by Kathy Reichs
I’ll give him this: he didn’t treat us like kids. He treated us like criminals.
Karsten and Hi stood in front of Building One, the complex’s largest structure. Inside are the most elaborately and expensively outfitted labs. Hi’s dad works there. So does Kit. The security office is housed there, too. Great.
“Get over here and explain yourselves.”
We obeyed the first part, but not the second.
Karsten turned on Hi. “Mr. Stolowitski. Why were you sneaking through the woods?”
“My plane crashed. I’ve been living out there for months.”
Can it, Hi! Not smart.
“That’s terrible.” Karsten’s tone was icy. “Your mother will be thrilled when I tell her you survived. Shall we call her now?”
Hi’s eyes widened, then dropped. “I was sick,” he mumbled. “Rough crossing.”
I felt for him. He looked miserable.
“And the rest of you? Also unwell? Here for veterinary treatment?”
“Dr. Karsten, have we done something wrong?” Shelton asked, ultra-politely. “I thought it was okay to visit, since we’re on the approved list. You could check it. We’re happy to wait.”
“Cute.” Karsten wasn’t fooled. He never was. “You’re only allowed here if you don’t cause trouble.” His eyes crawled the group. “But you always do.”
I felt my face flush with anger.
Mouth, here comes my foot. This is ridiculous.
“Professor Karsten, I’m here to see my dad. I’ve come straight from the dock. And last I checked, my inoculations were in order. Is there anything specific I can help you with? I need to get going.”
You know that sound a needle makes when dragged across an old record? It happened.
The others inched away.
Karsten studied me. Seconds ticked by. Agony. Then he smirked. “Ah, Miss Brennan. Always a delight.” He regarded me another moment. Then, under his breath, “And nothing at all like your father.” A pause. “But exactly like Tempe.”
I wasn’t supposed to hear that. Secretly, I preened. Karsten knew Aunt Tempe professionally. I’d never heard the exact story. I’m not sure if the family tie was a strike for or against me.
Suddenly, Karsten was all business. “Stay off Turtle Beach; an ecological survey is in progress. I suppose Chile Beach is open. Tern Point is off limits. As always.” He checked his watch. “Above all, stay out of everyone’s way.”
Karsten began to stomp off, stopped short.
“Miss Brennan.”
Gulp.
“Yes, sir?”
“Dr. Howard is occupied with a patient. A boat propeller struck a turtle crossing the channel. Your father is not to be disturbed.” A quick pivot and he was gone.
Phew.
Triple stares in my direction.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you popped off at Dr. K like that.” Shelton looked shocked.
Hi chortled. “You’ve got bigger balls than I do.”
“Thanks, Hi. Noted.”
“Whatever, it worked,” said Ben. “Good job, Tor. Nice cover about your dad. Quick thinking.” He glanced toward the rear of the compound. “But maybe we should scrap smoking out the dogs?”
“Wolfdogs,” I corrected. “Well, two of them are, anyway.” I peered at my reflection in the glass of Building One. Seeing Kit would’ve been nice, but going inside now would be tempting fate.
Sorry Kit. No can visit.
“No way,” I said. “Let’s find the pack.”
“And some monkeys. I want to see monkeys.” Hi’s good spirits had returned. “Won’t-you-take-me-to, Monkey Town!” He broke out a dance move. The shopping cart.
“Sure, Hi,” I replied, eyes still on the lab. “I will take you to Monkey Town. Just never sing that again.”
“Awful,” Ben agreed. “Terrible, terrible joke. Shameful.”
An earnest nod from Hi. “Not my best work.”
“Saddle up, yo!” Shelton circled a finger in the air, ready to hike.
Like Snow White’s dwarves, we marched one by one out the back gate.
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to search we go . . .
CHAPTER 7
The man gazed down from Karsten’s office window. His close-set eyes flanked a bulbous nose spidered with veins.
Watching the four teens disappear through the Turtle Beach gate, the man cracked his knuckles. Nervous and angry at the same time.
