Seizure(3)

An unscrupulous scientist, Dr. Marcus Karsten, cooked up the germ. He was my father’s boss at Loggerhead Island Research Institute. In a mad dash for cash, Karsten crossed two types of parvovirus, accidentally creating a new strain that was contagious to people. Unfortunately, we caught it from a wolfdog named Cooper, Karsten’s test subject.

Don’t get me started.

Anyway, I was sick for days. We all were. Then things got weird.

My brain would snap like a rubber band. My senses would go berserk.

At times I’d lose control, unable to suppress sudden animal instincts. Scarfing raw hamburger meat. Stalking a caged gerbil. It was the same for the others.

When the dust settled, my friends and I were forever altered, down to the core. The vicious pathogen scrambled our cellular blueprint. Rewrote our genetic code. Canine DNA barged into my human chromosomes and made itself at home.

It’s not easy, living with wolf instincts buried inside your double helix.

But our condition is not without certain … benefits.

I’ll be blunt. My friends and I have special powers. Superhuman abilities. Hidden, but very real. You heard me right.

We’re kind of a big deal. Or would be, if we could tell anyone about it, which we can’t. Not unless we want to learn about human dissection. Up close.

We call the power “flaring.” That’s the best I can describe the sensation. I burn up inside, my mind warps and snaps, and then boom! My powers unleash.

I’m learning to control my abilities. At least, I think I am.

Okay, hope I am.

Heck, I’d settle for just knowing what they are.

I understand the basics. When I flare, my senses go into hyperdrive. Sight. Smell. Hearing. Taste. Even touch.

I become faster. Stronger.

More alive.

Viral.

That’s what we call ourselves. Virals. It seemed appropriate to have a group name after becoming a gang of genetic mutants. It’s good for morale.

There are five Virals total. Me. Ben. Hi. Shelton. And my wolfdog, Cooper, of course. After all, he was patient zero.

The upshot is we Virals can tap the physical powers of wolves. But not always when we want them. And sometimes the changes come unbidden.

To be honest, we have no idea exactly what happened to us, or what we can do to fix it. Or what will happen next.

But one thing is certain: we’re different. Freaks. Disambiguations.

And we’re on our own.



Ben’s frustration grew with each passing moment. Angry, he ripped off his black T-shirt and threw it to the sand, as if the garment alone was foiling his efforts. Perspiration covered his deeply tanned skin.

I turned away so he wouldn’t see my already glowing eyes. Didn’t want to increase his aggravation. Ben Blue in a mood is no fun for anyone.

Hi crouched just beyond Ben. A chubby kid with wavy brown hair, he wore a red Hawaiian shirt and green board shorts. Not exactly stylish—or even matching—but classic Hiram Stolowitski.

He stared down the shoreline, having long since lit his own flare. Of all the Virals, accessing the power came easiest to Hi.

“I see you, Mr. Rabbit,” he whispered to himself. “You can’t hide from Wolfman Hi.”

“Good work,” I deadpanned. With my powers unleashed, his every word was crystal clear. “Taunting a helpless bunny. That’s a worthwhile use of our flare time.”

“He taunted me first.” Hi’s gaze remained glued to his target. “By being so darn cute! Aren’t cha? Aren’t cha cute, you fuzzy wittle guy!”

My golden eyes rolled. “We’re supposed to be practicing.”

“Then practice your vision, Lady Buzzkill.” He pointed. “Fifty yards. Third dune from the tree line, the one with all the cattails. Typha latifolia. Brown fur, speckled. Black whiskers. It’s an eastern cottontail. Sylvilagus floridanus.”

Hi loved showing off his knowledge of natural history almost as much as he liked conducting scientific experiments. Both traits were inherited from his father, LIRI’s head mechanical engineer.

Then Hi mock-squealed, his cheeks reddening. “Oh! And he’s got a bunny friend now, too!”

We stood near the northern edge of Turtle Beach, on the west coast of Loggerhead Island. The interior forest loomed to my right. To my left stretched the Atlantic Ocean, unbroken all the way to Africa.

I focused on the spot Hi had indicated, a rough patch of cattails and salt myrtle at the wood’s edge. My gaze zeroed. Locked.

The scene leaped forward with awesome clarity, beyond anything a human eye should be able to see. I could make out every leaf, every twig. Sure enough, two snuffling rabbits were tucked inside the foliage.

Half a football field away.

“Your flare vision is fantastic,” I said. “Better than mine. I can’t make out their whiskers from this distance.”

Hi shrugged. “Then I’ve got you beat with one sense, at least. I don’t hear as well as Shelton, or have your schnozzaroo.”

Beside me, Ben grunted. Growled. Shook. He still couldn’t light the lamp. His eyes remained closed, but his mutters had shifted to four-letter words. Unpleasant ones.

Observing Ben’s struggle, Hi scratched his chin. Glanced at me. Shrugged. Then he quietly slipped around behind Ben.

And, without ceremony, kicked him in the ass. Hard.