Chris Wakes Up (9 page)

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* * * *

SNEAK PEEK: WhiteSpace

The First Two Chapters

From the Kings of the Serial, Sean Platt and David Wright, who brought you the post-apocalyptic series, "Yesterday’s Gone," comes the new sci-fi horror series, "WhiteSpace."

Hamilton Island seems like the perfect home.

The Puget Sound bedroom community has it all — beautiful homes with white picket fences, a thriving tech sector, and one of the best school systems in the state.

But not everything is as it seems.

And on the morning of September 1, the veil is lifted in a school shooting that will shake the island to its core, and expose an evil dynasty and a dark conspiracy that threatens the future of our species.

* * * *

Chapter 1: Milo Anderson Part 1

In the not too distant future…

Hamilton Island K-12

Hamilton Island, Washington

Friday

September 1

7:15 a.m.

Where in the hell is Mr. Heller?

Milo glanced at the clock, again. It wasn’t like the teacher to be late. And while the rest of Mr. Roger Heller’s 11th grade English Literature & Composition class were clearly enjoying their few moments of unexpected free time, Milo wanted it to end immediately since Manny wouldn’t shut the hell up.

“So, are you gonna do it? Are you?” Manny asked for the third time.

Milo turned to his right, where Katie and Jessica were talking a mile a minute in front of Jessica’s desk two rows over, to make sure they hadn’t heard, then turned back to his left, where Manny sat like a big, stupid dog that didn’t know how far the sound of his barking carried.

“Shut up,” Milo whispered. “I already said I don’t wanna talk about it, especially not here.”

“What?” Manny said, again, even louder. “They can’t hear me.” He leaned toward Milo, but didn’t lower his voice. “So are ya’ gonna ask her, or not?”

“I don’t know,” Milo whispered, wishing Manny would drop it. He never should have said anything to Manny or Alex when they were hanging out in front of the school before the first bell. 

The moment that Manny heard a tasty bit of gossip, he was all over it, and wouldn’t let it go until he’d talked over every little detail. Sometimes, Manny seemed more like a girl in that aspect than the girls they hung out with. 

At least Manny had the smarts to stop yammering when Jessica and Katie joined them under the flagpole. But now that they were in class, Manny wouldn’t, or couldn’t, shut up, despite the fact that Jessica, the subject of this particular piece of gossip, was just two rows away from them. 

“But it’s perfect timing!” Manny insisted. “It’s her birthday. She can’t turn you down on her birthday! That’s like socially illegal.”

Milo turned again, praying the girls hadn’t overheard the word “birthday.” If they had, then everything would be doomed.

Tomorrow was Jessica’s 17th birthday, and everyone was getting together at Milo’s house for a surprise party for her. Not a large party, just their immediate circle of friends — himself, Manny, Jessica, Alex, and Katie. 

Milo planned to finally reveal his true feelings for Jessica — feelings he’d harbored in secret for at least four years.

The only reason Milo had even asked the guys for their advice, and divulged his secret, was because Alex’s girlfriend, Katie, was best friends with Jessica. Surely, Katie would’ve said something if she knew how Jessica felt.

“I don’t know,” Alex had said. “Katie’s never said anything one way or another. But I say go for it. I’ve seen the way Jessica looks at you. And she’s always asking what you’re up to.” 

“Really? Why the hell didn’t you tell me before?” Milo asked, playfully shoving his best friend. “How long has this been going on?”

“Just recently,” Alex said. “I think a better question is why didn’t
you
tell me
you were into Jessica until now?”

“Yeah, what the hell, man?” Manny said, trying to be part of a conversation that didn’t really need him. From that moment on, the big dork had focused on nothing but Milo and Jessica. Milo practically expected him to start singing, “Milo and Jessica sitting in a tree…”

The girls had arrived a few minutes later, and the conversation had died... until Manny started up after they got to class.

“I say go for it,” Manny said. “I agree with Alex. Jessica wants you.”

Milo turned, praying she hadn’t heard her name mentioned.

