Seizure tb-2

by Kathy Reichs

  Go time.

  Boots crunched downward toward their target.

  I SHOULD’VE JUST banged my head against a wall.

  I’d have gotten the same results, only quicker, and with less pain.

  “I’m done with this nonsense.” Shelton spread his hands in a wipe-away gesture. “D-O-N-E. Done! Put a fork in me.”

  His dramatics startled Coop, who padded over to investigate.

  Wednesday afternoon. Another bunker meeting, after another all-night adventure. And, once again, nothing to show for our efforts.

  The only good luck I had working was Kit’s heavy sleeping.

  “Calm down!” I said. “We shouldn’t rush into any—”

  “This thing has gotten way out of hand,” Shelton blurted. “We almost got killed. Our powers went berserk. And there’s no treasure anyway! It’s time to throw in the towel.”

  “You did it again, Tory,” Hi said quietly. “Telepathy. Forcing us to flare. And for Shelton and me, it was the second burn that night. Did you learn anything?”

  “No.” My fist hit the table. “I don’t know how I do it. I tried to connect with you and Shelton when we first saw the wolves with Chance, but it wouldn’t work. Then later, at the dig site, the contact came easily.”

  “Any theories?” Hi asked.

  I shook my head. “I can’t explain how I reached you guys when the Fletchers showed up. I just did.”

  “Terror?” Ben guessed. “Danger?”

  “I was plenty nervous when the wolves circled us, believe me.”

  “For some reason, Tory seems to flare the strongest.” Hi turned to me. “You can tap our minds, but we can’t return the favor. Only you can flare twice in a row. Only you can force the other Virals to burn. And we have no idea why.”

  “Did you call those wolves?” Shelton seemed afraid of what I might answer. “Could you talk to them?”

  “Yes and no. They might’ve contacted me; I can’t be sure. But I heard White Muzzle’s voice in my head, just like I’ve heard Coop’s before.” Pause. “At least, I think I heard it.”

  That was a showstopper. The boys were struck silent.

  “I’m getting closer to the answers,” I said. “I can feel it.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re doing!” Shelton started ticking off fingers. “Let’s recap. We’re infected with an unknown supervirus. We cannot control it. We don’t know what crazy side effects might happen next. Our bodies might be spiraling out of control.”

  My gaze hardened. “We can’t hide under our beds.”

  “You want to keep treasure hunting?” Shelton sounded exasperated. “Looking for what, exactly? We found the damn chest. It’s a blank.”

  “We should call the cops now,” Hi argued. “The Fletchers tried to kill us. Since there’s no treasure to hide, there’s no reason not to bust them.”

  “With what evidence?” I rubbed circles on my temples. “It’s our word against theirs, and we stole the museum’s treasure map. The Fletchers can turn us in anytime they want. No one will believe our story.”

  “We dropped our trump cards over the side,” Ben groused. “Those guns would’ve been useful as evidence.”

  “Give me a break. I didn’t know the chest would be empty.”

  “Twice we’ve risked our necks, found zilch.” Shelton crossed his arms. “Now insane married treasure-hunter museum curators are stalking us. Tell me the good news.”

  “I found the phone they used to track Sewee,” Ben said. “Stashed under the life vests. It’s now at the bottom of the Atlantic with their weapons.”

  “Chris said they don’t drive a Studebaker.” Hi rubbed a chubby cheek. “Think he was lying?”

  I spread my palms. Who knows?

  “And don’t forget Chance.” Shelton was in a state. “He saw our eyes. He could cause big trouble now.”

  Shelton’s words reminded me of a topic I’d been avoiding.

  “Chance isn’t the only one,” I muttered. “Two days ago, I made a mistake at cotillion. I flashed my eyes at Madison Dunkle.”

  “You did what!?” Shelton popped to his feet.

  “Tory, no!” Hiram’s eyes were dinner plates.

  “Quiet!” Ben raised a hand. “Tell us what happened.”

  I did. Every last detail. When I’d finished, the boys sat mute, considering the implications of my actions.

  “Maybe you can play it off,” Shelton suggested. “Pretend it was a trick with the lighting. Or funny contact lenses.”

