by Paul Draker
Mason looked out a window into darkness. “It’s going to rain soon,” he said.
Lightning flashed, lighting up the rocky ground outside. He turned away and walked through the living room of the Greek Revival house, passing Brent, who sat in a corner. He went upstairs.
Coming down the stairs a few minutes later with five empty jugs, he passed Jordan, sitting on the bottom step with one leg stretched out in front of her, a dead expression on her face. She held the speargun draped over her knee, its point resting on a stair.
“That ankle looks bad,” he said. “Why don’t you have Brent look at it?”
Jordan didn’t respond, didn’t even glance at him, so Mason continued down the stairs and walked over to Brent.
“I need something sharp.”
Brent regarded him for a moment with eyes that were almost normal again, and then lifted the first-aid kit onto his lap. He opened it and held out a scalpel.
“One of those jugs is mine, I presume.”
Mason used the scalpel to cut away the top of each jug. “Yours, mine, Camilla’s, Natalie’s, Veronica’s. Hope you don’t mind. They were all more or less empty.”
Brent shrugged. “Veronica is next door, I think. You can ask her for permission if you like.”
Mason grinned. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
Carrying the jugs outside, he looked up at the faint outlines of the roof, silhouetted against the roiling clouds. He placed the jugs below corners where the planes of the roof met to form valleys. They would collect a lot more water this way.
The shingles up there weren’t clean, though. He ducked back inside.
Ten minutes later, he was on top of the dark roof with a roll of clear plastic sheeting in one hand and a staple gun in the other. Working by the light of the LED headlamp he had found in Lauren’s bag, Mason lined the valley between dormers with clean plastic. Something caught his eye: a footprint discoloring the brick chimney. He raised his head to shine the light on it and grinned, because he recognized the sneaker tread.
Camilla.
She was easy to underestimate. A lot of people here had already made that mistake. But he wouldn’t.
Once he was back in the main room, he looked at the scoreboard.
“Hey, Brent,” he said. “Travis is still in play. What do you make of that?”
“I have no idea, and I can’t say I much care.”
Brent shifted positions to look up at the scoreboard. His eyebrows rose. “It does look as though your boyfriend is showing you up, however, Jordan.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Her voice sounded dead. “He’s nothing.”
Mason laughed. “I guess this show just went into reruns.”
Jordan pushed herself upright in a single graceful motion and hobbled up the stairs.
“Trouble in paradise, I guess.” Mason watched her go. “But for real this time.”
Brent shook some pills into his hand. “Maybe Jordan’s starting to learn that there are people who won’t dance like a puppet whenever she flashes that smile at them.”
“You don’t like her very much, do you?”
“No. I don’t.”
CHAPTER 147
Lightning flashed, illuminating the empty dock that jutted over black water. In the afterglow, Juan waited for a longer break between flashes, then thrust himself up onto the end of the dock. Crouching in place for long seconds, he scanned the dim outline of the breakwater and the jumbled rocks below. Nothing moved. He stood and walked forward until he reached the foot of the breakwater.
Large, tangled masses of kelp draped the shore, piled high in knotted skeins where the waves had left them. Stopping at the base of the breakwater, he panned his vision across the top, noting the flashes from infrared camera lenses. But the rocks were otherwise still.
Something grabbed his ankle.
Juan jerked his foot to the side and leaped away, grabbing for the Glock. He stood balancing on his other foot, one hand on the gun’s grip, seeing nothing where he had been standing.
The touch had been gentle, without any real force. He looked down at his elevated ankle, surprised to see a long smear of bright green paint visible against the black neoprene of his wetsuit. Relaxing, he put his foot down and moved his hand away from the gun.
Where he had stood a moment earlier, a tangle of kelp moved. A face pushed out between the yellow-brown leaves and coils of seaweed, and Camilla smiled up at him. She crawled out of the pile, pushing the strands of kelp away from her shoulders and arms.
Juan held out a hand, and she took it. He helped her up to stand beside him on the rocks.
“Ewww.” She brushed at her hair and clothes, sticky from the kelp slime, and made a comic face of disgust. Then she looked him up and down.
“I was wrong,” she said. “You look good in black. It suits you.”
She pocketed the spare paintball ammunition canister she held, and wiped her green-smeared hand on her pants.
He looked at the green paint on his ankle again. “I didn’t expect that. But I think I’m beginning to understand.”
She looked at him without guile. “I was waiting a long time. I was so worried when you and JT… Where did you go afterwards? What were you doing?”
“Thinking.” He looked at her with curiosity. “So I was your target?”
“Not originally. I think this is how it went. Mason was after you at first, but then Jordan got Mason, and I got her.”
“You got Jordan? She was your original target?”
“No, Natalie was. But Natalie was after Veronica, which was a pretty uneven matchup, don’t you think? So naturally, Veronica took out Natalie. Jordan was originally Veronica’s target, but she took her out instead. Thank god I didn’t have to go up against Veronica myself.”
“And JT comes into all of this exactly where?”
“He took my gun away. And the target card with your name. But, Juan”—she poked his chest with her index finger—”he did that because I had already eliminated his original target.”
He nodded grimly. “Jordan.”
