Unscanned Series is back.

Out NOW. Kindle and Paperback

Click Here for Unscanned and Here for The Collector

Originally published a few years back, the Unscanned series now has whole new sections.  The adventure is bigger!  Unscanned is the first book of the series.  See below for a sneak peek. 

Kidnapped and sold into a kids' home for non-contributors, Adam desperately racks his brains for a way to escape. As days go by and the punishments increase, he is terrified of being discovered as unlawful. One night, hiding from Puke-Face, the Night Warden, he finds his chance, he finds a forgotten way out. Instinct tells him to flee, but can he leave the others behind?"

The Collector finds Adam on another mission:  Ignoring the rules, Adam and his friends make a desperate decision that WILL change their lives forever. Forgoing the Downer Oath, they leave under the cover of DARKNESS and risk everything. WILL they get caught, be imprisoned forever and lose the only safe place they know?

Book 3: The Upsider will be out soon.  Watch this space or send me a message to be the first to get a sample.  Tracy

What people say:

England
"It is the sort of book I'd like to buy.  This is because it is a really good story and I felt like I was one of the children...I felt like I could imagine being in the places in the book."  (child aged 10)

"If you haven't already, send it off to publishers.  I would buy copies for the library."   (Children's Librarian)

“It was very hard to put down!!!  Great Book! “ (child aged 10)

Scotland

“It’s the kind of book that will appeal to kids and adults…male and female.  I can see Warner Bros. turning them into movies.”

Germany

“Ein sehr schönes Buch für jung und alt." (A great book for young and old.)

Australia

"...the last three years, (our son, aged 10), hasn't been reading very much and it did concern me somewhat! [Due to Unscanned] he is reading of his own accord now.  So thank you so much for that.  My husband and I are totally impressed!"

Unscanned 

Sneak Peek

The Lift

I take the lift alone. My mam, Sean and even Alan offered to walk me to the entrance, but I want to do this by myself to show them I’m ready. It’s what I’ve been training for over the last couple of years.

Reaching the cavern overpass, I stop on the narrow pathway. Other than a few drips from somewhere above me, it’s quiet up here and blind dark. I switch on my torch, keeping my back up against the rocky cliff edge and close my eyes, inhaling the icy chill. The hard, granite surface feels smooth and cold. After a few seconds, I inch forward, unable to resist peeking over the edge of the chasm to peer into its hollow depths. The sense of imminent death sends spidery tingles up my spine. My heart pounds deafeningly for several seconds – how easy it would be to fall into the black nothingness. Letting out a long breath, I wasn’t even aware I had been holding until now, I step back, and the self-inflicted panic recedes, as I hitch up my backpack and continue along the gritty surface towards the exterior pass. From there, it is the sewer, the fields and a fast walk through the warehouse district. Then, I’ll be there – an hour, at the most!

Arriving at the hidden entrance, the smell of putrid mould, decades old, lingers in my nose. I’ve been here so many times, I barely notice it anymore. Instead, I stride ahead, the mission filling my head. It’s vital I get this right. To me, my mam, the Downers, but mainly to me. Get it right and I’ll move up a level in my training, but I’ll also have more freedom. The right to come and go without everyone keeping tabs on me all the time. Might even become a Junior Collector, though that’s probably a stretch too far. I’m still a bit young for that.

So, I need to focus, but my stomach feels hollow and sickly, my body tense. Peering out of the sewage pipe, I stretch out my arms, roll my shoulders to shake out the pins and needles and then stride out into the field. The moon’s already out, and a cold mist hits my face, making me breathe in sharply. The task is simple. Just a two-hour job, but it’s the first time I’ve gone on a mission alone and the first time they’ve sent me to collect stuff without a trainer.

I can’t fail. I won’t fail.

Reaching our old house, I slide into the pre-arranged spot. It’s a large, evergreen bush at the front of the garden with a hollowed-out centre. A long lawn stretches out to the alcove and front door.

