Cold Flood (Kea Wright Mysteries Book 1)

by RJ Corgan

  Flipping through the drawings, she found herself in awe once again at the young woman’s ability to delicately capture the intricate layers of the rock face. Each one was signed in the bottom corner as if Tiko expected to appear in a gallery someday.

  Kea thumbed through the volume until she reached yesterday’s sketch of the exposure. While the attention to detail was still excellent, the drawing appeared rushed. Examining the signature, Kea realized that instead of Tiko’s name and the date was scribbled a number that looked like an IP address followed by ‘/lancet,’ in tiny print.

  Lancet. The same name Derek had mentioned, Kea remembered. Too tired to bother going to the visitor center, she activated the hotspot on her phone, extra fees be damned. She entered the ip address into a browser but found herself looking at a web page with nothing on it except the T3 logo and a login screen.

  Kea searched through the rest of the journal but found nothing that resembled a username or password. Turning back to the screen, she scrolled down and saw a familiar seal at the bottom of the page. It was a tiny circle with the drawing of an ant and a blade of grass with a field of stars in the background. The same one as Max’s tattoos.

  Clicking on the icon got her nowhere. Typing Admin or Guest into the login produced similar results. At a loss, Kea searched on ‘lancet.’ It returned hundreds of results, including several obscure medical journals. She spent the next ten minutes clicking through the pages but found herself none the wiser. She tried combining ‘t3’ and ‘lancet’, but that resulted in nothing more revealing. She returned to the drawing Tiko had left her, then searched on the terms ‘ant’, ‘grass’, ‘night’, and ‘lancet’.

  Dicrocoelium dendriticum returned immediately. A parasite known as the Lancet Liver Fluke.

  Kea spent the next five minutes totally grossed out learning what Mother Nature did to her poor creations. She was both repelled and fascinated.

  The fluke lived in the livers of infected sheep and then laid eggs that wound up inside the sheep’s feces. Through a complex cycle, snails ingested the feces and the eggs, before extruding them as slimeballs. These tasty morsels were then eaten by ants, who would have their brains hijacked by the parasite. Every night, the parasite used its mind control to force the ant to climb up a blade of grass and clamp onto the end, waiting for it to be consumed by the sheep, thus completing the circle of life.

  A very twisted circle of life, Kea reflected.

  While she knew very little about what T3 did, she doubted it had anything to do with animal behavior modification. Most of the people that she had met on the team seemed to be a developer or programmer.

  Perhaps it was a code name for a virus they were developing. Or an anti-virus?

  She headed outside. She needed to get some fresh air and clear her mind. It was raining, of course, but only a light drizzle which suited her. There was nothing so soothing as having a quiet walk in the mists and fog. Slipping on a couple of outer layers, she grabbed her toothbrush and headed to the bathroom.

  It was only then that she noticed the cluster of people gathering around the research hut. She jogged toward the crowd, a sense of dread growing in her stomach. Muttering spilled around her as she pushed through the campers pressing against the entrance to the hut. “What’s going on? What’s happening?” she asked anyone who would listen. None of the faces were familiar to her.

  “Accident, in the shower,” said one.

  “Some kid slipped,” said another.

  “Did you see all the blood?” said a young boy with a British accent, smiling delightedly.

  “What? Who?” Kea shoved her way to the center of the crowd. The concrete path was dark with a puddle of vivid crimson. The color was jarring, out of place, rich and violent. She couldn’t, however, see any sign of anyone injured.

  “They’re gone,” a familiar voice filled her ear. “Headed for ‘Klaustur.” Amirah was by her side, holding her arm.

  “Who?” Kea turned on her, grabbing her shoulders. “What happened?”

  “Cole,” Amirah said gently. “He’s fine, he’s okay. Marcus and Zoë took him to the medical center at Kirkjubæjarklaustur. Julie went too. Everyone’s okay.” Her deep brown eyes implored Kea to remain calm.

  “That,” Kea yelled, pointing at the pool of blood, “is not okay!” She realized that the crowd was staring at her. The muttering continued, but no longer about the blood, about her.

