New Year Island (60 page)

Julian’s voice paused, leaving Camilla staring at a picture of Jordan in cap and gown at a graduation ceremony. The camera had caught her at an unexpected moment, and the smile was not in evidence. Jordan’s eyes stared at something out of frame with fierce, hard-jawed concentration. Camilla recognized the expression. She had seen it when Jordan charged the giant bull elephant seal.

“But always, just outside the bright spotlight that followed Jordan through her mounting successes and accomplishments, trouble and tragedy lingered. The salutatorian from her graduating class, outshined in every way by her exemplary peer and ostracized by Jordan’s social circle, committed suicide on the Caltrain tracks by lying down in front of an oncoming train. Less than a year after graduating, Jordan’s ex-boyfriend from high school died in an alcohol-related car crash. After her first romantic breakup in college, the young man dropped out of school and left the state. Jordan’s thesis adviser’s marriage fell apart amid accusations of inappropriate relations with a student. But mean-spirited rumors and jealous talk were not enough to keep a promising young Stanford premed student from proposing to the vivacious, well-spoken debutante. Jordan and Jonathan were soon engaged to be married.”

On the screen, a young couple sat at a table in an outdoor garden café. Dark sculptures and manicured hedges blurred the background. Camilla recognized the tall rectangle of Rodin’s
Gates of Hell
—Cantor Art Center at Stanford. Jordan’s smile beamed from the monitor, but it was only for the handsome man she held hands with. Her eyes were bright with happiness, and Jonathan’s eyes shone with adoration that was apparent even in the photograph.

Camilla’s heart ached with sadness for them both. She knew how the story ended—she had heard the rest of it last night.

Julian’s tabloid tone was disgusting. She could hear the glee in his voice. Camilla pictured their host’s grinning face. He
dared
to come face them after treating them like this? He could not be allowed to walk away, no matter how much money he threw at them—or at his lawyers.

“Jonathan idolized his young fiancée. He had overcome his own troubles, including a devastating struggle with addiction, before turning his life around. He looked forward to their building a life together, but for Jordan, after a short period of reciprocity, boredom soon set in. She broke off her engagement to take up with the editor of the technology blog she now worked for. Jonathan spiraled into depression and drugs, which landed him on academic probation. He died of an overdose a few weeks later.”

Camilla’s hands clenched into shaking fists, and she closed her eyes. Julian had brought Brent here and supplied him with drugs as a spectacle for Jordan, to throw her tragedy in her face over and over again. No wonder she had withdrawn from everyone, hiding her pain behind that cold, hard mask. She wouldn’t give Julian the satisfaction of seeing her suffer.

“But Jordan is a true survivor in every sense of the word. Time and time again, she has remained untouched by the troubles and tragedies around her. Her uncanny ability to avoid the misfortunes of other, lesser people continues to serve her well in this competition. Folks, she’s in it to win it. So it should be no surprise that the official betting line puts the odds heavily in Jordan’s favor to take home the grand prize.”

As the screen went dark Camilla opened her eyes. Her bitter anger hardened into steel inside her. Julian’s cruelty was unforgivable. After what he had done to them all, he could not be allowed to walk away from this alive.

If she had to, she would kill him herself.

“‘P
aranoid.’ That’s what Juan called me,” Mason said. “‘Ridiculous. Ludicrous’—Veronica, those were your exact words. But it turns out I was right all along.”

“Now, just hold on.” Brent cleared his throat. “Julian didn’t exactly
say
this is a snuff film, did he?”

“No…” Camilla spoke without looking up. “Not exactly…”

“Huh?” Mason sounded like he was at a loss for words. “We’re splitting hairs over
semantics
now? Somebody please explain this to me, then.”

Camilla stared at her hands. She was thinking of the vengeful direction her own thoughts had taken. Of the way anger and violence became a black hole, a cycle impossible to escape once you let yourself get dragged in. She thought of Veronica…

And Veronica spoke, summing it up for them all, sounding angry but also darkly amused.

