by Kathy Reichs
“And you know this how?” Shelton was still in his Dark Knight PJs.
The boys weren’t excited about a seven a.m. meeting. We huddled on Shelton’s front steps, trying not to shiver in the misty morning air. It was still dark. The sun was struggling to rise through a purple bruise spanning the eastern horizon.
“I dreamed it.”
“Aha! You dreamed it.” Hi yawned and rubbed his eyes. “I think it’s time we get you medicated.”
“I already checked,” ignoring Hi’s barb, “and G permits cover only a four-block area on the western side of the downtown peninsula.” When this failed to elicit the proper reaction, I held up a printout. “The G stickers are purple this year.”
“She could be right.” Ben snatched the page from my hand and studied it closely. “This matches the picture in my head.”
“Fine,” Shelton said. “When we get back in town, we’ll check that district for the Gamemaster’s truck.”
I stared as if he was crazy. “We can’t wait! If we evacuate, we’ll lose two or three days. The Gamemaster will be long gone.” I stepped closer and dropped my voice. “But if we go right now, we can catch him off guard!”
This didn’t play well.
Shelton hooted. “There’s a hurricane coming, Tory!”
“Katelyn is moving way faster than projected,” Hi confirmed. “It’s like she decided to sprint for the coast. The news said landfall is now expected before noon, and maybe much earlier. My dad said we’re all jetting in sixty minutes.”
“Why would the Gamemaster be at home?” Ben asked sharply. “He’ll evacuate too, right?”
“No, he won’t. He’s a thrill seeker. I’m positive he’ll stay for the big show. That’s how he rolls. And that’s how we can nab him!”
“You’re suggesting the impossible,” Shelton argued. “The roads are shutting down. All traffic is going one way—out of town. And our parents expect us in seat belts in an hour.”
“The police are busy clearing tourists,” Hi added. “They won’t bother with our story about a psychopathic gun master with more weapons than Syria. They’ll just lock us into a storm shelter.”
“We don’t even know where he lives!” Shelton finished.
I countered their rant with my own.
“The Gamemaster is a murderer. Maybe a serial killer. But we know how to find him, and we have the skills to catch him.” I glared at Shelton. “If we leave with our parents, we’re gone for days. You know that. The Gamemaster will slip away before we get back! And if he does, how many others might die? Can you live with that?”
I turned on Ben and Hi. “What about you two? Ready to bail? There’s a deranged psycho out there who knows what your mothers eat for breakfast. That cool with you?”
Shelton dropped to the stoop and sighed. “How would you do it?”
“We leave a note. Take Sewee to the city marina, then do a quick sweep of zone G. If we don’t spot the truck, we head to police headquarters and tell them about the Gamemaster. Take our punishment.”
My voice went steely. “But if we do find him, we take him out ourselves.”
Hi swallowed. “Take him out?”
I didn’t flinch. This man committed murder for sport. “Whatever it takes.”
“My boat.” Ben looked stricken. “I was going to moor her in the cove by the bunker. Sewee will get torn to pieces at the marina.”
I smiled hopefully. “All the other boats will be gone, so you can pick your berth.”
“We’re considering this?” Shelton’s forehead dropped to his knuckles. “For real?”
“Our parents will lose it,” Hi said. “I’m serious. They might all stroke out.”
“Whatever happens, we’ll tell them everything,” I said. “Afterward.”
“You want to capture a gun-crazed murderer during a Category Four hurricane.” Shelton’s gaze rose to the heavens. “Any idea how dangerous that sounds?”
“Good thing we’re Virals,” Ben said.
Our eyes met. He actually smiled.
“I’m with Tory,” Ben said firmly. “To the end.”
“Thank you.” I felt a rush of affection.
When it really matters, I can always count on Ben.
My gaze bored into Hi and Shelton.
“Ben and I are going either way.” I crossed my arms. “In or out?”
“Hurry!” I whispered-shouted at Hi as he jumped aboard.
