Seizure:

by Kathy Reichs

  “‘Let a clear heart guide you through the field of bones,’” I repeated. “Shelton’s right—that must refer to the Boneyard. But the poem directed us to this watchtower first.”

  I spoke aloud, snapping facts together like Legos, encouraging the subliminal idea to the surface.

  “Hold to thy faith, and look to the sea. I’m to stand here, but what I want is down on the beach. And I need the cross to find it.”

  The cross. Why was the cross important?

  I rotated Bonny’s artifact. “The top tine is bent?” I said. “Why?”

  A design flaw? I didn’t think so. The delicate curve made the cross utterly unique.

  Using two hands, I spun the cross. The crystal in the central ring flashed in the moonlight.

  Suddenly, the pieces aligned like the tumblers in Hollis Claybourne’s safe.

  “Anne,” I whispered to the night. “I understand.”

  The boys watched in silence as I walked to the edge of the hillside.

  “‘On the moon’s high day, seek Island People.’” I recited. “‘Stand the high watch, hold to thy faith, and look to the sea.’”

  “We did this already.” The little patience Chance had started out with was long gone.

  The other Virals shushed him.

  “The cross is the key,” I said. “The last line says, ‘let a clear heart guide you through the field of bones.’”

  “Wonderful. How does that help us?”

  “Look at the cross, Chance. Inside the ring. What do you see?”

  “The crystal? That’s the clear heart?”

  “Ohmygod,” Shelton exhaled. “You’ve got it!”

  Hi shook his head. “I’m lost. How can that guide us?”

  “What strikes you as odd about this design?” I slowly tipped the cross this way and that.

  “It’s bent,” Ben said.

  “Exactly. Why is it bent?”

  Holding the cross at eye level, I gazed down at the landscape below.

  Felt a charge in my chest, as if someone had lit a match.

  Identical mounds of rock rose on each side of Jack’s Creek. They seemed wrong, out of place in the lowland swamp.

  I aligned the two mounds with the horizontal arms of Bonny’s cross.

  Perfect fit.

  “What are you doing?” Chance asked.

  “This cross is going to reveal the treasure’s location.”

  Hi was the first to catch on. “Hold the cross straight up and down. If the arms correspond to topographical features, this hill would be the bottom point.”

  I did as instructed, but lost the alignment. “I can’t make it fit that way.”

  Ben smacked his forehead. “We’re too low! There was a fort on this hilltop.”

  “The difference in elevation wouldn’t be much!” Shelton exclaimed. “Martello towers were basically squatty stone shelters. The floor would’ve only been a yard or two higher!”

  “Lift me,” I said to Ben.

  “Seriously?”

  “Of course I’m serious!”

  Chance dropped to a knee. “Hop on. I’m the tallest.”

  I swung my legs over Chance’s shoulders. He rose easily and grabbed my ankles to help me balance.

  I raised the cross. From my new vantage point, the mounds clicked into perfect formation.

  Heart pounding, I squinted, one eye squeezed shut, searching for the final piece.

  The bent upper tine had to align with something.

  I pointed to a dark spot on the ridge fronting Boneyard Beach. “Is that water?”

  “Moccasin Pond,” Hi answered.

  “Take two steps left,” I instructed Chance. “Now a half step back.”

  Suddenly, everything slotted true. The curved portion of the cross arced to the center of Moccasin Pond.

  I stared hard. The full moon was directly behind me, bright enough to tease details from the shadows below.

  “There’s an island in the pond!” I yelped. “A third pile of rocks!”

  Three mounds of stone.

  The crude landmarks triangulated perfectly with the three points of Bonny’s cross.

  Coincidence? Not a chance.

  “Let a clear heart guide me.” I peered through the crystal in the cross’s center.

  And saw nothing.

  “Tory!” Hi pointed to the lower portion of the cross. “It’s not vertical!”

  “Got it.” Orienting the cross fully upright, I realigned the three points.

  A beam of moonlight shot from the crystal heart and knifed across the sky.

  “Ohmygod!” Shelton squeaked.

  “Get out!” Hi said.

