Kathy Reichs - Code

No! I WILL NOT LOSE!

I focused. Pushed more and more energy down the flaming cords.

Something popped. My arms ripped upward.

I heard the screech of twisting metal.

My eyes opened. I stared in shock.

The bottom third of the grate was bent inward, its steel bars twisted like overstretched Play-Doh. The track had ripped free of the wall.

“Go! Go! Go!” I shouted.

Shelton and Hi crawled under the grate, then reached back and grabbed Jason’s arms. With Ben and me pushing, we forced his unconscious body beneath the barrier. Then Ben and I scrambled to freedom.

Lurching to our feet, we dragged Jason across the electrical room. Once safely beyond the toxic odor, we collapsed, gasping for breath.

I looked up as Chance emerged from the direction of the stairwell. He stiffened, staring at the mangled grate, naked shock on his face.

I shut my eyes and sent a message to the other Virals: Snuff your flares!

SNUP.

The connection broke. Strength drained from my limbs.

“I’ll sound the alarm.” Chance turned to run.

“No.”

All eyes whipped to me.

I coughed and spat, trying to clear my throat. “The Consequences, remember? We can’t tell anyone.”

“What consequences?” Chance demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“The bastard who did this threatened to hurt our families if we talk.” My voice was a dull rasp. “ Ever . I don’t think he was bluffing.”

“But we have to warn people!” Shelton aimed a finger toward the ventilation room. “The gas could escape the basement.”

I shook my head. “Bromomethane is heavier than air. It won’t rise.”

“You all need medical treatment.” Chance knelt beside his former lacrosse teammate. “Jason’s unconscious , for God’s sake! The poison might be killing him.”

“That wasn’t the gas.” Ben avoided Chance’s eye. “He … tripped. Hard.”

“Help me up.” I was still woozy from the loss of my flare. “I have a plan.”

Chance gave me an odd look, but extended a hand.

I stumbled toward the stairs. “Follow.”

The boys trailed me up the steps, Chance and Ben lugging Jason’s dead weight. On the landing beside the lobby door, I spotted my target. Without hesitating, I pulled the fire alarm.

Sirens screamed. Blue lights flickered inside the emergency stairwell.

“This will get them outside,” I shouted. “A fire scare should give us some cover for how we look. But no one says a word about what happened down there.”

“That’s crazy!” Shelton wailed. “We should call the police right now!”

“ We’re gonna catch the psycho who did this.” The words gave me strength. “The Gamemaster is still loose. Probably thinks we’re dead. I bet he’s celebrating his victory right now. Let’s show him he chose the wrong pawns for his amusement.”

That said, I bent over and vomited on the concrete.

Out in the lobby, feet began pounding down the grand staircase. The foyer soon filled with nervous guests hurrying for the front door.

I tried to smooth my rumpled gown. Gave up. I was reasonably sure we’d have to pay for it. Whitney was going to flip out. The thought made me feel a little better.

The boys looked equally bad. Lost jackets. Ripped pants. Stained cuffs. Everything drenched in panic-sweat. I hoped it was dark outside.

“Now.” Clasping my hands in front of me. “Let’s close this nightmare, shall we? Don’t forget—I have gifts for all my escorts.”

Hi and Shelton chortled. Ben snorted as he helped Jason to his feet.

“Wha?” Jason asked groggily.

“Take it easy, tiger.” Ben patted Jason’s back. “You ran into a pole.”

Chance never smiled. Never took his eyes off me.

I remembered his expression upon seeing the twisted metal. The shattered grate he’d pounded with a crowbar without success.

Later .

Hi cracked the door. “Ladies first.”

“Why, thank you, sir.”

For the hell of it, I dropped into another formal curtsy.

The boys snickered. Then, straightening their soiled garments as best they could, they gave me a polite round of applause.

“Off we go then.” I winked. “There’s still cake and dancing on the program.”

Joining the stream of anxious partygoers, we slipped out into the night.

PART FOUR:

CONFRONTATION

CHAPTER 48

“HOW DO YOU get into these messes?”

Jason’s words jarred me back to full wakefulness. There’d been a lull in conversation, and Chance’s overstuffed chair was far too comfortable for my level of fatigue.

“You heard the story,” Shelton grumbled. “It’s not our fault some wackjob likes playing insane games.”

“We won.” Ben’s eyes didn’t open. “No one got hurt. That’s all that matters.”

“I assume there’s no antique cash register in need of special oil?” Jason said.

No one bothered to answer.

Eleven forty-five p.m. Claybourne Manor. The six of us were gathered in Chance’s study, ignoring the revelry one floor below.

My tired eyes wandered the room. I had bad memories of this place.

Little had changed since the days Hollis Claybourne ruled the cavernous chamber. Floor-to-ceiling windows and bookcases. Scarlet drapes. Mahogany desk the size of a tank.

My gaze tracked the wrought-iron catwalk circling high overhead. I thought of the day Chance had caught me up there. Our confrontation.

Definitely bad memories.

Not now. Focus .

Cedar logs crackled, the orange and yellow flames casting long shadows across the chamber. Shelton, Ben, and I sat facing the huge stone fireplace. Chance was leaning back against his desk. Jason was slumped on the floor, back to the coffee table, an ice pack strapped to his head. Hi lay flat on his back on the Persian rug.

I’d briefed Jason and Chance on the events of the last two weeks. Our find on Loggerhead. The string of caches. The Game. Our wild trips around the Lowcountry. The Gamemaster’s folder of threats. I withheld only the secrets we could never share.

An avalanche of questions followed. I’d answered as best I could.

“So we aren’t calling the cops?” Shelton removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Am I the only one who thinks that they’re supposed to handle murders and bomb threats?”

“We can’t risk it,” I said firmly. “The Gamemaster might believe his rules still apply.”

“Captain Psychopath knows about our parents, our homes, even Tory’s dog.” Hi’s fingers were interlaced on his chest, his eyes glued to the oak rafters stretching above us. “If we talk, who knows what he’ll do? The guy’s into clowns , for God’s sake.”

I took a deep breath. “We can catch this chump ourselves.”

“How are we going to do that?” Shelton squawked.

“I’ll think of something.” I will .

“You’re positive the gas won’t escape?” Jason asked for the third time.

“Yes,” I said. “I double-checked on my phone. Bromomethane is heavier than air, and should simply pool in the electrical room. And if someone goes down to the basement, they’ll smell the fumes and book it out of there. A slight delay in reporting the danger shouldn’t pose a risk.”

I hoped.

The Gamemaster belonged to me now. I wanted blood.

A wave of music and laughter carried from below. Everyone ignored it. There was a crash of breaking glass. Chance didn’t flinch.

Two hours earlier, my impromptu fire drill had caused a mild panic. Flustered debs stumbling across the grass in ankle-breaking heels. Escorts struggling to locate their dates. Parents and siblings searching for one another. Chance had slipped away to find Madison, leaving the rest of us mercifully alone. Shelton had pulled a bleary Jason aside and brought him up to speed.