  I nodded, but wasn’t convinced.

  “You’re sure Courtney and Ashley didn’t see?” Ben asked.

  “Reasonably. I leaned close to Madison for maximum effect.”

  Hi shook his head. Shelton’s gaze found the ceiling.

  “Look, it was stupid. I know that.”

  My statement was greeted by vigorous nods.

  “But only Madison saw, and she isn’t likely to talk. Everyone heard me tell her off, and I was incredibly rude. If she starts saying weird things about me now, no one will believe her. Plus, she’ll look weak.”

  “You can smell people’s emotions?” Shelton had retaken his seat on the bench. “Seriously? That’s kind of dope.”

  I shrugged. “Sometimes. Hi and I did some research, and it’s not as wacky as it sounds. You just need a crazy-good nose.”

  To clean the slate, I told Ben and Shelton about my flare at the yacht club, and how I’d used my sniffing power to read Lonnie Bates.

  “How many times have you flared in public?” Ben scowled. “Ridiculous.”

  “So dogs can smell fear.” Shelton scratched Coop’s ears. “I knew it.”

  “We need to keep Chance away from Madison,” Hi said. “Both have seen too much, but alone, neither would be believed. Together? Different story.”

  “Chance saw the most,” Ben said grimly. “He’s witnessed two separate flare incidents. The whole deal. He’s a major threat now.”

  “Maybe an alligator ate him,” Shelton joked lamely.

  “Plus, Chance is an escaped mental patient,” Hi added. “That’s not exactly the apex of the credibility pyramid.”

  “He won’t go to the police,” Ben guessed. “Chance thinks we found treasure.”

  “We’ll deal with Chance when he turns up,” I said. “Right now, we need to focus on our next move.”

  “Let it go!” Shelton slapped his knees in frustration.

  “There’s no move to make, Tory.” Hi pointed to the empty chest resting against the bunker wall. “We found the treasure, and it’s right there. Nothing.”

  “We can’t just quit.” I sounded like a broken record. “If we do, I’ll be moving to freaking Alabama!”

  That got their attention.

  “That’s right. Kit has accepted an offer. I’ll be gone in a month.”

  “Me too,” Hi said quietly. “My dad lined up a gig in Missouri. Some chemical factory. I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you guys.”

  “We’re moving, too.” Shelton kicked a tennis ball. Coop scampered after it. “Palo Alto. Next month. But hey, West Coast is the best coast, right?”

  Worse and worse. My eyes flicked to Ben.

  “I’ll still be here. Only over in Mount Pleasant, with my mom. She’s enrolling me at Wando High.” Ben gave a tough-guy shrug. “Could be okay.”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Each Viral was wrapped in his or her own gloomy thoughts. The meeting now felt like a hospital vigil. Our pack was on life support.

  “We have to keep at it.” I tried for one last rally. “We can’t allow anything to split us up! I’m afraid.”

  Hi crossed the room and placed a hand on mine.

  “I wish things could be different, too.” His eyes were glassy. “But sometimes you can’t win. We’re just kids.”

  With those words, he ducked into the crawl and slipped out of the bunker.

  Shelton bailed next, wiping his eyes. Ben followed, unwilling to meet my gaze. That left Coop
and me.

  I got down and rubbed his snout. Coop rolled to his back, delighted by my attention.

  “You won’t leave me, will you boy?”

  The tension of the last week finally overwhelmed my defenses.

  Anguish rocked me.

  I wanted Mom. Needed the warmth of her embrace. The soothing, familiar comfort of her hands stroking my hair, her arms hugging me, her lips whispering that everything would be okay. That I was safe. Loved.

  And I couldn’t have it. Not then, or ever again.

  I cried and cried and cried, my only comfort the companionship of my loyal wolfdog. We huddled together on the bunker floor, me weeping, Coop licking the tears from my cheeks.

  I’d never felt more beaten.

  “GET A GRIP, Victoria. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Coop cocked an ear.

  “Not you, big guy.” I scratched his snout. “Mommy’s upset that everyone threw in the towel.”

  Maybe the boys were right. What else could we do?

  There were no more riddles or poems. No treasure map to follow.