I cross my legs and settle in, staring out into the dark night. It seems as if it were only yesterday we lived here. This bush was my favourite hide-out when I was a kid, a bit scratchy, but great for spying on the house with the old binoculars glued to my eyes. I’d watch my mam come and go without her even knowing it. If I got bored, I’d hack into the neighbour’s Wi-Fi with my notepad, just for the fun of it, or even play Minecraft. It used to be one of my favourites, even though it was years old.

Smiling at the memory, knowing this is the part where I need to be patient and calm, I put my bag to one side, and look out into the shadowy garden, lit only by the glowing bay window at the front.

We don’t live here anymore, and I no longer see it as my home, but the memories unfold like a flickering film before my eyes. A very similar dark and cold night. My mam’s dragging me along, telling me to hurry.

“They’ll take us away. Split us up. Me to the Ejector’s Camp and you to an Ejector’s Kids’ Home.”

“What about Dad and Lissy?”

Her face leans in on mine. Her breath warming my face.

“They’re gone,” tears flood her wide eyes, “it’s just you and me now.”

I see the scene as if it isn’t me. The mother desperately pulling at her stumbling son, struggling around the side of the house and out the back gate. His eyes wide, his tired limbs slowing them down. I didn’t understand what was happening at the time, where my dad or Lissy had gone or why we had to leave everything behind.

 But that was five years ago, and we live a different life now.

There’s movement outside the house. Peering through the undergrowth, I catch my coat sleeve on a sharp branch. It snaps. It sounds loud to me, but the family of four on the doorstep don’t hear anything. They’re dragging bags out of the house. The father heaves suitcases into the boot of the car, the mother jostles two young children along. A pretty normal family going on holiday. My job is to observe and wait until they leave. After that, my mission begins.

I am Adam.

It is the year 2083.

In three weeks, I am thirteen.

And I am a Downer.

The Mission

The little girl, with ruddy cheeks and curly blond hair sees me and points, gabbling something at her flustered mother. I glare, trying to frighten her, to shut her up, but she whimpers even more. Clenching my jaw, I hold my breath, the veins in my head at popping point. I want to jump out and shake her. This kid could ruin my mission! But then I see her parents’ reaction. They ignore her warnings as idle baby talk, shush her a bit and then quickly plonk her in the car seat next to her brother. Too much to do, to listen to a screechy kid. As they drive away, she turns her head to stare tearfully at me, but I don’t feel bad.

Following protocol is a rule in itself. Our leaders are very strict about it – to protect us, but even so, my legs are beginning to cramp and I’m getting cold. I want to get on with this, finish and go home, but protocol states I must wait for half an hour after the family leaves.

Once, we were told, one of the Downers went in too early. The owners came back and trapped him. He was led away by the police and we haven’t seen him since. So, we stick to the rules now.

Two minutes to go. I run through the schedule in my head. Open the door, stop the alarm, find the stuff, reset the alarm and leave. Ten-minute job. In and out. No lights permitted. Clutching the small LED torch as if it’s my lifesaver, I curse my trembling hand and cradle it under my armpit to stop the shaking. What’s wrong with me? This is an easy task. I know this house – lived here for eight years of my life. It’ll be a doddle!

One minute to go. Staring at the luminous face of my watch, I will the seconds to tick by faster. Thirty seconds… I peek out of the bushes – no one around. It’s a dark autumn night, dank and cold. No stars, no moon. Perfect for someone like me.

Ten seconds… making a move, I grab my bag and crawl out of the bush on my hands and

knees. The spiky branches tug at my coat and the grass is wet and slimy. I imagine a thousand sticky, slug bodies creeping across my fingers and shudder at the thought, but press on. Inching forwards, I look up from under my cap, spotting the sparkle of the deflector strips on my jacket sleeves. It means they’re working, but it also means there are security cameras around. We invented the strips and they’re incredible. They distort any images or videos picked up by cameras, exploding the playback into pixelated dots, and ultimately protect our identities.

