Traz Isle

By Beth Bowland

San Francisco has suffered an extreme hit to their economy, forcing them to make drastic budget cuts, which results in the closure of all juvenile detention centers in the city.

A billionaire comes to the rescue by using his own funds to revamp Alcatraz into a reformatory for boys, solving the city's youth crime problem while secretly using it for his own personal endeavors.

However, the day the announcement is made, thirteen-year-old Darby Mullins' problems begin, all because of a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a cell phone.

Having been kidnapped, he must find a way to not only save himself and his friends but figure out a way to stop a power-hungry billionaire’s plan for world domination, all before his first day of 8th grade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Bowland
• Release date: Jul 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463560105

Beth Bowland

Beth Bowland, a native Ohioan, has always enjoyed reading and creating stories of her own. As a child she devoured every book she could get her hands on and spent numerous hours at the library each week. She loves writing stories for tweens and young teens and is now the author of several novels. Her characters are often described as quirky and fun, but always relatable. When she's not writing, she loves watching HGTV. She resides in Texas with her husband, Phillip.

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Traz Isle

Beth Bowland

Contents

Dedication

Two Years Prior

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

A New Beginning

Acknowledgements

Other Books

Traz Isle by Beth Bowland

Copyright © Beth Bowland, 2019

All Rights Reserved.

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events is coincidental.

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this book can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

Published in the United States of America

Book Design: KMD Web Designs

Dedication

For my beautiful granddaughter, Ryan Elizabeth! GiGi loves you!

Two Years Prior

It could only be described as divine intervention—divine in that a prophet had stumbled upon the location purely by accident. Upon his return from a spiritual retreat in the mountains, he lost his way attempting to avoid a rockslide. As the prophet got his bearing, he confirmed his surroundings were unfamiliar. The land appeared uninhabited, seemingly never touched by humans. He suddenly felt as if he were trespassing. Though he saw nothing, he knew danger was present. As he turned to run, a flash of light blinded him and prevented him from moving. The prophet froze. From the sky, he saw what appeared to be a hand descending from Heaven. The hand continued to descend until it touched the ground directly in front of the prophet. Somehow, he knew it was the hand of God. The trees and grass bowed outward and flattened as if a great object sat in the region. Fragrant smoke filled the air, and immediately, the prophet was swept up into a vision.

The vision was haunting, the prophet would say later. He found himself in a city from centuries ago. In the center of the ancient city stood a grand tower. As the prophet lifted his eyes, the tower appeared to disappear among the clouds. A loud shout was heard, which caused the prophet to focus on the detail he had missed: the city was in chaos.

Something had taken place prior to the prophet entering the vision. The people, a primordial culture, were running as if trying to get away from an unseen entity. As the prophet continued to watch the confusion, the ground began to shake, reminiscent of what he had experienced earlier. Before his fear could manifest, he felt it. It was the wind, but not quite. The thickness declared this was no ordinary wind, but possibly the breath of God. A fierce, ominous cloud descended from Heaven, traveling at a whirlwind speed until it reached its destination. At the amazing temple, the threatening cloud stopped for a moment, as if sizing up a competitor, and finding it lacking, swept through the temple, decimating it brick by brick. The people ran to avoid the falling temple, and the prophet noticed they spoke various languages no longer understood.

As the vision ended, the prophet found himself on the ground, sweating and feeling as if he had awoken from a deep sleep. He quickly looked around, anxious to confirm he was in the present time. The deep breath he took could not alleviate his fear that this was not a place meant for man to inhabit. Panic set in. He must warn his village. The prophet ran haphazardly toward his village to caution them about this concealed bit of land, for it was the place hidden with the remnants of when man once challenged God and lost.

A boy who had heard the prophet’s warning shared the vision with his father, and the father shared the vision with his brother, one of the top generals of the small country’s ruthless militia.

Panic, curiosity, and fear followed after the villagers discovered the prophet, bruised and battered, lying in a thicket and clinging to life—the result of the general forcing the prophet to give him the precise location of where he’d had the vision. The prophet reluctantly complied after being unable to endure the torture a moment longer. However, he spoke the following words to the general: You and all who engage in this will meet their demise. Your plan will not stand.

Within the week, a barbed wire fence surrounded the accursed region, guarded by hundreds of soldiers. That night, under large flood lamps, the excavation began. A few of the villagers secluded themselves amongst the darkness behind the trees and observed as the large machinery dug up and removed the ground.

The general took it upon himself to oversee the operation, knowing if he found what he believed he’d find, it would be unprecedented, and he’d be unstoppable. He watched intently from the driver’s seat of his Jeep. Visions of a grandiose rulership filled his mind. His hands gripped the steering wheel and squeezed, as he imagined it being the neck of the regime that kept him and his men in the shadows just outside of the capital of the Middle Eastern country.

