The ghost at the table – Draft 03 – Chapter 15

Stephanie

Sweat mixed with grime on Stephanie’s brow as she hunkered down behind the crates. Bullets sang their deadly tune overhead, each one a reminder of how close death was. Her heart thrummed against her ribs, a frantic drummer keeping time with the chaos. The warehouse, once a place of orderly rows and crated secrets, had become a battlefield.

She squinted through the dim light, her mind racing faster than the projectiles cutting through the stale air. Escape. She needed an escape. The tinny taste of fear filled her mouth, but she spat it out with a breath meant to steady shaking hands. Those same hands that had traced lines of code, unravelling cybercrimes from the safety of a screen—how different this physical dance with danger felt.

Eyes darting, she mapped the terrain of wooden barriers and metal containers, searching for that sliver of hope—a way out. Dust particles danced in the slants of light piercing through bullet holes in the corrugated metal walls, like tiny spectres urging her on. She couldn’t stay put; the crates were cover, not salvation.

“Think,” she muttered under her breath, recalling every spy movie she’d ever seen, wishing now she’d paid more attention to the escape scenes rather than the clever hacking sequences. Andy Delmonte, the journalist friend who often boasted about sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, would have a field day with this—if she lived to tell the tale.

“Survive,” she whispered, the word a talisman against the terror threatening to claw its way up her throat. Survival wasn’t just about her anymore. It was about bringing those faceless criminals to justice, for Adelaide, for the people whose lives they disrupted with their digital plundering.

Her gaze cut across the warehouse once more. To survive, she needed to move—and fast.

—

There it was, the door. A rectangle of potential freedom etched into the far wall, a beacon amidst chaos. Stephanie’s mind raced, cobbling together a plan from desperation and instinct. She had to move fast; hesitation was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

“Go,” she commanded herself.

She counted the seconds, each tick of the clock in her head a thunderous silence between the eruptions of gunfire. The moment stretched, taut like a wire about to snap. Then, a break in the cacophony—a brief respite as magazines were emptied and reloaded.

Now.

Pushing off with a force born of fear and resolve, Stephanie bolted. She weaved between the obstacles, her breaths short and sharp, feet pounding against the concrete floor. This wasn’t like navigating the digital labyrinths she knew so well, where a click could undo any misstep. Here, every zigzag was a gamble against steel and speed.

She imagined Andy’s voice, that hint of a smirk as he’d say, “You can’t debug a bullet, Steph.” Funny how thoughts of a friend could ground you when your world was trying to kill you.

The distance closed with each desperate stride. Her heart kept the tempo, urging her on, a reminder there was still life to fight for. Each breath was fire in her lungs, but she couldn’t stop—not now, not when survival was just a leap away.

“Almost there,” she breathed out. The mantra propelled her forward, even as the air around her sang with the promise of death. It was a race, her will against the will of those who wanted her silent.

Stephanie reached the door, its frame now a portal to the unknown perils of rural Adelaide’s night. But beyond that threshold lay the possibility of safety, of living to see another day, and that was a chance she had to take.

—

The world shrinks to a point. I’m the point, and the bullets are the lines that try to connect. They sizzle by, so close their heat licks my skin. A symphony of whistles and I’m the conductor, if only through desperate flails and lunges.

“Keep moving,” I mutter. It’s a prayer, a command, an anchor in this chaos.

I think of Andy, his words about sticking together, how mateship is everything out here. He’s right. Without that, without those ties, I’d be nothing but a name on a screen. Another victim in the cyber wasteland.

“Steph!” The memory of his voice pulls me forward.

Door’s just there. A few more steps. My legs pump harder. Sweat streaks down my forehead, stings my eyes. Don’t blink. Can’t blink.

Then it happens. The ground shakes, quakes, betrays. An explosion—a cruel and deafening roar—grabs the warehouse and shakes it like a rag doll. Dust and debris fly. I’m pelted with fragments of what used to be.

“Damn it!” The force hits me, almost toppling my escape. But I won’t be denied. Push through. Keep going. For justice. For Andy. For all of us tethered by the invisible threads of the net.

I reach the door..

The door blasts open. A path to freedom. I lunge, body instinctive, rolling clear as the night erupts again behind me. Gunfire searches for flesh; I give it shadows instead.