  Amirah folded Kea into a hug and pressed her head against her neck. She cupped her fingers around Kea’s ear and whispered, “Cole slipped in the shower and broke his arm. It’s a bad break. He cut his head too, so there was bleeding, but they stopped it, and he’s in good hands. They’ll both be okay.” She pulled back and looked Kea firmly in the eye. “And so will you. Yes?”

  Kea found strength in that look, saw echoes of her own mother in those eyes. “Yes,” she managed at last. She realized she was shaking. She looked around at the crowd of people watching her. “I’ll be okay.” She nodded at them and made herself walk into the hut. She gave a smile that she hoped conveyed the message, ‘I’m not a loon. Please go about your business,’ but she was fairly certain that she wasn’t pulling it off. Once inside, she tried to put their looks behind her. She needed to get cleaned up. In so many ways.

  The research station was usually crowded with biologists, thick with the heady smells of cooking and laundry, but now it seemed eerily empty. She slipped into the unisex bathroom and made hasty work cleaning her face. Rubbing her temples, she could feel the pressure of a headache building within her skull.

  I should have done something, she thought.

  Should have what? she knew Jason would have countered. What would you have done? Held Cole’s hand in the shower? You can’t be responsible for everyone, for everything.

  But I do, Kea answered silently. I don’t know why, but I do. And I always seem to fail.

  Her mind held no reply, the only sound the thump, thump, thump of her own heart.

  Kea turned to leave the bathroom but instead found herself turning the corner to examine the shower stall. She wasn’t sure why, but she lingered at the threshold.

  Don’t know how to stop... Jason’s voice echoed in her head.

  “Shush you,” she muttered aloud. She pulled open the door and knelt by the puddle of blood that still clung to the edges of the drain.

  Kea had seen enough blood before in her life and found it nauseating at best. Now, however, she found herself drawn to the shiny, red globules that trembled as she knelt against the edge of the floor basin. It seemed unworldly somehow. So much darker, so much richer than she remembered. She leaned closer, entranced but careful not to touch it.

  How did Cole manage to break a limb in the shower?

  The base of the shower was metal, cold, and sharp, true enough, but what on earth was he up to in here? Remembering she was dealing with a teenage boy, she flinched. Putting her hands against the wall, she levered upward, examining the stall as she did so. There were steel handles bolted to the walls, but even then, it would take quite a fall to…

  Her foot rocketed out from under her, causing her to swear as she slid onto her backside. “Christ on a stick,” she swore in relief. If she hadn’t had her hand braced, she would have been the second casualty in the medical center.

  Carefully, she used the handle to pull herself upright. Then, bracing both hands against the wall, she pressed her boot to the shower floor. It slid across the surface with frightening ease.

  Puzzled, she knelt again, this time resting her knees outside the stall. She ran a finger along the metal floor, careful to avoid the blood. Examining her skin, she saw an odd iridescent shimmer. She rubbed her thumb against her finger. It slid, like graphite gliding across a sheet of paper. She gave it a sniff. It didn’t smell like soap or grease. It was almost metallic.

  Familiar, she thought. Maybe...

  She headed off with long, confident strides out of the hut and across the campground. She hurried over the wet gr
ass, weaving through the team’s tents until she reached the cache of supplies that they kept behind the main tent. There, under the awning, sitting within the chaos of wrenches, screwdrivers, and cables were two spray cans of petroleum-based lubricant. She popped the lid off and took a whiff.

  It was the same scent.

  Kea felt a strange sensation flow through her, a mixture of relief and anger. Yes, Cole had been injured, but for the first time, she had proof. Proof that she wasn’t crazy, that someone was actively trying to...

  Very slowly, she put down the can into the mess of the other supplies, conscious of how visible she was to the rest of the campground. She stared at the equipment, trying to come up with another reason that she would be here. Her hands lingered on the jar of chocolate spread, then drifted around the assortment of tools. Selecting a metal clipboard, she walked around to the front of the main tent. Flipping open the cover, she dug out a pen and rummaged through the forms inside, doing her best to look busy, purposeful.

