“A little warning next time!” Already swimming for the dock.
As Ben helped me from the water, I experienced a stab of panic. Coop!
My eyes darted down the concrete embankment. There was a security fence between us and the naval park, and dogs don’t climb.
I slapped my head in self-recrimination. The boys huddled around me, but I waved them away, closing my eyes and reaching out to my wolfdog. Boy, come!
I waited, holding my breath, watching the restricted area beyond the fence where I’d asked Coop to stand guard. Painful seconds passed, then Cooper slunk from the shadows, studying me across the glassy channel of water.
I’m coming, boy! I’ll climb over and—
Coop skipped back a few steps, then calmly launched himself into the harbor and began dog-paddling in our direction.
I started. “Oh. I see.”
“That’ll work.” Ben dropped back into the water and waited.
Coop crossed the shallows with ease, allowing Ben to loop an arm around him as he neared the dock. Chance jumped in to help Ben lift the soggy wolfdog. As Hi, Shelton, and I dragged Coop from the ocean, I stole a glance back up at the Yorktown.
Lights bobbed on the flight deck. Muted voices barked orders. I felt eyes watching from above. Could feel their anger and frustration.
“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered, as Ben and Chance scrambled back onto the pier.
Like a flock of startled birds, we streaked into the night.
• • •
Sewee chugged across the harbor.
Coop had finished licking my face, and was curled up at my feet. Chance sat in the copilot’s seat beside Ben, who was steering us toward home. Hi and Shelton were huddled in the bow, maniacally describing their zip rides to each other. It was nearly four in the morning.
I finally relaxed. We’d escaped again, this time against heavy odds.
Given the circumstances, I’d take it. Next time we’d be more prepared.
Shockingly, sleep threatened, but I fought back the urge. Relaxed my mind.
You know what you saw.
The thought jolted me upright. How long had I been ignoring it?
My shoulders slumped. My spirits sank. Almost against my will, I acknowledged a fact that had been lurking inside my brain since the fight on the flight deck.
Dropping my strongest, fiercest, most deeply imbedded mental defenses, I let a frantic little voice step up to the microphone and unleash its terrible truth.
The third member of the Trinity.
I knew who the girl was.
With utter certainty, though I hadn’t seen her face.
I mean, of course I did.
After all, she was practically my best friend.
Tears streaked down my cheeks. I barely noticed, shell-shocked by revelation.
As we motored over the swells, a name escaped my lips.
“Ella.”
ATTENTION: DIRECTOR WALSH [“EYES ONLY”]
FILE STATUS: TOP SECRET [LEVEL 5]
CASE: #34687 (AKA—PHOENIX INQUIRY)
FILE TYPE: SUSPICIOUS DEATH REPORT
DATE: APRIL 17, 2014
SUBJECT(S): FLETCHER, SALLIE D.; FLETCHER, CHRIS G.
PRINCIPAL INVESTIGATING AGENT(S): J. SALTMAN, B. ROGERS
NOTE(S): THE FIRST ATTEMPT TO INTERVIEW SUSPECTS CONNECTED TO THESE DEATHS WAS UNSUCCESSFUL. SUSPECTS ARE BEING HELD IN A SECURE FACILITY OUTSIDE INVESTIGATING AGENTS’ CURRENT REACH WITHOUT ELEVATING THIS INQUIRY TO PRIORITY LEVEL P-TSX-7. INVESTIGATING AGENTS AWAIT AUTHORIZATION TO PROCEED.
NOTE TO FILE:
On October 21, 2011, at approximately 5:45 AM, Christopher Gerald Fletcher (“C. Fletcher”), and his wife, Sallie Denise Fletcher (“S. Fletcher”) (collectively “the Fletchers”), were killed in a single-car accident on the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge, which connects the town of Mount Pleasant to Charleston, South Carolina. The couple’s 2010 Toyota Prius careened off the road near the Highway 17 interchange, struck a concrete bridge abutment, and burst into flames, killing both passengers.
