The Bully Chip Page 4

  No answer.

  Callum wheeled cautiously inside, his eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the darkness. He heard a soft huff from the far side of the room and a flash of light caught his attention. A small fire had been lit in a waste paper bin that was propped against the wall. The flames licked the top of the bin, threatening to escape.

  Callum looked desperately around for something to snuff out the fire. He saw a large textbook called Fundamentals of Combustion Processes. He grabbed the book and threw it on top of the bin, hoping it would block out the oxygen and smother the blaze.

  He heard a loud click behind him and spun around to see that the classroom door had been shut. Standing on the other side of the glass was a figure dressed entirely in black. Callum couldn’t tell who it was because the face was obscured by the hood of a large, loosely fitted sweatshirt. The figure stood watching him for a second then jumped off the entrance ramp, disappearing from view.

  Callum rushed to the door and was halfway across the room when he heard three small explosions. One was directly in front of him and the other two came from opposite sides of the room. The blasts were much larger than the small puff of the first fire. He heard the whoosh of oil-soaked rags and paper catching alight. The new fires were once again contained in waste paper bins. The one to his left was positioned under the window and the flames were already creeping up the wall. The one on his right was directly beneath a bench containing an array of chemicals. And the conflagration in front of him licked at the pages of a thick stack of examination papers.

  Callum knew he couldn’t put out all three fires; the best he could hope for was to make it out of the room alive. He grabbed his torch, switched on the light to pierce the already thickening smoke, and extended the metal rod. He made for the door, ready to smash out the glass and escape. His wheelchair had barely moved when he heard a sharp crackle from his right-hand side. Callum saw several jars of chemicals fall into the burning bin. Suddenly, the flames sucked back into the trash can, like water down a drain. He heard a low crump and was hit by a detonation that threw Callum, his wheelchair and a row of desks at the opposite wall.

  A wave of hot air hit Callum’s face and his ears rang as the Thunderkit slid across the room. He hung desperately onto his armrests. Incredibly, his wheelchair stayed upright, pushed sideways by the blast rather than tumbling end over end.

  The explosion had put out the fire on the right-hand side of the classroom and blown a sizeable hole in the wall. The front of the classroom and Callum’s side of the building still burned.

  The heat was intense and Callum knew neither he, nor the tyres of his chair, would withstand the inferno for long. He spun around to face the blown-out section of the opposite wall, dropped his torch back in its pouch and pulled a small lever on the inside of his right-hand armrest. A grappling hook rocketed out the front of the armrest. High tension wire trailed behind it. The hook flew through the hole in the wall and wrapped around a tree outside the classroom.

  Callum pushed the lever again and held on tight as the winch Sophie had installed pulled the chair through the smashed classroom wall, into the safety of the grounds beyond.

  Just in time too. Seconds later, a burning beam fell to the floor, right where Callum had been.

  The chemistry lab hissed and cracked as the flames engulfed the remaining walls and ceiling.

  Outside, the winch on the Thunderkit stopped as the chair came to rest against the tree. Callum slumped forwards and coughed smoke from his lungs. He fumbled in his pocket for his mobile phone and punched the number for emergency services.

  An efficient-sounding woman answered the call. Callum asked for a fire truck to be sent to the school, gave his name and address and then hung up.

  Shortly afterwards, he heard the wail of a siren. Moments later a fire-engine roared into the schoolyard and juddered to a stop in front of the burning classroom. Callum was impressed by how quickly the fire brigade had responded to his call.

  He watched as a host of yellow-suited men leaped from the vehicle and efficiently set up hoses. Two of the firemen noticed him and ran over. They unhooked the grappling hook from the tree and half-wheeled, half-carried him to the rear of the fire truck.

  Once there, Callum was left in the custody of an older fireman. He carried a large first-aid kit.

  “Have you suffered any burns?” he asked.

  Callum shook his head.

  “Inhale any smoke?”

  “A little,” rasped Callum.

  The fireman opened the first-aid kit, took out a small portable oxygen tank and placed it over Callum’s face. “Couple of puffs should help.”

  Callum sucked in the cool air and felt instant relief in his throat and lungs. He breathed deeply for several minutes and then removed the mask.

  “I’m okay,” he said as he handed back the oxygen tank.

  The fireman gave him a bottle of water. Callum drank deeply then poured the rest of the water over his head, rinsing his face and washing his hands. When he had finished, the fireman handed him a clean, well-worn towel.

  The fireman’s workmates were pouring hundreds of litres of water into the burning building, the flames flickering like a broken film reel. A large crowd of onlookers had gathered but they stood well back.

  The older man surveyed the scene with an experienced eye then returned his attention to Callum. “The paramedics should be here shortly. They’ll check you out and decide if you need to go to hospital.”

  “I feel fine,” said Callum. “Honestly. I don’t want to go to the hospital. I just want to go home.”

  “It’s not up to you, kid,” the fireman muttered, the flames distracting him. “Did you see who started this?”

  Callum considered his answer carefully. “I’m not sure. I saw a hooded figure at the door of the classroom just before it burst into flames, but I didn’t actually see him light anything.”