  The task was complete. We’d navigated Bonny’s trail of clues and successfully dug up her prize. Five feet from me, a pirate chest rested against the wall.

  Totally empty.

  So why couldn’t I let it go? Why was I convinced the treasure was still out there?

  Intuition? Instinct?

  Or was it something less pleasant? Delusion. Denial of reality. Avoidance of a hard truth.

  Screw that.

  I wasn’t quitting until I had no choice. Loggerhead was counting on me.

  Save the psychology for someone who cares.

  Who knows? Anne Bonny might be my long-lost ancestor. Her treasure might belong to me by birthright.

  No backing down yet. Not while I had bullets left to fire.

  Palming tears from my cheeks, I scooted over to the chest. It was all I had left to work with.

  My fingers traced the trunk’s grime-crusted exterior. The frame was still solid, even after three centuries underground.

  The lid seemed flawless in design and construction. Bringing my eyes close, I scanned where its lip met the box frame. Unmarred. No divots, cracks, or gouges.

  Conclusion: the chest had never been forced open.

  Until we popped the padlock, the contents were undisturbed.

  What did that mean?

  “Two possibilities,” I said aloud. “One, the chest was buried empty. Two, the chest was buried containing treasure, dug up later, and then reburied empty.”

  Neither scenario made sense. Why conceal an empty chest? Why protect it with elaborate riddles and traps? What purpose would that serve?

  I couldn’t imagine anything less rational than spending time and energy to entomb a vacant trunk six feet underground.

  Unless it was a double-cross.

  What if someone swiped the booty at the last possible moment?

  I frowned. If that’s what happened, Bonny’s treasure was long gone.

  My mind shifted to the second theory, which had its own problems.

  If someone dug up the treasure, why bother reburying the chest? Why not take the money and run?

  Maybe the treasure was relocated for greater security.

  Bonny was plainly obsessed with safety measures. She’d already moved her loot once.

  My pulse cranked up a notch. If the treasure was moved, and the chest reburied in the original hiding place, there was only one reason.

  “So someone else could follow! That means leaving clues!”

  Coop looked up at the sound of my voice, went back to chewing his tennis ball.

  Excited, I examined the chest with a more critical eye. Rubbed my hands over every inch of its outer surface. Still found nothing.

  Opening the lid, I began tapping the wooden slats comprising the frame, hoping an answer would reveal itself. None did.

  Then I noticed something.

  One corner of the chest held a small mound of debris. Dust. Sand. Dry vegetation. In our dejection, we hadn’t bothered to inspect it.

  I scooped a handful and probed gently. Three pebbles emerged from the dirt. Small, round, and uniform in size and color, the objects seemed somehow out of place.

  Setting the stones aside, I scooped another handful. This mix contained a number of strange dried leaves. I’d never seen anything like them before.

  I thought back to the beach surrounding the dig site. The sand had been littered with seashells and the occasional dead branch, but there’d been no plants growing nearby. And we hadn’t opened the chest until safely aboard Sewee.

  My excitement buzzed to a new level. The leaves and pebbles weren’t introduced during our dig. They must’ve been inside the chest all along.

  The remaining dirt held nothing of interest.

  I sat staring at the two small piles.

  Leaves. Pebbles.

  Were these the clues I was seeking?

  “Am I nuts, Coop?”

  The wolfdog offered no answer to that.

  It was a wild hunch that things weren’t finished. Only a fanatic would look at a handful of rubbish and see puzzle pieces.

  “Then color me crazy,” I whispered.

  Moving quickly, I tackled Cooper and rubbed noogies on his forehead. He responded by gnawing my arm.

  “I may be losing it, dog breath, but we are not done yet!”

  “JUST HEAR ME out!” I shouted.

  At my request, we’d reassembled in Shelton’s garage. His father’s workshop was the best place to examine my finds.

  The Allies at Normandy hadn’t encountered such determined resistance.

  “I don’t wanna!” Shelton whined. “You’ll start talking, and pretty soon we’ll all start nodding, and then the next thing you know, I’m hang gliding off the Eiffel Tower at midnight, being chased by ninja vampires. No deal!”

