Page 101 of Not Quite Dead Yet

The keypad beeped again, angrier now.

Code attempt 2 of 3.

‘Fuck,’ Jet hissed. ‘Not Luke’s.’

‘Jet.’

22 seconds. 21. 20.

One last attempt, one final chance.

Jet pressed the buttons:120597.Her birthday, exactly one month away. She hadn’t noticed that, hadn’t registered the date. Would never make it to twenty-eight.

11 seconds.

10.

9.

‘Jet.’

She pressed enter.

A high-pitched tone erupted, clashing with the chirps, and then …

Silence.

Just the ringing in Jet’s ears, a ghostly echo trapped inside her skull.

Code entered. System disarmed.

‘Oh thank god,’ Billy said, dropping his head, chin to his chest.

‘Well, would you look at that.’ She turned to him. ‘Mybirthday. Guess Dad really is all about being fair. One dead daughter for the gate, another dead daughter for the alarm.’

Billy bent forward, blew out two chipmunk cheeks of air.

‘You’ll live, Billy,’ Jet said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. ‘Come on, the office part is upstairs.’

‘Lights?’ Billy asked, pointing to the switch.

Jet steadied her flashlight instead. ‘Let’s keep them off – someone might spot them from the road.’

‘Right.’ Billy pulled out his phone, swiped the screen to bring up the flashlight.

They walked through the warehouse, several towers of pallets wrapped in clear plastic, piles of shimmering blue bathroom tiles stacked inside. Beyond them, rows of huge wooden timber beams, long enough to mock the trees they came from. Twenty years ago, Jet would have tried to balance-beam on those, but Luke and Emily could always stay on longer. Not the kind of siblings who ever let her win.

‘This way.’

Through the show kitchen at the back of the warehouse that Jet always found creepy: a kitchen where no kitchen should be, stools at the breakfast bar where only ghosts ever sat.

Through the door, down the corridor to the base of the metal stairs.

Their steps hollow and too loud as they walked up, two beams carving through the darkness. Well, actually, four beams and double darkness, but don’t tell Billy that.

Jet shouldered the door at the top, metal becoming carpet underfoot.

She swung the flashlight across the open-plan office space, the beam reflecting off the windows and sleeping computer screens, winking back at them.

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