The peak, p.1
The Peak, page 1
FOR REDVERS AND ASH, MASTERS OF SNEAKING.
Imight not have noticed the three intruders if I didn’t have the world’s most boring teacher.
His name was Mr White, and it suited him. He had a crisply ironed shirt, a pale, egg-like head and a snowy beard. I’d once stolen a letter from his bag, opened it, read it, and sealed it in a fresh envelope. It was just a bank statement—nothing juicy. But it taught me his first name, which suited him even better: Archibald.
Right now he was standing in front of a smartboard explaining how French verbs worked. I’m not sure why, since none of us was likely to go to France. I’d only been in Coppins Crossing a few months, but I could already tell it wasn’t the kind of town anyone escaped from, except by dying of old age.
Mr White—who was no spring chicken himself— might have known that, because he didn’t seem to care if we understood. He kept taking off his little glasses and polishing the lenses, like the grime on them was more interesting than the difference between avoir and devoir.
I was near the back of the classroom, my sweaty uniform sticking to my back. With the skylight right above me, I felt like a stale chip under a heat lamp. My gaze was on Mr White, but I was scooting a toy skateboard along the underside of my desk, two fingertips pressed to the grip-tape. School was easy, and my mind often wandered. Right now I was imagining myself zooming home on an electric board, like Vicki’s.
Vicki was a perpetually grumpy girl who sat directly in front of me, so I knew her mostly as a chestnut ponytail and a series of loud complaints. Her family was rich— the skateboard was just the latest in a series of expensive gadgets. It was super fast, and it folded in half to fit in her backpack, which I thought was very cool.
‘Who’s humming back there?’ Mr White called out.
I went quiet.
Vicki stuck up her hand. ‘It was Nolan, sir.’
‘Who, me?’ I said.
‘Denials, excuses, rationalisations,’ Mr White snapped. It was only week two of term one and I’d already heard him say these three words a lot. ‘Are you in a music class, Mr Hawker?’
I sighed. ‘No, sir.’
‘In that case, silence, s’il vous plait ,’ Mr White said, spinning back to face the board so fast that his tie flapped. The other kids thought he wore that same tie every day, but he didn’t. As a test, I’d once distracted him by pointing up at a wedge-tailed eagle, and then poked the tie with a permanent marker. Mr White hadn’t noticed. The next day, the black dot was gone—but it reappeared the following week. This meant his stupid tie was, in fact, several identical stupid ties.
Vicki gave me a smug look, proud of herself for getting me in trouble. If I was her, I’d be focussing on the lesson. Her French was clumsy. Yesterday, instead of writing I am a lawyer on the board, she’d written: I am an avocado.
I rubbed my eyes, wishing for something, anything, to keep my mind busy. I looked out the window—
And saw three strangers sprinting across the basketball court.
They wore black armour, helmets, gas masks and goggles, which made them look like visitors from the future. The leader held a tube with hooks sprouting from one end—a grappling-hook launcher? The one in the middle had a tablet computer and wore a backpack with an antenna sticking out. The one at the back carried a giant, metal claw, the kind firefighters use to open the doors of smashed-up cars.
As I stared, the three intruders reached the side of the gym and froze. Their armour and equipment changed colour from black to brown, and soon they were almost invisible against the brick wall. If I hadn’t seen them move, I wouldn’t have known they were there.
‘Look!’ I hissed, pointing at the window.
Everyone turned to look.
‘At what?’ Vicki sniped.
‘Strangers in the school!’ I jabbed a finger at the camouflaged invaders. ‘They’re right there! See?’
No-one could.
‘I’m sick of your pranks, Mr Hawker,’ the teacher said.
‘It’s not a prank! At least, not by me.’
‘Denials, excuses—’
I leapt to my feet and put my chair on top of my desk. Then I snatched up Vicki’s backpack.
‘Arrete, c’est a moi!’ she yelled, her French much more convincing all of a sudden. She swiped at her backpack, but I’d already climbed onto the chair and she couldn’t reach it.