Camilla’s face was serious, too. “I know this sounds stupid, but something really strange is going on.”
He thought about it for a moment. “You go on up to the houses. The rest of them should be there already, waiting for us.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to check on something first.”
“What?”
“How Julian pays his utility bills.”
CHAPTER 148
Three suspicious faces looked up at Camilla when she walked into the living room of the Greek Revival house.
“You got him,” Jordan said. It wasn’t a question. She looked down at her feet.
“But where’s JT?” Camilla asked, starting to worry.
“He never came back,” Mason said.
Juan and JT were both still out there. After the fight she had seen, the thought of another confrontation between them chilled her blood. But they weren’t the only ones missing.
“What about Veronica and Natalie?” she asked.
“Next door. But the game isn’t over yet…” Mason pointed at the scoreboard.
“Travis must have been Juan’s target,” he said, “so now he’s yours.”
“No.” She shook her head. “This is all screwed up.”
She pulled out a green paintball and tapped it against a projecting nail on the wall, puncturing it.
“Let’s see what we have,” she said.
Drawing a four-foot circle of letters on the wall in green paint, she wrote the first letter of each of their names, except for the three “J” names, which she wrote as “Jo” for Jordan, “Ju” for Juan, and “JT” for JT. Stepping back, she considered the diagram.
Then she drew green arrows connecting each assassin in the game to his or her original target.
Although it was more or less a circle, there were some interesting discrepancies.
Veronica’s and JT’s arrows both poi
nted at Jordan.
Camilla’s arrow pointed at Natalie, but there was no arrow pointing at herself.
The “T” representing Travis was completely isolated, with no arrows pointing either to or from him. She tapped the wall under the “T,” thinking.
“Mason, can you please go get Travis’s envelope?”
A minute later he was back.
“Someone already took it,” he said. “And his paintball gun, too.”
Camilla’s eyes widened. “That’s not good.”
Brent stood. “I don’t much like the sound of that, either.”
“Where’s Natalie?” Veronica’s harsh voice cut through the room like a razor. She stood in the archway of the foyer that connected the two houses, eyes darting frantically around the room.
Little hairs prickled at the back of Camilla’s neck. “You mean she wasn’t over there with you?”
Veronica’s gaze speared her. “I thought she was in here with you people! Why didn’t you check with me instead of just assuming?”
“Come on,” Brent said. “Let’s go find her—and check on Travis, while we’re at it. We shouldn’t have left the scientists in charge of him. He’s too dangerous.”
Mason waved a languid hand at the windows. “It’s raining out there now…”
“So stay.” Veronica cut across the room and out the front door into the downpour, moving fast.
Camilla started to follow.
“Hold on,” Brent said. He reached into a pocket of his fishing vest and tossed her a small vinyl packet. Then he did the same for the others. She looked at hers. It was a disposable rain poncho, from the scavenger hunt four days ago. Nodding thanks, she unfolded it to slip it on.
Jordan batted hers away. She didn’t stand, and her expression of disinterest didn’t change.
Mason and Brent slipped their ponchos on and followed Camilla out into the wet night.
• • •
“He’s breathing.”
Hearing Brent’s words, Camilla sagged with relief. Seeing Dmitry stretched out on the concrete floor of the science station with blood coating the side of his face, she had been sure he was dead.
Kneeling beside him, Brent looked up. “We shouldn’t move him, though.”
Moaning, Dmitry rolled onto his back, eyes still closed. His face contorted into a grimace of pain.
“Blyad,” he said. “The criminal—he is gone?”
“Get up, you imbecile.” Veronica crowded forward. “Why did you let him go?”
Dmitry sat up and pushed away Brent’s hand, ignoring her.
Camilla looked around. “Where is Jacob?”
“I don’t know.” Dmitry blinked, looking at their faces. “Jacob, he is not thinking right. Nu pai yehkhal chelavek.” He focused on Veronica, and his face darkened. “I tell you about this already, many hours ago, but you say to me fuck off and not bother you right now. Now it is dark outside—all of you must help me find him.”
Veronica exhaled a wordless noise of frustration and turned away. “Useless.”
“Let’s get him back over to the houses,” Camilla said. “You need to look at his head, Brent, and then we’ll organize a search party. For Natalie, Jacob, and Travis. And JT.”
“You’re wasting time,” Veronica snapped. “She could be hurt out there.”
Veronica’s clothes were soaked. Water dripped down her face from the short, wet spikes of her hair. Her eyes were wild.
Brent pulled out a poncho to hand her, but she was already out the door again. His eyes met Camilla’s, and she turned away from the stony reproach in his face. This is your fault, Brent’s expression said. You encouraged them to play this game.
A bitter metallic taste filled her mouth.
She had forgotten all about Natalie. While the rest of them chased each other around the island, Natalie was all alone.
She could hear Veronica’s raised voice outside, strident with fear, calling Natalie’s name.
• • •
Back in the living room of the Greek Revival house, Camilla watched Brent stitch Dmitry’s scalp with skillful hands. She could hear Mason going from room to room, upstairs and downstairs in both houses, calling Natalie’s name.
