Freaks of Greenfield High
FREAKS OF GREENFIELD HIGH
By Maree Anderson
How bad can high school possibly be?
When you’re struggling to understand what it means to be human, let’s just say “it’s complicated”.
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**Optioned for TV by Cream Drama, Inc.**
Winner: Gulf Coast Chapter of Romance Writers of America “Silken Sands Self-Published Star Award” (a readers’ choice award for excellence in self-published romantic fiction).
Winner: Maryland Romance Writers “Reveal Your Inner Vixen” Contest Young Adult category.
FREAKS OF GREENFIELD HIGH
Copyright 2011 by Maree Anderson
Published by Maree Anderson at Kindle Direct Publishing
Cover Design by Rob Anderson
Formatting by Maree Anderson
This novel is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved; the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof in any form whatsoever in any country whatsoever without the express permission of the author is forbidden.
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Kindle Direct Publishing Edition License Notes
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Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
This one’s for my kids.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Books
Prologue
Dr. Alexander Jay Durham squinted through a gap in the blinds, watching the convoy snaking up the dirt road. The dying light painted the black Hummers with crimson-hued menace, making them appear as though they’d been dipped in blood.
Foolish, greedy men. He could not find it in himself to regret their fate.
The shadows haunting the study resolved into a teenage girl. She glided over to take his arm. “Come away from the window, Father. It is not safe.”
Bah. He was dying. Worrying about his safety was futile.
He suffered himself to be helped to his favorite armchair and settled into its comforting cushions. His gaze skittered about, finally coming to rest on a framed photo sitting atop the mantelpiece. It captured a young woman wearing a cheerful sun-colored dress, her lips curved in a wide, unrestrained smile. Time rewound and Alex saw himself with her, pulling all manner of ridiculous faces to make her laugh. His hand fisted on his chest, pressing atop his heart to keep the memories safely imprisoned. Now was not the time to become lost in the past.
His gaze cut to the girl, now seated at the computer desk. And, as it always did when he looked at her, the pain of his loss faded to a dull, comforting ache.
She was his legacy. From the facial structure and skin-tone, to the tousled mane of raven hair that resisted all efforts to tame it, she was a younger replica of his dead wife. She had but one unique physical characteristic, something that was hers and only hers. His brows knit into a frown. Perhaps he’d been foolish to experiment. Perhaps the startling cobalt hue of her eyes would make her too remarkable, too memorable. Perhaps he’d endangered her by—
He reined in his fears. She was skilled at subterfuge. She would cope admirably without him. He had to believe that. “We haven’t got much time,” he said. “Do you know what to do?”
The girl glanced up from the computer. She slanted her brilliantly clear gaze at him, head cocked to one side in a perfect imitation of thoughtfulness as her fingertips flew over the keyboard. “We have seven-minutes-fifty-one-seconds before the attack force reaches the outskirts of the property. They will secure the area before they begin the assault.” She tapped out one last combination of keys and her hands stilled. “And yes, Father, I know what to do.”
“Of course you do. Please forgive a foolish old man.”
She abandoned her chair and took her place at his side. “There is nothing to forgive,” she said. “I have enabled the virus. Phase one is now complete.” Phase one being the program she had designed to corrupt the network servers and delete all secured off-site backup data, thus destroying five decades of meticulous research. Irretrievably.
Alex nodded his approval. “Good.”
She tapped pursed lips with her forefinger, the gesture so humanlike Alex’s heart twisted with regret. His beloved Mary would have been able to love the girl unreservedly, nurtured her, given her everything she needed to reach her full potential. Mary would have succeeded where he had failed.
“I have scanned the vehicles and the weaponry,” the girl reported. “The attack force comprises twenty-five men. I can delete them. No incriminating evidence will be found.”
“Of that I have no doubt. But we must proceed as planned. I am your one weakness, and this is the only way you will be safe.” He reached out to pat her hand, momentarily forgetting that she needed no comforting from him. Or indeed, anyone.
She sank to her knees, her head bowed. “Why must I do this, Father?”
“You know why,” he whispered, stroking the bent head, marveling at the softness of the hair, the physical perfection of his creation. “My knowledge must never fall into their hands. Please believe me, this is the only way.”
He sat back in his chair, squared his shoulders and placed his hands on the armrests, waiting.
The girl did not move.