Shelton crouched in the stern while Ben untied Sewee’s lines. Even while docked the runabout was rolling and pitching in the quickly rising chop. The ocean had gone from placid to rough in the forty minutes we’d wasted getting ready.
Hurricane Katelyn was closing in. Everyone could feel it.
“I’m dead,” Hi moaned as he slid onto the stern bench. “So, so dead. My parents will fillet me. You guys, too.”
Sorry, Kit. This one is my bad.
I waved to Ben. “Go!”
“Wait!” Shelton pointed. Coop was bounding down the dock.
“No, boy!” I shooed him with my hands. “Go back!”
Ignoring my command, Coop hopped from the pier and settled in the bow.
I froze, undecided.
“Movement on the hill!” Hi warned.
Ben glanced at me. I nodded.
He fired the engine and we motored from the dock.
CHAPTER 52
THE GAMEMASTER STOKED the flames until they licked the roof of his fireplace.
Luminous tendrils danced before his eyes.
Satisfied, he began feeding the blaze. Driver’s license. Credit card. Lease. Auto registration. Strands of an identity no longer of use.
Outside, the wind tickled the yellow jessamine climbing the chipped wood siding. A stop sign waggled in the quickening breeze.
The Gamemaster smiled. Giggled shrilly as he donned his coarse brown cloak.
It had been a wonderful game. Exquisitely orchestrated.
He shrugged off the sense of loss that assailed him each time a Game ended. Soon he’d write a new script, more elaborate than the last. He always did. Always would.
And this time, God had sent a gift. A mighty Tempest to commemorate his finale.
A small part of him felt uneasy. He was usually gone by this point, enjoying media reports of his triumph while settling into his next life.
His new cover was ready. Documents secured. Job in place. All that remained was the selection of players and a final target. The Game would soon recommence.
But nature’s wrath was too delicious a lure.
He wanted to witness the fury firsthand—a grinding crescendo of wind and rain that would acclaim his genius. His victory. Then he’d vanish, never to return.
Task complete, the Gamemaster straightened and walked to the kitchen, passing a half-dozen empty duffel bags piled in the hallway. He’d need to pack his beloved collection soon, before the storm arrived in force.
The Gamemaster thought of his snare gun. Smiled. He’d regretted almost losing the clever weapon, uncertain he’d ever find another quite like it. But his fondness for the device hadn’t stopped him—tools were meant to be used.
Then he giggled, remembering his hardly contained joy when the kids had handed the gun right back to him! Now that was a stroke of luck. Delightful!
Humming softly, the Gamemaster began washing dishes stacked in the sink.
Outside, fat drops began ticking the window.
This Game had been special. His players had been young, but incredibly resourceful. So many Games never reached the final stage, yet these four adolescents had somehow conquered every challenge. Remarkable!
They’d failed in the end, of course. And died, of course.
He’d never before come so close to losing. The little scamps had even averted The Danger. No one had accomplished that in years. Extraordinary!
A shocking realization froze his hands.
He had liked this Tory Brennan. Respected her. Been wary of her.
He thought bac
k to their coffee shop meeting. Bright. Resourceful. Up for the challenge. Brennan had been the rarest of treasures—a worthy opponent. It was a pity she and her friends had cheated.
He tsked. You mustn’t break The Rules.
He’d been very clear. The kids had earned The Punishment.
All in all, a very satisfying Game indeed.
Only one detail troubled him—there’d been no reports on their deaths. Odd. The press usually went berserk when children were killed.
Relax. He shut off the tap and dried his hands, chuckling at his impatience.
The Game ended only yesterday. The hurricane was no doubt disrupting everything. The police would withhold details from the media until they’d notified the families. Perhaps the bodies hadn’t been discovered.
Be patient. The trophies will come.
The Gamemaster did have one regret.
Never again would he work with a partner.
Too many variables. Too little control.
The thrill of added danger wasn’t worth the headache.