  “The full moon,” Ben breathed.

  The disk was lighting an object in the distance.

  I craned my neck to see, terrified of losing the proper orientation.

  The object was a massive tree, bone white, with skeletal branches fanning out like satanic fingers.

  “Gotcha,” I whispered.

  The moon moved in its arc, and the beacon faded. I strained to absorb every detail, knowing I wouldn’t get another chance.

  “Stop squirming!” Chance placed a steadying hand on my back.

  “It worked!” I screeched, twisting in excitement. “I know where to dig!”

  Then I was tumbling.

  Ben and Hi managed to break my fall. Chance wasn’t as fortunate.

  “Thanks, guys.” Flat on his back, rubbing a shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Suck it up,” Shelton said. “You dropped our fearless leader.”

  Chance sniffed. “She wouldn’t last five seconds in a chicken fight.”

  “I know where to dig! I know where to dig!”

  “Where?” Spoken as one.

  “Get me to Boneyard Beach!”

  BEN INSISTED WE head back toward Sewee and walk along the coastline.

  “We can’t travel the inland paths at night,” he said. “Full moon or not, you can’t see anything down in that swamp.”

  “FYI, those marshes are known as Alligator Alley,” Hi added.

  “No thanks.” Shelton shouldered his pack. “The long way sounds just fine.”

  We retraced our steps, then followed a deer track along the coastline. The moon now took up half the sky. The ocean was flat and smooth as glass, the air still and muggy. Every mosquito in the county was snacking on our sweat-slicked skin.

  After a half hour, we swung back south and reached Boneyard Beach.

  “I’ll just say it.” Hi gestured to the ghostly stretch before us. “This is the creepiest place in the world. So glad we came in the middle of the night.”

  Hundreds of dead trees lay on the beach, all bleached morgue-white by exposure to sun and salt water. The nickname was perfect. Gnarled trunks. Twisted limbs. The sand was strewn with corroded seashells and the carapaces of long-dead crustaceans. The place looked like a Paleozoic graveyard.

  “Spread out,” I said. “Look for a gigantic tree with branches spreading like Medusa’s hair.”

  I crept through the Boneyard, stopping every few yards to check the hill across the lake. Finally, I locked onto target.

  A petrified cedar, standing all alone.

  The weathered old trunk was ten feet in diameter. Two yards above ground it divided into five limbs that snaked low across the sand. Every branch reached inland, as if running away from the sea.

  The whole tree formed a lopsided V ten yards across at its widest point.

  “The devil’s hand!” Ben exclaimed. “Of course!”

  “Come again?” Hi said.

  “The Sewee legend!” Ben pumped his fist. “Remember what my uncle told me? ‘When the night sky burned as daytime, a flaming brand mounted the field of bones, and staked the devil’s hand.’ This tree has to be it!”

  Another piece clicked into place. “Anne Bonny had long red tresses, like flames. The story must describe the night she buried her treasure!”

  “The Sewee wove the event into the
ir oral history.” Ben squeezed my shoulder. “We dig here.”

  “Okay, so this chunk of firewood is the devil’s hand.” Chance was sizing up the cedar. “Where do we stake it?”

  Ben made a quick circuit, weaving through and clambering over the twisted, dead limbs.

  “The branches all run inland,” he said when finished. “Three on the right, two on the left. There’s nothing noteworthy on the seaward side of the tree.”

  I walked inside the V and put my back to the trunk. Nestled between the tree’s ancient arms, I felt sheltered and safe, protected from winds and tides.

  If it were my treasure, I’d bury it here.

  I drew a line in the wet sand. Crossed it with another.

  “X marks the spot.”

  “We’re digging in the wrong place!” Chance tossed his shovel from the hole and hopped out. “It’s a dead end.”

  “Get back in here!” Ben snapped. “We’ve only gone a few feet.”

  “And found zilch.” Chance stretched his arms wide. “It’s been over an hour!”

  “I’m barely winded. Don’t be such a baby!”

  The space between the branches had been converted to a makeshift excavation site. Buckets, shovels, and other implements lay scattered on the sand. Our electric lantern hung from a bough, lighting the inside of the deepening hole.