Punk kids on Loggerhead? Why? What are they doing here?
The man moved to the desk and folded his burly frame into the leather-bound chair. Leaned back. Lit a cigar.
Time to remind Karsten who’s in charge.
Moments later the doctor bustled in, oblivious to the presence of another. He stopped short, startled by the smell of burning tobacco.
Seeing the man at his desk, Karsten stiffened.
“Why is a pack of kids roaming the property?” the man demanded coldly.
“I can’t keep them off the grounds.” Karsten swallowed. “Children of LIRI employees have the Board’s permission to visit the beaches.”
“Aren’t you the director? Can’t you control your own facility?”
Karsten bristled, but said nothing.
“I want all outsiders banned from the island,” the man said. “Immediately. Keep them out of the woods.”
“Why are you here? It’s madness for us to be seen together.”
“I took precautions. No one knows.” The man’s voice went even colder. “And watch your tone. I’m here because you’ve failed to show progress. Perhaps you’ve forgotten our agreement.”
“I’m working on it.”
“You made promises. You have obligations.”
“What you seek is extremely complicated. These things can’t be rushed.”
The man simply stared.
“Give me more time,” Karsten whined. “I’m close.”
“You’d better be. I hold my partners to their bargains. Count on that.”
The man rose, drew on his cigar, then dropped it, burning, into the wastebin.
“Impress me, doctor,” he said. “Your time is running out.”
The man left without a backward glance.
CHAPTER 8
Light flashed.
Flit. Was gone.
What was that?
It was the third or fourth time my eyes picked it up. I thought the glint came from the trees but wasn’t sure. I scanned the canopy, looking for a clue.
When a gumball nailed my forehead, I figured it out.
“Ow!” My hand flew up in surprise. “A monkey just pegged me!”
I was sitting in a glade with my back to a tree. We were far from LIRI, in a little-traveled quadrant of the forest. Hi was stretched out beside me, shade-happy.
Ben and Shelton were searching for the trail. Again.
We were out-of-bounds, but so what? Following the path to Dead Cat was très routine. When Ben spotted an older run heading north, we’d decided to go off-road.
Screw you, Karsten.
We hadn’t located the pack. No surprise there. The entire island was their turf, and canines are masters at stealth. They could be anywhere.
Last year, an enterprising lab tech had installed a timed-release food dispenser in a cave below Tern Point. Whisper and her crew took to it immediately, and were rarely seen near the compound anymore.
Well, until the howling started.
Recently the pack had begun circling the LIRI fence each night, baying up a storm. No one knew why. The guards were thoroughly creeped out.
The change in behavior worried me. If the pack kept making a racket, eventually they might attract too much attention. They weren’t really supposed to be there.
But my concern went deeper. Only three members of the family were appearing each night. Coop was missing.
Despite our mission failure, I was enjoying the trek. At one point we’d startled a group of monkeys clustered at a feeder. Somewhat
used to people, they’d scurried into the trees to watch us from a distance.
Young males barked and bobbed, putting on a show in the branches. Babies peered from their mothers’ backs or bellies. Big ears. Big eyes. Total cuties. Females groomed each other like they were prepping for a prom.
To that point, the hike was a winner.
But after the primate encounter, the track had narrowed, penciled, then disappeared altogether. Glumly, we’d conceded to being lost. Spotting a clearing, we’d cut over, hoping to find the trail on the far side.
Nope.
So there I sat, being bombed by a monkey.
Finally, I spotted my assailant. A big female with gray-brown fur and one notched ear. The tattoo on her chest said Y-7.
Y-7 wasn’t happy. Restlessly shuffling from branch to branch, she paused now and then to lunge in our direction. Fear and anger drew her lips back in a full-toothed grin.
Y-7 let fly again. Retreated.
Good aim! I rubbed my shoulder. Good arm, too. I scooted behind the tree, taking cover.
“Looks like you have another fan.”
“Shut up, Hi.” I peered around the trunk, trying to locate my attacker. “I’ve never seen this behavior in a female.” Air whooshed as a missile zipped past my ear. “What the hell? Is her baby nearby? I don’t see one.”
