“Wait a minute,” I said, suddenly realizing something that I couldn’t believe I had missed. “Is that a normal vampire trait?”
“I’m not sure, why?”
“Well, it just dawned on me that if Bluebeard has been sending messages from Andre’s phone, he’d have to be able to see it.”
“He could have forced Andre to write the message,” Johnny suggested.
“I doubt it. Don’t you think Andre would have just typed a warning?” I reasoned. “How do you see the screen?” I asked Ingrid.
“The same way you do with the contacts, I guess. The technology isn’t very different from my actual vision. But come to think of it, Holly has to wear lenses. Maybe it’s not universal.”
“Maybe not, but we need to assume that Bluebeard can see in the dark well enough to use our technology or he’s got the same technology. Either way, we lose one advantage over him.”
“You’re forgetting something else,” Lance added. “Our phones only unlock by reading our thumbprint. Andre’s got at least two other safeties built into his. Something else is going on here. I can buy a slight change in appearance like Isaac’s, but I’m not jaded enough to believe that Bluebeard can mimic another person entirely.”
“God, I would hope not, but let’s not take anything for granted because it sounds like science fiction. You’re forgetting that I was abducted by a flying vampire. Right now, if we have reason to believe that Bluebeard can turn into mist or teleport, I’ll consider it.”
“I hate to say it, but it’s more likely he cut off Andre’s thumb,” Ingrid said with a grimace.
“Would that work?” I asked. “I thought the screen required a living touch, that’s why gloves don’t work.” I didn’t want to think about the possibility of Bluebeard wearing Andre’s thumb like a glove. At least Andre might have the ability to grow a new one.
“I just can't believe none of us noticed anything amiss,” Johnny remarked. “Hindsight may be twenty-twenty, but this is ridiculous. You wouldn't think we've had any training at all.”
“We were all distracted,” Lance reasoned. “Between the injuries, the government, and everything else, I'm not surprised. I'm not making any excuses, I'm just not surprised.”
Something suddenly occurred to me. “Distraction… That is absolutely it! I should have realized. We didn't miss anything, we only saw what he wanted us to.” I pulled up Andre’s messages to me, clicked on the details of the last one, and then checked an earlier message. There it was, the answer to how Bluebeard could send the messages.
“Do you want to try that again in English?” Ingrid remarked sarcastically.
“When I was attacked in the cemetery, the vamp used all of my own tricks against me,” I explained. “I thought it was because he had been watching me, but now that I think about it, that would be awful unlikely because the idea behind what I do is that you aren't supposed to be able to see it happening. To do what he did would take a natural talent for illusion, which he had, if the pocket full of stolen items was any indicator. Now I wonder though, if either of our natural talent is natural at all.”
“You think it might be programmed?” Ingrid asked. “Maybe in Bluebeard's mods, but you're kind of different.”
“Maybe not. Maybe my own ability was triggered as a child, but it was probably already there. We are assuming Bluebeard can change his appearance, we already know Isaac can. Plus, he planted that tracker on you right in front of us and no one noticed, including you. But here’s more proof.” I held up my phone. “The reply I got from Andre looks like it came from his phone. It’s his number, and it’s replying inline under the contact information I made for him, but if you click on the details, you can see clearly that the message didn’t originate on the EJC network. Bluebeard didn’t need to be able to read the screen because he had the tools to hack it. And it wasn’t even a particularly clever hack, he’s just mimicking the number.”
“You know that explains a lot about his mod’s weird behavior too,” Ingrid said thoughtfully.
“Exactly. We were supposed to find them odd to distract us from what was really going on,” I added. “Damn, this is a lot scarier now than it was. Either way, we can't rule out the idea that today's chaos might have been cleverly organized and because of this, we need to be very careful.”
“I think we’re all in agreement about that,” Johnny said with a shudder.