I’m on the ground. Dust and grit kiss my cheeks. I gasp, air hungry in my lungs. It’s a raw clawing need, matched only by the need to survive. Adrenaline, my faithful ally, screams through my veins. Move!

Pushing up, my hands find concrete, cold and real. Knees buckle, but don’t break. Stumble forward. One foot, then the next. Escape is a rhythm now.

“Keep moving,” I whisper, the mantra of the hunted. Bullets don’t care for your story. They don’t pause for breath. Neither can I.

Andy’s voice, an echo in my mind, spurs me on. He’d say something about guts or glory. Probably both. But there’s no glory in this flight, just the searing will to live. To fight another day. For every secret stolen, every life disrupted by ones and zeroes turned against them.

“Damn cyber ghosts,” I grunt. My stride gains purpose. I won’t let Logan, or any like him, win. Not while I draw breath. Not while I can still stand and rail against the darkness they summon with each keystroke.

Heart hammers, a drumbeat to my exodus. The warehouse fades. Freedom beckons with open arms, just beyond the reach of chaos. I race into her embrace.

Feet slap pavement. Hard. Fast. No looking back. Another warehouse belonging to another crime gang is a monster at my heels, but I’m faster. Gotta be.

The night’s dark fingers claw at me, trying to drag me back into the belly of that beast. I won’t let it. Can’t let it. Safety’s ahead, somewhere in the maze of streets and shadows.

Heart’s a jackhammer in my chest. Thud-thud-thud. It drowns out everything but the need to keep moving. Legs burn, but they obey. They’ve got no choice. This is survival.

“Come on, Steph,” I mutter between gasps. “Move!”

Sirens wail—a distant cry. Could be for me or just the city’s endless lament. Doesn’t matter. They’re not here yet. Not my salvation. Not my end.

Andy’s words haunt me. “Stick together.” Simple. True. But he’s not here now. Just me and the cold bite of the air as I push through it.

“Help’s coming,” I promise myself. A lie? Maybe. But it keeps me going.

I dart past alleys, skip over trash. Rural Adelaide’s not meant for this. Neither am I. But here we are. Running. Surviving.

“Stay alive,” I chant. Each word a step. Each breath a battle.

Friendship’s a lifeline thrown across the void. But tonight, it’s just me. Me and the pounding of my heart telling me I’m still here. Still fighting.

The glow up ahead. Beckons. A beacon in the pitch-black dread that’s been snapping at my heels. I lunge for it, every fibre screaming for respite.

“Help,” I gasp out the word, a prayer to the night.

Concrete slaps beneath my feet. The well-lit area grows, swallows me whole. It’s a convenience store, haloed by buzzing fluorescent lights. My sanctuary in the madness.

“Please,” I rasp as I shove through the door, the bell chiming an alarm above me.

Inside, everything’s too bright, too real. Shelves of food. Fridges humming with cold drinks. Normal life, inches away, but miles out of reach.

“Miss, are you okay?” The cashier’s young, voice cracking with concern.

“Call an ambulance,” I beg, leaning heavy on the counter, “Now. Please.”

He fumbles for the phone, eyes wide with the shock of my sudden intrusion. I’m a spectre of the chaos I’ve fled, a ghost with a beating heart.

“Stay with me,” he says, dialling. His hand shakes. Not alone in his fear.

“Can’t stop,” I tell him, vision blurring. “Must keep moving.”

But my legs betray me, buckle like overused code breaking down under pressure. I grip the counter tighter, willing myself not to crumble.

“Sit down,” the kid instructs, braver now. He’s read the script of everyday emergencies, knows his role. So do I.

“Can’t,” I insist, but I’m on the floor, back against cool tiles. Cold seeps in. Just like Andy said it would. Stick together. But he’s not here.

“Help’s coming,” the cashier assures me, repeating my own mantra back to me. Friend or stranger, doesn’t matter. Tonight, his voice is the thread I cling to, the promise that this isn’t where my story ends.

“Thank you,” I whisper, closing my eyes against the spinning world. In the distance, sirens grow louder. Coming for me. Coming to save me.

Friendship, survival—intertwined. Even when you’re alone, someone’s got your back. Even here. Especially here.

—

The floor vibrates. Blue and red lights paint the windows, a dizzying dance of colour. They’re close. The thought should comfort me. It doesn’t.

My body has its own agenda—shaking, betraying my stoic front. Muscle memory from dodging death, I guess. My hands jitter like they’re still back there in that warehouse, typing desperate codes to evade digital ghosts. But these aren’t keystrokes; it’s fear, raw and relentless.

