Peter Lerangis - The Tomb of Shadows

“I meant Cass,” I said. “What happened to Cass?”

“Treatment,” Torquin replied.

“But—but he’s not scheduled to need one yet,” I said.

“He’s early,” Dr. Bradley spoke up. “One possibility is that the poison gas brought it on. That’s what I’m hoping.”

“Hoping?” I asked.

Aly sighed. “Remember what Professor Bhegad told us way back when we first got here? As we get closer to age fourteen, the effects of G7W start to accelerate. The episodes are more frequent, and the effects are stronger.”

“When is Cass’s birthday?” I asked.

“He doesn’t know,” Dr. Bradley said softly. “Even the KI, with all their resources, couldn’t get hold of his birth records. They were misfiled in some city hospital and possibly destroyed.”

“So he may have less time than we do,” Aly said.

Dr. Bradley shrugged. “The good news is that the treatment worked. For now, at least, he will be functional.”

“Excellent … work,” said the corpse.

The voice startled me. It was unmistakably Professor Bhegad’s. As I took a closer look at the figure under the sheet, I saw that its head and face weren’t covered. But even so, I might not have known the old professor. He was almost unrecognizable, his face chalk white, his eyes watery and small, his hair like a tangled mass of straw. “Good to see all of you,” he said, a line of drool dribbling from his mouth as he spoke. “I don’t know … how this happened.”

As his eyes flickered and he drifted off, Dr. Bradley turned away from Cass. “Your friend should be fine for now. As for Professor Bhegad …” She took a washcloth from a nearby sink and placed it on the professor’s head. “He was thrown to the floor after an explosion. His lung collapsed, and it’s quite possible he has some internal injuries; I haven’t been able to do a full examination.”

“We have access to Slippy on the other side of the island,” I said. “Fiddle can help you get there with the professor and Cass, while Torquin, Aly, and I rescue the Loculi.”

“Professor Bhegad needs hospital care,” Dr. Bradley said.

“Can you bring what he needs—some kind of portable hospital?” I said. “We can’t risk keeping him here. If the Massa find him, they’ll torture him for information. I can give you a walkie-talkie if you need one.”

“I have my own,” Dr. Bradley said wearily. “I can reach Fiddle. I suppose this is our only choice.”

“Professor Bhegad,” Aly said, gently brushing a strand of wispy white hair from his forehead, “Dr. Bradley is going to take you away from here. Have the Massa taken the Loculi?”

“N … no …” Professor Bhegad shook his head and turned shakily toward Torquin. “They are in … location D … Go now … keep them safe.”

“Is that the same as Building D, the control center?” Aly asked.

“Not Building D,” Torquin said. “Location D.”

“Which is …?” I prodded.

“Dump,” Torquin replied.

* * *

The smell and the Song hit me at the same time.

We were in a Jeep that Torquin had stolen at the edge of the compound. Well, stolen isn’t really the right word. It belonged to the KI, but two Massa guys were in it until Torquin pulled them out and threw them against a tree. Now we were careening across the airfield toward the Karai Institute landfill, aka dump. My head felt light, as if something had crawled into my brain. Not a sound, exactly, but a vibration that began in my ears and spread throughout my body. “I’m feeling it,” I said. “The Song of the Heptakiklos. That means the Loculi are nearby.”

“It sbells like subthigg died here.” Aly was holding her nose. The stench was acrid, foul, and growing fast as the Jeep pulled up to a smoking hill. “I’ll stay in the car.”

“Big help,” I replied, climbing out the backseat.

I held the end of my too-long sleeve over my nose, but Torquin was breathing normally. “Nice place,” he mumbled. “Come here to meditate.” We stopped in front of an enormous compost pile, which he carefully examined with his flashlight. Then, barehanded, he began digging out blackened banana peels, hairy mango pits, and globs of wilted vegetables.

The Loculi, it seemed, were buried in a pile of garbage.

Behind us, distant shouts resounded from the jungle. I squinted but all I could see was a small area around me, lit by moonlight and an old, dim streetlamp. Torquin turned, quickly handing me the flashlight. “Pah. Massa. I distract. You continue. Find door. Code is FLUFFY AND FIERCE.”

“But—” He stalked away before I could say another word.

I stared at the mound of rotten food and nearly puked. But the voices were getting closer, and they did not sound happy.

There was one spot that looked as if the garbage had been stirred around recently. I hoped it was the right spot, and not just some jungle animal’s favorite snack location. Holding my breath, I thrust my hand into the goop. It was clammy and cold. My fingers slipped. I felt a rodent scampering out from underneath, nearly running across my shoes.

Keep going …

My wrists were covered now. Liquid dribbled down my arm. Each movement brought a fresh whiff of horribleness.

There.

My knuckles knocked on something hard. Guided by my flashlight in one hand, I used the other hand to fling away big gobs until I could see a kind of hatch within:

“JACK … WHAT ARE you doigg?” Aly cried out, racing toward me from the Jeep. “Torquid’s holdigg off sub Bassa. Do subthigg.”

I gestured toward the filthy screen. “Torquin said the code was ‘fluffy and fierce.’”

“We’ve seed those words before,” Aly said. “Whedd we first got to the isladd, I foud Torquid’s pass code id the codtrol buildigg—‘all thiggs fluffy and fierce.’ How does that help with this—‘Epic fail’? How cadd you fail before you evedd try? Add why ‘you rodett’? Add what’s with the LCD screed?”

“I don’t know!” I said. “Maybe it’s some kind of code. You’re the code person!”

The voices were getting louder. It sounded like Torquin was arguing.

“If it’s a code,” Aly said, “you should be able to edter subthigg. With a keyboard or dubber pad.”

Keyboard. Number pad.

I stared at the message closely. “The letters are in squares,” I said. “It looks like a keyboard.”

“But it’s dot,” Aly said, looking nervously over her shoulder. “It’s a bessage! Hagg odd. Let bee look at it …”

Together we stared at the dumb, insulting thing. I wasn’t seeing the words now, just the letters. They were swirling around in my head, arranging and rearranging. There was something about them …

I reached out and touched the F of Fail . The LCD screen changed.

“What did you just do?” Aly said.

“Fluffy and fierce …” I murmured, quickly spelling out the words—pressing the L of Fail , the U of You , the F of Fail twice, and so on … “I’m just tapping the letters, spelling out the words.”

“It would’t be that sibple!” Aly insisted.

The door beeped. I jumped back. “It’s a keyboard!”

Aly swallowed hard. “Subtibes,” she said, “it’s a gift to be sibple …”

I pushed hard on the door, but it didn’t budge.