“All in all,” Shelton said, “this is a tremendously dumb game.”
“You’re a dumb game,” Hi shot back.
“Let me practice linking while Hi works,” I suggested, knowing they wouldn’t like the idea.
Three groans. As expected.
“We have to master our powers,” I insisted. “What’s the point of having special abilities if you can’t control them?”
Hi grunted, eyes glued to the detector’s LCD screen.
“It’s creepy.” Shelton shivered despite the warm October afternoon. “Invasive.”
Ben nodded. “You should stay out of other people’s minds.”
Exposure to the supervirus had one major … side effect. Benefit? Curse?
We call it “flaring.” When the changes come, our minds warp and snap, then the powers break free. Our senses shift to impossible clarity. Sight. Smell. Hearing. Taste. Even touch.
The wolf comes out, making us sharper and stronger.
Viral.
But evolution doesn’t follow a single set of rules. The virus affected each of us differently. Perhaps the mutations were unique to our individual genetic sequences. Whatever the reason, our strengths vary. Hiram has eyes like an eagle with Lasik. Shelton can hear feathers flutter as a sparrow flaps its wings. Ben becomes strongest and fastest, like a bull on steroids. My nose gets so sensitive I can sniff out emotion, deception, and fear. And other things you’d rather not consider.
And, recently, our powers reached a whole new level.
For me, anyway.
The boys can’t do it. Don’t like it. But when our pack flares in close proximity, I can sometimes touch the other Virals’ minds. Hear their thoughts, and pass on mine. This talent has come in handy more than a few times. Has saved our lives.
“Just one try, please.” Firmly. “I need to gauge what Coop adds to the mix.”
More dramatic moans, but the boys stopped what they were doing.
“Fine.” Hi.
“Whatever.” Shelton.
“One time.” Ben held up a single finger. “One.”
I nodded, then closed my eyes and stilled my mind. A deep breath, then I reached in a way I can’t fully describe. My thoughts delved downward, backward, deep into the primordial center of my brain.
I visualized a single strand of DNA. The bedrock of my genetic being.
Honing my concentration, I imagined unzipping the double helix.
SNAP.
The flare burst through me like a river of molten lava. I gasped. Sweat exploded from my pores as the wolf came out.
Though I’d become better at summoning the power, that first wallop still challenged my defenses. Like a wild beast set loose in my nervous system. Control was tenuous and fragile. At best.
Focusing inward, I swam down into my subconscious. An image of each Viral appeared, sharpened. Hi first, then Shelton. Moments later Ben crystallized in my thoughts. I sensed Coop alert in the woods close by.
Flaming ropes connected the group. A golden nimbus surrounded each member.
Virals. Hear me.
My message smacked an invisible barrier. I tried again, concentrating harder.
VIRALS. HEAR ME.
This time I forced the message outward, driving it along the fiery cords. The boys flinched as if struck. Their glowing eyes widened in surprise.
I examined the mental barricade separating us. Probed for weaknesses. Suddenly, the roadblock weakened, then fragmented.
The other Virals’ minds opened like a floodgate. Thoughts and feelings poured into me. Worries. Raw emotions. Random bits of foreign memories. The tide of information nearly scoured my brain clean.
I fought to hold against the onslaught, sensing danger to my sanity.
What shattered the barrier? How did I break through?
“What barrier?” Hi sputtered. “Why are you screaming?”
“Tory!” Shelton’s hands flew to his head. “It hurts! Make it stop.”
Ben stood rock still, grimacing, eyes focused on nothing. “Get out!” he sputtered.
My eyes darted, frantic, unable to comprehend. My mind gibbered, desperate to block the deluge of thoughts pouring into my brain.
I saw trees. Sky. The metal detector. Coop, edging into the clearing, eyes locked on to mine.
As if sensing my peril, Coop bowled into Shelton, who went down with a puff of surprise. The golden light abruptly vanished from his eyes.
The cerebral onslaught lessened.
Coop then bounded to Hi and barked full in his face. Startled, Hi backpedaled wildly, dropped the detector, and fell. His flare disappeared as he struck the ground.