Though initially ruled an accident, the Charleston Police Department (“CPD”)—in light of subsequent events involving Phoenix Inquiry investigation target Victoria G. Brennan (“Tory Brennan”)—opened a homicide investigation on October 28, 2011. To date, no one has been convicted of a crime in connection with the Fletchers’ deaths.
The Fletchers were enrolled in a graduate program at Charleston University (“CU”) and worked as assistant curators at the Charleston Museum at the time of their deaths. Investigating Agents have confirmed that, immediately prior to the crash, the Fletchers had close dealings with Tory Brennan (and her current associates)—both in person and by phone—of an unknown nature.
It is the belief of Investigating Agents that the nature of this unlikely association, and the Fletchers’ deaths as described herein, directly relate to the subject matter of the Phoenix Inquiry. Therefore, we await further instruction and/or permission to proceed.
[END SUSPICIOUS DEATH REPORT]
I got there first.
Alone at the table we shared during first period, I waited for Ella Francis.
Shelton and Hi sat in their usual seats behind me, hiding bruises, fighting to stay awake.
Oblivious.
I hadn’t shared what I knew about Ella yet.
Not aboard Sewee as we fled the Yorktown, nor at the Morris Island dock before we snuck back into our homes. I’d barely spoken ten words that morning.
I needed to confirm that Ella had betrayed me. Needed to look her in the eye.
Needed to know why.
Classmates streamed by the door. I spotted Ashley and Courtney strolling together, tensed when they stopped and peered inside the room. Maybe they wanted to press their shopping invitation again, but something in my posture must’ve warned them off. The girls simply waved and continued on down the hallway.
They were followed soon after by Jason and Madison. Madison noticed my attention, flinched, and then smiled awkwardly. She gave Jason a quick hug before hurrying back into the corridor. Jason gave me the briefest of nods as he beelined to his seat in the back row. What is it with those two?
Ashley. Courtney. Jason. Madison.
Former suspects, all, but none were Trinity.
I barely noticed their discomfort. Focused wholly on my own.
Then she was there.
Ella bounced over to our table, smiling, looking beautiful, her deep green eyes twinkling with amusement. Her backpack thunked to the floor as she dropped into the chair beside mine. “Ugh. I got zero sleep last night. So looking forward to the weekend.”
Ella flipped her waist-length rope of black hair my way. An old trick between us—I slapped the braid aside without even thinking.
“Did you read the whole section last night?” Digging into her bag, Ella pulled out a dog-eared calculus text. “Dullsville. Not that I thought polynomial approximations would be cool.”
“I read it last week,” I responded dumbly, totally thrown. Of all the scenarios I’d planned for, Ella pretending nothing had happened was not one of them.
“Always the studious one,” she mocked lightly, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “If only you treated soccer with the same diligence. Will you be at practice today?”
“What? No. I . . . I don’t think so.”
Ella shook her head. “Stupid SATs. Next week, then. I already told Coach Lynch that you weren’t likely anyway, so you’re covered. But I think he’s at the end of his patience. Remember, we play Bishop England in four days.”
“Right. Of course.” What is going on?
I was prepared for Ella to be apologetic. Aggressive. Fearful. Pretty much anything but this. How can you ambush a friend in the dead of night, on the deck of a freaking air
craft carrier, then act like nothing happened?
I can safely attest to having no life experience to draw from on this one.
So I did the natural, unnatural thing. Played along.
Ella ignoring the elephant in the room left me nowhere to go.
Does she think I didn’t recognize her? Even after she kicked me?
As if reading my thoughts, Ella glanced up. Met my gaze squarely for the first time.
For a split second, something lurked behind her eyes. The barest trace of . . .
Was it guilt? Suspicion? Or was it . . . defiance. A challenge.
Then she reached out and squeezed my shoulder, eyes soft with concern. “You okay, Tor? You seem distracted.”
