Terminal

by Kathy Reichs

  Chance hadn’t moved a millimeter. “What’s happening?”

  Finally ashore, I trudged over and slapped Chance on the back, nearly causing him to jump from his skin. “Coop just vouched for you.” My tone grew serious. “Don’t make him regret it.”

  Chance lowered his shaking hands.

  He nodded to Coop when the wolfdog glanced his way.

  “No. No, I certainly won’t.”

  We rode back in silence.

  Ben was in the captain’s seat, busy navigating the tricky mass of sandbars between Morris and Loggerhead. Shelton and Chance huddled up front, watching for other ships. I sat on the stern bench next to Hi, with Coop curled at my feet.

  Secretly watching Ben’s back.

  Though my eyes darted away every time he seemed about to glance over his shoulder.

  He never did. The moment—our moment—had passed, whatever it was.

  Would it come again? I knew it was my imagination, but I could almost feel the walls rebuilding inside him.

  Was that what I wanted? To bury what happened with a shovel, and then bury the shovel?

  I ran a finger over my lips, replaying the moment his touched mine. The memory was electric, like grabbing a power line. Shocking. Surreal. Yet I couldn’t stop. I thought about it over and over and over.

  Me. Ben. Together, if only for a few heartbeats.

  Was that what I wanted? Was Ben what I wanted?

  I knew he liked me. Had known for months—ever since his tearful confession the day of the hurricane.

  My mood soured, remembering those fateful hours. Ben had betrayed the pack because of his feelings for me. He’d unwittingly put hundreds of lives in danger.

  Why was I even thinking about this? Stolen kisses on a boat, while maniacal Virals were wreaking havoc all over Charleston. While a covert organization was shadowing our every move?

  There might be a worse time to fall in love, but I couldn’t imagine it.

  My breath caught.

  Was that what this was? Love? I had zero experience in that area.

  Infatuation? Sure. Look no further than my naïve flirtation with Chance last year.

  I shifted uncomfortably.

  Chance.

  Another complication.

  Determined to torture me, my brain switched to young Master Claybourne.

  The two of us, together on a park bench. His hand clutching mine.

  I shook my head, as if my mind were an Etch-a-Sketch I could wipe clean.

  Chance had said things, too.

  He was so much more direct than Ben. Confident. Self-assured.

  For an instant, old fantasies roared back to life. Dating Charleston’s most eligible bachelor. Hosting fab parties at Claybourne Manor. Every girl in the city jealous of me. I’d be Charleston’s Princess Kate, on the arm of the city’s most handsome and powerful scion.

  Enough. You’re ridiculous.

  I’d thought boy trouble was Jason Taylor chasing after me. Seemed like kids’ stuff now.

  And suddenly Jason’s with Madison. I’m still not sure how that makes me feel.

  What a mess.

  Chance. Ben. Jason.

  Could three boys be any more different?

  “Blargh.”

  I rapped both fists against my temples. Once. Twice. Thrice.

  Hi gave me a sympathetic look. “Head lice?”

  My eyes rolled. “You nailed it.”

  He nodded knowingly. “I have some of that shampoo at home. It’s for my cats, but I can’t see why it wouldn’t work on you.”

  “Lovely.”

  The other boys didn’t know anything. Quite obviously, neither Ben nor I had announced we’d semi–made out aboard Sewee while they’d been stranded on Loggerhead.

  Would they figure it out? Intuit that something happened?

  Ben’s brooding silence wouldn’t raise eyebrows—that was par for the course. But I was sure to crack at the first sign of pressure. Hell, at the first odd glance.

  I’ve never been a good liar. Not to my friends, at least.

  Sewee’s vibration changed, snapping me from my thoughts. Ben slowed the runabout, nosing into a final stretch of shallow water approaching our island home.

  I glanced at my watch. Was stunned to learn it was only nine thirty.

  Kit and Whitney wouldn’t even be suspicious.

  Because you never lie, right?

  Okay. Fine.

