by Chris Carter
CLOCK – 5:37, 5:36, 5:35 . . .
BURIED – 326.
EATEN – 398.
The woman inside the glass coffin gave up on all her efforts. All she could do now was cry. Suddenly her lips started moving again, and for a split second everyone held their breath. Captain Blake was about to ask Hunter to translate what she was saying, but she didn’t have to. Everyone realized the woman was praying.
Twenty-Six
The phone on Hunter’s desk rang, catching everyone by surprise like an electric shock. The light flashing on the phone’s face indicated an internal call.
Hunter immediately snatched the receiver off its cradle. It was Dennis Baxter.
‘Robert, you’re not going to believe this, but the FBI CCD had already picked up the website. They were trying to figure out what it was when I called them.’
‘Can they help?’
‘I’m on the line with Michelle Kelly. She’s the head of the department. Can you make this into a conference call?’
‘Sure.’ Hunter pressed the necessary buttons. ‘Go ahead.’ He had also put the call on loudspeakers.
‘I’ll make the formal introductions later,’ Baxter said. ‘For now – Homicide Special Detective Robert Hunter meet Special Agent and Head of the FBI Cybercrime Division, Michelle Kelly.’
‘Ms. Kelly,’ Hunter said in a hurried voice. ‘I trust Dennis has explained what we are faced with here. Is there any way you can help?’
‘We’re trying, but so far we’ve only managed to hit brick walls.’ Her voice was feminine but strong. Someone who was definitely used to leading. ‘Whoever is doing this has this thing wrapped up pretty tight.’
‘Ms. Kelly, this is LAPD Robbery Homicide Division Captain Barbara Blake. What do you mean – wrapped up pretty tight?’
‘Well, one of the tricks in our arsenal is that we can shut down any web transmission inside US territory.’
‘So shut this thing down.’
A nervous chuckle. ‘We tried. It just pops up again.’
‘What? How?’
‘I’m not sure how much you understand about web technology, and I don’t want to just throw tech language at you, but the site’s IP address changes constantly.’
‘Like bouncing a call?’ the captain asked.
‘That’s right. Each new IP address is an exploited server that runs a mirror image of the real one. It’s like looking at someone’s reflection inside a room packed with mirrors. You see hundreds of identical images, but you can never tell exactly where the real image is coming from. Are you with me so far?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. The server also uses an extremely low TTL – time-to-live – which is what dictates how long it will be until your computer refreshes its DNS-related information.’
‘Sorry . . .?’
‘It just means that your computer is constantly asking the server for the website’s address, and every time it does, the server points your computer to a different mirror. So even if we managed to shut one down, it would make no difference, because the server would just show your computer the same website via a different mirror. It’s technically complicated, but that means that whoever is behind this is a damn fine coder, a programmer with a fantastic knowledge of cyberspace.’
CLOCK – 3:21, 3:20, 3:19 . . .
BURIED – 644.
EATEN – 710.
‘The name register and the domain servers are all in Taiwan,’ Michelle added. ‘Which adds another level of complication to the equation. As you probably know, since the island nation was claimed by the mainland People’s Republic of China, Taiwan is not recognized as an independent country by the US, meaning we have no diplomatic relations with the Taiwanese.’
‘How are so many people finding this website so fast?’ Garcia asked. ‘Pickadeath.com isn’t exactly the kind of address people will type in by chance.’
‘We’ve already checked it,’ Michelle said. ‘He used social networks. He hijacked other people’s accounts and placed a message on some very popular Twitter and Facebook pages. Those pages get several hundred thousand hits a day. People see the message and curiosity takes over; consequently, they go check it out. Now the reason why people are voting might be because they don’t think this is real. They might think this is a hoax site, or some new type of “click-and-explore” game.’ Michelle paused for breath. ‘There’s also the fact that there are a hell of a lot of sadistic people out there. Some of them would happily eat popcorn and swig at a beer while watching American citizens being tortured to death. And if they are allowed to participate, even better.’