  I am occupied, she broadcast, her head bent over the forms.

  It was certainly true that Cole’s accident meant that she had a great deal of paperwork to fill out for Eco-Observers. With any luck Marcus was on the phone with them now. Not to mention filing a report with the authorities, if she was right about the lubricant. First, though, she needed to check one thing. She made a show of shuffling through paperwork for a bit longer, then gave an audible sigh and nipped back into the main tent. She skimmed the whiteboards and saw that her name was still on the shower rota for, she glanced at her watch, about thirty minutes ago.

  The thought chilled her. If someone had deliberately done that to the shower, they weren’t after Cole. Someone was after her. A chemical test to confirm the presence of the oil would take some time, Kea reasoned, before she was struck by the sheer ludicrousness of the concept. Death by shower? What was the point? Who would be stupid enough to even try something like that?

  It was then Kea saw Tony, walking away from a tent partially hidden behind the line of bushes. He hadn’t seen her, or at least she didn’t think so. It looked like he was headed for the visitor center, but his motions were furtive.

  He’s definitely up to something, she thought, remembering his actions the night before. She hurried after him, clutching the clipboard to her chest, relieved to be doing something at last, but still no closer to understanding what was going on.

  Chapter 16

  Kea trailed Tony to the visitor center but lost sight of him in a churning busload of tourists. She used the opportunity to call Eco-Observers via the center’s phone. It turned out that Marcus had indeed already alerted them. They assured her that the medical center in Kirkjubæjarklaustur was expecting Cole. The voice of the staff member who helped her fill out the accident form was very soothing. Paperwork rarely had that effect on Kea, so she knew that she must have been rattled to the core.

  She used the visitor center’s fax machine to send the completed form to headquarters. Waiting for the confirmation receipt to print out, she sat in a chair at the front desk, watching the tourists mill in and out. The mundane atmosphere made all the drama of this morning somehow seem surreal.

  Did anything happen at all? The thought stuck in her head for some reason. She pulled up the number of the police on her phone but paused before dialing.

  Paranoid, she thought. I’m just being paranoid. This sort of thing doesn’t happen. I just have a feeling and some oil.

  “A smoking gun,” she muttered to herself, “it is not. Maybe it’s time to give up.” Reflexively, she glanced at her watch.

  Oh crap.

  Realizing the time, Kea sprinted out of the visitor center. The research hut was a quarter mile west, and when she reached it, she was panting for air. Staggering to the entrance of the unisex bathroom, she saw the ‘Closed’ sign and swore. She stumbled through the door, nearly bowling over the cleaning woman.

  “Hello?” The young woman, alarmed at Kea’s entrance, took a step behind her cart.

  Kea peered over the woman’s shoulder. Too late. The shower stall had been scrubbed clean, no sign of blood or oil. The tiles almost sparkled. Any evidence had been washed down the drain.

  Now I really will seem crazy.

  “Can I help you?” The cleaner asked. Her words were hesitant, as if addressing a child that might burst into tears at any moment.

  “Sorry.” Kea took a long breath, forcing herself to calm down. “I just thought...” She looked at the slight blond woman, her tiny frame dwarfed by the cleaning cart, her expression one of confusion. “I thought I left my bag,” she finished.

  ***

  The cooling taste of the vanilla ice cream gave Kea something to focus on that was deliciously real. After slugging back to the visitor center, she had hit the café for a snack and a chance to think. If I’m going insane, she reasoned, calories are the least of my problems.

  Sitting behind the counter while Ísadóra was on a smoke break, Kea stared absently at the phone again, her mind in a fog. The noise of the tourists and children wandering through the visitor center was familiar, reassuring. Her gaze lingered on the campground map taped to the desk. The research hut with the shower was on the far western edge, she noticed, just off the map. The entrance to the shower meant that anyone could have gone in and out unobserved.

