Code tb-3 Page 13

  Something didn’t add up. But what?

  Ben was watching me. “What are you thinking?”

  “The timer gave us seventy-two hours.” The problem crystallized as I spoke. “But we could’ve solved the puzzle at any time. What if we’d cracked it earlier, and come during the day? The Gamemaster couldn’t just leave something inside the hole. People golf here all day, every day.”

  “That’s true.” Hi pursed his lips. “So what are you thinking?”

  “We’re not wrong.” I peered into the hole. “We just need to go a little deeper.”

  “Don’t tell me you want to dig up this green!” Shelton stomped a foot. “Don’t say it! I’m begging you.”

  “Whoa.” Hi ran a hand over his scalp. “Tory, that’s some pretty hefty vandalism. These greens take years to mature. They’re worth tens of thousands of dollars.”

  Ben kept silent, face inscrutable. But his body was as taut as a snare drum.

  “The clue points to the hole itself,” I said. “That’s all we need to excavate.”

  “Wait!” Hi’s face lit up. “My metal detector is still in the boat!”

  Ben snapped off a nod. “Grab it. We can scan the turf before doing any damage.”

  “Good idea,” I agreed. “Go.”

  As Hi lumbered back over the dunes, Ben trotted to the clubhouse and peered inside. Coop ran beside him, quiet now, in stealth mode.

  With nothing to do, Shelton and I sat on the green. For minutes I heard nothing but waves crashing on the beach and the whine of mosquitoes.

  Shelton slapped his arm. Scratched. “If Hi doesn’t find anything—”

  “We leave it alone.” I raised both palms. “Promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. No sense trashing the place just because we’re frustrated.”

  Ben and Coop reappeared first, and dropped down beside us.

  “The coast seems clear.” Ben rubbed Coop’s ears. “The hound agrees. At least, he didn’t act like anyone was inside.”

  Moments later Hi returned, device in tow.

  “Scan the area around the hole,” I instructed. “If that strikes out, we’ll sweep the whole green.” My eyes found Shelton’s. “If that doesn’t work, we call it a night.”

  “I like it.” Hi fiddled with the dials, then positioned the wand. “If anything’s down there, this baby should—”

  Ding! Ding! Ding!

  Everyone jumped. Coop barked once.

  “That was easy.” Hi took several steps back and the noise ceased.

  I felt a surge of excitement. “Whatever’s dinging is directly beneath the hole.”

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious.” Hi powered off the detector.

  Shelton exhaled the mother of all sighs. “So we’re really going to dig?”

  “Just inside the hole,” I promised. “If we’re careful, we won’t cause any damage.”

  “Then let’s be careful.” Shelton’s gaze swept the landscape. “Coop might’ve just triggered some unwanted attention.”

  “I’ll get the trowels.” Ben loped toward Sewee.

  Coop moved to follow, but I called him back. Shelton was right—that yap hadn’t helped our cause.

  Ben returned moments later with my pack. I dug out a trowel, then slipped the bag on my back, ready for a quick getaway should the need arise.

  “Avoid enlarging the circumference,” Ben said. “If you can.”

  Prodding gently, I worried inside the hole until the cup came loose, exposing the earth beneath. Then I scratched with my trowel, hoping for something close to the surface. No such luck.

  “The space is too tight to maneuver. I’ll have to expand it the tiniest of bits.”

  Shelton groaned. Ben shifted his feet. Hi placed both hands on his head.

  “There’s no other way?” Shelton asked.

  “None. But I know how to make this go smoother.”

  Eyes closed.

  Mind clear.

  I reached.

  SNAP.

  CHAPTER 23

  THE PAIN STRUCK first.

  Pins. Needles. Jets of fiery agony, sizzling beneath my skin.

  Then came the power.

  My vision sharpened to laser clarity. The island’s marshy bouquet divided into an array of recognizable scents. I could hear wind swirling the manicured Bermuda grass. Could feel each individual grain of sand between my toes. I tasted the salt air, reveling in my hyperawareness.

  Coop bounded close and licked my face. He always knew.

  Hi eagerly grabbed for his flare, Shelton a tad less enthusiastically. Soon golden fires kindled in their eyes. Wordlessly, they surveyed the course, keeping watch.

