by Kathy Reichs
An icy fist squeezed my heart. Without thinking, I patted my leg for Cooper, then knelt and wrapped him in a hug. He panted in my arms, eyes bright.
Hi whistled. “Whoever did this spent a lot of time and energy.”
“It’s a warning.” I no longer doubted my instincts. “They’re claiming dominion.”
“Over what?” Shelton waved a hand around the room. “Fort Sumter? They can have it.”
I shook my head. “I’m guessing more.”
“Fort Sumter is the gateway to Charleston,” Chance said slowly. “The rock that guards the harbor.”
Hi nodded, frowning at the wall. “It’s like staking your claim on the Statue of Liberty. Fort Sumter is more than just a place, it’s symbolic of the whole city.”
Shelton glanced from face to face. “So what are they saying?”
I looked to Ben. Found him watching me.
Ben cracked his knuckles, eyes hard as granite.
“It means we’re at war,” he said.
“We need to bail,” Shelton urged.
“We barely got here.” Hi reached into his pocket. “Let’s get some pics.”
“There’ll be plenty online by now,” Shelton grumbled, but he pulled out his iPhone as well. In moments the two were tapping away from various angles.
I stepped closer to the gruesome mural, circling slowly to avoid the cameramen as I studied our adversaries’ handiwork. The wolf heads had been gouged with clean, violent strokes, then coated with three different paints. Red. Black. White.
Abruptly, Coop growled. Teeth bared, he began pacing the chamber, cutting back and forth in sudden, jerky motions. I tried to ruffle his bristling fur, but Coop skipped out of reach, halting to snarl at the wall.
“I’m with Coop.” Shelton nodded toward the entrance. “We should get out of here.”
“We need samples.” Reaching into my pocket, I removed a Swiss Army knife and three plastic stoppers I’d brought specifically for this purpose. With delicate strokes, I peeled off flecks of each paint color and placed them into the receptacles. Then I knelt and examined the shards of brick at the foot of the wall.
“This was cleverly done.” I rose, wiping my hands on my shorts. “Whoever created this has the fine motor skills to chisel quickly and efficiently, even crouching in the dark. Does it seem like something Speckman could’ve pulled off?”
“No,” Chance said. “Will’s a lot of things, but an artist isn’t one of them.”
“I’m not seeing anything new in person,” Shelton complained. “Wasted trip.”
“Then it’s time.” Chance’s voice carried a trace of eagerness.
“For what?” I asked.
“We didn’t come out here for the same view as the police.” Oddly, Chance glanced at Ben, who nodded curtly. “If there’s something for us to see,” Chance continued, “some message from whoever did this, it’s going to be—how should I say it?—for our eyes only.”
His meaning was clear. “You think we should flare.”
“Of course.” Chance was surprised by my hesitant tone. “Why else would we come here? If other Virals put in the effort to craft this . . . whatever it is, then we need to examine it from our unique shared perspective.”
“He’s right.” Ben scowled, then kicked at the floor in frustration. “Let Chance and me know what you find.”
Chance squinted at Ben, confused. “Come again? I’ll take a look for myself, thanks.”
“You can’t.” I understood Ben’s irritation. “You both flared already, during your stupid pissing match in the bunker. It’ll be a while before you can access your powers again. Take it as a lesson in self-control.”
Ben’s face reddened, but he held his tongue.
Chance’s head swung between Ben and me. “What are you talking about?”
“Flaring is like drawing water from a shallow well,” I explained. “Once you drink, you have to wait for the reservoir to refill.”
I didn’t mention the few times we’d managed to flare in quick succession, mainly because I didn’t fully understand myself. I knew it required extreme stress, and unusual circumstances, but the exact trigger remained a mystery.
Best not to confuse the newbie while he was still learning.
Chance, however, was looking at me like I was crazy. “Um, no.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Shuddered.
When his lids opened, Chance’s irises burned fiery red.
The rest of us stared, dumbstruck. Then we closed like jackals.
“How’d you do that?” Shelton demanded.
