Code tb-3

by Kathy Reichs

  “Stay close.” Ben squeezed Shelton’s shoulder. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

  Bending into the wind, they disappeared behind the rear of the store.

  A powerful blast stripped a Miller Lite sign from the wall above my head. I watched the metal square careen across the street, slam into a car, then spin sideways and vanish into the gloom.

  Hi and I silently counted. At thirty, we worked our way around the front of the store. At the corner of the building, we stopped to survey our objective.

  The one-story row house was small and decrepit, its faded blue paint cracked and peeling. The exterior was a neglected eyesore of warped wooden slats, loose shingles, and dirty windows.

  Not boarded up. Katelyn’s going to smash that place.

  A fractured concrete walk connected the front door to the street. The lawn to either side was patchy and overgrown with weeds. No shrubs. No shade trees.

  I pointed to a pair of windows flanking the entrance. “I’ll go left, you go right.”

  Hi nodded. We sloshed forward, Coop by my side. At the window I dropped to a crouch beneath the sill.

  Cautiously wiping grime from the unscreened glass, I examined what lay on the other side. Couch. Coffee table. Two armchairs. TV stand. Bare walls.

  The room was dark. No one was in it.

  I stepped back and signaled Hi. Sticking close to the building, we stole around to a gravel driveway on its opposite side. Sensing our need for stealth, Coop loped silently at my knee.

  A chain-link fence bounded the property, running along the far edge of the gravel. A single window overlooked the drive from the house’s rear corner.

  We crept forward, heads lowered, muscles tense.

  I can’t see anything in this downpour. I could stumble right into him.

  At the window, Hi boosted me with his hands. I peeked into a tiny chamber containing a bare mattress and a large black trunk. Lights off. Vacant.

  When I stepped down, Hi cupped his hands over my ear. “What now?”

  I pointed to the yard. “Truck.”

  We found Ben and Shelton hunkered behind the Ford’s rear bumper. Glancing into the backyard, I saw a wheelbarrow, a stack of bricks, and a dilapidated storage shed in the near corner. Then I peered over the empty truck bed at the row house.

  We were facing a screened-in porch, its wooden door banging in the shifting gale.

  Ben pointed to three tiny windows lined up to the left of the porch. “Kitchen,” he yelled as we ducked back down. “No lights on, nothing moving.”

  “Same for the living room and bedroom,” Hi shouted.

  “So nobody’s home.” Shelton couldn’t hide his relief.

  Coop chose that moment to shake vigorously, spraying us with doggie castoff.

  Ben glared at the wolfdog, then nodded back the way he and Shelton had come. “I think there’s another room on that side. No windows.”

  “Then we have to go in.” Sounding braver than I felt. “Make absolutely sure.”

  Ben nodded, face tense. He started to rise but I snagged his elbow.

  “Wait. It’s time.”

  “Thank God,” Shelton breathed. “Now?”

  “Now.”

  SNAP.

  The transformation came easily. No struggle. No battle for concentration.

  The power flowed as though I’d flipped a switch.

  Heat seared through my blood vessels. My irises ignited with golden fire.

  Every sense blasted into hyperdrive. Sight. Smell. Hearing. Taste. Touch.

  The surrounding maelstrom took on a thousand new dimensions. My brain could detect the tiniest details with laser precision. I was no longer blinded by the storm, wasn’t overwhelmed by nature’s savage fury.

  I glanced at Coop, found him staring back at me.

  He knew I’d unleashed the wolf inside me. That his pack was now fully alive.

  With Coop so close the sensations were stronger, every faculty more supercharged. My flare power felt sharper than ever before.

  Full strength. This is how it feels.

  The boys looked at me with blazing yellow eyes. I felt their amazement.

  “Whoa.” Hi blinked. “It’s like flaring on crack.”

  Shelton removed his glasses and stuck them in his pocket. “Intense.”

  Ben cracked his knuckles.

  We were ready.

  I’m coming for you, Gamemaster.

  “Now,” I whispered, no longer needing to shout.

  I bounded onto the porch, reached the door, and quietly turned the knob. Slipping inside the kitchen, I sidestepped along the wall so the others could follow.