  Beside me, Hiram half rose from his seat. “Hey, what’s that?”

  He pointed northward, toward the tip of Morris Island.

  A soft red glow was building at the entrance to Charleston Harbor.

  “What’s that light?” Shelton called from the bow, motioning to the same area. “A cruise ship getting in late?”

  Coop stirred. His nose lifted, snuffling the night air. Then his eyes swung to meet mine. Whining softly, he rolled to his feet.

  “Those ships don’t come on Wednesdays.” Ben’s voice was oddly flat.

  Chance climbed up on the bow and rose to his tiptoes. “Red light. But hazy . . . like . . .”

  Ben stiffened in his seat, color draining from his face. “Oh crap.”

  I scurried to his side. “What?”

  Ben didn’t answer. Instead, he slammed the throttle, gunning Sewee in a tight arc toward the strange glow. Chance’s arms pinwheeled as the boat accelerated beneath him. He toppled backward onto Shelton, who heroically tried to break his fall.

  “Ugh!” Shelton lay on his back, pancaked by the much larger boy.

  Chance punched the deck, not far from where I’d lain beside Ben only minutes before. “What the hell, Blue!?”

  Then Hi brushed past me, hurtling toward the bow. “No no no no no!”

  Coop raised his snout to the sky and howled, low and long.

  “Has everyone gone nuts?” Chance demanded, rising unsteadily and helping Shelton up.

  I was about to agree when a harsh, acrid scent hit my nostrils.

  Everything slammed into place.

  “Fire,” I whispered.

  Instantly, I knew that wasn’t the worst of it.

  Ben nodded grimly. “On Morris. Near the harbor.”

  We rounded a large stone outcropping that forms the entrance to our secret cove.

  The rock flickered yellow, orange, and red, reflecting a tower of flame behind it.

  Dry heat licked my skin, sucking away the moisture.

  My eyes rose.

  An inferno was raging inside the sand hill.

  Our bunker.

  Burning like a bonfire.

  Smoke billowed from the cannon slit overlooking the water. Tongues of flame danced along its edges.

  “How?!” Shelton snatched off his glasses, wiped tears from his eyes. “Who did this?!”

  “The spooks?” Hi had both hands on his head, eyes round as Frisbees. “Those freaking helo guys?”

  “The Trinity.”

  I spat the words with all the hate I could muster.

  Ben slammed the wheel, nostrils wide as he struggled to control his rage.

  “She’s right,” Chance said softly. “This must’ve been their plan all along.”

  “We were duped.” I swore bitterly. “Lured away from Morris so they could cut our legs from behind.”

  So stupid. We’ve been charging around like blind rhinos.

  “All our stuff,” Shelton moaned. “All that time and effort. The money!”

  Ben punched the wheel a second time. “When I get my hands on—”

  There was a rumble deep within the earth, followed by a deafening roar. As we watched, helpless, the sand hill collapsed in on itself. Dirt burst from all sides as the mound imploded in a whoosh of heat and flame.

  “Back!” Chanc
e shouted, coughing into a fist as dust blanketed our tiny vessel.

  Ben quickly reversed course, scooting us farther out to sea.

  But it was already over—the collapsing hill doused the fire, thousands of pounds of gravel and earth smothering the flames like a snuffed candle.

  The damage was done.

  Where our bunker had been, nothing remained but a smoking pile.

  I tried to think. To reboot my mind. “Where are Karsten’s parvovirus files?”

  “My study.” Chance tapped his chest. “All of them. Locked in a private safe.”

  One less worry, at least. “Any chance the solar array survived?”

  “None.” Hi gestured uselessly at the scorched wreckage. “It was outside the bunker, but look at that. The whole damn hill just fell into the mine shaft. It’s a total loss.”

  I glanced at Shelton. “What about the hard drives?”

  Shelton’s face brightened an iota. “I back everything up wirelessly. Our files are safe.”

  “The mini-fridge is toast.” Hi sighed deeply. “I had a sandwich in there.”

