Virals(74)

Karsten was the one person who had understood. The one person who might've reversed the changes that had altered our bodies.

I almost cried in despair. Karsten's death closed a door. Our last hope had been murdered.

But why? What threat did he pose? And to whom?

The men finally hauled their gruesome cargo onto the boat. An engine kicked to life. Our attackers put to sea.

We watched until the skiff disappeared over the horizon, our eyes glowing gold in the darkness.





PART FOUR:


INSIGHT





CHAPTER 55


I returned to my workstation. I'd blown it in stunning fashion.

Jason said nothing, but his jaw was tight. Hannah avoided my eyes. Across the room, Team Madison snickered and whispered.

My presentation had been a disaster. I'd stumbled through explanations, confused figures, forgotten the significance of my findings.

Even Mrs. Davis was looking at me sideways.

It was a world-class foul-up, but I found it hard to care. After the previous night's catastrophe, everything else seemed trivial.

Karsten was dead. Murdered. There was no one alive who could help us now.

Concentrate on class work? I was a mutant freak. And masked men were hunting me. I'd only come to school because I was afraid to stay home alone.

I hadn't said a word to Kit. How could I? We didn't have Karsten's body.

Just as we hadn't had Heaton's body.

The Virals had agreed not to repeat our earlier blunder. We were tired of adults looking at us like we were nut jobs. Or liars.

But the fact remained. Someone wanted us dead.

The knot in my gut tightened.

Why?

You know why. You found Katherine Heaton.

But why would the killer persist? The skeleton was gone. Not a soul believed our story. We had no evidence. We could identify no one.

The murderer had nothing to worry about. The Heaton case wasn't in danger of being cracked.

And yet we were targets.

I'm missing something.

Who would risk shooting four kids? It was crazy. A quadruple homicide involving Bolton Prep students would make the headlines for months. Every resource would be thrown at the investigation. The risk of capture would be enormous.

We must be forcing the killer's hand. Which meant we were getting close.

But how? We had zilch. Zip. Nada. Bupkes.

My thoughts flashed back to our confrontation with Karsten. His answers had unlocked the secret of our illness. I finally understood why my body was out of control.

A designer virus had mangled my genetic code.

Shudder.

Deep in my core, inside my cells' nuclei, wolf DNA intermingled with my own. The idea terrified me. What would come next? What if I completely lost control?

But I have powers, I reminded myself. I can do things others can't.

I can flare.

Except I didn't understand how to turn those powers on and off. Didn't know how to use them. And Karsten could never fulfill his promise to help. Would never have a chance. He'd sacrificed his life to save ours.

We Virals were on our own.

Flying solo.

Only one course of action made sense. We had to solve Heaton's murder. Find the evidence. Expose the killers before we became their next victims. Perhaps then we'd find the answers that died with Karsten.

But time was running out.





After the final bell, I waited for Chance on the front steps. He was late.

I paced, edgy. The fingerprint was our only lead. If Chance had struck out, I was uncertain what to do next.

It was a very helpless feeling. Our pursuers were out there. Could return at any time.

Minutes dragged by. The stone lions watched, impassive.

Finally, Chance emerged from the building. A tight frown was standing in for his usual easy grin.

"Tory, I found something." He nodded to a bench down on the lawn. "Let's talk over there."

Despite my anxiety, I noted that Chance looked good. His lacrosse uniform displayed his muscles to perfect effect.

Eyes front and center. Your life might depend on his information.

"I heard back from the SLED," Chance said. "They got a hit off your print."

"Who is it?"

I flipped to a page in my spiral and poised a pen over it. Nervous sweat made the thing slide through my fingers.

"A man named James Newman. According to the SLED, Newman is a local thug with ties to crime syndicates throughout the southeast."

Chance laid his palm over my pen hand. "He's bad news, Tory. Very bad."

His touch thrilled me, but I stayed on topic. "Does the SLED know where Newman lives, or what he's been up to lately?"

"No. But apparently Newman's jacket is as thick as a phone book. Over the years he graduated from petty thefts and assaults to robbery, drug trafficking, maybe even murder." Chance's fingers tightened on mine. "This isn't someone you want to mess with over a stolen laptop. Or anything else."

"I'll just file a police report," I said. But my mind was already searching for ways to find Newman.

Chance glanced at my notes. "I won't pry into your personal business, but I advise you to stop whatever it is you're doing. From what I've learned, this guy would never just cruise around looking for stray computers. If he was out on Morris Island, he was out there for a reason."