  Kea considered the implications. While it was possible that Bonnie, the person before her on the rota, had slicked the shower, it seemed unlikely, unless she was dealing with the dumbest criminal in history. Leaving one’s name on the whiteboard screamed a bit too much of ‘I did it,’ than a convincing double bluff. She scanned the map again, first studying the EO campground, then letting her gaze spiral out toward the edges. She paused at a campsite located close to the tree line where she had seen Tony loitering earlier, marked with the letters ‘TJ’.

  Maybe Tony’s not schtupping Ísadóra after all, Kea thought. He wouldn’t really be stupid enough to rent out a separate campsite under his own name, would he? Unless Ísadóra knew. Were they both using the tent for said schtupping? What on earth is he playing at?

  “Why is everything always about sex?!” Kea asked the room.

  The tourists paused in their conversations to stare at her.

  Kea hurried out as fast as she could, no longer caring what anyone thought.

  ***

  “You rat bastard,” Kea breathed. She stood in the middle of Tony’s second tent, staring at its contents. She hadn’t broken in exactly. She had knocked. Lightly. On the fabric. Then, seeing that only half-inch had separated the zipper from the securing end, she had hesitated from opening it, worried about invading his privacy. Until she saw what was inside.

  She heard Tony step into the tent behind her.

  “What are you...” Tony’s voice drained away.

  Kea grabbed the front of his shirt with one hand and jabbed her finger in his face with the other. “You filthy little turd.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tony’s eyes narrowed.

  She was floored. He didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. She waved around at the tent floor. It was covered with sample bags and maps. “You’re stealing our data!”

  Tony shrugged. “I just took some samples to analyze later. I’ll still have to do all the work.”

  “You’re using our funding to acquire samples,” Kea yelled. She remembered the GPS transects she had seen him doing that first afternoon along the margin of Skaftafellsjökull. “And doing surveys... you were going to publish without us.”

  Tony shook his head. “Don’t be-”’

  “Christ,” Kea cut him off. “You really are Marcus’ protégé. To think, this whole time I thought you were acting weird cause you were shagging Ísadóra.”

  “Ah...” Tony averted his gaze.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake...” Kea groaned, praying Ísadóra’s father didn’t find out. Not to mention Tony’s girlfriend back home. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”


  “It’s not that big a deal,” Tony protested feebly.

  “You stupid prat!” Kea seethed. “You know, I actually thought you were the killer! And all this time, you’ve just been,” she picked up a sample bag and tore it apart, scattering the contents throughout the tent in an explosion of black dust, “screwing around!”

  Silence followed, punctuated only by the rattle of tiny pebbles on the canvas floor of the tent. Tony stared at her, and for the first time, his expression became one of honest bemusement.

  “Ummm...” Tony met her eyes for the first time. “What killer?”

  ***

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Tony asked. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

  “Welcome to my world.” Kea desperately wanted to hit him. As they jogged across the campground, Tony followed in her wake, firing question after question. She ignored most of his babbling, answering only the bare minimum. An idea was forming in her head. She sprinted the last few meters, the grass slippery under her feet from the nonstop drizzle of the rain. She slid onto her knees, tore at the zipper, and shoved herself through the flap. She grabbed her laptop. The battery was dead. “Hell.”

  “What is it?” Tony asked from outside of the tent. Kea ignored him. In the dim light, she rummaged through her sleeping bag, clothes, and assorted mess of candy wrappers. Finally, she spied Zoë’s memory stick peeking out from beneath a pile of socks. Grabbing it, she scooted backward out of the tent and turned to Tony. “Your laptop, now.”

  ***

  In contrast, Tony’s tent was immaculate.

  As if Kea needed another reason to hit him.

  She knelt in front of his laptop but paused before handing the data stick to him. It was still possible that Tony had tried to kill her, and that this data stick was exactly what he was after. She almost hoped it was true because she was looking for a reason to rip his throat out. Even as the laptop hummed to life, she knew she would be disappointed. Tony was manipulative, greedy, and self-serving, but she doubted he had the balls to kill anyone. She handed him the thumb drive. “Here.”