The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 13

Logan

The phone buzzed, a low grumble on the hardwood table. I eyed it, knowing who it would be before the screen lit up with Dragon’s codename. His calls never meant good news.

“Logan,” his voice was a hiss, quick and urgent, “they’re onto you. The cops. Your digital trails.”

“Damn.” My fingers drummed against the tabletop. Lay low? The idea grated at me, like fingernails on a chalkboard.

“Disappear, mate. Before they lock you up and throw away the key.”

“Thanks, Dragon.” I hung up, the line dead as my resolve solidified.

Lily’s face flashed in my mind, her smile that used to light up the darkest of rooms, now just a memory tainted by the negligence of those supposed to care for her. The farm. That damned place that took her from me.

I paced, short, heavy steps. Each thud on the floorboards a war drum calling me to battle. The police were one thing, an obstacle in a game of cat and mouse. But the farm, that was personal. Rage boiled inside me, bubbling under the surface like a tempest brewing over the quiet Meningie countryside.

They had to pay. No more hiding behind screens and codes.

“Justice for Lily,” I muttered, my hands balling into fists, feeling the weight of my past losses surge within me, pushing me toward something darker, more drastic.

“Dragon can keep his low profile,” I said to the empty room, a half-smile pulling at my lips. “It’s time to make them feel the hurt they handed out.”

With each step toward the door, my determination grew. There was no turning back now. Lily deserved this. She deserved justice. And I was going to give it to her, no matter the cost.

Fingers flew over the keyboard. Letters danced into words, into sentences, into the farm’s digital skeleton. I was in, slicing through their online defences like a hot knife through, well… butter. The RAAF taught me well, every keystroke a silent bullet in the night.

Screens glowed in the dim light of my makeshift command centre. Each one a window to the farm’s lifeline. I needed an Achilles’ heel, something to cripple them, make them feel what I felt.

“Come on,” I muttered, scanning schematics, shipment logs, employee records.

Hours passed. My eyes stung. The digital haze blurred but I pushed on. Lily’s face was my beacon. Her memory, the fuel.

Then it appeared. A machinery model number. Heart of the operation. The farm’s pulse beat through this steel giant. Without it, they’d bleed money and time. Just like Lily bled out, alone and scared.

“Gotcha.”

I leaned back, a cold smile creeping across my face. This was it. One machine, their linchpin, and I was going to pull it right out from under them.

“Say goodbye,” I whispered to the pixels that held the machine’s blueprint. “You’re not going to see tomorrow.”

The plan took shape, clear and sharp like the glass shards of the shattered life I used to have. They’d wake up to chaos, just like I did. Only fair.

“Justice for Lily,” I said, my voice now a low growl. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”

I shut down the screens, leaving the room bathed in moonlight. It was time to move, to act. To finally make them pay.

The plan was a shadow in my mind. Solidify it. Waiting for the farm to sleep, that’s when I’d strike. Midnight cloaks better than dusk.

“Timing,” I grumbled to myself, eyes dragging over the blueprint I had committed to memory. The machine would be quiet then, less chance of some night-shift worker poking around.

Tools. Needed the right ones. Precision was key. No room for brute force here. I rummaged through my kit. Screwdrivers—check. Wire cutters—check. My fingers danced over each instrument. They were extensions of my will, conduits of my vengeance.

“Quiet and quick,” I muttered, sliding a compact torch into my pocket. “In and out.”

Lily’s name was a silent mantra on my breath as I packed. Each tool was a promise. A vow that every second of their downtime would scream her name in their ears.

“Focus,” I snapped at my reflection in the darkened window. Acne scars deep in the glassy surface seemed to mock my resolve. But they didn’t know. Couldn’t know the fire that raged beneath the pockmarked facade.

“Remember your training,” the military discipline clawed its way back. Typing commands was one thing—covert ops were another level. But the basics were there. Stealth. Precision. Execution.

“Check again.” Inventory ran twice. Triple-checked. My gear was an organized array of potential chaos. An army in a duffel bag.

“Move,” I commanded myself. The hour was closing in. The machinery waited, unknowing. Soon it would groan to a halt, a metal beast slain by a ghost in the night.

“Justice for Lily,” I whispered, zipping the bag tight. “Tonight, we serve it cold.”

—

The night hugged the landscape, a blanket of obscurity. I used it, became one with it. The farm was ahead, a dark silhouette against an even darker sky. My boots pressed into the soft earth, muffled steps on a path only I knew.