‘Is there anything stopping people from voting more than once?’ Garcia asked.
‘Yes,’ Michelle replied. ‘Once you click one of the two buttons, both of them get deactivated. No one can vote twice.’
‘How do you know?’ It was Captain Blake this time.
‘Because we tried it.’
‘You voted on a death method?’
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Michelle explained, but she wasn’t being apologetic. ‘We came across the website before we got the call from Dennis. We didn’t know what we were dealing with. We were trying to figure it out.’
The woman on the screen removed her hands from her face. Blood and tears had created strange designs on her cheeks, but fear had shocked her into an almost tranquil state. Her eyes weren’t searching anymore; instead they were now coated with immense sadness. Hunter had seen that look before, and he felt as if his stomach was being sucked into a large black hole. Just like the first victim, as if aided by a sixth sense, she had realized that no one would come for her, that she would never get out of that box alive.
A feeling of total helplessness hit everybody at the same time, because everyone had their eyes on their screens.
CLOCK – 1:58, 1:57, 1:56 . . .
BURIED – 923.
EATEN – 999.
Twenty-Seven
It took only a split second, but it felt like an eternity. BURIED changed first, three numbers in quick succession – 924, 925, 926.
Inside Hunter’s office everyone held their breath.
And then it happened.
EATEN – 1000.
As soon as the number changed it started flashing on the screen, announcing to everyone that they had a winner.
No one moved. No one blinked.
On the phone, Michelle Kelly and Dennis Baxter had also gone quiet.
On the screen the woman was still crying. Her hands were still shaking and bleeding.
The seconds ticked away.
Everyone waited.
Suddenly, from the black tube attached to the glass coffin Hunter had noticed earlier, something small and dark shot out and flew across the woman’s body.
‘What the hell was that?’ Captain Blake asked, her gaze ping-ponging between Hunter and Garcia. ‘Did you all see that?’
‘I saw it,’ Garcia replied. ‘But I have no idea what it was.’
Hunter was concentrating on the screen.
Then it happened again. Something shot out of the black tube with tremendous speed.
The woman twitched as if someone had abruptly shaken her awake from a trance. She looked down along the coffin toward her feet. It was obvious she couldn’t see anything, but whatever it was that was now inside the glass enclosure with her had brought her panic back, and then multiplied it by ten. She twitched again, this time a lot more desperately. She ran her hands against her body, almost slapping it, as if frantically trying to brush something off of her.
Three, four, five more entered the glass coffin via the attached tube.
‘Are those some sort of flying insects?’ the captain asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Hunter said. ‘Maybe.’
‘Can insects eat someone alive?’
‘Some would be able to, yes,’ Hunter answered. ‘Certain ants and termite species can feed on flesh, but you would need several thousands of them in there, and none of them moves that fast or lo
oks that big.’
The woman’s face contorted into a look of agonizing pain. Her eyes squeezed tight and her mouth kicked open to let out a scream that no one could hear, only imagine.
‘Oh my God,’ Captain Blake said. Both of her hands moved toward her mouth. ‘Whatever those things are, they are eating her alive. This can’t be happening.’
The woman lost control as terror took over. She was desperately kicking her legs and, despite the cramped space, doing what she could to wave her hands across her body and face.
At once, at least fifty new flying insects were dumped into the coffin via the attached tube.
‘Oh Jesus Christ.’ They all heard Michelle say over the phone.
The camera zoomed in on one of the flying insects, and everyone froze.
It was about two inches long, with a blue-black body and raven-black wings. Its serrated, thin legs were just as long as its body. A pair of black antennas protruded from its head.
‘Oh, fuck!’ Garcia said, feeling a cold shiver travel down his spine. He took an awkward step back, as if he’d seen something no one else had. All of a sudden he looked like he was about to be sick.
