Code(59)

We crept forward, flare senses humming, listening for the slightest click, snap, or scrape. My eyes were everywhere at once.

A gigantic marble slab sealed the sarcophagus.

“Maybe the Gamemaster thinks we can’t open it?” Hi said. “It looks wicked heavy.”


Ben grasped a corner and strained to shove the lid aside. It didn’t budge.

“A little help,” he panted.

Shelton moved beside Ben and they pushed as one.

The slab inched backward.

“We shouldn’t slide the monster all the way off,” Ben wheezed. “The marble will fracture. Plus, we’d never be able to lift it back into place.”

Hiram and I moved to the other end, across from Ben and Shelton, and pushed in the opposite direction. Centimeter by exhausting centimeter, the lid rotated clockwise, until it rested sideways across the center.

The head of the sarcophagus lay exposed.

“An envelope!” Hi was closest, and reached inside. “Tory, shine the light!”

At that moment, my nose caught something pungent. Oily. Foreign.

A warning blared from my primordial brain stem. Danger! Urgent!

My hand shot out, caught Hi’s arm, and jerked it backward.

Something flashed where his fingers had been. A hiss filled the room.

“Whaaa!” Hi tumbled to the ground.

I leaped aside as a black silhouette darted in my direction. “Look out!”

A dark, sinuous cord slithered from the vault.

“Snake!” Shelton bolted for the staircase. “Snake snake snake!”

The reptile rose, fangs outstretched, exposing the white lining of its jaws.

“Cottonmouth,” Ben said hoarsely. “Aggressive. Very poisonous.”

We packed into the opening at the foot of the stairwell.

For a few beats, the cottonmouth watched us with cold, unblinking eyes. Then it slithered over the edge of the sarcophagus, dropped to the floor, zigzagged to the far corner, and disappeared.

Ben aimed his light after it, exposing a jagged crack in the floor. The snake was nowhere in sight.

“Gone,” Ben said. “It found a bolt-hole.”

“Are you sure?” Shelton moaned. “How can you know?”

“That’s a four-foot pit viper,” Ben responded dryly. “I’m pretty sure we’d notice if it was still around.”

Hi stared at his hand, as if imagining the bite. “I could kiss you, Tory.”

“Some other time.” To Ben: “Could that thing have gotten in there on its own?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Cottonmouths are water snakes, and we’re at least a hundred yards above the river. Plus the lid was intact when we moved it.”

“Then we know who left it for us,” I said grimly.

“This has gotten out of control.” Ben seemed to speak to no one in particular.

“Let’s grab the envelope and bail,” Hi said. “I’ve had enough for one day.”

“I’ll do it.” Ben crept to the coffin, pointed his beam inside, and leaped back. Waited. Repeated the process.

Satisfied nothing else lurked within, he waved us close. “There is an envelope.”

“Of course there is!” Hi grumbled. “I’m dumb, not stupid.”

Ben reached in to claim it.

Froze. Even in the gloom, I saw him pale.

“Oh my God.”

Ben’s golden eyes found mine. In them I saw naked horror.

I moved to his side and added my light to his.

The envelope was there, plum-colored, decorated with the now-familiar ghastly clowns. That barely registered.

My eyes were glued to what lay beneath.

Oh no.





CHAPTER 31





The body was curled in a fetal position.

The part of my brain not frozen in horror did a quick anthropological profile.

Male. Mid-forties. Smallish. Short-cropped red hair.

The man’s beard was neatly trimmed. He wore a dress shirt, jeans, and loafers. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses stuck from his breast pocket.

He was pale. And very clearly dead.

The shock hit me like a kick to the abdomen.

Ben began to hyperventilate. Shelton shuffled in reverse until his back was flat against the crypt wall. Hi kept clenching and unclenching his hands, muttering, “It can’t be real, it can’t be real.”

But it was. We’d solved the clue. But now that seemed meaningless.

A man was dead. This was no game.

Not dead. Murdered. The Gamemaster killed this man and placed him here.

Something beeped inside my backpack. The boys jumped, but I knew instantly.

Removing the iPad, I wasn’t surprised to see a new message.

A single line crossed the screen: Please enter code. A cursor blinked, ready for input.

“Sick bastard,” I whispered.

“We have to call the cops!” Hi sputtered. “No excuses!”

Shelton nodded vigorously. “We’re in way over our heads.”

I was about to agree when a disturbing thought struck me.

“He knows we’re in here.” I stared at the iPad. “The message changed without us doing anything.”

“The guy on the bridge!” Shelton gasped. “Was it the Gamemaster?! We could be trapped! I bet he’s watching us right now!”