  I mentally inventoried the rest of our clubhouse. Computer workstation. Table. Chairs. Lamps. Doggie bed. And a back room full of hardware we couldn’t afford to replace.

  Our secret place. Our sanctuary. Our private Viral oasis.

  The Trinity took it from us.

  “How’d they find it?” I asked.

  “How do you think,” Ben spat. “Claybourne, of course!”

  Chance spun, irate. “I never told anyone about this place. Ever!”

  “They could’ve ripped it from your mind!” Ben fired back. “It’s your fault somehow, I know it. You’re connected to them, not us.”

  A look of uncertainty pinched Chance’s face. “That’s not possible. I . . . I don’t—”

  “Enough.” Spoken quietly, yet they all stilled.

  A fire sparked inside me. Grew to match the flames that had enveloped our hideout.

  “Okay, then.”

  Eyes never straying from the smoking remains.

  “We’re going to identify these people.”

  Fingers curling into fists.

  “We’re going to hunt them down.”

  Fists slamming together.

  “We’re going to make them pay.”

  I snuck through the front door.

  Shooing Coop before me, I beelined for the stairs and the safety of my bedroom. I hoped to avoid notice for a few minutes—my clothes were dirty and smoke-tinged, my hair a tangled mess.

  But it was not to be. Whitney swung from the kitchen before I could blink.

  “Tory!” Smiling brightly, she smoothed her apron with manicured fingers. “I was just about to wonder what you’d gotten up to!”

  Whitney winked to assure me she was joking, but the cloying attempt at humor annoyed me anyway. It made me want to actually tell her.

  I was out on Loggerhead, fighting with another group of genetic freaks, when a black-ops military attack squad tried to capture me. Oh, and Ben and I made out on his boat. You?

  I smothered the suicidal notion.

  Mad impulses had stirred the pot enough for one night.

  “Studying.” The one line they always seemed to buy. “Practice test in a few days.”

  Kit emerged from the kitchen behind Whitney, a half-peeled shrimp dangling from his mouth. “Hey, kiddo.”

  Whitney punched his shoulder as he moved past us into the living room. “Those are supposed to be for tomorrow’s potluck.”

  Kit grinned, wiping cocktail sauce from his lips. “Nobody’s going to miss that one. Or his delicious friend.”

  Whitney aimed a finger at him, face stern, but then dissolved into giggles. Kit chuckled in unison, chomping the purloined crustacean.

  God. Barf.

  I mean, I get that old people are allowed to be flirty-silly, too.

  But not in front of your own daughter, hey?

  And . . . there was something else. Whitney’s hands kept squirming, her eyes flitting between Kit and me. My father’s foot was tapping incessantly. He’d walked to the couch, but made no move to sit.

  As I nudged Coop toward his doggie bed, I watched them closely.

  Tightness to Kit’s eyes. Tension in Whitney’s shoulders.

  And yet, both were beaming. Their good mood was undeniable, just undercut with . . .

  Worry? Excitement? Anxiousness?

  Maybe they’re drunk.

  Kit had on a nicer shirt than the one he’d worn to work that morning. Whitney was wearing a designer sundress. Not uncommon for her, even this late in the evening, but the outfit combination was highly suspicious.

  Suddenly they were standing next to each other, grinning like dopes.

  I got a sinking feeling in my gut.

  An ANNOUNCEMENT was coming.

  Kit didn’t waste any time. “Whitney and I have something to tell you.”

  Whitney put a hand to her chest. “At least let her get settled, Kit!”

  “Sorry, can’t do it.” Kit gripped her hand, then turned to face me.

  They both faced me.

  Holding hands.

  To tell me something.

  All the blood in my body stopped flowing.

  Kit wore a smile that stretched across the harbor. “I have asked Whitney to be my wife.”

  My stomach leaked through my shoes.

  Whitney started clapping like a six-year-old. “And I said yes!”

  It’s happening.