“Must I order you to do this?”
She raised her head. Her gazed bored into Alex’s, stripping him bare of his delusions. The fine hairs on his nape stood to attention. As God was his witness, he felt as though she was peering into the deepest darkest recesses of his soul. He wondered what she would see there. And, coward that he was, found himself grateful that she was incapable of passing judgment on him.
She waited, sitting back on her heels with her hands clasped neatly in her lap, her features a smooth emotionless mask. “Yes, Father,” she said. “You must give the order. Please believe me, this is the only way.”
Alex pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and heaved a shaky sigh. It served him right, he supposed. He’d poured his heart and soul into her, done his utmost to make her as humanlike as possible. And he had been the one to insist she call him “Father”. He could hardly blame her for mustering what they both knew was a token resistance to this final solution.
“So be it,” Alex said. “Initiating sequence Revelations 13-colon-17, 6-6-6. Cyborg Unit Gamma-Dash-One, this is Alexander Jay Durham. Confirm.”
“Running voiceprint analysis. Identity confirmed.” Her voice was now flat, machine-like. Inhuman. Alex’s command had shunted her artificial consciousness aside, allowing him to access her core programming. Forcing her to obey.
“Cy
borg Unit Gamma-Dash-One, prepare to initiate sequence J-O-H-N-3-colon-16.”
“Initiating.”
“Commence sequence J-O-H-N-3-colon-16.”
The girl stood and placed her cool, lethal hands on his shoulders. He closed his eyes. He was tired, so very tired. He harbored no fear for what was to come, merely profound relief. God willing, Mary would be waiting for him.
“I. Do. Not. Want… to do this… Father.”
His eyelids flew open and he choked on a gasp. Real tears glistened in her eyes. It should have been impossible for her to fight the command, impossible for her to produce tears.
A malfunction or a miracle? Only time would tell. And Alex had run out of time.
He took a deep breath and clasped his hands, settling them into his lap. His eyelids drifted closed. “Cyborg Unit Gamma-Dash-One, commence sequence J-O-H-N-3-colon-16.”
~~~
“Commencing sequence,” the cyborg said. “I love you, Father.” In one swift, efficient movement, she broke the old man’s neck.
As humans often liked to do in such circumstances, she closed her eyes, honoring her creator and his contribution to this world with a minute of silence and utter stillness.
She would have preferred to bury him but that was not part of the plan. However, there was another way for her to honor his memory. The man she called “Father” had always balked at choosing a suitable name for her. The significance of a name, choosing the right one, had been too overwhelming for him.
She now appropriated his middle name. She would henceforth be known as “Jay”.
Her sensors registered that the grumbling purr of Hummer engines had ceased. Leaving Father’s body slumped in the armchair, she took a replica of herself from a cabinet and placed it in the chair behind the computer desk. As she arranged the thing in a lifelike pose, positioning its hands on the keyboard, a droplet of moisture plopped onto the Enter key. She swiped at her cheeks and examined the wetness on her fingertips. Her tongue darted out to taste and identify.
Tears?
Impossible. A malfunction.
She blotted her face with her sleeve and filed the phenomenon away in her databanks to be analyzed fully at a more opportune time. Her immediate priority was to increase her core body temperature until it exactly matched the ambient temperature of this room. She would automatically make adjustments as she passed through each area of the house so that she would not register as an anomaly on their heat sensors.
She activated the replica, and as it began to tap away at the keyboard, Jay accessed what appeared to be a standard household alarm set into the wall beside the door. She input an eleven digit code. A flashing red light indicated the two minute countdown had commenced.
She exited the study, locked the door behind her, and headed down the corridor. Once inside her bedroom, she stood atop the huge bed she’d never once used, reached up to pop open the concealed ceiling hatch, and levered herself up into the roof cavity. She replaced the hatch cover and jiggled it back into place. The opening would be almost invisible from the interior of the room—not that it mattered, but she had been programmed to be meticulous.
Two near-simultaneous booms destroyed the unnatural tranquility—frame charges, explosive panels the attack force had used to blow the front and rear doors. They’d opted for the element of surprise, relying on speed rather than subterfuge to achieve their goal.