Three screws held the skylight in place, but I knew plasterboard was weak—I’d once rewired the switches in the teachers’ lounge as a joke. Now I wrenched the glass disc downwards, showering white dust all over the floor.
All the kids were yelling at me. The teacher, too.
‘Come down from there!’ Mr White demanded, but didn’t dare touch me in case the chair fell off the desk.
‘Do a lockdown drill,’ I said. ‘You love those.’
I scrambled up into the skylight, pushing the backpack ahead of me. It was like crawling through a tunnel made of aluminium foil. The bright, crinkly surface burned my skin; if my polyester shirt hadn’t been soaked with sweat, it might have caught fire.
The intruders had to be thieves. That claw could prise open a safe, the tablet could hack security cameras and the grappling hook could aid a quick getaway. But this was a public school in a small town—what was worth stealing?
Soon I reached another glass disc. I put both hands against it and pushed. The disc popped out. I caught it before it rolled away, then crawled out onto the rooftop. The corrugated metal was sloped and hard to balance on.
Shielding my eyes from the harsh summer sun, I looked around: no sign of the intruders. Just when I was starting to doubt myself, I spotted them running along a covered walkway. Their armour had changed colour again—grey, to match the footpath.
They were headed towards the Year 1 classroom.
The blood drained from my face. What if they weren’t thieves, but kidnappers?
The intruders were faster than me, but not for long. I pulled Vicki’s skateboard out of her backpack and unfolded it. It was bright purple and covered with stickers—not exactly a stealth vehicle, but hopefully the intruders wouldn’t look up. Most people didn’t, unless you told them there was a wedge-tailed eagle.
I unclipped the remote and stepped onto the board. A blue light ignited between my feet. I pushed a button and suddenly I was zooming across the rooftop towards the covered walkway.
The little remote in my hand had only two buttons— faster and slower. Not exactly rocket science, though it did feel like riding a rocket. My teeth rattled and my brain bounced as the wheels thumped noisily across the ruts of the corrugated roof. If the intruders heard me coming, would they bail on their plan?
When I reached the covered walkway, I thumbed the slower button, then swivelled right. This roof was corrugated too, but now I was travelling parallel to the ruts. This made the ride smoother, but steering was almost impossible. I was a train driver at the mercy of the tracks.
The sun beat down and the wind blasted my helmetless hair. If I lost my balance and pitched off the roof, I’d probably break my neck. As I slowed to take a corner, trying to work out how to turn, I spotted the three intruders ahead. They weren’t on the walkway anymore—they were outside the exterior door to the Year 1 classroom. One of them had plugged a cable into a power box on the wall next to the door, and was tapping rapidly on a tablet. The grappling-hook launcher stood on a little tripod, ready to launch over the roof.
They turned when they heard me coming. The lenses of their goggles rotated, like they were zooming in on me.
I gritted my teeth and thumbed the accelerator. The humming of the skateboard’s motor spun up to a whine. The wheels bounced over the gutter with a thud and I hurtled off the edge of the roof.
For a second I was flying—surfing the air on an electric skateboard. If my life were a YouTube video, this would be the ideal thumbnail. My stomach lurched as I plummeted to the earth.
One of the intruders dived out of the way. The other brought up his tablet to shield his face.
Bad move. The skateboard smashed right through the computer in an explosion of glass and microchips, then crashed into his helmet with all my weight on top of it. The guy bounced off the wall, crumpled to the ground and didn’t get back up. I landed next to him, rolled sideways and scrambled to my feet.
‘Get him!’ the third intruder screeched.
The one who’d jumped out of the way now lunged at me with gloved hands outstretched, but I was already running back along the walkway towards the canteen, hoping to lead the intruders away from the Year 1 classroom.
I could hear their boots thudding against the footpath. Even weighed down by their armour, they were catching up.
I swerved right, barging through the double doors into the canteen kitchen. Students weren’t supposed to be back here, but I’d sneaked in once before to steal a packet of chips, so I knew the layout. Two deep fryers and several shelves of packaged food were on one side. Fridges and freezers lined the other. Students were served through a wide window at the far end of the room, which was shuttered right now.