The prophet emerged from the forest, shouting warnings, drowned out by the shriek of the excavators now deep beneath the surface. The soldiers apprehended the prophet, who continued to foretell of the general’s demise. The general gave the command to let him go. As the prophet walked toward the general, pleading for him to stop the excavation, a loud gunshot rang out from the general’s revolver. A quick gasp escaped the prophet’s lips, and he fell against a mound of dirt after which, the general laid his resolver on the passenger seat, removed a cigar, along with a cigar tip cutter, from within the inner pocket of his uniform coat, clipped the end of the cigar, and lit it ablaze. He inhaled deeply and watched as the prophet slowly collapsed to the ground through a billowing cloud of cigar smoke the general released through his nostrils.

Suddenly, an abrupt trembling rumbled into a full earthquake. A powerful microburst left everyone in the area grappling for something to hang on to. The winds and torrential rains began to howl from the sky, engulfing workers and soldiers beneath a violent mudslide. Other workers ran frantically from their large excavation trucks and bulldozers as the earthquake opened up the ground into a giant gaping mouth that swallowed the machines.

The general shouted orders for the men to remain. When they refused, he commanded the soldiers to shoot them and allow no one to escape. The sound of ricocheting bullets against the steel columns and metal crates rang out, the floodlights exploded, and the ground stopped shaking. Darkness and smoke from the gunfire covered the area.

The remaining soldiers frantically searched for flashlights and shone them around the area. The rain and wind had ceased, replaced with the heavy breathing of what remained of the personnel and the villagers, still hidden behind the trees, too afraid to move.

A crackling was heard coming up from the nethermost point of the pit, roaring upward into a sensational sphere of colorful lights. The brightly luminous orb rotated around the exposed crater, causing the soldiers and workers to fall to the ground in awe, somehow knowing they were in the presence of something sacred. Low whispers of many languages they did not understand came from the orb, indiscernible to those present, just before the orb abruptly disappeared back into the excavated hollow. The general did not flinch; he pulled out his cell phone from his uniform jacket and made a life-changing phone call.

The next morning, a large yellow helicopter bearing the letters IIT on the side landed near the excavation site. Two individuals emerged, along with a twenty-member research team identified by their white jumpsuits bearing an embroidered lightning bolt down the right sleeves. They quickly went to work unloading equipment and, with the assistance of the remaining soldiers, set up tents and various electronic devices. The team scanned the excavation site with handheld devices and maneuvered drones down into the opening of the pit, logging the data on their tablets. The general escorted the first two individuals from the helicopter into the main tent.

At daybreak, the general emerged from one of the tents, flanked by a woman dressed in an astronaut suit on his left side and a silver-haired man dressed in a designer suit on his right. As they walked toward the excavation site, soldiers laid large wooden planks on the ground to prevent them from walking in the mud.

At the edge of the inlet, the soldiers lowered a ladder against the shoring, which reached the landings of multiple scaffolds. The general and the finely dressed man stayed at the edge. The woman placed a helmet over her head while the team members connected oxygen tanks and other communication devices to her suit. She briefly hesitated before carefully climbing down the ladder.

The workers then brought over a gold box inscribed with Egyptian hieroglyphs. A crane was carefully positioned over the box, and the workers secured it. Afterward, the box was lowered into the excavated pit.

An hour later, the woman climbed out of the hollow and stood by as the crane eased the box back up. She removed the box from the cradle, placed it into a crate, and instructed the members of her team precisely how to secure it. Once the task was completed, she removed her personal protective equipment, handed it to one of the team members, and followed the crate as it was loaded onto the helicopter.

The well-dressed man pulled out his cell and placed a call, which lit up the black market like twinkling Christmas lights on a cold December night.

The general then shook hands with the man. Dr. Dvorkin, I look forward to our next meeting, along with Lady Bian.

Indeed. Dr. Dvorkin smiled a crooked smile at the woman. Lady Bian, a true leader of the new era.

Chapter One

Darby Mullins, a true leader. Just like your brother.

Get the heck outta here, Darby murmured aloud as he read the comment written by his teacher. He’d just posted a selfie on social media holding the Scholar Leadership Award. How’d he even find my account? Darby quickly deleted the comment and the photo. Darby hated being compared to his brother.

Most would consider Darby pretty much the norm if the comparisons reached no further than his crew. Built like a mini NFL linebacker, he attracted few bullies. Against the wishes of his strict, strait-laced parents, he grew dreadlocks, and his cool factor went to another level. At least, that was what the girls in his class told him.

Dressed in his usual attire of baggy jeans, oversized shirt, and sneakers, Darby sat across from his brother Gavin as they ate scrambled eggs, steak, and biscuits for breakfast. He placed his phone on the table next to his plate and turned his attention to the news—the top story being the new Alcatraz, simply named Traz Isle. Darby’s bedroom window faced towards the Bay, giving him a view of the island.

