Seizure(86)

White Muzzle’s lips drew back. Predatory teeth gleamed in the moonlight. He growled, fur bristling.

Tread carefully.

White Muzzle viewed us as a rival pack invading his turf. He was alpha. I was alpha. This wasn’t Whisper, an animal accustomed to human interaction. This was a wild creature, feeling threatened, instinctually defending his family.

Inching forward, I willed the wolf to understand.

We mean you no harm.

My mind probed, found the invisible barrier blocking my thoughts from the rest of the world. I pushed.

Hi and Shelton hovered close. I strained. Reached. Failed. No matter my effort, the wall separating our psyches wouldn’t yield. I couldn’t connect my brain to theirs.

Frustrated, I fired my message outward, toward White Muzzle.

A primal consciousness brushed against mine. Contact.

An electric shiver coursed through me as our thoughts melded.

We mean you no harm.

White Muzzle started, stepped backward, raised his snout and howled. The rest of the pack joined his keening wail.

We mean you no harm.

SNUP.

I fell to my knees. Beside me, Shelton trembled. Hiram wheezed and spat.

“What’s happening!?” Chance sounded near panic. “Are you guys okay!?”

I wobbled to my feet, eyes never leaving our four-legged hosts.

White Muzzle eyed me a moment longer, then turned and trotted over the dunes. The other wolves followed single file.

“They left.” Chance barked a nervous laugh. “Just like that. They left.”

“Yeah,” I panted. “Just like that.”

Head spinning, I turned and puked on the sand.





WE’D JUST CROSSED the dunes when I spotted Ben pounding down the trail.

“What happened!?” Concern crimped his features. “Is everyone okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “We met a wolf pack, but they left in peace. I got sick.”

Ben looked a question at me, but because of Chance, didn’t press. He gestured back the way he’d come. “I found the watchtower.”

I noticed Ben was empty-handed. “Where are my tools?”

“By the fort. I had a sudden … feeling you guys needed help.”

“Psychic?” Chance needled. “Who ya got in the Super Bowl?”

Ben’s jaw tensed. “Forget it. Let’s go.”

We followed the moonlit trail downward into swampier terrain. Ravenous insects began to feast, sent invitations to all their friends and relatives. More than once we paused to slather on bug spray.

As we walked, Ben whistled “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”

“You forget about our stalker?” Shelton complained.

“There must be a thousand gators on this island,” Ben said. “I’d rather not surprise any that might be snoozing on this path.”

Ten more paces. Shelton began humming “Who Let the Dogs Out?”

A stream took shape alongside the trail, eventually dumping into a large pond. Rising from the pond’s shoreline was the steep wooded hill we’d seen from the boat.

“The watchtower must be up there.” Ben pointed to the crest. “Highest point for miles around.”

Hi squinted. “Could be. I see some broken stones littering the hilltop.”

“There’s a marker here.” Shelton rubbed at the plaque, then read aloud. “‘Near this site the first permanent European settlers of South Carolina landed on March 17, 1670, on their way to establish the settlement of Charles Town.’ Man, that’s old.”

“This way.” Ben led us along a narrower side path branching toward the water’s edge. Shelton’s humming grew louder. And shakier.

In twenty yards we reached the base of the hill. Grabbing my tool kit from where he’d left it, Ben started up a broken track barely visible in the moonlight.

As we climbed, questions lined up for attention.

Bonny’s poem was cryptic and vague. Did we have the correct translation? The right location? What were we supposed to do next?

Bull Island is immense. We could spend years digging in random spots and still find nothing. To have any hope, we had to solve the clues.

At the summit, we stopped to catch our breath and look around. A ring of stones circled the tiny hilltop. From this vantage, I could see the whole island.

“Look at this.” Shelton had dropped to a knee beside one of the rocks. “These were cut and fitted in place. This must’ve been the tower’s foundation.”

“So.” Hi walked a circuit. “We’re supposed to do what, exactly?”

“Focus on the poem,” I said. “The first line said, ‘On the moon’s high day, seek Island People.’”

“Full moon on Bull Island,” Shelton said. “Check and check.”

“Then we move to line two,” I said. “‘Stand the high watch, hold to thy faith, and look to the sea.’”

“Hopefully we’re standing the high watch right now,” said Hi. “So we need to ‘hold to thy faith and look to the sea.’ Whatever that means.”

“The last part is easy.” Chance pointed. “There’s the Atlantic.”

Everyone gazed at the iridescent black ocean stretching endlessly eastward.