I looked away, my nerve folding like a deck chair. “No. I’m fine. Just . . . tired.”
Ella snorted. “Maybe we should both get more sleep.”
Up at the whiteboard, Mr. Terenzoni rose to begin his lecture. So I faced front, pretending to listen, and endured one the most uncomfortable hours of my life.
• • •
Could I be wrong?
The question hounded me as I trudged to my locker, Hi and Shelton sleepwalking a few paces behind me. I asked myself over and over, but kept arriving at the same conclusion.
No.
I knew what I’d seen. It had been Ella who attacked me on the tarmac. Wish though I might to change that fact, I knew its truth. Once I’d recognized her profile, everything else slotted into place.
It was Ella Francis. I had zero doubt.
Ella had bolted right at the bell, claiming she had a doctor’s appointment. She’d be gone for the rest of the morning. A small relief—I wasn’t sure I could endure pretending I didn’t know her secret.
Ella had physically attacked me. Was freaking Viral, with a grudge.
But why?
I couldn’t figure it out. Nothing had ever come between us.
And how did Ella know Will Speckman? Cole? How did she catch the supervirus?
So many questions. No answers. Not even the cold comfort of having faced down my attacker. On whole, the day so far was a bust.
Which is why Chance’s text caused me to groan out loud.
“What is it?” Shelton tensed at my expression. “I’m not up for another gang fight today.”
“Chance has news. He wants to meet ASAP.”
Hi waved the idea away. “I almost got caught sneaking in last night. My mother is suspicious—she wants to know why I look like I’ve joined an ice hockey team. I’m laying low. Mom said to be home right after school, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”
I turned weary eyes on Shelton. “You?”
“Not today.” He shrugged apologetically. “I’ve slept thirty minutes in the last twenty-four hours. My head’s still ringing from that beatdown. I need beauty rest.”
“Okay.” I ran a hand over my scalp. The boys had a point—I was sore head to toe, with a thousand bumps, bruises, and scrapes. “I’ll go see Chance by myself.”
“What do you think he wants?” Hi hitched his backpack, stepping closer so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Does he know who karate-kicked him?”
Hi was referring to Mystery Girl. The Trinity’s third member, whose identity the boys couldn’t guess. I turned away, hiding my face. “Guess I’ll find out when I see him.”
• • •
I snuck away during lunch.
Though I’d told Chance to expect me after school, as the morning dragged I began to dread another encounter with Ella. She could pop into the cafeteria at any time, and my nerves couldn’t take a second masquerade.
So noon found me knocking on Chance’s office door. No answer.
Cursing myself for not calling, I slipped inside and closed it behind me. I had thirty minutes tops—hopefully he’d show before then, or the whole trip would be a waste.
I was debating a catnap on the couch when a folder on Chance’s desk caught my eye.
Dark red. Sealed with tape. Stamped: “SECRET/PROPRIETARY.”
Never above snooping, I drifted over for a look.
The tape had been sliced, saving me the trouble. Sinking into Chance’s chair, I read the enclosed documents, eyes growing wider with each page. Then I nearly jumped from my skin as the door swung open.
Chance froze on his third step, sandwich in one hand, a Diet Coke in the other.
A hand rose to my chest. “You scared me!”
Chance glared at me in annoyance. “Because you’re doing something wrong.”
My finger tapped the open folder. “What is this?”
Chance set his lunch on the coffee table and approached the desk. Surprisingly, he dropped into a guest chair and waved me back into his own seat.
“You might as well know,” Chance muttered, frowning at the file. “It’s not like I meant to keep it secret. I just wasn’t ready to advertise my intentions.”
Sinking back down, I lifted documents at random. “Decoupling polymer bonds through biochemical agents. Viral genetic transference thresholds. The efficacy of recombinant protein therapy within cellular nuclei. Chance, what is this stuff? It looks like active research.”
