Ghost Key (27 page)

He understood what Dominica was doing. She’d instructed her little army to raid every house on the island and take whatever food they could find. She knew that hungry hosts might endanger her plans and was preparing for a siege.

Even if Dominica had told her tribe to be on the lookout for a skinny black dog, they didn’t pay any attention to him, and they never even saw the hawk.

As soon as the carts were out of sight, the hawk flew lower and touched down on the top of the facility’s front gate, the only part of the fence where there was no barbed wire. Wayra considered shifting into his human form so that he could scale the gate. But he was exposed out here and no telling how many more
brujos
would be passing by with their carts loaded up with food and supplies.

He found a soft spot in the ground and started digging. The hawk keened a couple of times and flew off toward a cluster of buildings. The hole was finally deep enough for Wayra to wiggle under the fence and he raced toward the buildings. They formed an open square that faced dozens of cages with small animals inside and a tremendous aviary where birds now squawked and cried and shrieked at his intrusion. He was afraid their ruckus might attract attention from the
brujos,
so he quickly shifted back into his human form, threw open the aviary door, picked up one of the twenty-gallon containers of seed, and carried it inside. He hurled handfuls of seed into the aviary, then tipped the whole thing over and the birds converged, making an awful racket, but nothing as loud as it had been moments ago.

Wayra hurried out of the aviary and left the door open. He moved swiftly along the rows of cages, checking on the other animals. All of them appeared to be hungry—squirrels, opossums, several pathetically thin cats, three rabbits, guinea pigs, four iguanas, two dogs. All had been injured in some way and treated. But they had little or no water and obviously hadn’t been fed in several days and were frantic to eat, to escape. Their respective foods were in containers outside the cages, so Wayra opened cans and jars and fed them all and left the doors to the cages open.

He found a hose at the side of the building, turned it on and filled a huge plastic tub in the middle of the courtyard. Once the animals had eaten, they began to venture from their cages in search of water.

Wayra found the hawk in front of a door that faced the cove, pecking furiously at the wood. He tried the handle; the door was locked. Wayra threw his body against it, but the damn thing didn’t budge. He loped along the front of the building, paused briefly to pick up a large conch shell, and slammed it against the first window he reached. The glass shattered. The hawk flew through the opening, keening loudly, and Wayra scrambled in after her. She flew up a hallway and then through the door of an office at the very end.

Rocky, huddled in the back of a supply closet, smelled sick. Sweat poured down his pale face, he trembled and shook, his arms were clutched tightly against his body. Cluttering the floor around him were food wrappers, apple cores, orange seeds, part of a sandwich. An empty plastic bottle lay on its side, water puddled around it. The hawk cried out and Rocky’s eyes opened slowly, dreamily.

“Lib?” His voice ground out of him, hoarse, gravelly. Then he saw Wayra and immediately snapped upright and scooted back farther into the closet. “Don’t touch me, please don’t fucking touch me, I won’t say anything, I promise, just don’t … don’t go inside me again, you made me sick.” He didn’t scream. Wayra could tell he barely had the strength to speak, much less to scream. Tears coursed down his pale, hollow cheeks, his arms tightened against his body, his mouth puckered, trembled.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Wayra spoke softly and crouched in the doorway. “I’m here to help. My name’s Wayra. Your mom sent me.”

“Why … didn’t she come herself?”

“It’s too dangerous, Rocky.” Wayra extended his hand. “Liberty and I will take you back to the houseboat.”

“The … animals. The birds. I … I have to feed them … give them water.”

“I already did. Grab my hand, I’ll help you out of there.” When the kid grasped Wayra’s hand, an alarm shrieked inside him. Fever raged through him. “Did one of them seize you, Rocky?”

The kid collapsed against Wayra. He helped Rocky to a nearby chair, then hurried to a supply closet and found a blanket tucked on a corner shelf. He draped it around the boy’s shoulders, but Rocky’s body shuddered, his teeth chattered. Wayra jerked open desk drawers, cabinets, looking for aspirin, something to relieve the kid’s fever. He located a bottle of Advil in one of the drawers, tapped two into his palm, and retrieved a bottle of water from the little fridge near the window.

“Swallow these. They’ll bring down your fever.”

The hawk fluttered and flew, keening and crying, and finally settled on the back of the kid’s chair, and ran her beak through his hair, a caress that was gentle, loving. Rocky took the Advil.

“Were you seized?” Wayra asked again. “Is that what happened? Did one of these monstrosities take you?”

Rocky, still sobbing, covered his face with his hands and, for the longest time, didn’t say anything. His shoulders finally stopped shaking, his sobs subsided. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, and his hands dropped to his thighs. “It … it came in the late afternoon. It was inside of Amy … and it … she … I didn’t know it at first. She wanted to do it, to … to hook up … to … have sex … but she … then she started bleeding from everywhere,
everywhere,
from her eyes and ears, mouth and nose and skin … and … and it leaped into me, just
took
me. I … I don’t know how long it was … was inside me. Hours, it felt like hours. It … sifted through my memories, I could … feel it doing that, stealing my memories.

“Then it … leaped out of me and I … not too long afterward, I started throwing up … I got hot … I … I … I wanted to fucking die. Amy was … there.” He stabbed his finger at the corner of the room, where the floor was streaked with blood Wayra hadn’t seen when he’d entered. “I … I dragged her body into the walk-in freezer.” He stabbed his hand toward the metal door off to the right, knuckled his eyes, and in between sobs, stammered, “My mom … was right. Zee Small … he was right. It’s … they … Satan’s … demons…”

Shit.
Advil wasn’t going to do it. Rocky had had an allergic reaction to the substance that
brujos
created in their hosts. Wayra suspected it was a form of anaphylactic shock—and the
brujo
probably had found the environment too inhospitable and had decided Rocky wasn’t a suitable host. So although the substance had saved him from being permanently taken, it might kill him.