Twenty-Eight
For an instant Hunter and Captain Blake’s eyes left the screen and homed in on Garcia.
‘Carlos, what’s wrong?’ the captain asked.
Garcia took a deep breath and swallowed hard before regaining his focus and pointing at the screen. ‘That insect,’ he said, still sounding rattled. ‘That’s a tarantula hawk.’
‘That’s a what?’
‘A tarantula hawk,’ Hunter said. He’d also recognized the species. ‘A spider wasp.’
‘That huge thing is a fucking wasp?’ The captain coughed the words.
Garcia nodded. ‘They’re called tarantula hawks because they kill tarantula spiders for food and to lay their eggs.’
‘Oh, for the love of God. Are you telling me that those are flesh-eating wasps?’
‘No,’ Garcia said. ‘No wasp feeds on human flesh.’
Confusion set in on Captain Blake’s face.
‘But their sting,’ Garcia clarified, ‘is one of the most painful insect stings in the world. It’s almost like someone sticking a three-inch, three-hundred-volt electric needle into your flesh. Trust me, their stings are so painful it does feel like chunks of flesh are being ripped from your body.’
Hunter didn’t need to ask; his facial expression posed the question.
Garcia explained. ‘In Brazil there’s a very common species of tarantula hawk called Marimbondo. You find them everywhere. I was stung by four at once when I was a kid, and it put me in hospital. I almost died. The pain lasts only a few minutes but is totally sickening. It can make you delirious. I don’t know that much about them, but I know that they aren’t aggressive by nature, only if provoked.’ He pointed to the screen. ‘Her panic, the way she’s waving her hands about: that would be more than enough provocation. Her best chance would be to lie still.’
Hunter and everyone else knew that would be impossible. They couldn’t hear it, but they all knew that the buzzing sound of one two-inch-long wasp flying around inside a closed casket would be enough to fill most people with terrifying horror. By now, the woman had almost a hundred in there with her.
‘I also know that tarantula hawks can’t eat anyone alive,’ Garcia added. ‘But the venom from a single sting is enough to paralyze a tarantula spider. If a person is attacked by a whole nest . . .’ He pointed at the screen again and shook his head. ‘You tell me.’
On the screen the woman had stopped moving, paralyzed by the intense pain of the stings. Large red lumps now covered most of her torso. Inside the glass coffin there must’ve been over a hundred and fifty tarantula hawks buzzing around her, and still more were being released into the enclosure.
Her face had also been stung tens of times. Both of her eyes had swelled up so severely they were almost shut. Her lips had puffed up to twice their size, and her cheeks were totally disfigured, but she wasn’t dead. Not yet. She was still breathing. With her mouth semi-open, she was taking short, staccato breaths in between body tremors.
‘How long can this go on for?’ the captain asked, nervously pacing before Hunter’s computer.
Nobody answered.
The camera zoomed in on the woman’s face just as three tarantula hawks landed on her lips, stung them again and then slowly moved onto her tongue before disappearing into her mouth.
Captain Blake just couldn’t watch it any more. She looked away just as something began pirouetting inside her stomach. She struggled not to be sick right there and then.
A few seconds later a tarantula hawk climbed out through the woman’s left nostril.
No one said anything.
The woman finally stopped breathing.
Moments later the website went offline.
Twenty-Nine
The disturbing silence that took over the room came from a mixture of sadness, helplessness and pure anger. Despite the website being offline, Hunter, Garcia and Captain Blake’s eyes were still fixed on Hunter’s computer screen.
Michelle Kelly and Dennis Baxter were still on the phone. Michelle spoke first.
‘Detective Hunter, we’ve been monitoring the site’s traffic from the beginning. In the few minutes it was online, it received over fifteen thousand hits.’
‘Over fifteen thousand people watched this poor woman die?’ Captain Blake asked with a tone of disbelief.
‘It looks that way,’ Michelle replied.