  “This could be the wrong tree,” Chance grumbled. “But say it’s not. If we’re off by even a yard in any direction we’ll dig right past whatever’s down there. If anything’s down there.”

  Hi and Shelton were leaning against the trunk, ropes in their hands, buckets at their feet. My role was more … supervisory.

  “This is the right spot,” I said. “I’m positive.”

  “Based on what?” Chance crossed his arms. “Convince me.”

  “This tree has a substantial root system, but none stretch under this one spot. Also, from here there’s a direct line of sight to the watchtower.”

  “That’s it?” Chance was incredulous. “That’s your brilliant reasoning? You can see a hundred dead trees from that tower!”

  “The cross sighted on this tree, and we’re excavating the only reasonable location near it.”

  Chance pointed at Hi and Shelton. “Why can’t they dig?”

  “They’re holding the safety ropes.” Ben tossed a shovelful of dirt over his shoulder, forcing Chance to dance aside. “Sand holes are inherently dangerous. If the sides cave in, we need someone to pull us out.”

  Chance snorted. “Tubby and Tiny here?”

  Hi bristled. “We’re stronger than we look.”

  “Keep yapping,” said Shelton. “We won’t bother with you.”

  “Enough.” I pointed Chance back into the hole. “Dig.”

  Another hour. Three more feet.

  Hi and Shelton were slumped against the tree, taking a break from hauling buckets. Ben and Chance had slowed noticeably.

  No one would meet my eye. I could sense a rebellion forming.

  And they were right.

  I should’ve called it off earlier, but couldn’t handle the disappointment. I’d been so sure.

  Thunk.

  “Was that your foot?” Ben’s voice sounded muffled down in the pit.

  “No,” Chance said. “My blade hit something.”

  Thunk thunk thunk.

  Clank.

  “What was that?”

  Hi’s question roused Shelton from a light doze. “Wha happa?”

  “Holy crap!” Chance sounded funny.

  “Find the corners!” Ben ordered.

  “Guys?” I stepped to the rim and peered down into the hole. Ben and Chance were on their knees, clawing with their bare hands.

  “Get back from the edge!” Ben ordered.

  “Spades!” Chance barked. “Now!”

  “Okay, okay!”

  Heart hammering, I grabbed two trowels and returned to the pit.

  “Incoming!” I dropped the implements. “What did you find?”

  No reply.

  Sand and mud flew from the pit.

  “It’s wood!” Ben yelled. “I think it’s a chest of some kind!”

  “Rope!” Chance called. “We’ll have to haul it up!”

  Shelton grabbed two lengths of nylon rope and chucked them into the hole. Moments later, the coils came flying back out.

  “Keep one end up there, you idiot!”

  “Sorry dude!” Shelton was bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hi gave him a calm-down gesture with both hands.

  I lowered one end of each rope. Ben and Chance worked quickly, exchanging words I couldn’t hear, hostilities forgotten.

  “Ready,” Chance yelled. “Send down the escalator!”

  Shelton, Hi, and I hefted a six-foot length of spiky driftwood we’d placed beside the pit.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  “Ready!” Jinx.

  Working together, we maneuvered one end of the log into the hole. Ben and Chance seated the crude ladder, then cautiously climbed out.

  Once both were safely topside, we withdrew the driftwood. The pit held.

  “We found something!” Ben was trying to contain his excitement but failing. “Whatever’s down there is definitely manmade!”

  “We tied lines to handles on both ends.” Chance had four ropes looped around his forearm. “We just need to pull it out!”

  “Four corners,” Hi instructed. “If everyone hauls at once, the pit shouldn’t collapse.”

  We raced into position, everyone bursting with frenzied energy.

  “Turn your back to the hole, shoulder your rope, and walk slowly away.” Hi had belly-crawled to the pit’s edge. “If you move in unison, the load should stay balanced.”

  “Ready?” Ben glanced from face to face. Everyone nodded.

  “Step! Step! Step!” Hi called out the cadence.

  I felt resistance at first, then it lessened. There was a soft grating like sandpaper moving on wood.