“Well, you have to give Julian credit for originality, at least. A drug-addicted doctor. A disgraced banker the audience can hate. A survivor of systematic child abuse.” She stroked Natalie’s hair. “An earthquake survivor. A violent sex offender. A woman with… my history. An AWOL special forces soldier. A Colombian ex-drug lord. And a silver-spoon valedictorian cheerleader. Pitted against each other in an illegal Internet pay-per-view event. The World Series of survival…”

She chuckled, and the bitter self-loathing in her voice made Camilla shudder.

“Oh, we’ve given them what they want, haven’t we? Better than MMA, UFC, cage fighting—did I leave anything out?”

Camilla said, “Lauren.”

“Right.” Veronica waved her away. “I agree with Brent. I don’t think the main purpose of this is watching us die. But if some of us do, it’s definitely part of the entertainment.”

Camilla was thinking about something else Julian had said. The skin on her arms tightened into goose bumps.

“Julian lied again,” she said. “This isn’t pay per view at all.” Her voice sounded loud in the sudden silence. “He said ‘
the
official betting line
…’”

“Gambling.” Brent cleared his throat. “It stands to reason, doesn’t it? That’s also why they cut off Julian’s ability to see and hear us. For the kind of money that’s being illegally wagered, they don’t want anybody rigging the game.”

“And it means something else, too: a live broadcast.” Camilla looked at the walls around her, the skin on her arms crawling. “People are watching us
right now
. Betting on who lives and who dies.”

She stared at Dmitry. “That’s why Heather and Jacob were murdered.”

Dmitry nodded, his face dark with anger. “
Ya panimayu.
Some of it I do not understand, but this I do. That man, he ordered the criminal to kill my friends.”

“Julian didn’t want you scientists interfering,” Mason said. “And besides, you’re witnesses—he can’t let you leave.”

Camilla nodded. “That makes a lot more sense than your serial killer silliness, Mason. Travis killed the scientists on Julian’s orders. But why did he take Natalie?”

“She was a present.” Veronica’s eyes burned with hatred. “Julian gave Travis a bonus.”

Natalie stirred on Veronica’s lap and murmured something.

“Shhh. You’re safe now.” Veronica stroked her hair. “What is it, dear?”

“…ot …ravis,” Natalie slurred. She sat up, blinking like someone waking from a deep sleep.

“Thank God you’re all right.” Veronica took Natalie’s hands in hers. “That animal won’t ever touch you again. He’s dead.”

Natalie spoke again, clearly this time in the silence of the room.

“It wasn’t Travis.”

Veronica’s voice changed. “What are you talking about?”

“The person who took me away… it wasn’t Travis.” Fear transformed Natalie’s features as she stared from face to face, blinking. “I couldn’t really see who it was, because they were behind me, and then I don’t remember. But whoever it was used both of their arms.”

Veronica’s body went rigid. Her eyes widened. She was on her feet, stepping in front of Natalie, before the significance of what Natalie had said dawned on Camilla.

The person who had taken Natalie might be in the room
right now
.

“All of you. Get out.” Veronica’s luminous eyes shifted from person to person. Her body vibrated with coiled tension. At her sides, her fingers curled like angry scorpion tails.

“I’m giving you two minutes to get your stuff.”

Camilla stood slowly, not wanting to trigger an explosion. Veronica was afraid. It was in her eyes. But Camilla could see something else in them, too.

Veronica’s nostrils flared. She looked from Brent to Mason to Dmitry, probing each of them with a cobra’s speculative gaze. Her tongue curled up to slide along her teeth. She spoke, her voice rich and velvety, dripping with menace…

“Two minutes. That’s it. After that, I kill anyone I find still here.”

…and, oh god, anticipation, too.

“Veronica…” Camilla held up a pacifying hand. “Please—”

“You, too, little lady.” Veronica’s tone dripped poison. “I never liked you very much, anyway.”

Camilla led the others out into the rainy night, carrying their bags and water jugs, as Veronica’s full-throated yell chased them from the doorway behind.

“Keep going! Out past the barricade and don’t come back. I swear to God, if I ever see any of you over here again, you’ll die.”

Slinging a leg over the stacked logs to straddle the top, Camilla paused, looking back toward the houses.

Lightning flashed, illuminating Veronica on the porch of the Victorian, her face raised to the darkness.

“The others… you tell them. Tell them
all
.”