  The fireman gave a short bitter laugh. “My money’s on the hooded guy,” he said.

  The paramedics arrived soon after and gave Callum a thorough examination. To his immense relief he was cleared to go home and told that if he felt ill, he should contact a doctor immediately.

  The fireman patted Callum’s shoulder. “You were lucky tonight. It could have been a lot worse.”

  Callum said nothing. He didn’t feel remotely lucky.

  Five

  Callum called his grandmother from the school. He played down the evening’s events but couldn’t avoid telling her about the fire. He left out the fact that the blaze had been deliberately lit and that he was the target. From the tone of her voice, he could tell that even the few details he’d revealed had upset her. He reassured his gran that he wasn’t hurt and headed home.

  Callum felt exhausted. It’d been a terrible day. He suspected Cain was the hooded figure outside the classroom but he couldn’t be sure. If it had been the boy, then his crimes had increased from bullying to arson, at the very least.

  It was completely dark by the time Callum pushed through the front door of his home. The house was quiet.

  “Gran?” he called, as he rolled into the kitchen. “Are you there?”

  No response. This was unusual. Rose never went out at night, especially without telling him. Callum moved further into the house. He reached the lounge and pulled up in shock.

  His grandmother lay sprawled on the carpet, completely still.

  Callum cried out and hurried to her. He hauled himself out of the chair, grabbed her wrist and felt for a pulse. Relief flooded through him as he felt a weak thud under his fingertips.

  Callum reached for his phone, ignored the flashing message icon and called for an ambulance. As he gave the operator the address, he heard his grandmother groan. Her eye’s flicked open but they were unfocussed.

  “Callum, is that you?” she murmured.

  Callum gently stroked her hair. “Yes, Gran, it’s me. I’m here. You’ll be all right now.”

  The old woman reached for his hand an
d squeezed it. There was no strength in her grip. Her voice cracked. “What happened?”

  “I think you had a fall, Gran. Don’t worry, there’s an ambulance on its way.”

  Rose gave a small start. “Oh, Callum, there’s no need for that. I must have just fainted.” She tried to rise. Callum put a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

  “Just lie still,” he said softly. “Let me look after you for a change.”

  His grandmother lay back down without arguing.

  The ambulance arrived quickly and they were at the hospital within half an hour. Rose was transferred to the critical care section and Callum was placed in a waiting room. The doctors told him they were doing all they could for his grandmother and that she was in no immediate danger.

  “We’ll know more about her condition after we’ve run some tests,” he was told. Callum took that to mean they had no idea what was wrong.

  An hour and a half later he was taken to a room where his grandmother lay, attached to a variety of machines. She was awake but disorientated. She smiled weakly when he entered the room.

  Callum moved to her bedside and held her hand.

  “Look at all this fuss,” whispered Rose. “Honestly, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “I know,” Callum said reassuringly. “The doctors just want to check out a few things to make sure. We don’t want it to happen again, do we?”

  “I suppose not.” Concern crossed her face. “Will I be able to come home soon?”

  Callum shook his head. “Sorry, Gran. They want to keep you in for a few days.”

  He saw his grandmother tense up and carried on quickly. “Don’t worry. I’m going to stay at Sophie’s. Her parents will be here soon.”

  Rose relaxed. “They’re good people,” she murmured. Her eyes fluttered then snapped open again. “What about the fire? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Absolutely. I was nowhere near it,” he lied.

  Callum released his grandmother’s hand and gave her a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Get some sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Rose gave a small nod and drifted off before Callum had left the room.

  Sophie and her parents arrived soon after. He met them in the hospital reception area. Sophie ran to him and flung her arms around his chest. “I’m sorry your gran’s sick, Callum,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said with more confidence than he felt. He returned Sophie’s hug then broke the embrace when they both began to feel awkward.

  Sophie’s parents stood behind her. Her dad was a tall, thin man; the opposite of his shorter, rounder wife. Both carried slightly hounded expressions that Callum knew came from being Sophie’s parents.

  “I’ll have a quick word with the doctors,” said her dad. “See what I can find out.”

  He and his wife walked away, leaving Sophie and Callum alone. Callum guided his friend to a quiet spot further down the hospital corridor.

  “Did you hear about the fire?” he whispered.

  Sophie nodded. “It totally destroyed the science lab. It’s all over Facebook. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  Callum checked to see if anyone was listening. “I was there,” he said, keeping his voice low. “It wasn’t an accident.”

  “What?” exclaimed Sophie.

  Callum shushed her. “Keep quiet.” He saw Sophie’s parents returning along the hallway. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “You’d better.”

  Callum pulled Sophie back to the reception area. They waited to see if her parents had discovered anything further about Rose’s condition. They hadn’t. The doctors had said they’d know more in the morning and had recommended they all go home.

  Shortly after they returned to the Barnsworth’s house, Sophie snuck into the room her parents had prepared for Callum. She looked shocked as he told her everything that had happened during the day.

  Cain and Lucy sat in the dark lounge of a small rented house near Thanxton’s town centre. The room was sparsely furnished and the lounge suite was stained and worn. Empty takeaway boxes and cartons sat on top of a battered coffee table. The air was stale.