  Every sense was on high alert.

  No movement. No sound of alarm.

  Moving silently, Ben crept through a door on the left, Coop on his heels. A second later they were back, Ben shaking his head.

  Anxious to retain the advantage of surprise, I tiptoed down a short hallway leading to the front. My pack followed in a noiseless line.

  Bedroom. Bathroom. Living room.

  All unoccupied. The five of us were alone in the house.

  But a small blaze crackled in the fireplace.

  “What should we do?” Hi whispered. “There’s a fire. The Gamemaster’s truck’s still here. He must be coming back.”

  “Where would he go?” Shelton cracked open a door. Closet. Empty. “The city’s a ghost town. It’s not like he could pop out for a Whopper.”

  “Guys, look!” Hi pointed to a Dell laptop lying on the couch.

  I set the computer on the coffee table and booted. The boys sat beside me. Lacking tech skills, Coop began a nasal inspection of the drapes.

  “Please have something we can use.” Shelton was dry-washing his hands.

  A background image appeared—the man I’d met as Eric Marchant, shirtless, loading a giant marlin into his truck.

  The Gamemaster.

  I wanted to punch his smirking face.

  The desktop held a single folder. Double-clicking the icon launched a slideshow.

  Images began scrolling. Crime scene photos. Scanned newspaper clippings. Pictures of flipped cars and fire-gutted buildings. Obituaries. Autopsy reports.

  Each item related to an accident or crime.

  I paused the slideshow to scan several articles. Detected the theme.

  Every crime was unsolved. Every accident was freakish and unexplained.

  Many incidents had numerous victims. Some were grisly. All were terrible.

  One after another the entries flashed on-screen. A few settings were identifiable. Seattle. New York City. Las Vegas. The majority were unrecognizable.

  Shelton turned to me. “So what, he’s into police reports? Disaster stories?”

  “They’re his work.” My stomach churned with revulsion. “Everything on here. This must be the Gamemaster’s private archive. A diary of his twisted games.”

  “Trophies.” Hi’s voice was hushed. “His collection. Every serial killer has one.”

  Ben’s fist slammed the coffee table. “I’ll kill this sick freak!”

  Suddenly the screen went blank. There were sounds like a videogame, then a new program opened.

  The Gamemaster’s face appeared.

  “Hello, Tory.” He smiled. “Welcome to my humble home.”

  CHAPTER 55

  HAZEL EYES. STRONG chin. Features I’d encountered twice before.

  “It’s a shame I can’t see you, but the audio functions both ways, so we can chat. Frankly, I’m stunned you’re all still alive.”

  The Gamemaster was indoors, out of the storm. He wore an odd brown robe, and his thin brown hair lay dry and flat against his scalp. His body filled the screen, making it impossible to guess his location. I had the impression he was transmitting from a smart phone.

  “Monster,” I hissed, flare powers roiling in response to my anger.

  Shelton and Hi were beside me on the couch, staring at the screen, their glowing eyes round with shock. Ben’s face
paled, then he popped to his feet and began pacing the room. Sensing the tension, Coop trotted to my side and dropped to his haunches.

  “Not so,” the Gamemaster replied calmly. “I’m an artist.”

  “Artist?” Hi spat. “We’ve seen your repulsive slideshow. You’re a terrorist!”

  The bastard laughed. “Hardly. I create violent masterpieces. Conduct symphonies of destruction. Your game was simply my latest triumph.”

  “Toying with lives is not a game!” I snapped. “You’re psychotic!”

  “Everything is a game.” He spoke patiently, as if instructing a child. “I merely design fantastic examples. It’s a shame you’ll never understand.”

  “We beat you,” Hi taunted. “We’re here, alive. The debutante ball wasn’t a massacre—it wasn’t even touched. All you did was murder an innocent scientist. You’re nothing more than a common street thug.”

  “You cheated,” the Gamemaster spat. My flare eyes detected a slight tic in his left cheek. Once. Twice. “Broke the rules.”

  “We never agreed to play!” Shelton shouted.

  “YES YOU DID!” A snarl curled the Gamemaster’s lips. “My first letter was an invitation. You accepted by seeking the next cache. It was your choice.”

