking for? Where’s my dad?” Her voice sounds the way I feel inside. She picks at the bright unicorn pattern on her flannel pajamas.

  But we have to get moving.

  “I told you everything she told me. She said she’d call us later. We have to go.”

  When she continues to stare at me, I add, “Now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My dad’s.”

  MacKenna cocks her head to one side. “Does it matter at all that I don’t want to leave home in the middle of the night to hang out at Maniac Manor?”

  Sigh. “Does it matter at all that any second now, the cops outside are going to be coming inside? Does it matter at all that we don’t have cell phones, so if we don’t go somewhere with a phone number Mom knows, she won’t be able to call us?”

  My stepsister gives me an irritated look as she shuffles out.

  Jay’s laptop has to be what the police are looking for, and it will be better for all of us if they don’t find it.

  When she’s gone, I head to my closet. I guess the upside of having a father who’s constantly suspicious of everything and everybody is that you end up with the right gear for situations like these. After digging around a bit, I find a yellow duffel bag with a concealed compartment in the bottom.

  I get Jay’s laptop from under the pile of judgmental teddy bears and slide it into the compartment. I need something to conceal the weight of the computer, so I step into the hall to the bookshelves and take a couple of MacKenna’s books.

  I’m not sure why I do it, but I grab one of Dad’s books. I add Dr. Doomsday’s Guide to Ultimate Survival to MacKenna’s copies of Annika Carver, Teen Titan: How Ammon’s Daughter Charmed The Opposition and The Modern Guide to The Spark.

  Charles and I have clothes at Dad’s, so I don’t need to pack much. I stuff my feet into my Cons and throw on a hoodie. There’s a broken laptop with a dead battery in the bin next to my desk where I keep spare parts. It’s an older model than Jay’s but close in color and size. I take it with me as I leave my room.

  Next, the kitchen. The only thing left to do is to pack Charles’s meds. I go to the cabinet where Mom keeps the blood glucose meter and test strip
s.

  I swing the cabinet door open. “MacKenna. Are you almost ready?”

  After dropping the meds into my bag, I fish the spare car keys out of the junk drawer and put the old laptop on the counter in the spot where Jay usually checks his email as he eats his Shredded Wheat.

  In the living room, all the noise has awakened Charles.

  He opens his mouth in a huge yawn. “Jinx. Whasgoinon?”

  I kiss his forehead. “We have to go to Dad’s.”

  “Dad is home?” he asks in a small, hopeful voice.

  “No.” I hate the disappointment in his face. “Mom just says to go to his house and wait there while the police look around here.”

  And I want to get far, far away with Jay’s laptop.

  MacKenna meets me at the door to the garage pulling a large suitcase on wheels. She’s changed into a pair of designer leggings with cutouts at the knees and an off-the-shoulder, sparkly sweatshirt. We head outside. I turn on the light. Jay’s shiny black Suburban is parked in the same place we left it.

  I press the button on the wall to lift the garage door. The instant it lifts off the concrete, we see a pair of shiny men’s dress shoes.

  We watch in horror as the door rolls up.

  Slowly. Panel by panel.

  Revealing a pair of thin legs in dark pants. A man. Hands in his pockets. Behind him a row of officers in uniform and behind that, a line of cop cars with the red and blue lights flashing.

  Even before he steps into the light, giving us a perfect view of his blond hair, his sharp, chiseled features, his nose like an arrow, I already know.

  This is Tork.

  It’s the same man who was outside the doctor’s office earlier. I had assumed he was following Dad, but what if he was actually watching us?

  Tork smiles except, coming from him, it’s more like a threat. “Miss Marshall. Miss Novak. Good evening. Or rather, good morning, I suppose I should say.”

  “Uh...uh...” I stammer.

  “Hello,” MacKenna says in a way that means screw off.

  “Going somewhere?” he asks pleasantly.

  “And you are?” MacKenna asks.

  “Marcus Tork,” he says with an even wider smile. Stepping closer, he removes his hands from his pockets and hands MacKenna a small white card. “I’m on point for the investigation into the attack at the Rancho Mesa First Federal Bank.”

  I have no idea what on point even means and the bag in my hand has a weight to it, a weight of guilt. We have to go.

  Doing my best impression of a calm person, I say, “My mom says you’re searching the house.”

  As usual, MacKenna has her e-tablet and is making notes. “Care to comment on the investigation?”

  Tork ignores her.

  I keep talking when I know I should shut up. “Mom told us to wait at my dad’s while you search.” I need to stay calm.

  The calm survive.

  “Ah yes. Where is the great Dr. Maxwell Marshall these days?”

  Charles’s face puckers into a grimace.

  Stepping around Tork, I load my brother into the backseat of the Suburban.

  I slam the car door and when I turn around, Tork takes the yellow duffel bag from my hands, holding it with ease in arms that are unexpectedly muscular. He rifles around in the bag and pulls out MacKenna’s Annika Carver book.

  MacKenna shoots me a dark look. If we weren’t in a total emergency, I’m sure I’d be up for another lecture about touching her stuff without permission.

  “Catching up on your reading?”

  It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep from shaking as I nod. Everything I have to breathe. “My laptop got destroyed at the market.”

  “Right. It’s been one helluva day.” His gaze travels toward MacKenna’s huge suitcase. He jerks his chin in her direction. “Do I need to bother searching that?”