I peeked again. Another projectile drove me back.
“She’s pretty agitated.” My warning to Hi was an understatement.
“Great call, Captain Obvious.” Hi hadn’t moved. Not smart. Whack! He took a direct shot from on high.
Cursing, Hi rolled from the line of fire. “Agitated? That monkey’s rabid. Out for blood. She went for my bad knee.” He snatched a spiked gumball fruit that had fallen from the tree. “This means war.”
Hi stood, took aim. “Payback! Don’t start what you can’t finish.”
Y-7 easily dodged Hi’s weak throw. Returned fire.
Hi ducked back, panting. “I’m overmatched. Call for backup.”
Flit.
There it was again! A quick burst of light.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Hi crouched beside me, gazing upward. “I think Donkey Kong has something on her wrist.”
Overhead, Y-7 sprang with outstretched arms, went airborne, landed. A threatening branch-shake completed the display.
I saw another flash.
It clicked. “She’s got something in her paw. Something reflective.”
“Yep,” Hi agreed. “It’s metal. Maybe glass.”
We were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder behind the trunk of a live oak. It wasn’t big enough to shield us both. Sardines in hiding. Sitting ducks.
Suddenly, our adversary leaped into the branches directly above our heads. Hanging low, she drew her lips back and screeched.
Alarmed, I fell backward and curled into a ball. Monkey bites are not pretty.
Y-7 hurled what was in her hand.
Branches swished.
Quiet.
I sat up and unwrapped my arms from my head. Dirt coated my shirt. Twigs adorned my hair. Nice.
“Hi, next time you want to throw something at a monkey, don’t.”
“It was only a gumball.”
Hi had rolled to the bottom of a slight incline. He righted himself and glanced at an elbow scrape. “Man, this is not my day.”
Curious, I scooped up Y-7’s projectile.
“What are you fools doing?” Shelton called. The trailbreakers were back, having missed our brief firefight.
“Monkey attack.” Hi slogged back up the grade. “The enemy had air superiority, but we survived.” He swatted Ben on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I sent a message. They won’t dare return.”
“Guys, check this out.” I rubbed Y-7’s missile with my finger, trying to clear gunk from the surface. Thin and flat, the thing weighed maybe an ounce. A tiny hole punctured one end.
Shelton joined me. Hi was busy explaining to Ben how many punches he’d absorbed before body-slamming the primate gang leader. His audience looked dubious.
Y-7’s weapon of choice was about two inches long and one inch wide. Though a hardened crust covered 90 percent of its surface, one outside edge glinted in the afternoon sunlight.
“Definitely metal,” I pronounced.
Shelton nodded. “It’s practically fossilized. I’ll bet it was buried at some point.”
Nose close, I gave the thing a careful inspection. It smelled of rust and embedded dirt.
“It’s pretty banged up, but I can make out indentations,” I said. “Lettering, maybe?”
Shelton smiled. “Come on, girl. Think! A metal rectangle with symbols punched in?” Smug. He knew what it was.
“A strike pad?” I hate guessing. It’s so inexact. “Like for a stamp or something? Or a stapler?”
Shelton’s grin widened. “Use your brain. Who prints things on small pieces of steel?”
Of course! And the hole. Duh.
I met his eye. My grin mirrored his.
“You got it!” Fist bump. He turned to the others. “Guess what we found, ya’ll.”
“It’s a dog tag,” I blurted, stealing his thunder. “A military ID.”
Shelton nodded. “No doubt about it.”
“What’s it doing out here?” Ben asked. “More Civil War stuff?”
“Crazy talk,” Shelton scoffed. “Metal dog tags first came out in World War I. Standard issue ones, anyway. It’s at least from this century.”
I handed Shelton the tag. His show now.
“If we knew what was printed on it, we could date it,” he said. “The type of info that was stamped changed over time.” Another thought. “The material used to make them changed too.”
I frowned. “But Loggerhead was empty for decades before the university bought it. It’s been vacant most of this century.”