“We need Juan and JT now,” she said. “They can handle Travis without anyone else getting hurt—”
A voice from the doorway interrupted her.
“A real shame they ain’t here, then.”
Travis walked into the room. Water soaked his clothes and hair and dripped from the sling around his right arm. He waved the paintball gun in his left hand at Brent.
“Y’ought ta open up a regular clinic here, Doc. License or no license, it looks like you’re getting plenty of business. I guess beggars can’t be choosers, and people sure do have a way of getting hurt on this island.”
Brent stood up. “What do you want, Travis?”
Camilla stepped closer to Brent, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at Travis. She couldn’t breathe. He had killed Heather. Oh god—and maybe Natalie, too, now? Was Brent right? Had she caused this?
“I just want to talk,” Travis said. “Seems there’s some misunderstandings between us. We need to clear the air.”
“You hit me from behind like bitch.” Dmitry pointed to his head. “I never see you. How you can open chains without key?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Toe-varish, but you looked like you were taking a nice nap there. Person who read you your good-night story musta’ wanted me back in the game pretty bad.” He looked at the scoreboard. “Seems I’m pretty late to the party, though.”
“Where’s Natalie?” Camilla asked, feeling her throat constrict.
Travis’s snake eyes fixed on her, and he grinned an unpleasant grin. “Camilla. Scoreboard says it’s just you and me left, so…”
He raised the paintball marker and fired.
Brent raised a hand in front of Camilla’s face, and brown paint splattered across his palm; he had intercepted the shot intended for her. He stepped forward, blocking her completely with his body, and swung his open hand to slap the paintball gun away. It clattered into the corner with a sound of breaking plastic.
Travis shoved him one-handed, sending him staggering back against the wall.
“You’re about to be real sorry you did that, old man.”
“I’m not sure about that, Travis. Look around you.”
Camilla was relieved to see Mason walk into the room. And Jordan now leaned against the doorway, one ankle raised, the speargun in her hand.
Mason held something gray wadded in his hands. Clothing.
“Julian won’t come unless we finish the game.” He smiled at Camilla. “Your assassin tried and failed, so now he’s all yours…”
“Fuck you, faggot.” Travis’s hands clenched into fists.
Mason ignored him. “Where’s your gun, Camilla?”
“JT broke it—”
“God damn it!” Brent shouted at her. “Five people are missing right now. Hasn’t your foolishness cost us enough?”
“TRAVIS!” The ragged shout froze everyone in place.
Veronica burst through the outside door, letting in a spray of rain as she crossed the room with rapid strides. Camilla stepped aside as Mason did the same, the two of them parting to let Veronica pass between.
She came to a halt a foot in front of Travis, her fingers curling and twitching like the legs of a spider. Dangerous lights flickered in her pale, bulging eyes.
“Where is she?” Veronica screamed into Travis’s face. “Tell me now!”
Eyes narrowing, lip curling, he stared at her.
Mason spoke into the silence. “Veronica…”
She ignored him.
“Veronica,” he repeated.
Camilla turned and stared at the gray object Mason held spread in front of him. Natalie’s hoodie. Spatters of wet brown paint smeared the front, overlaid on a dried starburst of red.
“I found this in her room,” Mason sa
id.
Camilla’s throat locked up.
Brent looked at the brown paint dripping from his hand. Then he looked at Travis.
The silence that filled the room was thick, pregnant, like the pause between lighting’s flash and the boom of a thunderclap.
Veronica looked up into Travis’s face again. Her voice changed to a liquid, velvety, sexy purr.
“Where is she, Travis?”
“Why do you care, bitch?” Travis sneered. “What’re you, her mom?”
Veronica spun away from him, and something seemed to blur in front of his neck with an ugly, meaty crunch.
Travis dropped straight down, collapsing behind her like a puppet with its strings cut.
At first Camilla was confused. Then she realized that Veronica had used the momentum of her turn to snap a back elbow into Travis’s throat. It had been faster than a striking snake—almost too fast to see.
On the floor, Travis sucked in a ragged gasp of air as his face darkened. Veins on his neck bulged, and his next breath tapered off into a whistling wheeze. His eyes widened, filled with awful realization. He groped weakly for Veronica’s calf.
She shook off his hand without looking down—impatiently, as if she was dislodging the claws of a too-playful kitten.
“Natalie’s out there somewhere,” she said to them all. Her chest heaved. “This animal hurt her, or worse.”
Travis’s face was purple now. He clawed at his throat, ripping at the collar of his shirt.
“Oh god, he’s choking!” Camilla said, grabbing Brent’s arm. “Please do something.”
Brent pulled loose from her and pushed past Veronica. Kneeling beside Travis, he unsnapped the first-aid kit and reached inside.
Veronica ignored the activity behind her.
“Now, who’s coming with me?” she asked.
Light glinted off the blade of the scalpel in Brent’s hand. Camilla’s eyes widened as he hunched over Travis. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but a bubbling whistle rose from Travis, followed by another.
“Tracheotomy.” Mason laid a hand on her shoulder. “Opening his airway.”
Veronica turned her neck and looked down at what Brent was doing behind her. Then she raised a knee and stomped backward with her running shoe. Hard.