Read Online Isle of Man (The Park Service Trilogy #2) by Ryan Winfield - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ryan Winfield
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humans stare with unblinking eyes, their grotesque faces pressed to the glass and watching the door with patience possible only to the dead.
“Verdammte!” the professor says, jerking the door closed.
He leads us back to the first door, clenching his teeth and opening it quickly, in the manner with which one might pull a bandage. Fortunately, the room is much less spooky. The LED lights come on automatically as the door is opened, revealing a mess of antique computers stored on racks. Cables spill from boxes; a file cabinet stands against a wall with its drawers ajar.
The professor sighs with relief and leads us into the room. Hannah taps me on the shoulder and points to a bin filled with reading slates. They’re of an earlier generation than the one I had growing up on Level 3, but they appear to be in working condition. I grab the one that looks the least abused.
We join the professor at the back of the room where he fuddles with a combination lock on an enormous free-standing safe. He spins the dial, stopping on random numbers, then immediately second guesses himself and curses as he spins it again. He continues like this for several minutes before Hannah reaches past him and tries the handle. The safe isn’t locked, and the heavy door swings open. At first, my heart sinks because it appears to be empty. Then I see a small black box tucked into a corner of the bottom shelf. The professor slides the box out and holds it cradled in his hands.
“Open it,” the professor says.
I release the seal, and the glass lid jumps in my hand as the vacuum inside is filled with pressurized air. Then I reach in and remove a small solid-state hard drive, less than a third the size of the slate I’m holding in my other hand. It’s hard to believe that such a small and mindless thing containing nothing but ones and zeros holds the mastercode for a software system that has systematically murdered millions of people on its relentless quest to eradicate all human DNA from Earth.
By the time I realize I’m standing there looking at the hard drive in a trance, I hear Hannah and the professor arguing.
“But I want to look around some,” Hannah says.
“No,” is his stern reply. “We’ve got to keep moving. I had to program the train’s return departure from the Foundation before we left. If we miss it, young lady, we’ll all be spending the rest of our lives down here.”
That’s all I need to hear. I’m at the door in a flash, holding it open and ushering Hannah and the professor into the tunnel. Hannah looks longingly at the countless closed doors we pass as we make our way back toward the elevator.
Up and out of the biohazard room again, I slip the hard drive in my pocket and clutch the lesson slate to my chest as we walk-jog our way across the sewage pools, retracing our steps. My panic doesn’t subside until we’re back in the freight elevator moving up, safely on our way to the transfer station and the waiting train. Hannah squeezes my hand and shoots me a sexy smile on the sly. Sometimes she can be very cute.
We stand hand in hand and take in the gas this time like pros. Then the elevator opens, and we step off and hurry in a single file line across the loading platform toward the train. The hydraulic hiss of another opening elevator door catches my ear, but before I can turn my head to look, something slams into me and knocks me to the ground.
I scramble to my feet and spin around.
“Red?”
“Aubrey?”
Standing before me with a look of panic on his face is Red, my old childhood nemesis from Level 3. He’s shorter than I remember him, his boyish freckles faded and a new patch of red, wispy whiskers on his chin. But otherwise, his enormous head covered with thick, red hair remains unchanged. He looks me up and down.
“You look different,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was fixing to ask you the same thing.”
“I asked it first.”
He looks down and kicks at the
“Verdammte!” the professor says, jerking the door closed.
He leads us back to the first door, clenching his teeth and opening it quickly, in the manner with which one might pull a bandage. Fortunately, the room is much less spooky. The LED lights come on automatically as the door is opened, revealing a mess of antique computers stored on racks. Cables spill from boxes; a file cabinet stands against a wall with its drawers ajar.
The professor sighs with relief and leads us into the room. Hannah taps me on the shoulder and points to a bin filled with reading slates. They’re of an earlier generation than the one I had growing up on Level 3, but they appear to be in working condition. I grab the one that looks the least abused.
We join the professor at the back of the room where he fuddles with a combination lock on an enormous free-standing safe. He spins the dial, stopping on random numbers, then immediately second guesses himself and curses as he spins it again. He continues like this for several minutes before Hannah reaches past him and tries the handle. The safe isn’t locked, and the heavy door swings open. At first, my heart sinks because it appears to be empty. Then I see a small black box tucked into a corner of the bottom shelf. The professor slides the box out and holds it cradled in his hands.
“Open it,” the professor says.
I release the seal, and the glass lid jumps in my hand as the vacuum inside is filled with pressurized air. Then I reach in and remove a small solid-state hard drive, less than a third the size of the slate I’m holding in my other hand. It’s hard to believe that such a small and mindless thing containing nothing but ones and zeros holds the mastercode for a software system that has systematically murdered millions of people on its relentless quest to eradicate all human DNA from Earth.
By the time I realize I’m standing there looking at the hard drive in a trance, I hear Hannah and the professor arguing.
“But I want to look around some,” Hannah says.
“No,” is his stern reply. “We’ve got to keep moving. I had to program the train’s return departure from the Foundation before we left. If we miss it, young lady, we’ll all be spending the rest of our lives down here.”
That’s all I need to hear. I’m at the door in a flash, holding it open and ushering Hannah and the professor into the tunnel. Hannah looks longingly at the countless closed doors we pass as we make our way back toward the elevator.
Up and out of the biohazard room again, I slip the hard drive in my pocket and clutch the lesson slate to my chest as we walk-jog our way across the sewage pools, retracing our steps. My panic doesn’t subside until we’re back in the freight elevator moving up, safely on our way to the transfer station and the waiting train. Hannah squeezes my hand and shoots me a sexy smile on the sly. Sometimes she can be very cute.
We stand hand in hand and take in the gas this time like pros. Then the elevator opens, and we step off and hurry in a single file line across the loading platform toward the train. The hydraulic hiss of another opening elevator door catches my ear, but before I can turn my head to look, something slams into me and knocks me to the ground.
I scramble to my feet and spin around.
“Red?”
“Aubrey?”
Standing before me with a look of panic on his face is Red, my old childhood nemesis from Level 3. He’s shorter than I remember him, his boyish freckles faded and a new patch of red, wispy whiskers on his chin. But otherwise, his enormous head covered with thick, red hair remains unchanged. He looks me up and down.
“You look different,” he says.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was fixing to ask you the same thing.”
“I asked it first.”
He looks down and kicks at the
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