Veronica’s scream rang from the bluffs and echoed across the rocky ground, reaching every corner of the island.

“From now on, anybody I find on this side of the barricade,
I kill!
”

R
ain lashed Jordan’s face and streamed off the shoulders of her sealskin cape. The wind whipped her wet hair back and forth, slapping her cheeks. She gripped the wobbling flagpole with both hands, balancing the heavy weight on top that threatened to topple it, taking her with it. Gritting her teeth, she drove the pole downward, plunging it into a crack between the hunks of broken concrete at her feet. Her bad foot struck the ground, and white-hot pain erupted through her broken ankle. Clenching her jaw, she ignored it.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the fallen lighthouse tower above her. She hugged the pole to her chest, gripping it firmly with her hands, and let herself hang on it, using her body weight to drive it deeper into the crack, wedging it tight.

Rivulets of rain streamed down the pole, mixed with something darker, staining her hands with the stickiness that washed down the shaft. She let go and hopped back, wiping her palms on the sides of her cape.

In the next flashbulb burst of lightning, Jordan looked up at her handiwork—a picture definitely worth a thousand words.

She glanced toward the houses, their dark bulk rising from the gloom on the other side of the barricade. Either the others would understand what she was telling them, or they wouldn’t. She didn’t really care either way. She was done with all of them.

She knew she was displacing her anger, but it was better than the alternative.

Baring her teeth again, she stared at the other building, the one closest to her—the blockhouse.

His
blockhouse.

Jordan patted the shaft of the flagpole.
This should have been you, you bastard.

When the lightning flashed again she was gone.

C
amilla knocked on the frame of the open doorway. “Can we come in?”

Juan looked up from the cot, where he sat contemplating the flinty gray triangle in his hand. It was a pendant, perhaps a large arrowhead, that he wore around his neck. Tucking it back into his shirt, he waved them in without enthusiasm.

Camilla entered the blockhouse, glad to get out of the rain. Brent, Mason, and Dmitry crowded in behind her.

Taking off her rain poncho, she sat on the opposite cot. Juan didn’t appear to be in the mood for conversation, and she felt like she was intruding. She was curious, though.

“Was that a tooth?”

He nodded listlessly. “
Megalodon.
A gift from someone. A long time ago.”

“But it’s
huge.
”

“
Da, Carcharodon megalodon,
” Dmitry said. “Prehistoric ancestor to great white shark. Looks almost same, but two and half times long. Fifteen times heavy.”

“That’s a pleasant thought.” Camilla shuddered. “After what happened to Lauren, I don’t even want to try to picture that.”

“How long ago are we talking?” Mason sounded intrigued.

“
Megalodon
first appeared twenty-eight million years ago. Still alive one million years ago.”

“So the modern white shark is a million years old?”

“No,
sixteen
million. They living same time.”

“Great whites are nature’s ultimate survivors,” Juan said.

Dmitry shook his head. “No, my friend. They are endangered. We ruining our oceans, destroying their habitat.”

Juan looked at him. “You come here every year? To study them?”

“I come last year. Before that I was in Phystech. Moscow.”

“This time of year—December—it’s high season here, isn’t it?”

Dmitry nodded. “Elephant seal mating time, having pups. Is like buffet for shark.”

“How many?” Juan asked. “At any given time, how many great whites do you expect to see here at Año Nuevo?”

“They are pelagic, so they come and go—solitary predators. Usually one. Other times, none. But sometimes we see two. Last year, for three days, we had two different sharks—lots of predation events.”

Juan looked at his wetsuit drying on the rack. “I counted fourteen out there today.”

Dmitry chortled and shook his head again. “No, no. Is too many. You see same shark over and over again.
Whole season,
we get maybe five, maybe ten, but not same day. At most two.”

“I counted fourteen different individuals,” Juan said. “Different sizes, fin profiles, distinguishing marks, scars.”

“Is impossible.” Dmitry looked skeptical. “Whole California coast has total great white population of only two hundred, maybe two hundred fifty sharks.”

Juan shrugged and looked away. He stood and walked over to crouch in front of a small yellow piece of machinery that sat beside the table—a generator, Camilla realized, probably from the cave where he found Natalie. Juan poked at it, ignoring his guests.