New Year Island (57 page)

Veronica burst through the outside door, letting in a spray of rain as she crossed the room with rapid strides. Camilla stepped aside as Mason did the same, the two of them parting to let Veronica pass between.

She came to a halt a foot in front of Travis, her fingers curling and twitching like the legs of a spider. Dangerous lights flickered in her pale, bulging eyes.

“Where
is
she?” Veronica screamed into Travis’s face. “Tell me now!”

Eyes narrowing, lip curling, he stared at her.

Mason spoke into the silence. “Veronica…”

She ignored him.

“Veronica,” he repeated.

Camilla turned and stared at the gray object Mason held spread in front of him. Natalie’s hoodie. Spatters of wet brown paint smeared the front, overlaid on a dried starburst of red.

“I found this in her room,” Mason said.

Camilla’s throat locked up.

Brent looked at the brown paint dripping from his hand. Then he looked at Travis.

The silence that filled the room was thick, pregnant, like the pause between lighting’s flash and the boom of a thunderclap.

Veronica looked up into Travis’s face again. Her voice changed to a liquid, velvety, sexy purr.

“Where is she, Travis?”

“Why do you care, bitch?” Travis sneered. “What’re you, her mom?”

Veronica spun away from him, and something seemed to blur in front of his neck with an ugly, meaty crunch.

Travis dropped straight down, collapsing behind her like a puppet with its strings cut.

At first Camilla was confused. Then she realized that Veronica had used the momentum of her turn to snap a back elbow into Travis’s throat. It had been faster than a striking snake—almost too fast to see.

On the floor, Travis sucked in a ragged gasp of air as his face darkened. Veins on his neck bulged, and his next breath tapered off into a whistling wheeze. His eyes widened, filled with awful realization. He groped weakly for Veronica’s calf.

She shook off his hand without looking down—impatiently, as if she was dislodging the claws of a too-playful kitten.

“Natalie’s out there somewhere,” she said to them all. Her chest heaved. “This
animal
hurt her, or worse.”

Travis’s face was purple now. He clawed at his throat, ripping at the collar of his shirt.

“Oh god, he’s choking!” Camilla said, grabbing Brent’s arm. “Please
do
something.”

Brent pulled loose from her and pushed past Veronica. Kneeling beside Travis, he unsnapped the first-aid kit and reached inside.

Veronica ignored the activity behind her.

“Now, who’s coming with me?” she asked.

Light glinted off the blade of the scalpel in Brent’s hand. Camilla’s eyes widened as he hunched over Travis. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but a bubbling whistle rose from Travis, followed by another.

“Tracheotomy.” Mason laid a hand on her shoulder. “Opening his airway.”

Veronica turned her neck and looked down at what Brent was doing behind her. Then she raised a knee and stomped backward with her running shoe. Hard.

Travis’s back arched.

Brent tumbled on to his backside, falling away from his patient, his hands covered with blood.

More blood jetted from the hollow of Travis’s throat, where the scalpel was now buried with only the last inch of handle protruding. A geyser of blood sprayed the wall, soaking Camilla’s painted diagram of the game, obscuring her green letters and arrows with looping red ribbons and spatters.

Travis’s boots kicked at the ground. His hands clawed at his throat. Brent stared up at Veronica, incomprehension darkening into fury as he scrambled to his feet.

Veronica spoke slowly, like she was explaining something to a dull child.

“
Natalie
should be your priority, Brent.
Not
this piece of human garbage. Now, let’s go find her.”

Brent’s hands shook. He turned away from Veronica and stumbled up the stairs, leaving them all.

With a last bubbling whistle, Travis’s body shuddered and lay limp.

Camilla’s arms and legs were blocks of ice. She met Veronica’s eyes. “You killed him.”

“He deserved it.” Something dark capered in Veronica’s luminous gaze.
Glee.
Her chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths. Her mouth hung half open. She wiped the back of her wrist across one side of her mouth, and her eyes moved slowly from person to person. Camilla could see an awful relish in her gaze.

