Exposure (20 page)

We gathered behind Shelton as he logged into his fake Gmail account. “It’s an MP-four file. Twenty seconds long. Probably shot by a handheld digital video camera. HD mode. Nothing embedded in the recording. No private streams.”

I nodded, clueless as to what Shelton was talking about. But I trusted his expertise.

“Play it,” Ben said.

Shelton double-clicked the file, then expanded to whole screen mode.

We watched in silence.

The shot was eye level. A dirty stone chamber, bisected by a line of rusty metal bars. Harsh light poured from somewhere off camera. Beyond the bars, a boy and a girl were huddled together on the floor, squinting in the radiance. The room didn’t appear to have a ceiling. Water dripped from unseen heights above.

“It’s them,” Hi breathed. “They’re looking right at the camera.”

Shelton shivered, rubbed his arms. I understood.

It appeared the twins were looking right at their captor. I couldn’t imagine the feeling.

“Turn up the audio,” Ben said.

Shelton adjusted the QuickTime player settings, then fiddled with the desktop speakers. “No can do. There isn’t any.”

As we watched, the camera moved left to right across the chamber, as if being carried. The focus remained on the two miserable teens in the center of the cell.

Lucy and Peter didn’t twitch a muscle, but their eyes tracked the camera.

After twenty seconds, the screen went black.

“Again,” I breathed.

Shelton clicked play a second time. The clip repeated.

When it ended, I began chewing a thumbnail. Unfortunately, nothing about the video jumped out at me. The scene was horrifying, no question, and confirmed that the twins had been abducted. But from an investigative standpoint, the tape seemed like a dead end.

“There’s nothing useful,” Hi said. “The kidnapper knew what he was doing.”

“Roll it again. And watch for details,” I instructed. “Everyone take a quadrant. Look for any kind of hint where this was filmed, or by whom.”

After agreeing on who was eyeballing what, Shelton replayed the recording. I watched the northwest quarter of the screen. Came up empty.

“I got nothing,” Ben said.

“Same.” Shelton and Hi. Jinx.

“Rotate sectors clockwise,” I said. “We’ll watch this a million times if we have to. There has to be
something.
”

“Won’t the police already be doing this?” Shelton asked. “With, like, professional editing equipment, and a video expert?”

“You ready to give up on these two?” I touched the image frozen on the monitor.

“No.” Shelton shoved his glasses into place. “No, I’m not.”

We watched again. Rotated once more, and repeated the process.

I was scanning the southwest section of the screen when a thought struck me.

“Those bars look old,” I said. “Like they’ve been there forever.”

Hi nodded. “Good point. This . . . cage likely wasn’t built for this kidnapping.”

“Run it again,” Ben said. “Everyone examine the bars.”

The scene replayed.

“Holy crap!” Hi yelped.

“What?” I said immediately.

“Shadow!” Hi jabbed a finger at the center of the screen.

Shelton turned to face Hi. “Say what?”

“Run it half speed. Watch as the cameraman crosses the room. There!”

Hi was right. As the shot moved, a shadow briefly appeared on the floor, lengthened, then shrank back and disappeared.

“That’s the kidnapper!” Then my spirits sank. “But how does a shadow help?”

“If we can isolate it,” Hi said excitedly, “we could conceivably estimate the person’s height and weight, maybe even gender. It’s a place to start, at least.”

I clapped my hands. “LIRI has amazing AV equipment—half the visiting researchers film documentaries of their work.”

“What’s that?” Ben pointed to a bar at the edge of the shot. With the tape paused, the chamber’s background light was striking the steel at an oblique angle. Squiggly lines ran a foot of its length.

My pulse thumped. “Is that
writing
?”

Shelton boxed and enlarged the image. “It is! But I still can’t read it.”

We strained our eyes. Manipulated the image this way and that. Even considered flaring. But the grainy squiggles wouldn’t form anything legible.

I pounded the desktop in frustration. “We need to see those words.”

“We’ll have better luck at LIRI,” Hi promised. “We can play around with their equipment and really enhance the shot.”

“Tomorrow,” I said firmly. “Right after school.”

“If we’re gonna do that,” Shelton said, “then let’s check Karsten’s files now.”

“Good idea.” I handed over the CD from Chang.

Shelton inserted the disk and opened the drive. A directory listed hundreds of files.

“Wow,” Hi said.

“This might take a while,” Shelton agreed.

My arms crossed. I’d waited too long for this moment.

“Then we’d better get started.”

• • •

“This is pointless,” Ben complained.

5:30 AM. We’d been skimming files for three straight hours.

I could barely keep my eyes open, but snapped at Ben nonetheless. “This is what we’ve been searching for—the entire record of Karsten’s parvovirus experiments!”

“Which we can’t make any sense of,” Ben fired back.

Hi rubbed his face. “I mean, it’s all interesting. Lab cultures. Data sets. Karsten’s research protocols and stated objectives. But most of this material is way beyond me.”

Shelton nodded wearily. “It’s great to understand the
mechanics
of what Karsten did, but I can’t see how it helps us. Our infection was unanticipated. Totally unplanned. There won’t be a record of
that,
which is what we really need.”

“This stuff helps, though.” I stole the mouse and double-clicked a file. “Here. Karsten emphasizes that XPB-19 is contagious to humans. He knew!”

“
How
does that help?” Ben demanded. “How do we
use
any of this information? Without Karsten to explain his work, these files might as well be written in Chinese. They’re useless.”

“We don’t know that.” Voice stubborn. “There are
hundreds
of pages here, and we’ve barely skimmed half of them.”

“These aren’t the records we need! You want
answers,
Victoria?” Ben made air quotes with his fingers. “Well, here’s some real talk: In order for this data to be
any
use, we’d have to have a basis for comparison. We’d need records of
our current condition,
right now. That means submitting
ourselves
to medical testing, by someone who knows what they’re looking for. That sound good to you?”

I bit my tongue, suddenly discouraged.

Ben continued, relentless, biting off his words. “Unless you’re ready to throw on a white gown and become a full-time lab rat, these files are totally useless. End of story.”

I stared daggers at Ben, who glared back.

My God. Is he right? Have I been fooling myself all along?

Hi raised both palms. “It’s almost dawn, guys. Let’s call it a day before we kill each other. We can get back to this tomorrow.”

I tore my gaze away. Nodded sharply.

This had been one of the longest days of my life. I was exhausted.

We crawled outside and piled into the Explorer. Ben drove in silence. Nearing the complex, he switched off his headlights. Dropped us off fifty yards away. Then he sped down the blacktop, heading off the island.

Shelton, Hi, and I crept to the rear of the building. Mouthing good-byes, we split up and slunk toward our respective units.

At the back door, I dug out my phone and deactivated the house alarm. Slipped inside.

Coop was standing in his doggie bed when I reached the main floor.

Maybe I was tired. I missed the signal.

Turning the corner, I ran smack into Whitney at the bottom of the stairs.

“Tory!” Her eyes widened. Then, taking in my clothes, narrowed.

Whitney’s arms crossed over her white satin robe. “Sneaking out again? Your father is going to explode!”

My sluggish mind groped for an excuse. Struck out.

I stood there, gaping like an idiot.

Whitney was right—Kit was going to murder me.

Panicking, I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Please don’t tell! I was meeting a boy.”

Why did I say that!?!

Whitney’s eyes nearly popped from her skull.

“A boy?” she hissed. “At this hour?! Who on earth—”

“Jason Taylor.”

It felt like someone else was speaking. My mind was a melted slushy, suggesting ideas it thought Whitney might enjoy.

Whitney paused. Frowned. Finally, “Very well. I won’t tell your daddy, but this does
not
happen again, young lady. Do you hear me?”

I nodded, too tired to process what was happening. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Then I gave her a quick hug. Whitney, tensed, then returned it.

For some reason, I felt bad.

You’re manipulating her to get out of trouble.

“Now up with you!” Whitney shook her head. “It’s nearly dawn already, and you won’t be missing school tomorrow.”

I nodded. Climbed to my room.

My reserves were gone.

I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

Thursday

M
orning came way too soon.

“Ghaaah.” I slapped my alarm clock, hoping it would break.

Head pounding. Nasty taste in mouth. Eyes glued shut.

I’d never felt more drained.

My door swung open. Whitney stuck her head inside.

“Rise and shine,” she said coolly. “I’ll expect you downstairs for breakfast in twenty minutes. No exceptions.” She withdrew with a knowing glance.

Our encounter an hour before came crashing back. Nightmare.

Why in the world had I mentioned Jason? How long would she hold her tongue?

From this moment forward, I’m at her mercy.

The thought made me want to crawl under my covers and never resurface. I imagined the day ahead, and the long hours before I could sleep.

“Blargh.”

• • •

Sixty minutes later I was in uniform, aboard
Hugo,
and motoring toward downtown.

I sprawled on a bench in the stern, staring at our trail of wake.

Face slack. Mind numb. Body exhausted.

Shelton sat beside me, head in his hands. We hadn’t exchanged two words. Hi was inside the passenger cabin, flat on his back and dozing.

My thoughts wandered. I replayed the horrifying ransom tape in my head. Composed a silent prayer for Lucy and Peter.

We’d put the Gamemaster behind bars, but a new evil had taken his place. I felt swamped with hopelessness. The world was dark, and full of monsters.

My focus drifted to Karsten’s secret files. Ben’s angry words.

Was he right? Was the information on the flash drive useless? I was forced to admit he’d made a compelling argument. Karsten wouldn’t have any notes specifically pertaining to our condition.

Don’t give up hope. Work the problem, and good things will come.

But I was zonked. Just wanted to sleep. To shut the world off. Check out.

An idea bloomed. Drained as I was, I didn’t immediately dismiss it.

I straightened in my seat.
Why not?

Because it might be hazardous,
my rational mind shot back.
Because it’s exactly what you were blasting Ben about, which makes you a total hypocrite.

But both logic and pride were sorely overmatched.

I was dog-tired. Miserable. If my canine DNA could provide some relief, I wanted it.

Stupid stupid stupid.

Deep breath. Eyes shut.

SNAP.

The power scorched through me. I tried to hide the transformation from Shelton, fighting to keep still as my body thundered and raged.

As the flare unleashed, my weariness fled. The headache disappeared. Energy infused my muscles. My mind sharpened along with my senses. It felt wonderful.

This is bad. Dangerous.

At that moment, I didn’t care. Just sighed with pleasure.

“Tory! Are you crazy?!”

Shelton shoved his sunglasses onto my face.

I started, suddenly aware of how careless I’d been. My eyes scanned the boat. Thankfully, no other passengers were on deck.

Shelton’s gaze bored into me. “Has
everyone
lost their minds lately?”

“Sorry, you’re right. But, Shelton, my fatigue just . . . melted away. I feel
great.
”

“Really?” His expression grew hopeful. “Okay, watch my back.”

I slipped on my shades and handed his back. Shelton swapped them with his eyeglasses.

“This feels wrong.”

“I know.” But I held my flare anyway.

Shelton’s thin frame shuddered. He gasped, grabbed his head.

Slowly, his breathing eased. Shelton’s head came up, a smile spreading his lips.

“I take it back. This feels fantastic.”

“Which worries me. Flaring is becoming addictive.”

The cabin door opened and Hi stepped out. He stared as though we’d grown horns.