Whistling off-tune, the Gamemaster returned to his living room and powered his laptop. Slowly, he scrolled through images.
Soon his collection would expand.
Smiling, the Gamemaster settled in to enjoy the storm.
CHAPTER 53
THE SKY WAS the color of dried blood.
A massive, towering inkblot covered the eastern horizon.
Hurricane Katelyn was coming. Fast.
Gusts snapped my windbreaker as Sewee bucked across the white-caps. Overhead, gulls streamed inland, flapping ahead of the strengthening gale.
Boating at that moment felt like suicide.
As Sewee rounded Morris, passed Fort Sumter, and muscled across Charleston Harbor, I saw no other vessels on the water. I was in the bow, with Coop’s snout buried in my lap. The wolfdog had no fondness for boats.
What am I supposed to do with him?
“Does this bucket move any faster?” Shelton was staring back out to sea, transfixed by the approaching vortex. “If that mess catches us on the water, it’s all over.”
“Relax.” Ben had the engine running full throttle. “We’ll make it.”
I tried to focus on our mission, but guilt was eating me alive.
The note I’d left was vague, and would provide no comfort. I could imagine Kit at that moment, terrified, pacing our boarded-up kitchen, unable to comprehend my decision.
Dear Kit
,
The boys and I have to do something
right now
. Its extremely important. We’re taking GEWEE into the city and will shelter at a police station PLEASE DON’T FOLLOW!!! I’ll explain everything in a few hours. Promise. Don’t worry, we’re being very, very careful
.
Love, Tory
PG—Don’t hate me. I swear to God this is important. Please trust me
.
PPG—Don’t follow!
I’d scrawled a second message in my notebook and tossed it on the dock: “I have Coop!”
Best I could do.
I knew it was terrible. What parent could read those words and not panic? We’d set sail for an evacuated city, on an open sixteen-foot boat, with a Cat Four hurricane breathing down our necks. A bad action movie, starring his daughter.
I’ll make it up to you, Kit. Somehow.
Despite the early hour, the sky was darkening fast. The gusts were growing wetter, stronger, heavier, and more frequent. As if sensing landfall, Katelyn thundered and hissed. Tense minutes passed before the marina finally hove into view.
Ben cut our speed and we glided up to a row of quays. He chose a berth well away from the handful of other boats still at dock. Then we wasted twenty precious minutes tying Sewee down with every available rope in the Lowcountry.
Finally satisfied, Ben led us up to the street. Coop’s tail wagged in happiness at being back on dry land. That went for everyone.
No more distractions. We had a psycho to bag.
Walking quickly, we crossed Lockwood to Calhoun, turned left onto Courtenay Drive, and headed north through the medical district. The streets and sidewalks were empty. Houses and businesses were boarded with plywood, or protected by metal storm shutters. Few lights burned in the gloom. The city had a creepy, abandoned feeling, like a war zone or a postapocalyptic future.
A blast of sodden wind slammed me from behind and nearly sent me sprawling. An early taste of the nightmare to come.
Katelyn must be entering the harbor. We don’t have much time.
As we reached Spring Street, rain began falling in bands. Fat droplets smacked my forehead, face, and cheeks. I leaned forward for balance as a series of gusts ripped down the sidewalk. Head lowered, I scrunched my hood tight.
“This is the southern boundary of zone G.” Hi was shouting to be heard. “It’s small, like Tory said. If the Gamemaster lives here, his F-150 should be parked on one of the next three blocks.”
“Unless he’s got a garage,” Shelton griped. “Or left town with the sane people.”
“If he has a garage, why buy a street permit?” Hi countered.
“This is pointless,” Ben yelled. “Let’s go look.”
“We’ll walk up Norman,” I said, “then cut back and forth, working a grid until we locate the truck.”
“Should we split up?” Ben gestured left, then right. “Spread out to cover more ground?”
Before I could answer the sky opened up, drenching us in a salty deluge. Visibility shrank to a few dozen yards. Coop whined and shook furiously.