I ran in. No way to lock the door behind me without a key. Instead, I grabbed the side of one of the deep fryers and pulled as hard as I could. At first it was like trying to drag an elephant by the leg, but soon the tub overbalanced. I jumped out of the way as it clattered to the floor, unleashing a flood of oil. As the fluid spread across the tiles, I ran to the other end of the room. I tried to lift the shutter so I could escape out the window, but it was secured with a padlock.
I still hadn’t heard the lockdown alarm. Maybe Mr White had shrugged off my escape and gone back to explaining French verbs. If so, no help was coming.
The door burst open and one of the intruders charged in, fists clenched. He slowed down when he saw the fallen deep fryer, but it was too late—he’d already stepped into the oil. For a moment he ran on the spot, arms flailing, and then his feet flew out from under him and he hit the floor face-first. He tried to get up, but his gloves and boots kept sliding underneath him. He looked like an amateur breakdancer.
The third intruder, who I took to be their leader, entered. It was hard to tell with the armour and face mask, but her height and posture suggested a young woman—maybe just a teenager.
She saw the other intruder writhing on the ground, then looked at the deep fryer, then at me. Her mask distorted her voice into a mechanical growl.
‘Are you part of the test?’
What test?
I bluffed, ‘How did you guess?’
The leader leaned forward, grabbed the other intruder by the collar and dragged him out of the oil puddle. ‘You’re outnumbered three to one,’ she said.
‘Two to one,’ I replied. ‘I’m betting your friend with the backpack is still seeing stars.’
The leader ignored this. ‘You don’t have any weapons. And with this little stunt . . .’ She gestured at the oil. ‘. . . you’ve trapped yourself rather than us. We could just leave.’
She was right, so I raised an eyebrow. I’d practised this in front of a mirror—it always made me look like I knew what I was doing.
‘So why don’t you?’ I asked.
The leader took a careful step towards me, into the oil. I waited for her to slip. She didn’t. The other guy finally managed to stand up, barring the exit.
‘I’m guessing it’s because you’re supposed to make sure no-one sees you,’ I continued. ‘That’s why you’re dressed like a chameleon. And I bet the antenna sticking out of Captain Concussion’s backpack is a signal jammer to mess with security cameras. Not that there are any— this is a public school. Are you sure you have the right address?’
She took another step, and still didn’t lose her balance. Soon I’d be within grabbing range.
‘Anyway, I can identify you,’ I went on. ‘I haven’t seen your face, but I can describe your clothes, your gear, your accent, your height. So you can’t just leave. Which one of us is really trapped?’
Another step. She was in the middle of the oil slick now, which gave me an idea.
‘And now you’ve stepped into a puddle of flammable liquid.’ I reached into my pocket.
The leader hesitated.
I’d been given a magic kit for my birthday one year, and one of the tricks involved a fake thumb which slipped over my real one. I’d never been very good at the trick, but I’d learned a few things. One: point the thumb towards the audience and keep your hand moving so they don’t get a good look at it. Two: don’t claim the thumb is real—let them assume.
When I pulled the toy skateboard out of my pocket, I didn’t say, This is a lighter. I just angled it towards her and dragged my thumb across the wheels, making a menacing click.
‘You’re bluffing,’ the leader said, but she stood stock still.
‘Am I?’ I clicked the wheels again.
We stared at each other for a long moment. Luckily, she seemed to be looking at my face rather than the toy.
Just as I thought she was about to see through the ruse, the door behind the other intruder burst open.
Vicki barged into the canteen, flanked by two police officers. ‘There he is!’ she cried. ‘He stole my backpack and—’
The lead intruder lunged towards me, grabbed my wrist and dug her thumb into the tendons. My fingers uncurled and the toy skateboard went flying. She dived aside and caught it on the first bounce.
Meanwhile, one cop had wrestled the squirming, oil-covered intruder to the floor. The other cop pulled out her stun gun and aimed it at the lead intruder.
Zap!