“Easy, easy,” I mutter to myself, a mantra meant to steady nerves frayed by near misses. Tension coils tighter with each tremble, squeezing breath out in sharp hitches.

Tears break free. Not the kind you wipe away with a quick hand, but ones that carve tracks through the grime on your face. They’re hot, filled with the realisation of mortality glimpsed and barely dodged. Every drop is a moment that could’ve been my last.

“Hey, you’re safe now,” the cashier offers, voice as shaky as I am. He’s a lighthouse in this storm of emotion. Andy would do the same. Would’ve cracked a joke by now. Forced a laugh.

“Safe,” I echo, tasting the word, testing its truth. It’s hollow, ringing with the knowledge of how fragile it all is.

“Help’s here,” he says, motioning to the paramedics bursting through the door. “You did good.”

Did I? The question hangs, unanswered. I’m pulled up, supported by hands trained for crises. A blanket wraps around me—a shield against the chill of reality setting in.

“Stay with us,” a paramedic instructs, her voice firm yet kind.

“Trying,” I reply. And I am. Trying to stay present, trying to keep the darkness at bay, trying to remember why I fight.

“Friend waiting for you?” she asks while checking my vitals, searching for an anchor to offer.

“Always,” I say. Because it’s true. Even when the bullets fly, even when the night closes in, someone’s holding the line. Andy. Others. Friendship isn’t just company; it’s survival. It’s Adelaide’s unspoken rule.

“Let’s get you to safety,” she says, helping me onto the stretcher.

“Thank you,” I whisper, grasping for normalcy amid the chaos. The wheels roll, taking me away from the edge I’d danced upon tonight. And as we move, I cling to the thought of friends, of allies unseen, of the network that holds us together when everything else tries to tear us apart.

—

The ambulance doors slammed shut, a cocoon of sterile white. My hands stilled, the tremor gone as if chased away by the sudden motion. The siren wailed—a cry that cut through the silence of my shock.

“Stephanie McBride?” A medic’s eyes met mine, a clipboard clutched in her hands.

“Here,” I said. Quick. To the point.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked, her pen poised.

“An attack. At the warehouse.” Facts. Leave out the fear.

“Anyone else involved?”

“Targets move in shadows.” The truth, but not all of it. Andy knew more. He’d piece it together for The Advertiser.

“Alright, we’re going to take care of you.”

“Need to keep moving.” My voice was flat, resolve etched into each word. Not just physical motion. The case. The search for justice.

“You’re safe now. Let’s focus on you.”

“Safe doesn’t crack cases.” My gaze fixed on the ceiling. White and endless. “Or stop criminals.”

“Understood. You’ve been through a lot.” Sympathy in her tone. Unnecessary.

“More to go through.” Determination was my lifeline, pulling me back from the edge where death had beckoned.

“Will you be able to continue your work after this?” Genuine curiosity flickered in her eyes.

“Have to.” No choice. Not really. Adelaide’s cybercrime scene didn’t pause for personal recovery.

“Your friends will be there for you,” she reminded me. As if I could forget.

“Always are.” Andy’s face flashed in my mind. An ally in print, a friend in the dark.

“Try to rest.”

“Rest later.” There were leads to follow. Patterns in data that whispered secrets. Logan’s digital trail. It wouldn’t end here. Couldn’t.

“Let’s get you patched up first,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

“Fine.” Concessions were necessary. Body and mind needed to be sharp.

“Good. We’re almost at the hospital.”

“Thanks.” Brief. But meant.

“Anytime.” She smiled, the corner of her lip twitching upwards.

Adelaide’s skyline drew closer, lights blurring past. Each one a beacon. Friendship. Justice. Survival. They were entwined, inseparable.

“Going to catch them?” Her question, simple.

“Going to try.” Because that’s what you do when the world turns violent. You stand up. You fight back.

“Good luck.” She handed me off to the hospital staff, their faces set in professional masks.

“Thanks.” I’d need it.

“Stephanie?” A nurse paused.

“Here.” Ready. Always ready.

“Time to heal. Then hunt.”

“Exactly.” In the game of cybercrime, I was a player—one who never folded, no matter how high the stakes rose.

“Let’s get started, then,” she said, guiding me down the hall.

“Let’s.”