Code(43)

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.

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.