  “Step! Step! Step!”

  I inched forward, muscles straining.

  Something snagged and my rope went taut.

  “Put your backs into it!” Hi urged. “Just a few more feet!”

  I leaned my shoulder forward, dug in my heels, and tugged with all my might.

  I heard a clonk, then the shush of cascading sand.

  “It’s up!” Hi called.

  Ben tied his rope to a branch and raced to Hi’s side. A dirt-crusted chest hung suspended an inch above the hole.

  “Hurry!” Shelton whined. “I can’t hold much longer.”

  Ben grabbed for the nearest handle and steadied the box with two hands. Hi snagged the other side.

  “Shelton and Tory, release on the count of three. Chance, hang tight. Ben and I will pull the chest toward us.”

  “Uno! Dos! Tres!”

  Shelton and I dropped our lines as Ben and Hi hauled backward.

  The chest slid onto the sand between them.

  Just like that, the treasure was ours.

  WE GATHERED AROUND the chest.

  Behind it, the pit gaped like an open wound in the earth. The petrified cedar loomed just beyond, cupping our little band like a vast skeletal hand.

  The full moon cast long, ghostlike shadows across the beach.

  We huddled close, shocked into silence, barely daring to believe that our find was real.

  We found Anne Bonny’s treasure. It really happened.

  As the realization rocketed home, I began clawing away centuries of grime. Other hands joined mine.

  The chest was dark brown, constructed of wooden slats nailed to a stout wooden frame. Thick metal banding reinforced its sides and corners. The top was domed, like a small coffin.

  Wooden handles were nailed to both ends. A rusty latch and padlock secured the lid. Though clearly ancient, the chest looked rugged and durable, capable of surviving centuries underground.

  “Good Lord!” Chance looked stunned. “An honest-to-god treasure chest!”

  “
Of course!” Hi laughed. “You thought we were digging to China?”

  “It just hit me.” Chance ran both hands through his hair. “I mean, look! We just pulled a freaking pirate chest from the freaking sand!”

  “I feel you.” Shelton’s fists were pressed to his temples. “I never thought we’d actually find something. It’s a whole different ball game now.”

  Ben knuckle-rapped the chest. “Sturdy.”

  “Test the lock.” I was too amped to say more.

  “They built to last back then.” Ben tugged the padlock, but it didn’t budge. “We’ll need a tool of some kind.”

  “Try this.” Hi tossed him a shovel.

  Ben wedged the blade against the hasp and raised a foot to stomp down.

  A voice rang out from the dunes behind us.

  “Enough!”

  Ben spun, shovel in hand.

  I sprang to switch off the lantern, then crab-scuttled back to the chest.

  Chance froze, uncertain, blinking to regain his night vision.

  Hi and Shelton crouched, eyes wide with fright.

  “Who’s there?” I called.

  Before us was a short stretch of beach that led to the dunes. Behind, the snaking limbs of the dead cedar hemmed us in on both sides. Drifting clouds temporarily blocked the moon, keeping the beach dim and obscure.

  A shadow moved toward us in the darkness. My heart thudded in my chest.

  The clouds parted. Moonlight poured through.

  I recognized a familiar figure.

  “I won’t act like I’m not impressed.”

  Chris Fletcher stood a dozen yards away wearing faded jeans and a dark CU hoodie. His hands were tucked into the sweatshirt’s front pouch.

  “I’m serious.” His easy smile looked sinister in the pale lunar light. “People have searched for Bonny’s treasure for hundreds of years, but you actually found it. Bravo!”

  “What are you doing here?” Stupid. It was all I could think to say. Chris’s unexpected appearance had frightened me badly.

  “Just out for a stroll. You?”

  “You already seem to know.” Ben’s tone was granite.

  “True.” Chris’s blue eyes looked cold in the moonlight. “So maybe we can cut the bullshit.”

  “Who are you?” Chance was clueless. “Do you work for the Refuge?”

  “His name is Chris Fletcher.” Ben still gripped a shovel. “He’s a grad student at CU, works at the Charleston Museum.”