  MacKenna lets go of the suitcase’s handle and gestures at her bag like a model on a game show presenting a prize. “Feel free. You could use a little insight on how to incorporate some color into your wardrobe.” With a shrug, MacKenna makes her way to the passenger side of the Suburban, tosses her bag in the back.

  Before she gets in, she says, “My dad’s innocent. In case you’re interested.”

  “Then I’m sure the investigation will exonerate him.” Tork’s response is lost in the slamming of MacKenna’s car door, and it’s for the best anyway. Tork sounds sure of something, but it’s not Jay Novak’s innocence.

  Tork takes a step closer to me, and I reach for my bag. The second he releases it, I snatch and hold it close. He puts his hand on the driver’s side door to stop me from opening it.

  His smile fades. “Dr. Marshall is said to be a man of great capability, and I’m sure he did his best to prepare you for what lies ahead. But however resourceful you might think you are, Miss Marshall, there’s something you need to know.”

  Tork grabs my wrist. My skin burns at his touch.

  What lies ahead?

  Tears pool in the corners of my eyes. I have no choice but to dab at them with the sleeve of my hoodie as Tork looks on.

  His eyes narrow. “I’d rather destroy this world than let the wrong people control it.”

  He lets go of me. Why shouldn’t he? I’ve shown him I’m weak. He walks toward the police cars parked at the end of our drive.

  Tork is out of the garage when he stops and swivels his head in each direction, taking stock of the scene on our street. A few neighbors are outside in their pajamas. Over his shoulder he says, “I’m rather like your father in that respect, I think.”

  More tears. “You...you don’t know anything about my father.”

  I’m sure my pathetic stammering must be too quiet for him to hear over the police radios and commotion in the street.

  But he does.

  With his back still to me, Tork says, “Neither do you.”

  And there it is.

  A pronouncement that sucks the energy, the shock, the feelings, the life from me.

  “Clear,” Tork shouts to the other officers.

  Sniffling, I get behind the wheel of the car. It’s a huge relief to toss the yellow bag into the backseat next to my brother. A cop moves the car blocking the driveway and allows me to back out. There doesn’t seem to be any point in closing the garage door, so it’s still open as we drive away.

  The cops let us go out the back way, dodging the news vans parked at the end of the street. Maybe I’m finally losing it, because I think I see Navarro again, standing in front of the alley that separates our subdivision from the next one.

  I slow down and blink a few times.

  The alleyway is empty.

  MacKenna flicks Tork’s card onto the dash. “Did Stephanie say anything about my dad?”

  “No.” I whisper the lie.

  Charles falls asleep as we drive on in silence.

  * * *

  Dad’s house—our old house—is in the middle of nowhere, about thirty minutes east of Rancho Mesa on the far side of Castle Rock. This was part a matter of preference, as Dad was never what you’d call the neighborly type, and part pragmatism. Nice, neat suburban communities don’t let you build doomsday bunkers underneath your house. Or skin rattlesnakes and turn them into disgusting jerky in your backyard.

  The rows of identical homes give way to older neighborhoods full of a mishmash of different kinds of houses spaced farther apart. The New Depression hit this area hard, and every third house is boarded up and abandoned. Eventually, we pass the gas station with the minimart. It’s the end of civilization. The last outpost before we get to Dad’s.

  I make the turn onto the series of dirt roads that lead to Dad’s house. It’s barely two in the morning, and it’s also January, so the sun won’t rise for hours. I nearly miss the turn in the dark.

  W
e arrive at the two-story, concrete block number that would be the perfect location for an old-timey, cheesy sitcom. By Rancho Mesa standards, the house is ancient. It was built in the old days when construction was still booming by an architect who wanted a place to retire. I doubt it’s ever been remodeled, and God only knows what kind of remarks MacKenna will make once we get inside and she sees the avocado-green fridge and the psychedelic yellow, geometric wallpaper in all the bathrooms. This place is certainly a far cry from the McMansion she left behind in Colorado.

  It’s dark. Quiet. Abandoned.

  I take the little emergency flashlight from the glove compartment and climb out of the Suburban.

  After opening the back door, I wake up my brother. “Come on.”

  His eyes flutter open as he jumps onto the gravelly dirt. I reach into the next seat and grab the yellow duffel bag.

  The creosote rustles in the breeze.

  Far off in the distance, a coyote howls.

  “This. Is. Awesome,” MacKenna says. She drags her suitcase across the dirt and takes Charles’s hand when she comes around to our side of the car.

  Using the flashlight, I guide us to the side door, the one off the empty carport. Dad’s usual truck is gone. Everywhere I point the flashlight is covered with a thick layer of dust. I realize how uncomfortable I am. I used to live here, and now the silence, the space, the echoes, the emptiness, fill me with dread.

  I fumble with the keys until I get the right one into Dad’s oversize dead bolt lock.

  Pushing the door open, I shine the flashlight all around. I can’t keep myself from gasping.

  We haven’t been here recently.

  But someone has.

  DR. DOOMSDAY’S GUIDE TO ULTIMATE SURVIVAL

  RULE THREE: STAY TOGETHER. STAY SAFE.

  The carport door opens to the kitchen where all the drawers and cabinets have been ripped open. Whatever was left in the fridge when Dad took off is on the linoleum floor. I take one step inside and nearly trip over an empty milk jug.

  “Maid’s day off?” MacKenna asks. But the zinger lacks its usual punch. For one thing, the delivery is so halfhearted and for another, she’s backing away from the door as she speaks. She puts her arms around Charles protectively. “We need to get out of here.”