“Back-to-back flares?” Hi snapped his fingers, incredulous. “Just like that?”
Ben’s face was a mask of poorly concealed envy. No, more than that. Hunger.
“What?” Chance seemed startled by our reactions. “You can’t do that?”
“No.” My thoughts churned as I met his smoldering scarlet gaze. “At least, not on command. It has happened before, but no one has mastered the trick.”
To be able to touch my powers at any time, unrestricted . . .
I understood the yearning in Ben’s eyes.
Then I felt a stab of fear, like being dropped into a deep, dark pool.
“If Chance can flare at will—” I began.
“Then these wolf-head loons probably can, too,” Shelton finished, tugging his ear. “Great.”
Chance fidgeted, uncomfortable with our scrutiny. “I told you—the parvovirus strain I created wasn’t the same as Karsten’s. Obviously, since my eyes turn red. We don’t know what all the differences may be.”
Hi poked Chance in the shoulder. “Well, that’s a pretty big one.”
Chance didn’t notice. He’d frozen in place, and was staring over Shelton’s head at the rear wall. “We can discuss the finer points later. Right now, you should let the wolf loose. Because it turns out I was right.”
I spun, following his line of sight. “What is it?”
“You’ll see.” Chance’s eyes remained glued to the wolf-head mural.
That was enough for me.
I flipped the switch.
SNAP.
The power burned through me, like sticking a fork in an electric socket.
Sweat slicked my skin. My heartbeat thundered. When finally able to breathe again, I gasped at the painting. “Holy moly.”
“Oh hell.” Shelton pocketed his glasses, one hand covering his mouth. “That’s not good.”
There was another engraving above the first. Invisible to the naked eye—chiseled with no more than a whisper of pressure—was a second message only a flaring Viral could see.
I read the words out loud.
“‘We see you. We know you.’”
Scratched beside the last letter was a vertical line topped by a rectangle on its right side. Inside the rectangle was a tiny triangle.
“They know everything,” Hi whispered. “About us. About our powers.”
I nodded grimly. “We’re the only ones who could read this message. Or would even think to look for it. And they have the advantage. They know who we are. What we are.”
“And we don’t know a damn thing about them.” Ben’s non-glowing eyes narrowed on Chance. “This is all your fault, Claybourne.”
“Enough with that!” I scolded. “We need to focus on finding these people.”
“This here.” Shelton hurried forward and tapped the rectangle design at the tail end of the hidden message. “What is it? It looks like the mast of a ship.”
“A trademark?” Hi suggested. “Like their calling card, maybe?”
“They’re messing with us.” Ben punched his leg, frustrated he couldn’t see the markings. “Taunting us. Making sure we know they have the edge.”
“Not a mast.” Wheels were turning. “Something more . . .” I str
aightened, sudden insight snapping me to attention. “Hi, you said there’s a flag monument here?”
Hiram’s eyes popped. “Of course! There are six flagpoles on the parade ground. I bet—”
“Lead the way.” I snagged Coop by the collar and pulled him toward the exit.
Chance killed the lights as we hurried outside. Moonlight bathed the courtyard, narrowing my golden eyes. No sound but the sea. No movement. A bouquet of scents assailed my nose. Crumbing mortar. Wet stone. Damp mold. I tasted rain and salt on the sultry night air.
For a moment, the place felt deserted. A lonely atoll somewhere deep in an endless ocean.
The flagpoles stood at the bottom of a short slope. We gathered by their footings and peered up the long metal shafts. Five were empty, banners stowed for the evening. But something limp hung at the top of the sixth.
“Hiram.” I made a “get it down” motion with my hands.
Hi exhaled theatrically. “Okay, but this is how horror movies start.”
“I’ll do it.” Chance grabbed the slender rope, untied a double knot, then slowly lowered the object, one pull at a time.
My heart raced as I watched it descend.
Was a worst-case scenario unfolding before my eyes?
For the first time, our darkest secret lay exposed.
Someone knew we were Viral.
Not suspected. Not wondered. Knew.
And we have no idea who.