Another wave winked out.
Suddenly on firmer ground, I stilled my mind and extinguished the flare.
SNUP.
The sensory bombardment ceased. I dropped to a knee and saw Ben do the same.
“Damn it, Tory!” Ben spat through gritted teeth. “You’re playing with fire!”
“It’s Coop,” I panted, heart pounding. “When he’s close, my ability skyrockets. But I couldn’t control it.”
“Then don’t do it!” Shelton shirt-wiped his glasses with shaky hands. “You were yelling inside my head. I’m officially freaked out!”
Hi studied me with worried eyes. “You were in trouble, Tory, I could tell. You’ve got to be more careful. This mind stuff is dangerous.”
“I will.” But I’m going to unlock this secret.
I kept that to myself, though the thought wouldn’t have surprised them.
Dangerous or not, I was determined to discover the full extent of our flare abilities. I needed to know what had happened to our bodies. What we were capable of. What could happen next.
Our mishmashed genetics gave us skills no one else possessed. Astonishing sensory abilities. But the changes went deeper than that. The cellular cross between man and beast had opened doors in our minds. I felt compelled to learn where they led.
Though, I had to admit, the idea of straight-up mind reading gave me the willies. I wouldn’t want someone poking around in my head. Everyone has secrets, and the right to keep them. Finding the line between communication and mental invasion was proving to be tricky.
My hard drive finally came back online. Head clearing, I noticed a pulsating tone coming from Hi’s metal detector, discarded in the grass.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Hi collected his precious toy, then waved it over a rough patch of dirt close by.
DING DING DING!
“Bingo!” Hi shouted. “The bloody thing works!”
CHAPTER 2
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Hi’s shovel thunked something solid.
“Finally!” Dropping to a knee, he used his fingers to trace an object at the bottom of the hole we’d dug. “Why bury it so freaking deep?”
“About time.” Shelton tossed his spade aside. “How many of these—” his hand rose, “—things have you found, anyway?”
“They’re called geocaches, and this is my third.” Hi was carefully prying a grime-covered mass from the earth. “The other two weren’t buried, just hidden. The first was on Morris, near the bridge. The second was jammed in a hedge next to the Folly Beach post office.”
“The post office?” I peered over Hi’s shoulder, trying to get a look. “That’s so random. Why put something there?”
“That’s how it works.” Working methodically, Hi teased our find from the soil. “You hide a cache somewhere, anywhere, and post the GPS coordinates online. Then other players download the info and try to find it.”
“This game is popular?” Ben was sitting on his tackle box in the shade of a large elm. “Sounds pretty nerdtastic to me.”
“We can’t all practice birdscalls like you.” Hi brushed dirt from what appeared to be a plastic container. “There are millions of geocaches hidden worldwide, and dozens of websites listing where to find them. So, yeah, the game’s kind of a hit.”
“Back off, Blue.” Shelton flashed a toothy grin.
“Hi found more buried treasure. We’re in business. I knew this was a good idea.”
My eyes rolled at Shelton’s abrupt one-eighty.
“The contents won’t be valuable,” Hi warned. “The point is the finding, not the getting. What’s inside is usually trivial.”
“That I can believe,” Ben quipped. Shelton threw him a long-distance high five.
Ignoring their trash talk, I helped Hi wipe away the remaining grit. “Looks like some work went into this one.”
The cache was roughly the size of a shoebox and carefully sealed with masking tape. The exterior was bright purple, and covered with dancing clown stickers. Wide grins stretched their contorted, cartoonish faces.
“Clowns,” Shelton mumbled. “I hate those goofy bastards.”
Hi nodded sagely. “I read It last summer. Stephen King. Never trust anything that paints on a smile.”
“You guys are such dopes.” Ben pulled a pocketknife from his cargoes and tossed it in Hi’s direction. “Let’s see what Bozo wanted you to find.”
Hi made a fumbled catch, then flipped out the single blade. Four strokes cut the tape and freed the lid.
“More gold, perhaps?” Shelton winked. “There’s a new X-Box due out this year.”