  Ben tensed. Squeezed his lids shut. Surprisingly, the transformation came quickly.

  “Be careful,” Ben warned, irises aflame. “The Gamemaster might be insane. His last cache exploded, and that was only a test.”

  “That’s why I flared.” Scooping up the trowel. “We need our edge.”

  “Work fast.” Ben kept his eyes on the clubhouse. “If we’re caught damaging this course, they’ll burn us at the stake.”

  I inspected the ground. Found no defects. Whatever was down there hadn’t been inserted recently. The grass looked uniform in color, height, density, and thickness. The soil at its roots appeared undisturbed.

  How could someone bury a cache without leaving any sign?

  Cringingly slightly, I dug a larger circle around the perimeter, doubling the size of the hole. The earth was soft and pliable, easy to move.

  “Putting should be easier now,” Hi quipped. “Maybe they’ll thank us.”

  “Uh-huh,” Shelton grunted. “Right after sentencing.”

  I teased off soil, millimeter by millimeter, widening and deepening the opening, the same questions running through my mind.

  The Game.

  What did it mean? Who was the Gamemaster? Why did he bother?

  Elaborate caches. Intricate clues. The pieces were expensive—iPad, puzzle box, even night-vision video equipment.

  Remote-controlled bomb. Don’t forget that one.

  Hours of planning had gone into this. What kind of person takes the time?

  We’d stumbled into an elaborate trap. Become human toys.

  Four high schoolers, out goofing around. Yet the Gamemaster clearly didn’t care who’d swallowed his hook. That fact was most frightening of all.

  As my thoughts wandered, a new awareness bloomed.

  The four of us were huddled together, close enough to reach out and touch. But the nearness was more than just physical. I could feel the other Virals in a way I can’t explain.

  That had happened before. But now it was five, not four.

  I could sense Coop as well. The wolfdog’s presence tipped the balance.

  “Ever notice how often we dig stuff up?” Hi’s voice intruded. “We should form, like, an excavation company. Get matching hard hats. Blue ones.”

  “Be quiet,” Shelton hissed. “We’re exposed out here. There’s too much light from those damn floods.”

  I kept digging. Physically. Mentally. My eyes lost focus as I probed the edges of my psyche, the deepening hole at my feet virtually forgotten.

  The flaming cords appeared—twisting, fiery ropes that connected the minds of my pack to form a fragile mental network.

  Even Coop. Yes! The wolfdog’s proximity heightened the effect.

  Tread carefully. Don’t lose control.

  I should’ve spoken up. Should’ve told the others what I was experiencing. But the connection was tenuous. Fragile as tissue paper. I knew speaking would severe the link.

  Forgive me, boys.

  Hands working robotically, I surrendered to my instincts and grasped a cord at random.

  Lightning strobed inside my skull. My mind hurtled down the glowing cable.

  Consciousness flickered. My perception split.

  Two distinct images formed in my brain.

  One showed my hands as they continued to shovel dirt.r />
  The other watched a red-haired girl in dark clothes, digging with a trowel.

  Me. I’m watching myself. And Coop is the only one at my back.

  My breath caught. Sweat pumped from my pores.

  I was seeing through Coop’s eyes.

  I felt the wolfdog’s ears perk. Coop popped to his feet, momentarily uncertain and afraid. Then, recognizing me, he calmed, accepting my presence in his mind.

  It’s so easy for him. Why?

  My hands continued their rhythmic tempo. I focused inward, anxious to preserve the connection.

  As Coop resumed snuffling the putting surface, powerful odors flooded my brain. Spartina grass. Crickets. Salt. Dried mud.

  And something … else. Harsh. Metallic. The inorganic scent seemed out of place.

  Curious, I urged Coop toward the hedge bounding the green. I could sense his reluctance, but he complied.

  Something was tucked in the foliage. I tried to drive Coop to investigate, but the wolfdog resisted my will. Suddenly, his attention snagged on a wisp of light rising from the base of the bushes.

  The wolfdog was confused. But I wasn’t.

  Wire. Perhaps fishing line. Rising from the ground into the shrubs.

  Clank.