Katie and Jessica were looking at him and whispering. Jessica giggled, and Milo looked down as if studying the carving on his desk. It said, “
God can see you,”
and looked like it had been there forever.

Manny laughed, “They’re talking about you.”

“Shut up,” Milo whispered again, wondering if they were, and feeling his face turn red. Maybe Alex said something to Jessica when she was walking with him to his first class.

Shit, I knew I shouldn’t of said anything.

Milo grabbed his cell and texted Alex, hoping he’d left his phone on vibrate, rather than ringtone.

“Did u tell Katie abt me likin Jess?” he texted.

A full minute passed, then:

“No y?” Alex texted back.

“No rsn. Where’s ur dad? He’s late.”

“Dunno hvnt sn him. He left early. shld b thr.”

Mr. Heller was Alex’s dad, and he was never this late. Usually, he was in class an hour before the school doors opened, which was why Alex usually walked to school or caught a ride with Katie on the days her mom let her drive the car they shared. At least that’s the reason Alex gave for not coming in with his dad.

Milo suspected something else, however; that Alex was embarrassed by his dad. As cool and laid back as Alex was, Mr. Heller was nerdy, straight-laced, and talked like someone from one of those old TV shows with the big happy, and thoroughly unrealistic, families. The girls flirted with Mr. Heller and the guys pretended to care about his lectures, and Mr. Heller was too oblivious to see they were messing with him. Despite the heckling, students generally seemed to like him, though. He was lenient, not prone to mood swings like many of the teachers, and you’d have to be an idiot to get anything less than a “B” in his class. 

Mr. Heller was dorky, clueless, and wore clothes about 15 years out of style.

But Mr. Heller was never late. 

Milo hoped they didn’t have a substitute. Subs always gave them busy work. One of the cool things about Mr. Heller, and the reason the kids probably liked him most, was that Mr. Heller spent at least half the class talking. And it was the kind of talking which he never quizzed students on, so you could catch a few Z’s, which made the class Milo’s favorite first period since Home Economics in 8th Grade. 

The door to the classroom squeaked opened behind them, and the class fell silent, except for the sound of students rushing back to their desks and cracking open their books as if they were earnestly attempting to unlock the finer points of grammar.

Manny had his book open, but it was upside down. Milo laughed at his idiot friend and made a face, then gestured toward the book.

Manny looked down, eyes widened, then laughed and turned the book right side up.

Idiot.

Katie took her seat behind Manny, and gave Milo a suspicious look. Milo turned away quickly, feeling his face turn red again.

Alex did tell her! Or maybe she heard Manny Big Mouth.

Milo looked to his right to see if Jessica was also looking at him. But her eyes were up front, as was the attention of the rest of the class. 

Mr. Heller sat his briefcase on the desk, then straightened his shirt, which was uncharacteristically wrinkled and half untucked, with one tail spilling down below his waist. He looked nervous, or . . . scared.

Milo turned to see if Manny had noticed. He had, making a face at Milo as if to say, “What’s up with Mr. Heller?”

Katie wore the same expression, as did the rest of the class.

Mr. Heller stood behind his desk, hands on either side of his closed briefcase, as though exhausted, too tired even to lift his head and look his students in their eyes. His hair, usually precisely combed in the exact same old-fashioned style, was all messed up; a sweaty mop atop his head.

Class with Mr. Heller began exactly the same way every day. He’d wait for the students to settle down, giving them a full minute after the final bell before he stood up, turned to the whiteboard, and then neatly wrote the topic of the day’s conversation. Once the topic was recorded in neat black lines on the whiteboard, he’d turn to the class, and say something like, “Good morning, class. Today we’re going to discuss foreshadowing,” or whatever subject he’d written. Most days, he’d also throw in a terrible pun to kick things off.

Mr. Heller was such a stickler for routine that Milo could easily imagine the man starting his weekend mornings the same way at home, in front of a whiteboard with the words “bacon and eggs” written on it. “Good morning, family. Today we’re going to have bacon and eggs. Here’s a little joke I heard. This one will
crack
you up.”