Having said that, the same neighbour lives next door. She was always nosey and didn’t care who knew. She’s probably peeping out from behind her curtain now, watching what everyone’s up to, as if their lives are her own personal TV soaps.

So, I keep low, slithering across the garden, my face close enough to the grass to feel its silky blades stroking my chin. I quickly scan the area around the door alcove before moving onto my hands and knees. The cement path is cold and gritty. The sweet smell of autumn flowers floats into my nostrils and I notice there are a couple of potted plants to my left. The door is dark green with stained-glass panels. Sucking in a determined breath, I reach up to the lock with the scanner card.

We have an informer, which is always useful. Sara used to be our cleaner, cook and nanny until we left. Now she works for this family, but I know she still misses me. A lingering sadness curdles in my stomach. I instantly shut it down. No time to think of her now. Distractions could kill me. Rule number three on our list of ten. Don’t get distracted! Only the schedule in my head.

My trembling hand causes the lock to misfire a couple of times, before the door eventually clicks open. My heart is beating so hard, it hurts, and I start to wonder if there is such a thing as an exploding chest, when the alarm trips – a piercing noise in the silence of the dark night. I duck without thinking, as if someone is about to attack. Then, realising no one is around, I clamber into the hallway, grappling with the door on my way in, before sprawling across the tiled floor.

My brain’s spacing out. I know I have to reset the alarm as fast as possible before anyone notices. Stop it within five seconds and neighbours forget. At ten seconds, the noise registers. And at fifteen, they start to wonder. If it’s not off within twenty seconds, I leave. You see, at twenty seconds, people want to know what’s going on. They might even call the police, and that’s just not a risk we can take. Police don’t help our kind.

I quickly close the door and click the torch on. Next, I type someone’s birthdate into a security device, hoping our informer got it right. My finger feels numb, as if it doesn’t belong to me. I start to doubt I have the right code. Maybe they changed it. I punch in the digits: 310567 and the alarm abruptly stops, throwing me into a dark, eerie silence that leaves echoes in my ears.

At this point, we’re supposed to move through the house quickly, but I’m shuddering. My legs tremble as I slide down the wall. Slumping forward and holding my dizzy head in my hands, I listen to the beating of my pulse, pounding out its panicky tune. My mouth is a spit-free zone, my tongue sticking to its roof. 

For a second, I just want to get out, run away, but that’s not an option and I dismiss it at once. Instead, I take a deep breath and gaze around, calming my thoughts. Curiosity at seeing the place that used to be my home brings me back to my senses.

I know this house, know the layout, know where to look.

The hall isn’t so dark now my eyes have adjusted. The torch reflects a circular light on the wall opposite. I play a little with it, watching it jump up and down as if a cat is chasing it. Lissy’s cat, Sally. We left them both behind. Another image flashes before my eyes. Lissy and I charging down the hall to play in the garden, laughing, trying to be first on the swing, my mam telling us to be careful. I shake my head and whisper at the walls.

“We didn’t leave Lissy. She left us.”

Stretching my arms in front of me, I stand up and repeat my mantra.

I can’t fail… I won’t fail!

Suddenly, over my left shoulder something or someone moves. I see it out of the corner of

my eye and my heart goes into overdrive. Slowly, I turn my head to the left.

Have I made a mistake? Is there someone here?

Looking back at me is a silhouette; large green eyes, an olive-skinned complexion and wisps of thick, dark blond hair escaping from under a navy-blue cap and scarf. I grin with relief.

Gosh, I’m an idiot!

It’s only my reflection in an oval-shaped mirror, which wasn’t there before. We used to have a picture of red poppy fields hanging on that wall. Remembering the day my mother brought it home, I smile crookedly. ‘Just the right thing’, she’d said, as if it gave her an excuse to rummage around in dusty, antique rooms. She took me along once and I hated it. Moaned so much, she had to take me home.