“It won’t be valuable,” Hi repeated. “Just enjoy the sense of accomplishment.”
“Right.” Ben, straight-faced. “Accomplishment.”
“Enough.” I snapped my fingers. “Open sesame.”
The container held two items: an envelope and a small, cloth-wrapped bundle.
Hi handed me the former and focused on the latter. “Here goes nothing.”
The bundle contained a second rectangle composed of small, inter-locking pieces of plum-colored metal. Cigar box–sized, the object had been hand painted with more leering, cavorting clowns.
But these clowns didn’t smile. They scowled. Snarled.
The effect was eerie.
“Creepy.” Hi rotated the box in his hands. “And no way to open it.”
Coop nosed forward to sniff the box. I reached down to scratch his ears. Felt them flatten beneath my fingers.
A low growl rose from the wolfdog’s throat.
“What’s wrong, boy?” I tried to stroke his muzzle. “Something got you spooked?”
Coop whined, clearly agitated. His gaze flicked to Hi. To the box. Back to Hi.
“I don’t like how Bow Wow is looking at me.” Hi took a nervous step back. “I come in peace, soul brother.”
“Coop, heel!” I ordered. “Be good.”
The wolfdog yapped twice, eyes never leaving Hi. Then he circled to sit by my side.
“Read the letter,” Shelton suggested. “It must explain the box.”
My fingers rubbed the envelope. The stationery was thick, cream-colored, and obviously pricey. The flap was sealed with scarlet wax. The only marking was a majestic capital G penned in ornate calligraphy.
“G?” I glanced at Hi. “Does that mean anything?”
“For geocache, maybe?” Hi shrugged. “All I know is, whoever buried this went to a lot more effort than most players. It’s gotta be a good cache.”
“So open it,” Shelton pressed.
Breaking the seal, I parted the envelope and removed two sheets of lilac-colored paper. High-grade bond. Excellent quality.
The first page was decorated with another elaborate, whirling G that ended with a single line running horizontally across the page.
“I guess that’s the log sheet,” Hi said.
I checked the back, but it was blank. “So we’re the first to find this cache?”
Hi nodded. “There wasn’t much info online. No clues, no past history, not even a record of who buried it. Just coordinates. It’s the first cache ever listed for Loggerhead, so I’m not surprised it’s never been logged before.”
“And the other page?” Ben asked.
The second sheet contained a single phrase written in the same grandiose style: Himitsu-Bako.
“Himitsu-Bako,” I read aloud. “Anyone?”
“Chinese?” Hi mused. “Japanese? Burmese?”
Blank faces. No one knew.
“What now?” Shelton asked. “Sell it on eBay?”
Hi hefted the delicate box in one hand. Something rattled inside.
“I think this thing opens,” Hi said. “We’re supposed to figure out how.”
“Then bag it.” Ben yawned loudly. “This sideshow has been a snooze from the start.”
“Philistine.” Hi removed a wrinkled Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue from his backpack. “It’s all I have to trade,” he said with a shrug.
“Do we sign these or something?” I held up the first page from the envelope.
Hi considered. “Sign the G and put that sheet back, but keep the second one. The phrase is probably some kind of clue.”
Pulling a pen from my pocket, I scribbled my name on the horizontal line and placed the paper inside the container next to the magazine. “Not exactly a fair trade, Hi.”
“I know. Anyone have something to add?”
“Here.” Shelton walked over and dropped in his battered green Timex. “This watch is low-rent. Plus I’m getting a new one for my birthday anyway. But you owe me, Stolowitski.”
“Owe you what?” Hi said. “Who wears a wristwatch anymore? Cavemen?”
Satisfied with our swap, I closed the container and dropped it back into the hole. Ben and Shelton grabbed the shovels and quickly reburied it.
Hi was sticking the metal box in his bag when another growl caught his attention.
Cooper. Inches away. Teeth exposed.
“Yikes.” Hi dropped the pack. “I thought we were bros!”
“No. Look.” I pointed. Coop’s attention was focused on the backpack.