The drive was excruciating. To make matters worse, it started raining as soon as we hit Baton Rouge and I seriously began to wonder if that city ever had a dry day. When we finally reached the access road that would take us into the wetlands, we ran into another roadblock in the form of a military blockade.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked as Lance started to roll down the window. I didn’t like the idea of exposing ourselves to the armed man in full body armor who was striding up to the vehicle.
“Relax, Lucy,” Lance said with a wink before turning back to the soldier. “Hey, sexy soldier boy!”
I nearly choked when the soldier opened the door and Lance moved over to the passenger seat to let him in.
“Aw come on Lance, I bet you say that to all the boys,” said a familiar voice and I nearly choked again as Miles removed the helmet that had been obscuring his face. He backed up the van and began driving back up the access road.
“Where are we going?” I asked once my heart began beating at a normal pace.
“Around front, it’s too dangerous to go in the way you were planning. The agency’s goons are camped out at the southern border. I think they’re afraid to go into the property after dark, which is good. We’ve got enough to contend with already.”
“Won’t they be at the front?” I asked. Without the chimeras there to guard the gate, it seemed to me that would be the first place they would go.
“Oh they are. They’ve got a barricade at the gatehouse. But I found an entrance on the northeast side that we can drive into. I’m not saying it won’t be dangerous, but it will bring us right up to what’s left of the boarding facilities.”
The only good news was that this was where the GPS was showing Lona, Cynda, and Saba to be. The bad news was that the men were being kept clear on the other side of the plantation.
“Here, everyone grab a helmet and enough armor to fit in. I tried to get the cleanest ones I could find, but I’m not making any promises.”
I don’t know how I failed to notice the enormous duffle bag Miles had brought with him, which was full of military gear.
“Do I want to know where these came from? Or what happened to their former owners?” Lance asked with a look of mild disgust.
“Let’s just say this is one time when don’t ask, don’t tell is the best course of action,” Miles replied dryly.
I grabbed a helmet and a vest, but opted not to add any bulk to my arms or legs. My agility still wasn’t at one hundred percent and I didn’t want to restrict my movements any more than I had to. Besides, I only needed to fit in, the others actually required protection.
“Oh what the hell now?” Miles sighed and started messing with his phone. “Hang on I lost the network.”
“Dammit, so did I,” Ingrid said with frustration. I checked my own phone and with a sense of dread, I saw that I too had no access to EJC’s secured network. For a good minute, we all restarted our phones, but it was no use, nothing we did brought back the network.
“I don’t get it,” Johnny said. “There was no dampening field here before.”
“Could Bluebeard have done that through Andre’s phone?” I asked.
“Doubtful,” Ingrid replied, “unless he was doing more than spoofing the number.”
“I don’t think it was Bluebeard,” Miles said tersely, “but I wouldn’t put it past the agency. We’re flying blind, folks.”
Chapter 28
When we reached what was left of the barracks, it was obvious that despite the GPS signals we were reading earlier, no one was there. The building was completely gutted and
barely standing. It was more likely that their phones had been dropped into the swamp or were buried in the wreckage. Without communication, we had no way of knowing where the others were, let alone any idea where to look next. Every so often, I would check my phone to see if the network had come back up, but it was in vain. In my frustration, I hit the wrong icon and the stats from Andre’s transmitter spilled across the screen. I was about to close the program when I realized that the feed was live.
“Guys, wait a minute!” I rechecked the network, but it was still down. I pulled up the transmitter application again and it wasn’t a fluke, it was still working. “I'm picking up the signal from Andre's transmitter. He must have it set up off the network somehow.”
“That’s not possible,” said Miles. “A transmitter like that relies on a satellite relay just like our GPS.”
“It’s still reading,” I replied and showed him the screen.
“May I see it?” Anil asked. I handed my phone over and he tapped the screen a few times before handing it back to me. “You aren’t pulling the information from a satellite feed. The app is communicating directly with Andre's transmitter. It’s got a proximity setting of roughly four miles.”