  My trowel struck something solid. The mental connection broke.

  The wolfdog yipped as my full consciousness recoiled into my own skull. The dual perception shattered. My head spun, and my stomach nearly emptied.

  The episode had lasted mere seconds. The boys hadn’t noticed, their attention riveted on my trowel.

  “That sounded like metal,” Shelton squeaked. “Pull it out.”

  “Hold on a sec.” Ben reached into the hole. “Whatever’s down here won’t come free. Like it’s tethered somehow.”

  I tried to recapture the image from Coop’s brain. We’d seen something important. But what? What was the significance?

  My mind felt like mud. I couldn’t shake my paralysis.

  “Let me help.” Hi moved beside Ben, his back to the hedge.

  That seemed wrong.

  “Okay.” Ben cracked his knuckles. “Lift on three.”

  Wait. No. Stop.

  “Ready?”

  Hi nodded.

  “Okay. One. Two. Thr—”

  My brain finally rebooted.

  I threw myself forward into Hi’s chest. We toppled in a heap of elbows and knees. The move startled Ben, who slipped and fell backward.

  CRACK! CRACK!

  Smoke filled the air. I prayed I hadn’t been too late.

  Shelton was in a battle crouch. Ben was flat on his back. I lay atop Hi, panting like a sled dog.

  “What the hell?” Hi wheezed. “Why did you jump me?”

  “Trap. Wires.” My scrambled wits could barely manage speech. “Anyone hurt?”

  “Not me.” Shelton said. “What happened?”

  “A crazed female linebacker pummeled my chest,” Hi grumbled. “She’s still pinning me to the ground. And she isn’t as light as she might think.”

  I rolled off Hi and got to my feet. “Ben?”

  “I’m … I’m okay.” He sounded shaken.

  “Oh my God.” Shelton pointed.

  Coop was dragging a long black object from the bushes. Metal. Smoke spiraled upward from one end.

  Ben raced to the wolfdog’s side. “Gun!” He gingerly lifted the weapon. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Two barrels, both single shot, with two triggers.”

  A gray filament was tied to each trigger. Ben traced one with his fingers to where it disappeared into the bushes. “Wow.”

  My heart spiked. “Where’s the cache?”

  “I had it, but something knocked it from my grip.” Ben swallowed. “A bullet, I think.”

  A plastic box lay beside the hole, a dime-sized gash in one side. The box was sealed with duct tape. Two lines ran from its base into the ground.

  Shelton grabbed an ear. “Holy crap.”

  I slipped off my backpack and located my Swiss Army knife. Then, ever so cautiously, I snipped both lines. “We’re taking the gun, too.”

  “Uh, Tory.” Hi dropped to his knees by my side.

  “Yes?”

  Wordlessly, he lifted my pack and pointed to a small tear. The edges were seared, the fibers curled and black.

  My stomach did a somersault.

  Close. Inches.

  Don’t think about it. “Hi, check our time.” Don’t think about the bullet. “Ben, make sure that gun’s empty.” Don’t think about hot metal punching through your back. “Shelton, grab Cooper. He’s agitated. I don’t want him barking.”

  “You guys aren’t going to believe this.” Hi had dug out the iPad. A smooth, round hole punctured its center.

  Shelton’s jaw dropped.

  “Does it still work?” Ben asked.

  “The timer does. We’ve got twenty minutes.”

  “We need to open the cache right now.” I sliced the duct-tape seal. “Here goes nothing.”

  The contents were hardly what I’d expected. No drawing, image, or note. Only a heavy bronze figurine—a bearded man in a flowing robe, left arm outstretched as though reaching for the horizon. Chipped and scarred, the peculiar little statue was wrapped in black–and-white cloth.

  Deformed metal fragments lay to one side.

  Hi whistled. “How about that? Micro-man took the slug dead-on.”

  The iPad suddenly beeped. Hi nearly dropped it in fright.

  The pictogram disappeared, leaving only the timer. Then a large purple circle appeared.

  Text above it read: Task complete? Enter code and press the button.

  “Code?” Ben growled. “What code?”

  “Here!” Hi pointed to numbers printed on the cache’s lid: 654321.