I breached the perimeter. No lights. Good. Local knowledge paid off. The back fence always sagged just enough. I slipped through, a ghost moving through the shadows.

Rows of crops whispered secrets as I passed. Security cameras loomed in the distance—dead eyes that wouldn’t see. I had cut their power remotely hours before. Preparation was everything.

“Keep it tight,” I murmured to myself. Each breath steady. Every movement calculated.

I reached the first building. Metal walls, cold and unforgiving. They hid their treasures inside, machinery vital to their operations. But not for long. I scanned the area. No movement. No sound but my own blood thrumming anticipation in my ears.

“Time to dance,” I said under my breath. I found the side door, just where it should be. Knew it would be unlocked. Lazy security habits were a hacker’s best friend.

I eased the door open. A sliver of space to slip through. No creaks, no giveaways. Inside now. Air thick with the scent of oil and dirt. My world. My rules.

“Easy does it.” Step by step, I navigated the maze of equipment. Familiar shapes loomed in the dimness. I knew each one, had seen them through the lens of my drone days ago. Reconnaissance—a lesson drilled into me early on.

“Almost there.” Patience was key. I couldn’t rush this. Not when so much was at stake. Not when every heartbeat screamed for justice.

“Focus.” It was time. I reached the heart of the farm—their precious machine. The one they couldn’t do without. My hands were ready, my tools poised for destruction.

“Sorry, mates,” I whispered, not sorry at all. “You reap what you sow.”

And then, I set to work.

—

Gloved fingers danced over the control panel, tracing circuits and wires with a practiced touch. My breath was even, measured, despite the adrenaline coursing through me—a silent symphony for an audience of none. The machine loomed, its bulk a shadowed giant in the low light. I found the access hatch, pried it open with a soft metallic groan.

“Steady,” I reminded myself. Focus was my ally. Precision, my weapon.

I reached into my jacket, retrieved the custom device I’d cobbled together from parts that knew more illicit touches than lawful ones. Clicked it onto the main board. Red light blinked to life. Countdown started.

“Come on, come on.” I urged the seconds to tick faster. Couldn’t be here when it hit zero.

Memories clawed at the edges of my concentration—the farm; careless, uncaring. Lily’s laugh, bright as summer sun, now just echoes in a silent room. The rage bubbled, threatened to spill over.

“Focus,” I hissed. This wasn’t about anger. It was justice. Cold, hard justice.

The device beeped a final warning. Time to move. I resealed the hatch, wiped down surfaces—no prints, no evidence. Logan Robinson wasn’t here. Never was.

“Let’s see them explain this,” I muttered, already turning towards the exit. A grim satisfaction settled in my chest, but it was a heavy thing, like a stone in deep water.

“Justice,” I whispered to the darkness. “For you, Lily.”

Then I was gone, a ghost among the steel and wire, leaving destruction in my wake.

—

Boots hit the ground, soft as shadow. Night swallowed my form, a cloak of obsidian against the sprawling farmland. I moved with purpose, a spectre slipping through rows of crops that whispered secrets to the moon. The chill air nipped at my skin, but the heat in my blood was a furnace—Lily’s memory stoking the flames.

Escape was the game now. Every step measured, calculated. Precision wasn’t just for sabotage; it was for survival. Gravel crunched, a sound too loud in the silence. I paused, heart hammering Morse code against my ribs. Waited. No lights flickered on. No shouts broke the stillness.

I pressed on, lungs pulling in the night like a lifeline. Distance grew between me and the machinery, now a ticking time bomb in the belly of the beast. I imagined the chaos come dawn, the confusion, the loss they’d feel. Not unlike what they left me with—a gaping hole where laughter once lived.

Satisfaction? Yes, it crept into my stride, a smug cadence that matched my heartbeat. But trepidation, it was there too, a bitter aftertaste. Actions have consequences. Always do. And mine would ripple out like a stone tossed into a still pond, disrupting the surface, reaching shores unseen.

“Get clear,” I murmured. Fences loomed, wire barriers that meant nothing to me. Over them, through them—I was ether, passing through obstacles as if they were mere suggestions. The farm’s outline receded, a dark mass against the darker sky.

“Made it,” I breathed, the words a puff of white in the cool air. Satisfaction swelled; it was done. But the weight of what came next, it perched on my shoulders. A heavy bird, silent, watching, waiting.