“Well at least we have a lead. If we’re lucky maybe we’ll find everyone in the same spot.” I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I couldn’t help feeling excitement over the news. Andre was still alive and we had a chance of finding him.
“Let me see that,” Lance said and studied the screen with a frown. “We’ll be okay for about a quarter mile then it gets dicey. Everyone follow me and step where I do.”
We all fell in line behind Lance and picked our way through a heavily wooded area with a soft, springy floor. As the trees thinned, I could see a swampy clearing riddled with wood and stone bridges. I groaned, remembering the last time I had to cross one of Bluebeard’s booby-trapped bridges. This was only slightly better, as Lance explained that it was more of a maze than a trap. The only trouble was, he didn’t remember exactly which path led across, and no one wanted to take the chance of finding out exactly what lived in the water below.
“Hold up,” Miles said and pointed to the highest point where the bridges began to split. “Can we get to that point safely?”
“I’m pretty sure, why?” Lance replied.
“See that line up there? It connects at the base of the tree on the other side. We might be able to just zip-line over the whole thing.”
“I don’t know if we can,” I said. “It might be rigged to fall.”
“Only one way to find out.” Miles shrugged and started climbing the steps up to the wooden platform. He frowned as he inspected the integrity of the line. “No doubt about it, it’ll hold, but it’s still a trap. Look at this.” He ran his hand over the rope and showed us the greasy black residue it left behind. “It’s been greased. You’ll fly, but if you look over at the other end, there’s no buffer, you’ll hit that tree at fatal speeds.”
“Not only that, but I’m just as likely to pull out all my stitches,” Johnny added. “Got another way across?”
“The stone path,” Lance answered with a grimace, “but if you step on the wrong stone you’re sucked under. If the Gatormen don’t pull you apart, you’ll still drown.”
“Gatormen?” Ingrid asked.
“Exactly what they sound like,” Lance answered ominously. “I think I can try the line. I’ve got some good traction on my boots and we do have helmets.”
“Lance, wait a minute, I think I figured it out.”
From our vantage point above the swamp, I noticed a pattern in the stepping-stones that peppered the water’s surface. There were two distinctly different colors, dark gray and white. I remembered what Ben had said before about avoiding smooth white stones. I explained my findings to the others. Lance pointed out that the stones’ colors were almost impossible to detect from below, so he opted to stay above and call instructions to us. Once we were safe, he would take his chances with the greased rope.
With Lance guiding, we made it across the marshy pond in less than ten minutes. There was a tense silence among the group as we waited for him to rig a crude handhold.
“Everyone get at least twenty feet from the tree!” Lance called out. No sooner had we all complied that he leapt, wrapping his booted feet over the rope, and slid down the line so fast he became a blur. At the last possible moment, he dropped the line and flung himself to the side, rolling several feet before coming to a stop. He sprang up almost at once, but dropped immediately to his knees again.
“Lance?” I ran over to see if he was all right and leapt aside just in time to avoid being splattered with the contents of his stomach.
“Urg, sorry Lucy,” he coughed. I handed him a water bottle to rinse his mouth. “Tacos were a bad idea.” He smiled and stood again, more steadily this time.
“That was epic! Until the barfing at least,” Anil laughed.
“Yeah, I kind of want to ride it again, with an empty stomach.”
I checked Andre’s transmitter and smiled. We didn’t have far to go. Unfortunately, the ground was wet and spongy, and we had to move at a snail’s pace. Soon we found ourselves navigating another series of bridges as solid ground gave way to swamp muck. I checked the app again and was dismayed to see we had overshot our position.
“Guys, hang on.” I checked the app and surveyed our surroundings. There was nothing but swamp and trees for as far as the eye could see. “According to this, Andre is twenty feet in that direction.” I pointed out to a particularly clear spot of water. I scanned the trees above us, but none were big enough to hold even a hiding child. “I don’t get it.”