Torch down, so neighbours don’t see the light, I move on, easily passing through the hallway into the kitchen. Nothing’s changed after all this time – cupboards in the same place, cooker against the middle wall. Quickly, opening a few drawers, I find the cutlery. We need a couple of sharp knives; there are more of us now, and although I know this is just a test, a few extra pieces will help. Finding some at the back of the drawer that look old and used, I stuff them in my bag, knowing they won’t be missed.

In one of the drawers, I notice some of the new style batteries and a worn SIM card. I’m not sure if they’ll work and they aren’t on my list, but I collect them anyway. Showing initiative is a good thing and an opportunity can’t be ignored. Moths flutter in my stomach, but I smile, happy with myself, knowing there’s only one more thing to shop for – an augmented reality book. Doesn’t matter what, it just has to be AR. Then I’m done for the night and will have accomplished my first mission.

There are some shelves on the far wall. I move towards them. People don’t often buy paper books now, but AR books are still popular. There are a couple of old, elephant bookends, trunks and tusks sticking out. In between are three large hardbacks, though it’s hard to tell whether they’re the ones I need. Sliding the one in the middle backwards, I curse as several loose papers topple to the floor. Dropping to my knees, I scramble to pick up what looks like recipes and carefully slip the torn, smudged sheets back into place, before reaching for the next book.

Then, without warning, I hear a car engine outside and lights shine in an arc, passing across the kitchen windows and creating shadows. Doors slam, the father’s complaining – something about the alarm and why can’t she remember just one thing?

Oh no, they’re back. They’ve forgotten something.

Pushing the book back on the shelf, not sure what to do, I stand rigid, like a deer caught in headlights. I’m going to be found out. Visions of being captured fill my head. My mam will go crazy. She didn’t even want me to do this. Said I was too young. Maybe she was right.

Red-hot blood surges up my neck and into my cheeks. In my mind, I scream at myself to hide, to move out of the kitchen, but my world has turned into a slow-motion film and I’m struggling to walk on heavy legs. Somehow, I manage to reach the utility room and clamber under an old table, pulling my knees tight into my thumping chest. Someone is walking towards the front of the house. Clip-clop, clip-clop, a woman’s heels on a cement path, screaming child wanting to get out of the car, irritated father. The heels stop for a moment and a short, fiery discussion follows, although I can’t make out the words. Looking up from under the table, I wait. My pulse races and sweat begins dripping down my cheeks. Wiping it away from my eyes, I stretch my neck and peer around desperately for anything that would help. Seeing two rectangular panes of glass in the back door, I notice a letterbox opening.

Why would a back door have a letter box?

The glass is full of bubbles and looks black against the dark night. Something shiny catches my eye and my heart leaps. They’ve left the key in the keyhole and it’s the old-fashioned metal type, not a scanner. Don’t they know anything about security?

I have an idea!

Cautiously crawling out – the voices have silenced, and the clip-clopping has started again – I stand close to the backdoor, readying myself and clutching onto the key. I glance back to check I haven’t left anything behind and notice a child’s book on the old table; it has a picture of a dog and a lamb on the front. I flip it open and can’t believe my luck. It’s an AR. My last item just sitting there. Proof that I entered the house alone and collected the requested items. Quickly grabbing the book, I push it awkwardly to the bottom of my backpack.

The alcove scanner clicks, and the front door begins to open. Beads of sweat prickle my forehead, but I hardly register the sting as they drip into the corner of my eyes. Surely, she will notice when the alarm doesn’t go off. Gripping pains shoot through my stomach. I almost cry out, but bite down on my lip to force myself to focus as I move closer to the door. My hand reaches out, hanging in mid-air, waiting for the right moment.

She pushes the door open noisily. Without hesitation, I unlock the back door, slip out and close it. Then, locking it as quietly as possible, I push the key through the letterbox. Just as I turn to leave through the back gate, I hear it hit the floor and smile. No one will ever know I was there.

Leave no trace. The last and most important rule.