  Ben smacked the back of Shelton’s head.

  “Inside that crazy rant is a kernel of truth.” Hi folded his arms. “We found the trunk, Tory. It’s a dead end.”

  “But think,” I urged. “Why bury an empty chest, unless you’re sending a message to whoever finds it later?”

  “The message was received.” Ben displayed his middle finger. “Ha ha. You lose.”

  “Maybe, but the lid was undamaged, meaning whoever removed the contents had access to the key. I think Bonny relocated the treasure again and left clues for someone to follow.”

  “Who?” Shelton, voice skeptical.

  “Mary Read.”

  His hands flew up. “She was DEAD!”

  “Maybe Bonny DIDN’T KNOW!” I shouted back.

  “Enough!” Ben glared at each of us in turn. “Tory’s the reason we found the chest. Let’s hear what she has to say. We owe her that much.”

  Shelton rolled his eyes. Hi screwed his mouth sideways, but said nothing.

  Ben jabbed a finger at me. “But no promises, Brennan. I’m not wild about chasing pipe dreams, and we almost got killed doing it. Twice.”

  “This is how it starts,” Shelton muttered. “We’re doomed.”

  “Thank you,” I said primly. Inside, I was grinning like a well-fed cat.

  Shelton was right, of course. Once I got them listening, their curiosity always won out. It’s what I loved best about them.

  “Now.” I cracked my knuckles. “There are two things we need to examine …”

  We regrouped an hour later.

  “Let’s start with the chest,” I said. “Ben and I went over every board, slat, and nail. There’s nothing inside, or on the surface. There are no hidden compartments. There is no text of any kind.”

  Ben nodded in agreement. “The trunk itself is a dead end.”

  “So that leaves the contents.” I gestured to Hi. “Tell us about the vegetation.”

  “You’re not going to believe this.” Hi had a bemused expression on his face. “I can identify this plant.”

  “No joke?” He was right. I couldn�
�t believe it.

  “Seriously. It’s such a wildly uncommon specimen that, frankly, it was easy. My books were all over it, and I confirmed the ID online.”

  “Fantastic. Spill.”

  Hi placed the leaves on the worktable.

  “These are the leaves of Dionaea muscipula, commonly known as Venus flytraps. I can’t believe they lasted that long underground. They must’ve been predried, and the chest airtight. Talk about craftsmanship.”

  “How can you be sure?” Ben asked.

  “I checked under my microscope.” Hi pointed to a red-brown husk on the table. “The leaf blade is divided into two parts: a flat, heart-shaped stalk, then a pair of terminal lobes hinged at midrib, forming the trap. Stiff hairlike protrusions called cilia fringe the edges.” He shrugged. “That was all I needed. Not much can be confused with a Venus flytrap. A monkey could’ve nailed it.”

  “Gotta love a plant that eats bugs,” Shelton quipped.

  “Flytraps are awesome.” Hi made a V with his hands. “Their leaves are like small mouths that snap shut when a fly enters. Inside the mouth, tiny sensors distinguish between living prey and other things, like raindrops. If a bug taps two sensors in a row, or the same one twice, boom!” His fingertips snapped together. “The jaws close, trapping the insect inside. Then the plant digests at its leisure.”

  “That’s wild,” I said. “How did that evolve?”

  “Flytraps grow in areas with lousy dirt, like swamps and bogs. The species developed a badass way to make up for the lack of nutrients.”

  “Very interesting,” Ben cut in. “But how does this bountiful plant lore help us?”

  “It helps a lot,” Hi replied. “Venus flytraps are incredibly rare. These days they only grow wild in a forty-mile area around Wilmington, North Carolina. It’s very unlikely that two or three dead ones accidentally got into that chest.”

  “Excellent work, Hi. Gold star. And you, good sir?”

  “I also hit paydirt.” Shelton held up a pebble. “These buggers are limestone.”

  “Explain.”

  Shelton read from a printout. “Limestone is a sedimentary rock composed of calcite and aragonite, which are the crystal forms of calcium carbonate.” He looked up. “Basically, it forms from the skeletons and shells of dead marine organisms, like coral.”