“All people like him do.” A threat.

The scoreboard on the wall flashed once. The box around Travis’s score dimmed to gray. His score changed, spinning down from thirteen, passing through single digits to stop at zero. Then the entire box and Travis’s name disappeared, wiped from the scoreboard. Just like Lauren.

Camilla raised a hand to cover her mouth.

Her own score blinked.

Needles of irrational fear skewered her stomach. She was about to fade and disappear, too. But instead her score spun upward to pass Juan’s. “WINNER” appeared in the frame around her name. She was now in first place, leading all the other contestants in points.

“No,” she said. Her voice sounded small in her ears, like a child’s. She shook her head. “No, I didn’t want
this
.”

Jordan stood up. Surprisingly, her face held a look of impatience, as if she was disappointed in Camilla.

“Don’t you get it?” she said. “Natalie is still alive.” She limped out of the room, turning her back on them all.

Camilla looked at the scoreboard again. Natalie’s name stared back at her from the monitor.

Alive.

Did Veronica realize what she had just done? On camera? Camilla glanced in her direction. She was surprised to find Veronica’s pale eyes lingering on
her
. But they flicked away immediately, turning up to stare at the monitor.

• • •

Mason tossed Camilla an MRE. As if she could eat right now.

“And then there were eight,” he said.

“Not funny, Mason.” She grimaced. “Besides, right now it looks like it’s just the two of us. Brent’s shooting up again.”

Jordan was next door, sitting on the stairwell of the Victorian, where she could see the other monitor. Camilla had tried to talk to her, but Jordan just looked away, acting annoyed. So she had given up and returned to the Greek Revival house.

Veronica was gone. Again she hadn’t waited for anyone to join her before resuming the search.

Mason nodded at Travis. “We can’t just leave him here.”

Camilla closed her eyes for a moment. “Help me, then.”

She walked over and grabbed a boot. Mason did the same on the other side. She pulled, and Travis’s lower body slid along the floor, but his head and neck didn’t move at first, resisting her. She pulled harder, and he came unstuck, sending her staggering backward. Sickened, she realized why.

“Mason, he was pinned to the flo—” Her throat convulsed. Dropping Travis’s leg, she clapped a hand over her mouth and ran outside, gagging. The remains of the morning’s MRE spurted through her throat and nose, spilling onto the muddy ground. She closed her eyes and drew a gasping, burning breath. Dropping to her knees, she heaved again, bringing up only a weak dribble of stomach acid this time.

Rain pelted the back of her poncho. Camilla refused to let herself cry.

Avery, Cassie, Davey, Pedro—all her kids—they needed her. The only thing that mattered right now was getting back to them. She had to be strong.

They had finished today’s game. Julian had promised them answers tonight if they did. And tomorrow he was coming to the island.

They would teach
him
what it meant to be afraid.

A gentle hand grasped her elbow, helping her up. Mason handed her a heavy plastic jug, its top cut away, sloshing with liquid. She took it in both hands, staring at the dark surface.

“Drink,” he said.

Camilla gulped. The water was clean and delicious, renewing her parched mouth and throat.

“More,” Mason said. “As much as you want. They’re overflowing.”

“Thanks,” she gasped.

“It’s your own jug. I refilled it. Oh, and I moved Travis into the next room, so you don’t have to see him anymore.”

Camilla put her jug down, threw her arms around Mason, and hugged him. Her body started shaking, but she wasn’t crying. She refused to cry.

Lightning flashed, and she felt Mason’s body tense. He patted her back—a warning—and she released him to step back. He was staring out into the darkness, with no expression on his face.

The lightning flashed again, lighting up the flat, muddy plain surrounding the houses. A pair of figures was approaching from the direction of the seal barricade. One of them was clearly Veronica. She jogged sideways next to the other one—a man, tall, covered head to toe in shiny black. Veronica kept touching something he held cradled in front of his chest, dangling on both sides. Then darkness returned.