  “It was a trick,” I said. “A coward’s setup.”

  “I gave you a chance to be great!” The playful tone was long gone. “An opportunity to shed the trappings of your pathetic, boring lives. You should be thanking me.”

  “You’re insane,” I snapped. “Playing God to mask whatever’s broken inside you.”

  The Gamemaster’s face was granite, but the tic was a giveaway. I could tell he struggled to contain his fury.

  “The world is insane,” he hissed. “I just help it dance.”

  “We have your computer!” Shelton crowed. “It’s going straight to the cops.”

  “Everything on that drive is public record.” Dismissive. “I’m not so reckless that I’d keep evidence connecting me to a crime. You don’t even know who I am, Mr. Devers. None of you do. There’s nothing on that laptop that can harm me.”

  His arrogance infuriated me. “How many have you killed? Do you even know?”

  “I’ve killed no one.” Almost offended. “Those unfortunates lost The Game.”

  “The Game is rigged!” Hi barked. “They never had a chance.”

  “LIE.” The Gamemaster leaned close to the camera. “Every clue had an answer, each puzzle a solution. Those people failed.”

  “Has anyone escaped?” I asked. “Any player survived?”

  “No.” The brown-clad shoulders rose and fell. “But everyone had the chance.”

  “How can you live with yourself? So many dead.”

  “We’re all just meat, Victoria Brennan.” Spoken quietly. “Fragile bags of fluid and bone, drifting aimlessly, plodding through life until something ends it. I provide an escape from that dreadful reality. A chance to shine once in a drab, miserable existence, before facing the abyss.”

  “You’re a hot, steaming ball of crazy,” Hi said. “You know that, right? Freaking Looney Tunes. How have you gotten away with this for so long?”

  “Bad things happen, Hiram.” Strangely, he giggled. “Car brakes fail. A bridge gives way. A house explodes during a violent storm. Most times, no one suspects a thing. ‘Unlucky,’ they say. Bad karma. Fate. Even when the authorities confirm foul play—when I’ve left behind one of my toys, like that wonder box at The Citadel—it makes no difference. I follow no patterns. Leave no signature. I’m a ghost.”

  He flourished one hand. “I’m the Gamemaster.”

  “We tracked you here,” I said. “We’ll find you again.”

  “Doubtful. Though I admit, you’ve impressed me. Nearly caught me off guard. That never happens.”

  The image blurred. I sensed the Gamemaster was rising to his feet. Then his face filled the screen once more. “Now tell me, where is young Benjamin Blue?”

  Ben froze mid-pace. Senses amplified, I heard his breath catch. Scented a burst of perspiration.

  “Tell Ben thank you,” the Gamemaster continued. “I’ve never worked with a partner before. It made this Game more exciting than others, being able to get so close—”

  “NO!”

  Ben sprang and grabbed the Dell, then flung it across the room.

  The laptop hit the wall and exploded into pieces.

  The rest of us shot to our feet. Coop bounded to stand between Ben and me, a confused growl rumbling in his throat.

  No. It’s not possible.

  “What was he talking about, Ben?” I watched him with flare intensity. “Why did he call you his partner?”

  “He’s a liar!” Ben’s chest was heaving. “I never tried to—”

  He didn’t finish.

  At that moment, a series of powerful gusts struck the row house, rattling the walls and shaking the foundation. Water pounded the windows and roof. Outside, Katelyn was shrieking to new heights.

  My focus never shifted from my friend. I needed answers.

  “Explain. Now.”

  Shelton raised a trembling hand. “Ya’ll hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Eyes still on Ben, who was staring at the floor.

  “Hissing,” Shelton said. “Like the sound I heard in the basement of the Citadel.”

  There was a thump outside, but I ignored it.

  Shelton’s warning had tripped an alarm. But why?

  I thought furiously. The Gamemaster’s recent words flashed in my brain.

  Bad things happen, Hiram. Car brakes fail. A bridge gives way. A house explodes during a violent storm. Most times, no one suspects a thing.

  A house explodes during a violent storm.

  Hissing.

  “Oh my God.”