  It’s really, really happening.

  I don’t think I moved a muscle. My brain shorted. My eyes locked in place. A corner of my mind agreed with Whitney. They really should’ve let me get more settled.

  “Kiddo?” Kit seemed equally paralyzed. Grin cemented in place, he held Whitney’s hand and watched me like a hawk.

  His fiancée’s hand. I’ll have to get used to that.

  I couldn’t speak. The awkward moment stretched.

  Three people, staring in silence across a tiny dining room.

  Sensing the tension, Coop padded to my side. I ignored him. Ignored everything.

  This is what Kit wants. This is what makes him happy.

  He was here first.

  “That’s . . . that’s . . .”

  Don’t blow this. Don’t ruin the moment for your father.

  “I’m really . . . very . . .”

  Whitney took a small step forward.

  Don’t. Stop. I can’t screw this up.

  “Tory?” Whitney spoke softly and sincerely. “Please know that I love your father very much, and—” Abruptly she cut off, eyes widening in alarm. “Sweetheart, you’re filthy.”

  Nose crinkling, Whitney reached for my mussed, tangled hair. “There’s dirt on your sleeves, and I can smell—”

  She’d crafted the perfect escape. Like a release valve forcing open.

  “Mind your own business!” Batting her hands away. “Ben’s car got stuck in the mud. Is that okay?” Laced with all the sarcasm I could muster.

  A part of my brain understood what was happening, but those cells weren’t driving.

  “God, you’re always butting in!” I stormed past them both, pounding up the stairs with Coop on my heels. “I don’t need a replacement mother!”

  And there it was.

  I blew it after all.

  My steps quickened, fleeing the horror scene I’d no doubt created below.

  I waited for Kit to shout. For Whitney to start bawling.

  Neither happened.

  Which made everything so much worse.

  Pushing Coop ahead of me, I slammed my bedroom door, then slid down its length.

  Waited for the inevitable footsteps and knock.

  That didn’t
happen either.

  Coop hopped onto my bed, circled twice, then settled with his head on his paws.

  Watching me. Disapproving, I was sure.

  “Don’t you start.” A snivel. I was a slight push from becoming Niagara Falls.

  Coop tilted his head sideways.

  “Fine. I’m sorry.”

  I slammed a palm on the carpet.

  No.

  No no no.

  Crazy thing was, I wasn’t upset about their engagement.

  Surprised? Absolutely. Secretly disappointed? Yes.

  But I’d known this day was coming.

  I’d feared it. Hid from the possibility. Hoped it might wait until after I’d moved out. But Kit and Whitney getting married would shock absolutely no one. It was time.

  No, the anger was at myself. For acting like a spoiled brat. For being incapable of the simple human decency of congratulating two happy people.

  For bringing the shadow of my mother into their moment.

  The tears came then. Hot and fast, in a torrent unaccompanied by words.

  I didn’t want to think about Mom. Then hated myself for it.

  If I didn’t remember her, who would? I was all she’d had. We were all we’d had.

  And what had I reduced Mom to?

  A club to smash my father’s happiness. To batter Whitney, who’d never even met my mother, and had been at Kit’s side since before I’d appeared.

  Sobbing, I curled into a ball. Shoved my face in a pillow. Coop’s frigid nose pressed against my arm, and I gathered him in, too. He wiggled close, nestling his furry head in my chest.

  We lay like that until the tears ran dry.

  I have to fix this.

  My phone buzzed, startling me. Wiping my eyes, I dragged it from my pocket.

  Text message. Ben. Can we talk?

  “Oh my God!” I rolled onto my back and covered my face. “I’m cursed!”

  I replied before I could get inside my own head.

  Not now. Busy. Talk later.

  Then I waited, worried how Ben would take the curt blowoff.

  No return message came.

  Not good. Knowing Ben, not good at all.

  I buried my face in Coop’s neck. “How many things can I screw up in one night?”

  Coop shook free, then paced over to the door. Looked back.