Seeing Mr. Heller just standing there, staring down at his desk, was unsettling enough to send a shiver down Milo’s spine.

“Are you okay?” Stephanie Blankencamp said from her front row desk.

Mr. Heller said nothing.

Instead, he turned around, grabbed a black dry erase marker, and started to scribble on the whiteboard. His handwriting, normally block-perfect and in a straight line, was wild and erratic, like he was writing in an angry rush.

The whiteboard read: “Eleven”

Eleven? What the hell? Is that how many beers he drank before class?

Milo turned to Manny and Katie, the three of them exchanging quiet confusion. Milo then looked over to Jessica, who was staring back with the same bewildered and nervous expression.

Mr. Heller turned from the whiteboard, finally meeting the eyes of the classroom. His face was clammy, and his eyes were bloodshot. His hands were shaking as he turned his head back and forth, as if he were counting students. . . or searching for someone.

He looked down at his desk again, then opened his briefcase with a loud snapping sound. He stared into the briefcase for what seemed an eternity, as Milo, and probably the entire class, wondered what he was looking at. Had the class done so poorly on their reports the previous week that Heller couldn’t bring himself to pick up the stack of graded papers?

Mr. Heller reached into the briefcase and pulled out a pistol. 

Time stopped for Milo, even as a million things seemed to happen around him at once. 

First, Manny laughed, like Mr. Heller was going to show them a cool trick or joke or something using the gun as a prop. Or perhaps it was the nervous laugh of a brain which hadn’t quite registered the threat. But someone else, Amber Riley, screamed. Several students gasped. 

Mr. Heller aimed the gun and fired, shooting Tommy Hopkins, the school’s star rower, right in the face. The gunfire was thunder in the enclosed classroom, like an explosion in Milo’s ears as Tommy fell to the ground.

Chaos erupted as Mr. Heller turned, as calm as a man choosing his doughnuts from behind the glass, and fired another shot, then another, barely audible over the high-pitched ringing between Milo’s temples. One shot missed one of the students and sailed through the wall into the next classroom. Milo heard muffled screams from next door. Had the bullet hit someone, or were they screaming in response to the sound of gunshots?

Students scrambled in every direction but with one destination in mind — out of the classroom. Milo remained rooted to his desk, unable to think straight, much less move. And then something caught his attention. Jessica was running toward him, eyes and mouth wide open. He had to get up and protect her.

But he was too late. Milo’s eyes shifted from Jessica to just over her left shoulder, where Mr. Heller’s blurred figure came into crystal-clear focus, gun aimed directly at Jessica.

No!

Milo opened his mouth to warn her, but his speech was cut short by the thunder of another gunshot which sent Jessica forward, and straight into him. Milo, Jessica, and his desk tumbled in a painful collision of flesh, wood, metal, and carpet.

And blood, spreading across the front of Jessica’s powder blue sweater.

Jessica stared up at him, scared and searching for a reason. She said something, but her voice was muffled as if he were hearing it through a wall of cotton. He pulled her to him, as though he could protect her from more bullets. 

The gunshots stopped, and the only sound was the whistling in Milo’s ears.

Milo turned his head and saw another victim of Mr. Heller’s gun — Manny lying in a river of blood. He appeared to have been shot in the stomach. His eyes were glassy, but he wasn’t dead. Yet. He was staring back at Milo, eyes pleading for help.

Just as Milo wondered where Mr. Heller had gone in all the madness, the teacher appeared, walking toward them, gun drawn in his shaky hand.

Milo wanted to get up, knock the gun away, or do something. But he was still paralyzed on the spot, afraid that he’d do the wrong thing and get himself or his friends killed. He looked down to see Jessica’s blood seeping into his shirt and jeans. Her eyes were closing, and he prayed that Mr. Heller would keep walking out of the class and past them, so he could save his friends, even if he had no idea how he intended to do so.