The intruder’s armour cycled through dozens of colours and patterns as the wires crackled, lighting the canteen up like a disco, but she didn’t seem to feel the blast. She scrambled to her feet and raised her fists to fight—then realised she was holding a toy skateboard.
‘What the—’ she began, before the first cop launched out of her blind spot and tackled her to the ground.
As the police worked together to fasten a cable-tie around her wrists, I sat on the slippery floor, wheezing.
My racing heart slowed. Finally it was over.
Little did I know, it was only just beginning.
Why did you go out through the skylight?’ the detective asked me. ‘The classroom door was open, the corridor was empty, the exterior door was unlocked, et cetera.’
‘One of the intruders was carrying a grappling-hook launcher. The shortest one.’ I pointed to the detective’s van, but there were no windows, so we couldn’t see the captives inside. ‘So obviously they were planning to go up onto the roof at some point. I figured I’d beat them to it.’
The detective had grey hair tied back in a severe bun. She wore a suit and tie rather than a police uniform. We’d been standing in the sun next to the car park for half an hour, but she hadn’t blinked once. Or smiled. She’d introduced herself as Sasha Leland. I’d just gotten through telling her the whole story, and she hadn’t seemed surprised by any of it.
She said, ‘And you took your classmate’s electric skateboard because . . .’
I was still annoyed that Mr White had called the police about that. If it was any other kid, he would have just sent them to the principal’s office.
‘I thought I might need it,’ I said. ‘Yesterday, Vicki was bragging that it had a top speed of 35 kilometres per hour and the battery lasts 90 minutes. I can only run at about 15 kilometres per hour, and I get puffed after 20 minutes.’ I knew this because once my bike chain had snapped and I’d had to sprint five kilometres to school to avoid missing the bell.
‘That’s not bad,’ Leland said.
I shrugged. ‘No, but I thought it might not be fast enough to keep up with the drone.’
Suddenly Leland was watching me very carefully. ‘What drone?’
‘I first spotted the intruders on the basketball court, which is near the middle of the school grounds,’ I said. ‘But they were headed north, towards the Year 1 classroom. I thought, if they want something on the north side of the school, why not just climb over the front fence? There’s a big tree just next to the main gate which would make it easy.’ I didn’t tell her I’d done this myself a few times. ‘But since the intruders were coming from the south, where did they park their getaway vehicle? There are no roads on that side of the school. But there is a clearing in the middle of the Quiet Forest. Perfect for landing a drone—or a helicopter, but that would have been too loud.’
‘You figured all that out in the 30 seconds between spotting the intruders and grabbing your classmate’s bag?’ Leland asked.
Actually it was more like 10 seconds, but I said, ‘Yeah.’ ‘What’s the Quiet Forest?’
I sighed. ‘It’s just a place with a bunch of trees. Kids get sent out there to calm down.’
‘Including you?’
‘No,’ I said, bending the truth a little. Mr White often sent me to the Quiet Forest, but not because I’d gotten angry.
Leland let it go. ‘Why didn’t you stay in the classroom like everyone else?’
‘I wanted to know what the intruders were up to.’ ‘And you were willing to risk your life to find out?’ It sounded dumb when she put it that way. ‘I guess.’ She studied me for a long time. Then she said, ‘Other
than the Seek and Solve contest, you don’t have a great record, Nolan.’
She was referring to an annual contest held in Coppins Crossing. It was like orienteering mixed with code cracking—you had to read maps, cross rivers and climb trees to find and solve a series of puzzles. I’d beaten the course so fast that I’d been accused of cheating.
‘Frequent detentions, multiple suspensions, et cetera, in every school you’ve attended,’ Leland went on.
I wondered when she’d done this research. ‘I can explain that.’
I couldn’t, really. Mum had been a travelling IT consultant, so we’d moved around a lot. I’d been to dozens of schools. I’d learned to blend in quickly, then vanish without saying goodbye to anyone. Since I knew I wouldn’t be staying long, I’d also gotten used to doing whatever I wanted. Why worry about getting in trouble, when either way I’d be gone in a few weeks?
