Story code: ST-001291
Part 2: Location Services
Frank pulled the hammer drill back, coughing as a plume of concrete dust hit his throat. He released the trigger, the sudden silence rushing back into the empty corridor, ringing in his ears. He clicked the release and shoved a fresh battery pack into the base of the tool. Room 104 was secure. That made six. He still had twelve more classrooms on the first floor alone, plus the gymnasium double doors and the loading dock at the rear of the cafeteria.
His shoulders burned, a deep ache radiating into his lower back. He retrieved two loose ibuprofen from his pocket and swallowed them dry. The chalky taste of masonry dust clung to his tongue. He loaded his spare batteries, the heavy box of lag screws, the steel plates, and his impact driver back into the scratched plastic utility bucket. The wire handle dug into his calloused palm as he hoisted it, walking down the dark corridor.
Emergency lights cast sickly yellow shadows against the cinderblock walls. A faded banner reading *Go Wildcats, Class of 2018* drooped from the ceiling tiles, coated in gray dust. The school had been shuttered for six years, left to rot while the district debated demolition costs. To anyone driving past the overgrown chain-link perimeter on Route 9, it was just another dead building. To Frank, it was a fortress waiting to be sealed.
He stopped at the intersection of the west wing and the main concourse. The double doors here were fire-rated steel, but their tall, narrow glass panels entirely compromised their integrity. Frank dropped his bucket, the plastic cracking loudly against the floor. He didn’t just need mounting brackets here; he needed to armor the glass.
He walked over to a stack of diamond-plate aluminum sheets he had hauled in through the loading dock before sunrise. Bending to protect his spine, he gripped the top sheet and dragged it across the linoleum. The metal screamed, a high-pitched screech bouncing off the lockers, making his teeth ache. He hoisted the heavy sheet against the first door, pressing his left knee hard against the center to hold it flush against the frame while he reached blindly for his impact driver.
Just as he aligned the first self-tapping metal screw, his phone vibrated violently against his hip bone. He ignored it, pressing his weight forward. The screw bit into the door, peeling away a tiny spiral of metal before sinking flush.
The phone buzzed again. Three rapid successions-an emergency override ping.
Frank cursed, keeping his knee pinned against the sheet, and awkwardly dug the phone out with his dusty glove.
The lock screen was filled with notifications from Maya.
*Dad, pick up.*
*Why does your location say you are at the old high school?*
*Are you ignoring me?*
*I am looking at the Life360 map right now. You are not at the house.*
Frank’s thumb hovered over the cracked screen. He had forgotten Maya insisted on installing that family tracking app two years ago when his truck broke down. He swore under his breath, leaving a dusty, smeared fingerprint across the glass.
He typed a quick lie while balancing the heavy sheet with his leg. *GPS glitch. I am in the basement.*
He hit send, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He grabbed another screw, trying to move faster, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. If Maya got it into her head that he was having some sort of medical crisis or cognitive break, she wouldn’t hesitate to call the local police for a welfare check. A cruiser could be in the parking lot in less than ten minutes.
He couldn’t afford ten minutes. The storm was coming, and he still had the entire east wing to secure.
He drove the second screw into the top corner, the metal shrieking as it locked. He reached for a third, but before he could align the tip, a loud, obnoxious marimba ringtone shattered the silence. It wasn’t a standard call. It was a FaceTime request.
Frank yanked the phone out again. Maya’s contact photo flashed brightly in the dim hallway. He needed to decline it, text her his hands were full, anything to buy time. But his heavy leather work gloves were thick and stiff. When he swiped his thumb across the red rejection button, the touchscreen failed to register the pressure through the leather. Instead, the phone slipped from his clumsy grip.
Frank lunged for it, instinctively knocking his knee away from the diamond-plate aluminum. The heavy sheet shifted, tipping backward with a loud clang. Frank stumbled, his steel-toed boot kicking the plastic utility bucket and sending heavy steel brackets scattering across the floor.
The phone hit the linoleum, bouncing once before sliding against the baseboard, wedging itself perfectly upright against the wall. The screen flipped orientation.
The green camera light illuminated. He had accidentally accepted the video call.
“Dad?” Maya’s voice echoed through the vast hallway, loud and tinny, bouncing off the ceiling tiles.
Frank froze, breathing heavily, still gripping the humming impact driver in his right hand.
He looked down at the phone. From the floor’s vantage point, the front-facing camera was broadcasting a wide, unobstructed, high-definition view of the scene. It showed Frank, covered head-to-toe in chalky white masonry dust, strapped with a heavy canvas tool belt, standing over a scattered pile of industrial steel plates. Behind him, clearly visible in the harsh emergency lighting, were the endless rows of blue metal lockers and the massive steel drop-bars he had already bolted across the hallway fire doors.
“Dad,” Maya said, her voice dropping an octave, stripping away the usual frustration and replacing it with pure, unadulterated horror. “Where are you? What are you doing to those doors?”