Chance nodded. “My last Candela project, since I’m sure to be fired when the board discovers how much money I’ve spent. I called in every favor I had to get it running. The researchers who wrote those reports think it’s all theoretical. I’ve got separate teams assembled to produce the physical products—off-site firms, ones that don’t ask questions. Each portion is being done blindly, like a drug study. Assuming we nail down a working formula, of course.”
I scanned the papers as Chance spoke, growing more and more alarmed at what he’d set into motion. I’m no PhD, but I got the big picture. Knew exactly what Chance intended.
Glancing up, I found him staring at me.
“You’re trying to counteract the effects of the supervirus,” I whispered, even with the door closed. “Creating a serum to scrub foreign DNA from human cells.”
“A new virus, to counteract the old.” Chance didn’t flinch. “I’m looking for a cure.”
I was floored. “How?”
“Reverse engineering.” Chance rubbed his neck, appeared to weigh how best to explain. “I’ve been lying to you. I didn’t destroy all of the supervirus. Nor did I erase every record. I kept one set of files, which you’ve seen. And one sample.”
His gaze strayed to a mini-fridge in the corner of his office.
My eyes bugged. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Chance smiled sheepishly. “Where else could I keep it?”
I sat back, struggling to process this new information.
A cure.
The chance to counteract what had been done to my DNA.
A shot at a normal life.
I’d never considered the possibility before. How could I? I wasn’t Chance Claybourne, with a family pharmaceutical empire at my disposal.
I’d daydreamed about telling Kit one day. Of my father, inspired to help, rededicating LIRI to fixing his only daughter. But those were silly fantasies. The most I’d ever really hoped for was for my body to stabilize. Some small peace of mind about the future.
But here was Chance, out of nowhere offering the possibility of a total reset.
I didn’t know how to feel.
“Why didn’t you mention this earlier? There’s no reason to keep it secret from us.”
“I didn’t want to scare anyone. Through the course of this project, I’ve discovered a few things that disturb me.” He looked away, seemed to steel himself. When Chance met my gaze again, his eyes were hard. “I learned two things I haven’t shared.”
I swallowed. Knew I wouldn’t like what was coming next.
Chance held up one finger. “First, I know that my strain of parvovirus—the one that infected th
e Trinity as well—is more powerful than the one Karsten created.”
My eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”
Chance chose his words with care. “I was less careful to weaken the canine parvovirus than Karsten. Consequently, more of its DNA transferred into the hybrid strain. Last night, we saw an example of that difference.”
Queasiness swept through my gut. “The Trinity’s flares are stronger.”
Chance nodded. “Mine as well. The second virus seems to have a more pronounced effect on the human limbic system, causing a greater release of hormones. The canine DNA is more active. We can flare more easily, and our powers are more intense.”
This was bad. But I sensed worse was to come.
“And the second thing?”
Chance paused a moment before speaking. Finally, he leaned forward and spoke slowly. “My research indicates that a DNA exchange of this nature, once initiated, can’t be stopped.”
My gut turned to ice. “Speak plainly.”
He smiled sadly. “I think our DNA—and I mean everyone, including your pack, me, and the Trinity—will continue to mutate, ultimately collapsing into an unsustainable state.” Chance cleared his throat, then forced the last words out. “I believe our condition is terminal.”
I always knew.
Long-held defenses collapsed.
For over a year, I’d worried. Nothing in life is free. People with superpowers only exist in movies. In the real world—in nature—99 percent of genetic mutations are fatal.
Why would being Viral be any different?
Chance confirmed what I’d always suspected. I understood why he hadn’t said something before. Who wants to pass a death sentence along to friends?
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be. Which is why we need the antidote.”
I dropped my head into my hands. Then slowly, quietly, began to cry.
I thought of Kit, losing a daughter he’d only just begun to know. Of Cooper, the first poor soul subjected to this horrible plague. Of my packmates, stuck in the same boat.
All because I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong.