Kathy Reichs - Virals

Strident voices crashed my thoughts.

“Is the battery switch on?”

“Of course it’s on. I smell gas—maybe the engine’s flooded. Let’s give it a minute to clear.”

“No, no, no. Maybe the engine doesn’t have enough gas. Pump the rubber ball.”

“You can’t be serious. Hey, make sure that silver toggle switch is pushed into the cowling or it’ll never start.”

Fed up, and feeling useless, I decided to rejoin Hi. No matter the heat outside, the bunker always stayed pleasantly cool. Halfway up the path I heard the outboard roar to life, followed by howls of delight from the amateur mechanics. I turned. Ben and Shelton were high-fiving madly, grinning like fools.

“Well done, genius squad,” I said. “I’m impressed.”

Parallel tough-guy nods. Man fix boat! Man be strong!

“What now?” I asked, hoping to divert the two from actually beating their chests.

“Let’s take her out, make sure she’s good,” Ben offered. “Maybe run down to Clark Sound?”

Not a bad idea. Boating had been our original plan for the afternoon. Then I had a sudden thought.

“What about Loggerhead? Maybe we can locate the wolfdogs. The pack hasn’t been spotted for days.”

Confession. I am a canine fanatic. I love dogs, maybe more than humans. Heck, no maybe about it. After all, dogs don’t gossip behind your back. Or try to embarrass you because you’re the youngest in your grade. Or drive cars and get killed.

Dogs are honest. That’s more than I can say for a lot of people.

“Why not?” Shelton replied. “I wouldn’t mind seeing the monkeys.”

Ben shrugged, less concerned with the destination than the journey.

“I can’t believe you jokers fixed it.” Hi was picking his way down to the beach.

“Believe it, clown. Too much brain power here to fail.” Still pumped, Shelton threw another palm Ben’s way.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Hi stretched, yawned. “It was something highly technical, I suppose? Something requiring mechanical ability? Nothing as simple as tightening a wire or flipping a switch, right?”

Ben reddened. Shelton developed an interest in his sneakers.

Score one for Hi.

“You up for a run out to Loggerhead?” I asked.

“Let’s do it. Monkeys are always funny. You pretty much can’t go wrong with a monkey, right?” Hi paused. “Well, unless that monkey wants you dead, or does needle drugs or something. Then it’s wrong, and a bad monkey.”

Hi dropped into the boat, oblivious to our stares.

Minutes later we were skimming across the sea. I have to admit, it was wicked cool. Even for someone who spends as much time on boats as I do.

I bet I’m the only person you know who ferries to school. Twice a day, straight shot over the harbor. Monday through Friday. Rinse. Repeat. It’s the only reasonable way to get there.

The gang and I go to Bolton Preparatory Academy in downtown Charleston. Very hoity-toity address, all antebellum homes and Spanish moss-draped trees. With ivy-covered walls and pigeon-pooped statues, Bolton Prep is as pretentious as its neighborhood.

I shouldn’t complain. Bolton is one of the best private schools in the country. Kit could never afford the tuition, but the university picks up most of the check. Another perk for CU parents working on Loggerhead.

One tiny problem. No one there likes us.

The other students are all super rich. Most never let us forget that fact. They know how we got in, and why we arrive each day as a group. I’ve lost track of the things they call us.

Boat kids. Charity cases. Peasants.

Trust-fund babies. Elitist jerks. Snobs.

Frankly, I was happy to be going anywhere that day besides school.

We Morris Islanders stick together. The guys were already tight when I arrived. Especially Shelton and Ben. Hi’s a bit of an oddity. Sometimes I’m not sure any of us know what to make of him, but he definitely keeps us on our toes.

The boys accepted me right off. Not enough options to be choosy. Plus—tooting my own horn—it was clear from the get-go how bright I am. Like them.

Unlike most of our classmates, we actually like learning new things. Must come from our parents. For me, meeting other kids who are into science was like finding buried treasure.

Kit wasn’t thrilled that my only three friends were boys. I pointed out that no other high school kids live on Morris. And that he knows all their parents. He had no rebuttal. Whitney, Kit’s girlfriend, is the only one playing that song now.

Though we may have started as friends of convenience, the four of us have really connected. Of course, I had no idea how connected we’d eventually become. Or why.

Ben took the long way to Loggerhead to avoid shallow water. It adds time, but the shortcut through the sandbars is too risky at low tide. Better to play it safe.

Shelton rode in front, scanning for dolphins. I sat in back with Hi.

Bow and stern , I reminded myself. The boys spent hours learning nautical terms. Future pirates? News reports say they’re back in business.

Now and then the bow rose, dropped with a smack. Spray washed over us, salty and cool. I loved every watery drop.

I could feel a smile spread over my face. The day was looking up.

After twenty minutes of open water, a blue-green blur took form on the horizon. I watched it grow and solidify into a landmass.

Eventually we drew close, slowed, and pulled alongside a sugar-white beach.

The sand stretched ten feet back from the water. Beyond it, high-canopied trees and a dense understory shrouded any view of the island’s interior. Waves lapped the shore. Frogs and insects performed an afternoon symphony of whines and hums. Now and then a branch rustled and an animal barked overhead.

There wasn’t a man-made thing in sight.

Ben throttled down. The boat bobbed gently as we cruised by, observing the landscape in silence.

A sense of mystery cloaked it. Something primal. Untamed. Wild.

Loggerhead Island.

CHAPTER 5

“Whoa whoa whoa! Comin’ in hot! Hit the brakes!”

Shelton recoiled as Sewee clanged into the pier. I lost my footing and smacked the deck with my butt. Hard.

The boat scraped along the wharf, screeching in protest. Tough day for the mighty vessel. Complaint box material.

Springing up, I somehow managed to snag a stray mooring line attached to the quay. We steadied, came to rest. Docking complete.

Not exactly smooth, Captain.

“No brakes on a boat.” Ben grimaced, disappointed with his seamanship. “Parking’s tricky. I’m working on it.”

“Work harder.” Hi rubbed a banged knee. “You currently suck.”

“ I couldn’t do it,” I said, hoping Ben wouldn’t sulk.

He chuckled instead. “Not my best effort, but the ship’s okay.” A strong backslap. “Come on, Hiram. No harm, no foul.”

Hi conspicuously pointed kneeward.

Ben shrugged. “No blood, no foul?”

“Sure. But now my back hurts, so you still lose.”

Shelton popped onto the dock and secured the lines. A few loops and tugs, and we were moored. Practically valet.

“Done.”

“Let’s hustle, people! Go time!” Hi, looking green, climbed over the side and wobbled down the landing. “I have something ‘natural’ to do in those woods.”

Seasickness. Look out.

I disembarked and followed with the others.

Loggerhead Island is a speck compared to Morris, only half a square mile. No residents. No roads. No Starbucks. Just a few buildings clustered together on the southern end. Don’t be fooled though, it’s a serious place. High tech. Top-of-the-line labs, state-of-the-art equipment, twenty-four hour security. Small, but expensive.