“Justice comes at a cost,” I whispered to the stars. They blinked back, indifferent witnesses to the deeds of men.

I vanished into the night, a man fuelled by memories of laughter and loss, driven by a hunger for justice no courtroom could sate. Lily’s name hung in the air, a promise made, a debt paid. Now I faced forward, toward the uncertain horizon, ready for whatever storm my actions might summon.

The road stretched before me, endless and unforgiving. Gravel crunched underfoot, the sound a steady beat to my racing thoughts. I replayed the night’s work in my head—precision cuts, the silent dance of destruction. The machinery, once the farm’s lifeline, now a mangled heap of steel. My hands had done that.

Risks were taken. Lines crossed. The game had changed; there was no undoing it. With every step, I distanced myself from the man I once was. The military man, the IT consultant, the friend. All gone. Now, what? A vigilante? A criminal?

The air was crisp, biting at my cheeks. It felt right, this chill. Punishing. There was no warmth in the path I’d chosen. I understood the dangers, the price on my head bound to rise. But standing still meant suffocating under the weight of grief.

“Dragon warned you,” I muttered, the name a curse and a lifeline all at once. The cops would be hungry for a win. My trail, though cold, would blaze like a signal fire now. They’d come for me with everything they had. I welcomed it. Let them come.

My jaw set in determination. Lily’s voice echoed through the emptiness—”Make them pay.” And I had. Maybe not enough, never enough, but it was a start. A promise kept.

I stopped and turned, taking one last look at the silhouette of the farm on the horizon. Their day of reckoning had dawned, courtesy of my hands. The fallout would be theirs to bear, just as the scars were mine to carry. We were even. Almost.

“Time to prepare,” I said to the open road. The police would cast their net, but I wasn’t some catch to be reeled in easily. I’d become the storm they feared, the howling wind that refused to be tamed.

Friends, they were few, but those who remained were true. They’d stand by me, or they wouldn’t. Friendship, survival—they went hand-in-hand out here in the bush. You learned that fast or you didn’t last.

“Survive first. Worry later.” The words etched themselves into my resolve. No more looking back. The night was mine—a cloak, a shield, a companion. I moved forward, a shadow among shadows, bracing for the tempest to come.

The road stretched, black and endless. I pressed into the darkness, a spectre of retribution. Boots thudding on dirt—a drummer’s beat to my heart’s racing pulse. Breath fogged in the chill, mingling with the country night’s frosty whispers. The farm’s machinations halted by my hand—a chaotic symphony silenced.

“Move fast, stay low,” I muttered. My own voice foreign in the void. A mantra to keep the blood flowing, the mind sharp. I clutched the tools of my trade close; they jangled softly, complicit in tonight’s dark work.

Stars blinked above, indifferent witnesses to earthbound vendettas. No solace there. Only the path ahead mattered. Justice’s journey, long and treacherous. Lily deserved no less. Her memory, a guiding beacon—a lighthouse in the tumultuous sea of vengeance.

Muscles tensed. Every shadow could be an enemy. Every rustle, a threat. But fear was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Paranoia wouldn’t save me. Wits would. They had to.

“Keep moving,” I whispered to the wind. It carried my words away, swallowed them whole. Good. No evidence. No trace. Just a ghost, fleeting and invisible.

The fringes of Meningie lay behind, a slumbering giant unaware of the storm brewing at its edges. I revelled in the solitude—the isolation that made me invisible yet invincible. Survival and friendship entwined like the eucalyptus roots pushing through parched soil. We thrived together or perished alone.

“Stay alive,” I promised the night. It didn’t answer back. Maybe it didn’t need to. Silence was my ally, confidant, friend. It understood the stakes. Understood the need for recompense.

Headlights threatened in the distance. I ducked behind scrub, heart hammering. Waited. Watched. They passed, oblivious. Escape was near.

“Almost there,” I breathed. The endgame approached. The police would hunt, dogs chasing a scent. But Logan Robinson was no man’s prey. I’d slip through nets, dodge traps.

I disappeared into the night, a wraith fuelled by justice’s fire. The consequences loomed, dark clouds on my horizon. But I’d weather any storm. For Lily. For every silent scream that echoed in the vast Australian bush.

“Keep going,” I urged myself. And so I did—into the black, ready for whatever dawn would bring.