  They had switched off the light because they didn’t want to wake their chaperone. The man who was escorting them on their mission was huge, dim and short-tempered. He was nearly two metres tall with a heavily muscled body and a bald head. They knew him only as Mr Y, and he seemed to hate kids.

  Lucy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She’d removed her uniform and reverted to her familiar skull covered T-shirt. She closed and rubbed her eyes. When they opened again, a light violet haze was noticeable around her dark brown irises. She spoke quietly to her companion.

  “He got out alive then?”

  Cain sat on a fat dusty couch. He swung his feet over the arm and lay down. “Yeah, but the plan wasn’t to kill him. The boss wants him to suffer for a while first. If he hadn’t escaped, I would have waited until he lost consciousness and then dragged him outside.” The boy stretched his arms over his head. “He’s got guts; I’ll give him that. And his chair is well mean.”

  “You sound as if you like him.”

  Cain shrugged. “Like him, dislike him. Doesn’t matter. I got a job to do and I’ll do it.” He reached for a half-empty water bottle on the table and took a sip. “Did your part go okay?”

  Lucy put on an official sounding voice. “Emergency services. Police, fire or ambulance?” She swapped back to normal. “The redirection software worked perfectly.”

  “Good. They’ll have to expel him and the cops will probably charge him as well. It’s time to concentrate on the girl and the red-headed kid now.”

  “My pleasure,” said Lucy. The violet glow around her irises intensified. She sighed. “The sooner we get this done and get out of this hick town, the better.”

  Callum was called into the principal’s office the moment he got to school on Friday. He wondered if he was going to be congratulated for raising the alarm and trying to put out the fire.

  As soon as he entered the room, he knew something was wrong.

  Mr Church, the school principal, was normally a cheerful man. He was in his late forties and kept himself reasonably fit. He didn’t have the build of an athlete, but he hadn’t let himself go to seed either. He sported a close-cropped haircut (to hide his receding hairline), had pale blue eyes and a strong jaw. He was known as a fair man with a good sense of humour, but he could also be tough if required.

  Today his expression was grim. He looked tired, as if he’d been working all night.

  He sat behind his desk, a thick folder in front of him. Standing beside him was Mr Drummond. The teacher had his arms folded across his chest and a stern expression on his face.

  The school principal motioned for Callum to come closer and he rolled forwards.

  “I assume you know why you’re here, Callum,” he said, an unusually harsh edge to his voice.

  Callum shifted nervously in his chair. “Um, I guess it’s about the fire in Mr Drummond’s classroom. I did everything I could to put it out.”

  “This isn’t about you putting it out, boy!” thundered Mr Drummond. “This is about you starting it.”

  The blood drained from Callum’s face. He was dumbfounded. Surely they couldn’t think he was responsible for the blaze? “What are you talking about? I was called back to the lab after I’d finished detention and someone else was there. They had already started the fire.”

  “Who was it?” the principal demanded.

  “I … I couldn’t see,” stammered Callum. “His face was covered.”

  The two men exchanged a look, like they didn’t believe him.

  “So, you’re saying you were called back to school?” said Mr Drummond.

  “I got a text from the office saying you wanted to see me in the chemistry lab. I’ll show you.” Callum flipped his phone open and checked the received messages folder. The text wasn’t there.

  “I must ha
ve deleted it by accident,” he mumbled, “but the office should have a record of it.”

  The principal shook his head. “The only person who would text from the school office is my assistant, Mrs Peanik, and she left early yesterday.”

  Mr Drummond slammed a big meaty fist on the principal’s desk. “Admit it, McCullock. You were furious I gave you detention yesterday and you burned down my classroom as revenge.”

  Callum felt sick. His voice shook. “No, I didn’t! I wouldn’t do that. I tried to put the fire out and when I couldn’t, I called the fire department.”

  “Another lie,” spat Drummond.

  The principal placed a hand on the other teacher’s arm in an attempt to calm him down. He flicked through the folder in front of him and stopped at a call log.

  “According to this, the fire was reported by Marcus Jackson, a neighbour of the school. There are no other calls logged.”

  Callum desperately searched his phone again. He checked his recent calls log and almost cried with relief when he found the dialled number for emergency services. He handed his phone to Mr Church.

  “I did call. Look.”

  The principal studied the phone for a few minutes then passed it to Mr Drummond.

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” muttered Drummond as he slammed Callum’s phone back on the principal’s desk.

  The principal dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. He spoke to the other teacher. “Leave us,” he commanded.

  Drummond fixed Callum with a cold glare then stormed out of the room.

  The school principal sighed. “I have to be honest, Callum; things don’t look very good for you. Firstly, you were caught bullying another boy yesterday …”

  “But …”

  Mr Church held up a hand to silence him. “Let me finish. You were given detention and that very night the classroom of the teacher who punished you was burned to the ground. To make matters worse, you were found at the scene of the crime, covered in ash and coughing up smoke. I’m going to have to suspend you while we look into this further. If we find out you did it, well, you may have to leave the school.”