The next lightning flash illuminated Juan’s face clearly as he stepped up onto the porch. Camilla grabbed Mason’s wrist, seeing the limp form Juan carried in his arms. Natalie’s lower legs hung loosely over Juan’s left forearm, bouncing with every step. Her head lolled back bonelessly over his right elbow. One of her bare arms dangled toward the ground; the other lay across her chest. She wore a white T-shirt, soaked through, and her eyes were closed. She looked so young, so very small.

Natalie’s breathing was shallow, her face milk white.

Camilla turned and ran inside. “Brent!” she called. “Brent!”

She found him in his room, sitting on his cot, his face in his hands.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he mumbled.

“Not good enough.” Camilla grabbed his hand, pulling him forward. “You must.”

Downstairs again, she watched Juan kneel and lay Natalie gently on the floor against the wall. He stepped back, crossed his arms, and looked down at her prone body lying below Camilla’s defaced diagram, like a sacrifice at the altar of Julian’s terrible game. Juan’s face was grim.

She pushed Brent forward, and he stumbled.

“You must,” she repeated.

Veronica looked up from where she knelt beside Natalie, one hand on her forehead, the other holding her wrist. Camilla was shocked to see tears streaming down Veronica’s face.

“Brent, help her. She’s fibrillating, I think.” Veronica’s voice was choked with emotion. “I don’t know what to do.”

Brent’s shoulders slumped, and then he straightened, moving forward. With practiced efficiency, he did a quick assessment, his face going grave as he held two fingers to Natalie’s neck. From the first-aid kit, he brought out a large syringe and a glass ampoule, which he shook once before drawing its contents into the syringe. Holding the syringe in one hand, he probed the ribs to the left of Natalie’s breastbone with the fingers of the other hand.

“What’s that?” Suspicion joined the anguish on Veronica’s face.

“Intracardiac injection of epinepherine.” Brent drove the needle deep into Natalie’s chest. “Not ideal, but she’s arresting and we don’t have a defibrillator.” He depressed the plunger.

Natalie’s eyes flew wide, and her body jolted. Her splayed fingers scrabbled at the floorboards as she took rapid, heaving breaths. Fear distorted her face, and she clamped both wrists between her thighs, curling onto her side. Her eyes closed, and her breathing slowed as her body slumped bonelessly again.

Brent thumbed an eyelid open, but Natalie didn’t respond. She was out.

“She’s got a fighting chance now.” A bitter expression twisted his features as he pulled the needle out of Natalie’s chest and tossed the syringe aside. “And don’t forget, she’s a survivor.”

Veronica pushed him away and pulled Natalie’s limp form onto her lap, wrapping her arms protectively around her. She lowered her forehead onto Natalie’s.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica’s shoulders began to heave, wracked by stifled sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Camilla had to look away.

Juan stood with his arms crossed, staring down at the two women.

“I found her in a cave on the west side,” he said, “Near the end of the breakwater. The entrance was hidden behind a rock pile. But that’s not all I found in there.”

He pointed at the wide-screen monitor on the wall.

“It was so obvious, and we all missed it. Those car batteries should have died days ago. They were just window dressing—empty battery cases. The power cable ran underneath them, buried shallow. I followed it to the cave, where I found the generators that actually power these monitors.” His jaw clenched. “Gas-powered generators, along with plenty of gas. But it isn’t all that much use for sending a distress signal
now
.”

Camilla looked at the driving rain that lashed against the plastic-sheet windows and pelted the ground outside, visible through the open doorway. She closed her eyes.

“Four hours too late,” she said. “We missed our chance by
four hours
.”

Mason laughed.

“L
ook.” Camilla pointed at the monitor. Large white digits now blinked at the corner of the screen, ticking steadily down from “15:00.” Fifteen minutes until their host appeared, she figured, looking at the others. Veronica had mastered her emotions after a few minutes. Sitting against the wall and holding the limp Natalie in her arms, she avoided Camilla’s eyes.