Several years ago, the San Francisco government ran into colossal financial problems. Already in the midst of significant budgeting shortfalls, the city lost in a negligence lawsuit brought on by a group of citizens who were severely injured when the third floor of city hall collapsed. Managing the budget at that point was like trying to catch a greased pig, and it only snowballed out of control from there.

The city needed money, and Mayor Waylon Ellis’s desperation was so intense that it sent out a virtual SOS signal, and that signal was picked up by someone who preyed upon the desperate: billionaire Dr. Anselm Dvorkin.

Darby remembered the protests. Some said Dr. Dvorkin weaseled into the pockets of lawmakers to buy Alcatraz and Angel Island, which he quickly renamed Traz Isle and Dvorkin Island respectively. Some revered Dvorkin as a smart businessperson; others called him a narcissistic snake and didn’t trust the output of his lying mouth. His parents and brother were in the first group. Darby was planted in the latter.

A SkyView camera zoomed in on thousands of pelicans covering the entire north shore of the Traz Isle, staring off into the ocean as if awaiting the arrival of an expected visitor. Heavy clouds covered the reformatory and sprinkled rain gently across it. Dr. Dvorkin, who spoke with a very thick Russian accent, discussed the opening of Traz Isle and how the government needed to show a firm hand in dealing with the increasingly rebellious youths of this generation. Dr. Dvorkin repeatedly stated that Traz Isle was not a prison but rather an institution to place the wayward youths gently back on the right track. However, the details of the process would remain vague. He stated only that Traz Isle would use the newest technological breakthroughs, which he patented, and would be implemented into the program’s structure.

The camera zipped across the water and showed a broad panoramic view of Dvorkin Island and then zoomed in on the Dvorkin Academy’s lush grass, swaying palm trees, and bright sunny skies. The caption read The Right Place.

Dvorkin Academy was stationed on the south side of Dvorkin Island and located a couple of miles across the Bay from Traz Isle. The Academy only enrolled and recruited those who were considered the brightest eighth- through twelfth-grade students in the region. The Academy’s administration raised eyebrows of educators when deciding to bypass GPA and State test scores and solely based their consideration on IQ scores of 140 and up.

Dr. Dvorkin built his grand estate on Mount Livermore, the highest peak of Dvorkin Island, giving him a 360-degree view of his domain. He relocated his private company, Ichabod International Technologies, to the northeast side of the island, which previously housed the now defunct Nike missile site. The massive capital letters IIT stood prominently in front of the sleek, modern building with a yellow lightning bolt shooting through them.

Nice, huh? Gavin winked at him and grinned. Well, little brother, you should know within the next couple of days if you’ve been accepted.

Gavin excelled in all his subjects at Dvorkin Academy. He sat straight up in his chair, careful not to drop any food on his crisp white uniform jacket with the letter D on the right side of his collar and four gold bars on the left. Each gold bar represented a year of honor status, which included perfect attendance, perfect grades, and perfect athleticism, as well as knowing when to bark, roll over, and fetch, as far as Darby was concerned. Gavin would be a senior when school started back up in the fall.

I hope I’m not accepted into that cheesy school, Darby boldly stated. There is no way I’m cutting my locs and turning into one of those freaky Dvorkin zombies. Leaning onto his elbows, he let out an exasperated sigh. I don’t want to take commands from that weird old man. You can have it. He quickly sat up straight in his chair when he heard his parents heading towards the kitchen.

He is to be addressed as Professor Dvorkin or Dr. Dvorkin. Gavin glared at him. Respect.

Sucker, Darby mumbled.

That’s your problem, Darby, Garvin said. No one can tell your rock head anything.

And your problem is that you think you know everything! Darby yelled back at him.

Gavin aggressively massaged his temples. I never said that.

But you act like it, Darby rebutted.

You won’t last in the Academy with that attitude, Gavin said.

I’m not at the Academy. Darby threw his napkin at Gavin, who snatched it from the air with perfect timing, which aggravated Darby even more.

I’ve been looking forward to you coming to the Academy, Gavin said slowly. I can help you navigate through your first year.

Stop with the school stuff. Darby placed his hands over his ears. My name is Gavin and I’m so perfect.

Like it or not, you’re a Mullins, and we’re a big part of Dvorkin Academy. Gavin stood from his chair. I’ve worked my butt off to achieve status at school. Why don’t you grow up?

Why won’t you get your head out of Dvorkin’s butt! Darby threw up his hands and waved him off.

Gavin narrowed his eyes at Darby before walking over to him. Darby threw his hands up in a boxing position thinking his brother wanted to tussle with him. Instead, Gavin quickly clapped his hands above his head.

Always be aware of your surroundings. Gavin grinned, showing him the smooshed spider in his palm. He waved his hands in front