I kept my panic in check. Pushed away all thoughts of getting caught. Of being studied like rats in a laboratory. Men in white hazmat suits, holding me down, prodding me with needles until the wolf emerged.
Breathe, Tory. Breathe.
I felt pressure on my palm. Looked down. Ben’s fingers had curled around mine.
I didn’t pull away, surprised at how much I relished the contact.
No. More. I squeezed his hand tightly, hoping he might squeeze back.
Then Coop bumped into me from behind. Startled, I dropped Ben’s hand, and it quickly slid away. Unsure what to do, I reached down and scratched the wolfdog’s ears.
Coop whined, glancing up at the fort’s outer wall. He nudged my leg a second time.
“What is it, boy?”
I knelt, but Coop danced backward. Then he turned and trotted up the slope. At the top of the wall he froze, gazing out over the waves. My flaring ears picked up his second whimper.
I was about to follow when Chance spoke. “Got it. Who wants first look?”
Chance was holding a yard-square piece of heavy canvas. Shelton, Hi, and Ben each snagged a corner and the four boys stretched it out between them.
Shelton’s tongue clicked. Hi made a choking sound. Chance muttered under his breath.
Ben’s voice was acid. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a challenge.”
The boys were holding a crude flag. A hole had been cut into one corner to attach it to the flagpole. On its face was a stylized triangle—three familiar wolf heads, equidistantly spaced, connected by straight black lines. Two short sentences ran across the top:
Can you find us? Come out and play.
Below the triangle were two additional words in all caps.
THE TRINITY
“What the hell does that mean?” Shelton squawked.
“It’s what these Virals call themselves.” Adrenaline rocketed through my body. “We were right—there are three of them. Three wolf heads. A connected triangle.”
“A new pack, gunning for us.” Ben scowled at the coarse fabric. “Stupid name, too.”
Hi looked up suddenly. “Hey, what’s our pack name? We should definitely come up with one. I’m kind of excited about this.”
Shelton dropped his corner in disgust. “Why hang a stupid flag? Why come out here at all? How could they know we’d take the bait? That we’d flare and find their dumb taunt. That the police wouldn’t see it. That’s a whole lot of risk for absolutely nothing!”
“Um, guys?” Hi’s voice cracked slightly.
I tore my eyes from the canvas. “Yeah?”
Hi was scanning the tiered walls surrounding us. “Just remembered. I kinda saw the flagpoles when we crossed the catwalk. I wasn’t flaring or anything, but the moonlight’s pretty strong. I, uh . . . I didn’t see anything hanging then.”
Shelton’s face twisted. “What do you mean? We’re holding this flag right . . .”
Everyone froze.
Coop. He’s uneasy.
I whirled, searching for my wolfdog. Spotted him atop the wall, staring at the ocean.
“Coop!” I whistled. “Here, boy.”
Coop looked over his shoulder, then returned his attention to the waves.
Bad thing. Coming.
The sending shocked me.
Coop’s voice, echoing smoothly inside my head.
Beside me, Hi and Shelton flinched as one. They’d caught something, too.
“Was that Coop?” Shelton hissed. “Did he say ‘bad thing’?”
“A bad thing?” Chance squinted at Shelton, confused. “Wait, Coop is talking?”
Chance hadn’t caught the message, a fact I filed away for later consideration.
Frustration pinched Ben’s features. “What’s going on?”
“The wolfdog is spooked,” Hi whispered, dropping to a crouch. “Now I am, too.”
No more talking, I sent. The Trinity may be here.
But Chance couldn’t hear me. “The Trinity may be here,” he warned. “Right now.”
I hustled a few yards upslope. Coop! Come, boy.
Coop’s head whipped toward me. He yapped twice, then looked back out to the sea. A spike of agitation traversed the bond we shared. Unnerved, I raced up to the wall’s edge.
“What is it, boy?”
Then my flaring eyes picked out a black speck floating just above the horizon. As I watched, mystified, the shadow crept toward the harbor, leaving a trail of wake but making no sound.
“What the . . .”
I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.
Despite its stillness, the object was advancing quickly.
