Blackwood Campus Novels & Stories

Three rebuilt halls, two under construction, four sites still ruins. This year I reached and waited. The Blackwood hall answered first. Always. The center, the origin point before Acheampong's site was formally confirmed as older. Still the center in function. Darko's valley answered. Stronger than last year. The community there was larger now. More carriers trained. The frequency more developed. Zara's eastern hall answered. Different from the others. That future reading quality. The sense of where things were going rather than where they had been.

We usually aren't out of sync like this. I make my way to the library which seems to be quite busy with many students this morning. I rush to the room where study hall is conducted, and she pointed me to a seat beside Blackwood. I try to explain why I should sit somewhere else but in the end, she reminded me that we are on neutral ground and need to learn to get along. I honestly don’t expect to have much of a conversation with Blackwood. He seems to be the typical alpha male … cocky as anything and without a care to what other people think. I wouldn't want to boost his ego any more than it already is, but damn, he is sexy.

Not about the hotness or coolness, it had this impulsive impression, insanity and panic mixed. “Help!!” The cries became louder. I motioned towards the sound, my back held down by the numerous textbooks in my bag. The sight of numerous adults tumbling out of their houses in order to get to the house merely two houses away. Between them was Father Timothy with his white staff. He carried it everywhere he went, regardless of the situation. “Get back, everyone. Get back.” Screams began, everyone scrambling like they were being chased by a lunatic. Well, they were being chased, but not by a lunatic, by something more mysterious.

“Students, can we have your attention, please?” One of our tutors stands at the front of the room. I glance up absently. “Our school’s owner wasn’t able to attend today,” she says, “but she’s sent someone very special to represent her. He’ll be helping us prepare for Saturday’s event. Please welcome Dr. Pier Blackwood, Director of Blackwood College and Teaching Hospital.” My heart stops. The world tilts. No. No. This isn’t real. My head snaps up. And there he is.

Taking long, steady strides along the pavement, I merged into the stream of students pouring toward the gates of Blackwood High. The campus emerged beneath a thin layer of fog. The red-brick buildings featured an ancient Gothic architecture—solemn, majestic, yet suffocatingly oppressive. The noisy chatter and laughter of students after the long break struck my eardrums, but everything now felt strangely crystal clear. I could even hear the rustle of oak leaves at the far corner of the courtyard and smell the musty scent of old pages lingering on the coats of those passing by.

At one time there was a large sign on Main Road to mark the park's previous purpose—the Blackwood Experimental Orchard, but that has long gone ever since what happened four years ago. The entry to the park is only a little way further, and if you haven't slowed enough, you'll raise a large cloud of fine dust as you park. Directly in front of it, is an old stone building, the former Blackwood Experimental Orchard manager's office built in 1909, with exotic trees including an oak and a loquat still growing nearby. The Blackwood is popular in Adelaide for walking and hiking, jogging, and horse riding, and it's possible to go mountain biking around, although there are no paved paths.

"You drive. I ride. You are capable of this." Avery tightened her grip on the key. "I am." Dominic nodded, his hand resting at her lower back. "Let us go." Blackwood Academy stood in the northern district, white stone buildings wrapped in dark green vines. Children ran and played on the sports field. The Kessler helicopter had landed at the edge of the lawn, its rotors slowing. Dorothea was lifted down by a black-suited bodyguard. The moment her feet touched the grass, she ran to Avery.

’ This year Blackwood’s student body is only 320. As I get out of the car to unload, my eyes scan the school terrain. As we walk along the pathway towards the reception area, my eyes glide over the designation board. There are the directions in which the offices and school buildings are situated, right up ahead. The swimming pool, the shooting range, and the tennis court. Rugby, cricket, soccer and hockey fields are located to your left. Somehow, I always scuffle when I see that: hostels and horse stables on the right.

The man who wrote the code. I drove the Rover through the dense pine forest, the tires crunching over frozen mud. The trees parted, revealing a structure that looked less like a home and more like a scar on the landscape. Blackwood Keep was a brutalist lump of concrete and glass, perched on the edge of a cliff. It was angular, sharp, and utterly devoid of warmth. No lights burned in the windows. It looks abandoned, I thought. It’s not, Julian said. The sensors are active. Infra-red. Thermal. He knows we’re here.

**************** The cacophony of the Blackwood College hallway bled through the heavy oak door—a chaotic symphony of slamming lockers, shrill laughter, and the distinctive squeak of sneakers on linoleum. Inside the office, the air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of old paper. Adrian Vale sat rigid behind his mahogany desk, his knuckles white where he gripped the edges of the blotter. Across from him stood a female student, her posture eager, her voice a droning hum about extra credit and thesis statements that Adrian struggled to process.