  I hadn’t noticed. “Good eye, Hiram.”

  “Don’t press anything!” Shelton yelped. “We fell for that once already.”

  “We have to,” I said. “A bomb might explode at zero.”

  But something troubled me. Why had the button appeared? How did the iPad know we’d found the cache?

  Something cold crawled up my spine. Inside Castle Pinckney, a hidden camera had monitored the Gamemaster’s cache. Were we being watched here as well?

  “Tory’s right,” Ben said. “Press it.”

  Hi nodded. Shelton moaned, but waved me on.

  Taking a deep breath, I input the numbers and tapped the circle.

  The iPad went blank, then flashed brilliant white. Trumpets blared. Colored balls bounced across the wounded screen, each decorated by a snarling clown face.

  “Wacko,” Hi breathed.

  Almost immediately, the bizarre display was replaced by a single large ball eerily centered over the bullet hole.

  The timer reappeared: 48:00:00. Began counting down.

  Words materialized above it: The Game continues! Complete your next task!

  “Oh no.” Shelton pressed fists to forehead. “It’s not over.”

  Suddenly, high beams sliced through the darkness in the parking lot, followed by flashing red-and-blue lights.

  “Frick! Cops!” Hi turned and sprinted for the beach. “Run!”

  Ben and I scrambled to gather our things, then leaped across the dunes and splashed into the surf. Ahead, Hi and Shelton were hauling Coop aboard.

  Radio static cut the stillness. Two flashlight beams bobbed toward the green.

  “Go!” Shelton hissed as I dragged in the anchor.

  Ben needed no prodding. Gunning the engine, he spun Sewee in a tight arc and fired through the waves.

  CHAPTER 24

  MY PHONE VIBRATED and blared Coldplay.

  Sighing, I put the figurine aside and glanced at the clock on my bedroom wall. Hours of examination, yet I was nowhere. And Friday was already half gone.

  I glanced at the iPad, amazed it still functioned with a hole through its gut. The clock read 33:01:06. A quarter of our time gone, and still no leads.

  Grabbing my iPhone, I fro
wned. The caller ID simply read “private.” I debated letting it roll to voicemail, but yielded to curiosity.

  “This is Tory.”

  “Tory Brennan?” A male voice.

  “Yes.” Cautious. I’d been pranked before, and had no intention of falling for more Bolton Prep immaturity.

  “This is Eric Marchant at the CPD crime lab. Someone named—” papers shuffled in the background, “—Jason Taylor left me a message. I’m not sure how he got my office number, but it doesn’t matter. He sent something for analysis.”

  “Mr. Marchant!” I stood and began to pace. “Thanks so much for calling.”

  “Not a problem, though I must admit the request was a bit odd. I received a cotton swab coated with an unknown substance. It was nothing more than diesel fuel.”

  Diesel fuel? Shoot, dead end. You could buy that anywhere.

  Marchant’s voice sounded tinny, probably coming from a speakerphone. He had a clipped, precise way of speaking. I imagined a short, bookish man in a tweed jacket with a pocket protector.

  “There was something about a cash register?” Marchant prompted.

  Sudden thought.

  This man was a ballistics expert. Last night, a contraption had fired at us. Someone could’ve been killed. Access to Marchant’s expertise was incredibly fortunate.

  A plan formed in my head.

  “Jason must’ve been confused, sir. I have a serious issue.” Adding a quaver to my voice. “Someone tried to kill my dog.”

  “My goodness.” There was a soft click as Marchant lifted the receiver. “Have you filed an incident report?”

  “I haven’t told anyone.” I opted for damsel in distress. “My neighborhood is very isolated, and the local cops hate coming out here. They don’t care at all.”

  “Shameful.” Irritation tinged Marchant’s voice. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Some of our more remote sheriffs wouldn’t investigate a fire in their own station house. But why do you think someone wants to harm your pet?”

  “My dog’s half wolf, and a few weeks ago these rednecks threatened to shoot him.” I invented details on the fly. “Last night, my friends and I found something buried in the dunes. A metal contraption, with two short barrels. We accidentally set it off, and I was nearly hit.”

  “The device fired at you?” Incredulous. “A projectile weapon?”