Johnny glanced grimly down at the dark, scrub-filled water below us. “Lucy, I don't want to assume the worst but...” I understood his bleak meaning and for a moment, I panicked, but with another glance at my phone, I shook my head.
“No, the transmitter monitors life signs. I'd know if anything happened to him. But this still makes no sense, unless Bluebeard found a way to build a basement in the swamp.”
“That’s not impossible,” said Anil, thoughtfully. “We learned about this in advanced ecology. Some wetland managers build submerged bases that don't intrude on the ecosystem.”
I shuddered at the thought of having to live underground. What had been a mild phobia growing up had turned into a full-fledged panic disorder after the subterranean hell I endured in Paris. But Anil’s observation made perfect sense. Especially considering the fact that Evan suspected Bluebeard had blown up his own compound. An underground lair may have been cliché, but it did fit with the psychological profile of the man we were tracking.
“Start looking for something that looks like an entry,” I told them. “Dammit, it’s probably through the house, which is back the way we came.”
“Doubtful,” added Lance. “We're too far and knowing what I do about this place, he probably put the entrance in the pits.”
“What exactly are these pits?” I asked. He and Hugh had mentioned them before.
“The area between the main house and the hunting grounds,” Lance replied. “It doesn’t look like anything but a tree lined border from the outside, but once you get past that, it defies logic. There’s literally a fifty-foot drop down to a pit that is rigged with traps straight out of a murderous child’s imagination. There were only a few kids who knew them well enough to traverse them. Hugh and I tried to map it, but we gave up and stuck to avoiding that area. If the entrance is there, I’m not optimistic about our chances of finding it.”
“Do you still have what you did map?” Anil asked with sudden enthusiasm that raised a few eyebrows.
“Right here, I’d send it to you if we had a signal.” Lance held his phone out.
“Don’t need one, you can still beam it over,” Anil said, holding Lances phone next to his own to configure the connection. The rest of us just looked at each other sheepishly. To be honest, none of us ever used direct connections and we were all guilty of taking
the network for granted. Technology was a crutch I once accused Andre of relying too heavily on. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.
“Hang on a second,” Ingrid muttered and pulled out her own phone. “Are we all running Carmilla version two one one?”
“Eh what?” I asked.
“Your OS version,” Ingrid explained. “Look under settings.”
I did as Ingrid said and despite our predicament, I began laughing. “Sorry,” I said with a blush. “Mine’s Dracula one oh beta.”
“Is that older or newer?” Ingrid asked.
“Newer,” Lance supplied. “D comes after C.”
“Andre isn’t using the alphabet though. The last version was Varney. Weird names,” Anil commented. “Though Dracula makes sense.”
“They all do. It’s not alphabetical, it’s chronological,” I said with a small swell of pride. Apparently, Andre was as well versed in the classics as I was. “Varney, Carmilla, and Dracula were all vampires in early literature. Dracula was written twenty-five years after Carmilla. But as neat as that little fact is, how will it help us?”
“Hang on,” Ingrid said distractedly as she furiously typed something into her phone. A minute later, an alert popped up on my screen that said, ‘Ingrid would like to establish a direct connection.’ I hit the ‘accept’ button and a new screen popped up showing Miles, Johnny, Lance, and Anil as ‘open connections.’
“If you can see the others, click their names to establish a connection,” Ingrid said as she continued to type. “We don’t have a very good range, but I’m trying to find the others. Lucy, your man is a genius. Who would have thought to put a long range infrared connector into a modern phone?”
I suppose that was a good question. A better one would have been what the heck an infrared connector was, but I didn’t have time for a technical discussion. I was also quite stunned at Ingrid’s out of the blue grasp of complex technology, but I was most grateful for it. She was able to establish a connection with Dennis’ team, who were not far from us. They in turn, were able to reach others and slowly everyone was informed of our theories and given a point to rendezvous.
The Eyes of the Sun: The Complete Trilogy Page 57