“Sure,” Hi said. “Officially. You think people didn’t cruise out here looking for some action?”
Good point.
“Waste of time,” Ben said. “You’ll never be able to read it. The lettering’s too far gone.” He checked his watch. “We should head out. I found the way back.”
“We found it.” Shelton shrugged and tossed the tag.
The boys moved off.
I stared at Y-7’s prize resting in the leaves.
Why not try to clean it? It’s not that different from a seashell.
The tag held someone’s name. Not trying to decipher it? Crazy. I scooped it up and hurried after the others.
Man.
If I hadn’t done that, everything would have been different. Everything.
That whim changed my life.
Opened the door for what came.
Paved my path to monsterhood.
CHAPTER 9
At home, disaster lurked.
Terror. Horror.
Her.
The conversation was always the same. Bombast. Then reproach. Followed by thoughtlessness. Always draped in tones as syrupy as molasses.
And she was off and running.
“Why, Tory, look at you! You’re gettin’ to be so lovely! Angel eyes!”
Oh God.
“But, dear thing, why not a sundress? Girl as pretty as you shouldn’t slum around in T-shirts and shorts.”
Stop.
“I cannot wait to take you for a proper haircut. My girl Da’Nae will know exactly what to do with that tangle.”
Kill me. Kill me now.
Dinner plans had taken a dreadful turn. Kit’s “lady friend” had been added to the guest list. I was not consulted, perhaps because my feelings on the issue of Whitney are clear.
I stared full bore at Kit. He kept his eyes on his plate.
Thanks for the heads-up, jerk.
Ladies and gentlemen, meet Whitney Rose Dubois.
“Have you thought about what I said last time, sugar?” Whitney feigned nonchalance. Failed.
“Yes, Whitney, I did.” I tried to be diplomatic. “I don’t
think it’s me.”
“Not you?” Mascara-laden lashes fluttered. Bleached hair swished. “Not you!” A manicured hand fluttered to rest on jacked-up boobs. “But of course it’s you!” Saucer eyes conveyed total lack of understanding.
Swing and a miss. How to put this delicately?
“The whole idea is ridiculous. Stupid.”
There. Oprah would be proud.
“Tory!” Kit said. “That’s enough.”
I resisted an impulse to sigh theatrically. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m just not into the whole ‘deb’ thing.”
For a month, Whitney had worked to convince me to make my debut as a lady. I had zero interest. White dresses. Satin gloves. Being displayed like cattle. No thanks. I’m just not that into you.
My mind raced to find a new topic. Blanked.
“But sweet pea, you’ll soon turn sixteen. You simply must be introduced to society.” Whitney trained her baby blues on Kit. This was clearly the most obvious thing in the world.
“I’ll meet society later.”
“Nonsense! And Tory, darlin’, I’m your lucky day!” Looking pleased with herself, Whitney placed her hand on Kit’s. Gross. “Now, we only have six months left in this season, but I happen to have considerable influence on the committee. You’re a shoo-in to be selected.” The woman positively beamed.
“Tory, Whitney’s offering you a special opportunity.” Kit, trying to smooth the waters. “You could use a little branching out. These are the nicest families in Charleston.”
I felt a twinge of sympathy for the old man. This wasn’t his idea, and he worried about my level of “girl time.”
Nevertheless, I crushed the feeling like a bug. Eating with Whitney only reminded me that Mom was gone forever. She had no right to play at being my mother. Out of bounds.
“I go to school with those girls, Kit. They aren’t that nice.”
“But I can help with that!” Whitney looked so eager it was painful. “I know all the etiquette. I can teach you the dances. I’ll find lovely dresses for you to wear.” She leaned close. “I’ll coach you the whole way.”
Scramble. Change subject.
“Kit, uh . . . how’s the turtle?”
He blinked. “The what? Oh! The turtle that took on a propeller. It’s fine, just a scrape. Those shells are tough.”
Kit downed a forkful of Whitney’s lasagna. Which, admittedly, was excellent.