‘Ms. Kelly,’ Hunter took over. ‘Can we meet? If necessary I’ll put in an official request for a joint effort between the LAPD and the FBI, but I’d like to start on it as soon as possible.’
‘Absolutely. Even with no official request, I want in. This goes way beyond department politics. My entire team and I will do all we can to help. I’ll be in our office until late tonight, if you’d like to come by.’
‘I will, thanks, and thanks for your help today.’
They disconnected.
‘Over fifteen thousand people?’ Captain Blake repeated it, still half shocked. ‘This thing is already out there, Robert. There’s no way we can contain it. We better get ready for the mother of all shitstorms.’
Hunter’s cellphone rang. The caller display window showed unknown number.
‘That might already be the bloodsucking reporters,’ the captain said.
‘Detective Hunter, Homicide Special,’ he said into the mouthpiece.
‘I told you it would be fun,’ the caller said in a serene voice.
Hunter had to take a deep breath before pressing the loudspeaker button.
‘And with almost two whole minutes to spare.’ The caller chuckled. ‘Oh boy. That was something else, wasn’t it? OK, OK, she wasn’t actually eaten alive, but, believe me, those stings are so painful it feels like your body is being ripped apart by sharp teeth.’
Captain Blake looked at Garcia. ‘Is that the sick fuck?’ she whispered.
Garcia nodded.
The captain’s nostrils flared. She was ready to let go of a barrage of abuse.
Hunter saw it first and lifted his hand, signaling her to stay calm.
‘Do you know how many people watched that online, Detective?’ The caller sounded amused. ‘Over fifteen thousand. Isn’t society sick?’ He paused and snorted. ‘Of course you know society is sick. You chase sickos for a living, don’t you, Detective Hunter? Sickos just like me.’
Hunter said nothing.
‘The problem is,’ the caller continued. ‘When is somebody considered a sicko, Detective Hunter? How about all the people who watched? How about all the people who voted? Are they sickos? Regular, everyday people, Detective: social workers, teachers, students, cab drivers, waitresses, doctors, nurses, even police officers. They all wanted to see her die.’ He rethought his words. ‘No . . . worse. They didn’t only want to see her die. They wanted to help kill her. They wanted to press the button. They wanted to choose how
she would die.’ He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to resonate. ‘Does that make them all accessory to murder, or does it all fall under “human morbid curiosity”? You should know, Detective Hunter. You’re both a cop and a criminal behavior psychologist, aren’t you?’
Hunter didn’t reply.
‘Are you still there, Detective?’
‘You know I’m going to catch you, don’t you?’ The conviction in Hunter’s words was absolute.
The caller laughed. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes. I will find you. And you will pay.’
‘I do like your attitude, Detective.’
‘It’s not attitude. It’s a fact. Your days are numbered.’
The caller hesitated for a fraction of a second. ‘I guess we’ll see about that. But since you’re so confident in your abilities, Detective, I’ll make a trade with you.’
Hunter said nothing.
‘I had no doubt ten minutes was more than enough time for me to get at least a thousand votes on one of the two death methods. I had no doubt, because society is too predictable. You know that, don’t you?’
Silence.
‘But I also knew that EATEN would come out on top.’
A long pause.
‘So this is the trade, Detective Hunter,’ the caller carried on. ‘You tell me how I knew they would pick EATEN over BURIED, and you’ll find her body soon enough. You don’t. Her body vanishes. Since you’re so confident in your abilities, let’s see how good you are.’
Hunter’s stare settled on Captain Blake.
‘Tell him something,’ she urged. ‘We need that body.’
‘C’mon, Detective,’ the caller urged him. ‘It’s simple psychology. You should get this easy.’
Several seconds went by before Hunter spoke.
‘Because EATEN appealed to “human curiosity”, BURIED didn’t.’ His voice was calm and collected.
The captain frowned.
‘I like it,’ the caller said. ‘Please explain.’