Jay slid aside a cleverly designed portion of the roof and, moving so quickly that to human eyes she would be nothing but a blur, she climbed outside, flattened herself against the pitched roofline and froze. From her vantage point, her sensory enhancements allowed her to hear footsteps, measured and quick, as the attack force ascended the stairs and headed for the study. The men were military-trained professionals, maintaining radio silence and communicating via hand signals. Her replica had thoroughly fooled their sensors, leading them to believe they knew exactly where their quarry would be found.
The men were now battering the door into the study with a portable ramming device. Jay had ensured it would be no easy task to break through the reinforced door. In their place, however, she would have saved considerable time by barging straight through the wall.
They achieved their objective and burst into the study.
Jay blinked and switched to infra-red vision. A near soundless whine, audible only to her, indicated that the final countdown was now in progress. Behind its covering panel, the study alarm’s indicator light would now have escalated to a distorted crimson line.
Ten. Nine. Eight….
Using electronics to cover her tracks had been a carefully calculated risk. EMP weapons could render even her sophisticated timing device useless. But an EMP weapon could destroy all electronic devices within range, including computer hard drives. She had based her primary plan on the assumption that obtaining Father’s research was their main priority. They would not dare risk destroying that research, for then, if Alexander Durham’s creation escaped their grasp, they would be left with nothing.
She observed the fiery silhouettes of the men raising their weapons as they spotted Father’s body and what they believed was their target. Their leader signaled two of his men to approach.
Four. Three. Two—
The instant the first of three precisely timed blasts ripped through the stately old country house, she launched herself from the rooftop.
The man seated in the armored car parked behind the Hummers shielded his eyes. He yelled into his comms device, far too distracted by this surprising turn of events to notice Jay surfing the outer limits of the first blast wave.
She landed in a flat-footed crouch, thirty-feet-nine-inches beyond the two-story house. It was not her best jump. In calmer wind conditions she had achieved thirty-one feet.
She took off at a run, simultaneously scanning the vicinity for evidence of pursuit. The probability that the covert organization pursuing her would include a chopper in the retrieval attempt had been high, but aside from tersely shouted orders she heard nothing of note.
For whatever reason, they had underestimated her capabilities, leaving her with nothing to challenge her. Nothing to help ease the painful tightness twisting of what Father had insisted was her heart.
She entered a heavily wooded area bordering the property, and all trace of her passing was swallowed by the night.
Chapter One
Jay closed the front door of her apartment and engaged the security system she’d personally designed and installed. She’d also installed a new door, as well as reinforcing the strength of the wall. She didn’t fear intruders. For her, increasing the security of each new residence was simply a logical course of action.
The apartment took up the entire topmost floor of an old but well-preserved building. The first floor was little more than a large hall, sporadically rented out to community groups. The ground floor housed a number of eclectic stores. The scarcity of regular customers to the stores, and the lack of foot-traffic, were her chief reasons for choosing this particular apartment. Leasing it had been ridiculously easy despite her apparent youth. She’d deepened her voice to a masculine timbre and conducted the initial transaction by phone, then finalized the lease arrangements via email and internet transactions. Child’s play to then uplift the keys from the leasing agency in person on behalf of her “uncle”, who was “away on business”. No one had queried the absence of her fictional guardian in the week since she’d moved in. Her cover story would hold provided no one pried too deeply into her affairs.
At this early hour, the only sounds were the mouse-like squeaks of Jay’s sneakers on the treads of the worn stairs. She slapped the exit button, pushed through the doors, and set off at a measured jog.
The town she had selected this time was unremarkable—as were its white-collar, middle class inhabitants. According to a newspaper article written around the time the current mayor had been elected, Snapperton’s only claim to fame was its well established history of mediocrity.
It would be difficult for operatives to infiltrate the town without being noticed. In Snapperton she could hide in plain sight. For now.
Her internal clock told her it was 0100 hours, early enough to provide an excellent opportunity to map wireless hotspots and detect any signal leakages from Wi-Fi networks that she could exploit if required. She would take special note of unexpected power surges or electronic anomalies which might indicate the area had been targeted and was being monitored.
Forty-six minutes into her run, she picked up a tail. She allowed him to shadow her for five minutes before she pulled up and knelt on the pavement to fuss with her perfectly tied shoelaces.
The man ran past her, his chest heaving like a bellows, droplets of sweat flicking from his person and his clothing. She scanned him for hidden weapons or electronic surveillance equipment. Nothing.