Muscles tense, the wolfdog snuffled the bag, whined, sniffed again, and then began to growl.
“Must not be a geocache fan,” Shelton cracked as he scooped up Hi’s metal detector and switched off the power.
“The mutt’s not alone,” Ben mumbled.
“You guys are a riot,” Hi said. “Laugh a minute. Now someone call off the attack dog.”
I whistled for Coop’s attention. “Here.”
Reluctant, Coop gave Hi’s bag one last pass, then trotted to my side.
“Coop really doesn’t like that box.” I knelt and rubbed the edgy wolfdog’s snout. “It better not be stuffed with dead squirrels or something.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me at all,” Ben grumbled, but he shot me a wink. He was just winding up Hi.
“It’s not a rodent coffin!” Hi huffed. “This cache is legit. You’ll see, haters.”
“Okay, kids.” I hoisted my fishing gear. “Let’s call it a day. Kit wanted me back at LIRI a half hour ago.”
“Can’t upset the Big Boss Man,” Shelton said. “Let’s hustle.”
One by one, we trooped from the clearing.
CHAPTER 3
LIRI’S BACK GATE rolled open with a soft whir.
“Come on if you’re coming,” Carl grumbled. A shade over five feet and weighing three hundred pounds, the ruddy-cheeked guard seemed winded by his short walk across the compound. “The magnets only release for thirty seconds.”
“Thanks, Carl,” I said cheerfully, familiar with his prickly demeanor. “Sorry to drag you out here. I wish Kit hadn’t ordered these new auto-locks.”
“Director Howard must’ve had his reasons.” Carl’s tone implied that we Virals might be primary among them.
As we passed through the reinforced perimeter fence, Carl punched numbers into a newly installed digital keypad. The gate closed behind us. Above, a pair of security cameras swiveled to track our movement.
“Can I assume you four won’t be back out this way today?” Carl asked. “I’m getting tired of tramping across the courtyard.”
“We’re taking off,” Hi said. “You can hit the gym early.”
Carl gave Hi a level look, sky blue security uniform stretching precariously
over his massive bulk.
“We’ll be heading home shortly.” I shoulder-barged Hi down the path. “I just need to see my father for a minute. Thanks again!”
Carl waddled in the direction of Building Four, muttering about the foolishness of youth.
“Making rounds of the vending machines,” Shelton whispered. “They require constant security coverage.”
“Moron.” Ben had already started walking.
LIRI consists of a dozen glass-and-steel structures surrounded by an eight-foot-high chain-link fence. Aligned in two rows, the state-of-the-art buildings flank a well-tended central courtyard. Only two access points exist: a large front gate leading to the island’s single dock, and the smaller portal at the rear. The complex contains nearly every permanent construction on Loggerhead.
Crossing the courtyard, I was struck again by the bustle of the place. A dozen white-coated scientists dotted the grounds, some hustling between labs, others clustered around benches discussing research, snacking, or just enjoying the afternoon sun.
Since Kit had assumed the directorship, LIRI buzzed with a new energy and sense of purpose. The staff had doubled; rare were the days you could cross the grounds without encountering a preoccupied veterinarian hurrying to update a project. With its funding permanently secured, LIRI was, once again, one of the premier wildlife research facilities on the planet.
“Do we have to go in?” Hi hand-shaded his eyes to peer at Building One. Four floors high, it was LIRI’s biggest, housing the most sophisticated lab and the institute’s administrative headquarters. “My dad’s retooling the centrifuges, and won’t be happy to see me inside.”
Hi’s father, Linus Stolowitski, was LIRI’s chief laboratory technician, having been promoted by Kit the previous month. Since assuming the post, Mr. S had become more officious about Morris Island teens fiddling with facility equipment.
“Quit moaning,” Shelton said. “Both my parents are in there.”
Nelson Devers, Shelton’s father, was LIRI’s IT director. His office was on the ground floor. Shelton’s mother, Lorelei, was a vet tech working in Lab One.
“It’ll only take a sec,” I said. “Lately Kit’s so busy, I almost never see him.”