Movement nearby. The boys had climbed to join me.
I ignored them, straining my flare senses, trying to decipher the puzzle.
“I don’t like this,” Hi said in flat voice.
“What’s that sound?” Shelton whispered. “You guys hear?”
“Sssh!” My ears finally picked up something—a steady metallic thrum, like a sword slicing through air.
The answer came in a flash.
“Helicopter.” It made no sense, but nothing else made sense. “Someone is flying a black helicopter over Charleston Harbor at night.”
“One that doesn’t make noise.” Hi took a shaky step backward. “And appears to heading right for this pile of rocks.”
The chopper grew larger as it approached the island at an angle. Then it banked.
There could be no mistake. It was coming straight for us.
“Go go go!” Ben started shoving people back downslope.
I grabbed Coop’s collar and pulled him after me. We broke into a wild sprint, down the hill and across the parade ground.
“This way!” Hi pointed to a metal staircase leading up and over Battery Huger.
We raced up the steps, crossed the central building’s flat roof, then hurried down an identical set of stairs on the opposite side.
As my foot hit the ground, an alarm began to wail.
“I told you the museum had security!” Hi moaned.
Too late for that. We sprinted for the sally port and the pier beyond. Outside the walls, I ducked instinctively as the helicopter passed overhead, virtually noiseless, with no lights or visible occupants.
Chance crouched down beside me. Coop growled, but I shushed him.
I
grabbed Chance’s arm. “What’s going on? Who is that?”
Chance shook his head, motioned to Sewee bobbing fifty feet ahead.
We streaked across the dock to the runabout. Coop leaped aboard, then scrambled to the stern and gazed westward. The rest of us vaulted the rail in a disheveled throng. Hi and Shelton frantically untied lines as Ben dove for the captain’s chair. Chance paced the tiny foredeck, face pale, focus turned inward.
I hurried astern to where Coop still watched the sky.
The helicopter was banking, coming around for another pass.
“Oh man oh man oh man . . .” Shelton’s hands shook as he worked the last knot. “It’s after us! Why would a stealth chopper be after us?”
Hi barked a nervous laugh. “Maybe they’ve really increased park security.”
“Quiet!” Ben sat behind the wheel, lights off and engine dead.
We watched the helicopter pass overhead, slow, and then stop, hovering in midair twenty feet above the slender patch of open ground on the opposite side of the fortress.
Coop snarled menacingly, back stiff and tail extended. I couldn’t have agreed more.
“Is it going to land?” Chance spoke aloud, unaware he was doing so. “Right now?”
“Let’s not find out.” Ben turned the key and spun the wheel, churning away from the dock. We ran blind across the harbor, fleeing toward Morris Island. I couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back.
As Fort Sumter disappeared behind us, two simple questions rattled in my brain.
Who was in that helicopter?
What did they want with us?
ATTENTION: DIRECTOR WALSH [“EYES ONLY”]
FILE STATUS: TOP SECRET [LEVEL 5]
CASE: #34687 (AKA—PHOENIX INQUIRY)
FILE TYPE: INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT
DATE: APRIL 12, 2014
SUBJECT(S): GOODWIN, ANTHONY (“AG”)
PRINCIPAL INVESTIGATING AGENT(S): J. SALTMAN, B. ROGERS
INTERVIEWING AGENT(S): J. SALTMAN (“JS”), B. ROGERS (“BR”)
INTERVIEW LOCATION: WINFRED COLEFIELD STATE MEDICAL INSTITUTION
INVOLUNTARY, LEVEL 7—MAXIMUM SECURITY
COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA
ADDITIONAL NOTE(S): SUBJECT GOODWIN IS CONFINED TO A PSYCHIATRIC FACILITY (DIAGNOSIS: PTSD), PENDING TRIAL FOR VARIOUS STATE AND FEDERAL CRIMINAL CHARGES. DURING THE INTERVIEW, SUBJECT GOODWIN REFUSED TO ANSWER QUESTIONS UNLESS ADDRESSED AS “THE GAMEMASTER.”