  I closed my eyes and drew deeply through my nose. Noted a hint of something harsh. Oily. The odor was subtle, but intensifying by the second. Gas. Without my flare I’d never have caught it.

  I swung my head, testing for a scent trail.

  The smell was trickling down the hallway.

  A house explodes.

  Gas.

  The kitchen!

  Headlights swept the room.

  Hi shot forward and pressed his face to a window. “The driveway!”

  I bolted for the kitchen. There the stench was overpowering.

  My eyes shot to the stove. Saw the severed gas line.

  The fireplace!

  I tore back down the hall, terrified I was too late. “Everybody out!”

  Hi tried the front door. “Locked! Deadbolt. No key!”

  Ben shoved Hi aside. Golden eyes smoldering, he backed up three steps and charged, shoulder-slamming the door from its hinges. The forward motion tumbled him out onto the waterlogged grass.

  The wind screamed as it swept into the living room, carrying a noxious perfume of salt, dead vegetation, garbage, and oil. Driving rain began drenching the carpet and furniture.

  I frantically gestured to Hi and Shelton. “Go go go!”

  They needed no urging. We shot out into the storm, Coop a half step behind us.

  I heard a soft whiff, like an intake of breath.

  Fire exploded from every window.

  The force of the blast launched bricks and wooden slats high into the churning sky, tossing me forward like a Wiffle ball. I hit the ground and rolled, instinctively covering my head.

  The boys were already sprawled across the lawn.

  “Everyone okay?” I shouted. Three nods. The calmest corner of my mind noted the other Virals were still flaring.

  Coop was circling me protectively, ears flat, fur wet and dancing in the gale.

  Behind me, the house burned like a bonfire, defying the gallons of water plunging from the sky.

  Slightly dazed, I glanced at the street.

  The black F-150 was idling by the curb.

  My flare vision pierced the truck’s rain-streaked windshield. I saw the Gamemaster, eyes wide, mouth a black oval of shock. He li
ps formed a single word: impossible.

  Six canvas duffels were piled in the truck bed.

  Facts snapped into place. How could I have been so blind?

  The fire in the living room. The Dell. Headlights in the driveway.

  We’d hoped the Gamemaster might return. Never suspected he hadn’t left.

  The storage shed! We didn’t check the damn shed.

  “Bastard!” Ben charged the truck.

  Startled, the Gamemaster stomped the accelerator. Rainwater sluiced up from his tires as the F-150 careened down to the intersection and turned left.

  Ben sprinted after, wet jeans molded to his legs, jacket sleeves flapping in the vicious wind. I watched truck and boy disappear around the corner.

  “Ben, wait!”

  My scream was swallowed by the storm.

  Then a gray blur fired past me.

  “Cooper, no!”

  Ignoring me, the wolfdog charged in pursuit.

  Shelton and Hi ran to my side.

  “What should we do?” Hi was hunching to hold his ground in the swirling wind.

  Shelton grabbed my arm. Shouted. “What did the Gamemaster mean about Ben?”

  “I don’t know! We have to catch them!”

  A trash can barreled down the street. Shingles flew from nearby roofs.

  It was lunacy to be outside, but what choice did we have?

  “Let’s go!” Rounding the corner, I spotted Ben a block ahead, running full tilt. Coop was loping a few yards behind. Even flaring, I couldn’t see the F-150.

  Hurricane Katelyn was wholly unleashed.

  Trees thrashed and writhed. Garbage and palm fronds swirled in the street and plastered walls and buildings. A fence post rolled down the sidewalk, followed by a plastic mailbox, a boot, and a clump of sodden magazines.

  Horizontal rain filled my mouth and needled my skin.

  Even flaring it was hard to see, to breathe.

  We need every scrap of power. All we can access.

  I motioned for Hi and Shelton to draw close.

  Eyes shut, I focused on my flare. On the flaming cords linking our minds, the root of our psychic connection. Reaching deep, I drew from the hidden well of power I’d tapped to escape the grate.

  Warmth permeated my limbs. The wind seemed slightly less murderous.

  Instinctively, I spread the heat to my pack. Hi. Shelton. Coop. Even Ben.

  Hi’s back straightened. Shelton stopped shivering.