“Let’s stick together.” I scratched the wolfdog’s ears. “The Gamemaster is armed and dangerous. We shouldn’t separate the pack for any reason.”
“Should we light ’em up?” Hi glanced at the angry sky. “We might need our flare strength sooner than you think.”
“Not yet.” Though I was tempted. “We can’t risk burning too soon. We’ll need our powers when we corner this snake.”
“Any plan for that bit?” Shelton asked dully. “You keep glossing over how we’re actually gonna make the citizen’s arrest.”
“Of course.” I chucked his shoulder. “We’ll improvise.”
“Great. Well thought out.” Shelton pulled his hoodie tighter around his face.
A burst of wind barreled up Spring Street, fluttering streetlights and rocking stop signs. Rain blew horizontally, needling my skin and stinging my eyes. This time the velocity held steady, refusing to die back down.
Hurricane Katelyn had arrived.
Hi circled a finger above his head. “Move out.”
With Ben leading, we hurried up the block and turned left onto Ashton. Pacing down a line of row houses and modest residences, we checked every driveway, carport, and curb. No black truck.
At block’s end we turned right, advanced a street, and worked our way back. Coop trotted at my side, alert but uncertain, pausing now and again to shake rain from his coat.
Cheap duplex apartments lined the left side of the road. A small grocery store sat midway up on the right.
I slogged to the store and stepped under the awning. Gusts tore at my windbreaker, forcing the hood back and filling it with rainwater. I gave up trying to keep the sodden thing on my head. Hand-shielding my eyes, I squinted down the block.
And saw it.
My heart began thumping triple time.
“What now?” Hi shouted.
“Now we break in.”
I pointed at a wooden row house a dozen yards from where we stood.
At the black F-150, parked in its backyard.
CHAPTER 54
“BEN, YOU AND Shelton slip around back. Get a look through that window.”
I gathered my sopping hair into a ponytail. The wind and rain had doubled in intensity. Trash and bits of debris were cartwheeling down the street, rising and spiraling, then dropping only to lift back up again. Bottles and bags began shooting along the gutters.
Our grace period was over. We w
ere caught in a full-blown hurricane.
Huddled beside the grocery, we formed a game plan. Coop’s eyes were white and round with fear. I held his collar so he couldn’t dart away.
“Why do I have to scout?” Shelton whined. “I suck at sneaking up on people!”
Ben backhanded rain from his face. “I thought you said no splitting up?” His thick black hair was pasted to his scalp.
“Just this once, and only for a few seconds. We can’t let the Gamemaster spot us all together. We’d lose any element of surprise.”
“Can we flare?” Hi was red-faced and breathing hard. “We need to be ready.”
I hesitated. What if the Gamemaster wasn’t home?
Then this whole adventure was pointless.
“We need to be sure he’s in there,” Ben said. “We only get one shot.”
I nodded. “No flares yet. You two go first. Head for the truck. Hi and I will count to thirty, then buzz the front of the house. If you spot the Gamemaster, whistle twice. Otherwise we’ll reconnect in the backyard.”
“You won’t hear a whistle in this.” Ben gestured to the chaos swirling around us. “Or anything else.”
“Then just sit tight wherever you are. If we don’t see you in the driveway, we’ll keep circling the house and link up by the truck.”
“What about Coop?” Hi kept his gaze on our target.
“He stays with me.” I grabbed the wolfdog’s snout and looked him in the eye. “You hear that, dog breath? By my side.”
Coop licked my hand.
Impossibly, the gusting kicked up a notch, making it difficult to even stand up straight. I braced myself against the store’s wall and prayed for a lull.
Time was up. We’d need to seek shelter in minutes.
After what seemed like an eon, the wind’s force dropped a fraction. Everyone struggled to their feet.
I gave Shelton a reassuring hug. “Good luck.”
“Stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” Shelton blinked through water-blurred lenses. “At least if the Gamemaster kills me, my parents won’t have the chance.”