“Okay, Rocky. I need you to focus. I need a boat, a kayak, something to get us to the houseboat. Does the center have any kayaks? Canoes?”

“A … canoe. With an electric motor.” He drew the blanket more tightly around him and tried to keep his teeth from chattering. “We … use it to collect injured seabirds. I think … it’s just outside the fence. On the beach.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back. Liberty will stay with you.”

“No. I’m going with you. I … I don’t want to stay here alone. Please … don’t leave me, Wayra.”

“Okay, I’m not leaving you, Rocky. Sit tight for a second.” Wayra went over to the freezer, opened it. Amy was in there, all right, blood now frozen on her face, arms, and legs. He gently shut her eyes, turned her on her side, and stepped over her. Kate had told him that, according to Zee Small, the
brujos
hadn’t been taking people under the age of sixteen. That had obviously changed. It alarmed him, but even more troubling was what Rocky had said about the
brujo
stealing his memories. That meant Dominica might already know where Kate’s houseboat was hidden.

He quickly returned to the fridge and searched for any sort of human medication. Behind the food, he found three bottles of Augmentin, two Z-Packs, a bottle of erythromycin, and Benadryl pills. He wasn’t sure if any of it would work, but took it all. He hurried, grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge, then twisted off the cap. He handed Rocky the water, a pill from the Z-Pack, and a Benadryl. “Take those, then we’re leaving.”

Rocky swallowed the pills, wiped his arm across his eyes. Wayra helped him to his feet. Somehow, they made it outside, where all the animals he’d released were now congregated around the huge plastic tub, sating their collective thirst. No squabbles, no fights. Wayra unlatched the gate to the beach, and helped Rocky out across the sand to the canoe. Once he was inside, he covered Rocky with the blanket, then pushed off from the beach. When he was knee-deep in water, he climbed inside and started the electric engine.

The engine was a bit more powerful than the ones he and Kate had used, but even so, he knew the trip would take at least an hour. “Hold on, kid,” he murmured. Rocky stirred, but didn’t speak.

The hawk flew just above them, their eyes and ears.

The fog had risen steadily in the ensuing hours and although it crept up close to the canoe, it didn’t cover them. Wayra sensed Dominica’s attention was still focused elsewhere, that she’d left the fog on its own, and it didn’t know what to do when confronted with something as alien to its experience as Wayra.

The hawk steered them clear of an airboat, several cutters, and by the time they reached Sea Horse Key, Rocky’s fever had spiked. Wayra got him onto the houseboat, to the living room couch, and covered him with blankets. He scribbled something on a sheet of paper and held it out to the hawk. “Find Kate. Get this to Kate. I know you understand me. I don’t know how that’s possible, but I know you do. Just get the damn thing to her. I’ll take care of Rocky.”

The hawk snatched the piece of paper out of Wayra’s hand and flew out the open balcony doors. Minutes later, Rocky went into convulsions. Wayra knew he would die without medical intervention, but there was no medical help out here and probably no one in this country who would know how to treat a
brujo
contagion. There was only his shifter blood, and he had just one choice.

He shifted into his other form, dropped his paws to the kid’s chest, and instinct kicked in. He suddenly knew exactly what to do. He licked Rocky’s face repeatedly, placed his right front paw on the boy’s forehead, and light shot out of it. Then he sank his teeth into Rocky’s neck until he drew blood.

Thirteen

Sanchez woke suddenly and bolted upright in his tent. Jessie stood at the opening, whining softly. He crawled out of his sleeping bag and moved over to her.

“Shhh,” he whispered.

She moved along behind him as he unzipped the inner flap and peered out. Things looked normal, at least as normal as anything was here. No campfire, but dim, battery-operated lanterns hung from low branches here and there, providing just enough illumination for him to see that the picnic tables were empty, tents were zipped up for the night, trailers were sealed against the chill, the dark, the bogeymen.

He listened closely to the silence and realized what had awakened Jessie. The background hum of the power lines that he’d heard ever since he’d gotten here was conspicuously absent. Had the power on this part of the island gone down? Wasn’t the ELF field from the concentration of power lines what kept the
brujos
out of here?

Sanchez made his way back to his sleeping bag and belongings. He put on his socks and shoes, shrugged on his jacket, slung the pack over his shoulder. He pocketed his BlackBerry and the useless cell Delaney had given him, picked up the Glock 34, slipped the extra clip in an inner pocket. He ducked outside the tent, Jessie right behind him.

At night, with just the sentries awake, the camp struck a stark contrast to what it was like during the day, when everyone bustled around, carrying out their specific tasks. The kids were schooled in one of the trailers, the men fished and killed wild game, and the women cooked and sewed and did the camp laundry in large tubs or in the washing machine in the camper where Zee, his son, and daughter-in-law lived. Their way of life seemed retro to Sanchez, the roles far too traditional for his taste. But it worked for Zee and his thirtysome followers, united for the end times.

Sanchez had sent Delaney a detailed e-mail about what he knew and suspected and had speculated about how the
brujos
might be defeated. Delaney hadn’t responded. So before he had turned in several hours ago, Sanchez had e-mailed him again, demanding to know what, if anything, the government intended to do about defeating this strange enemy. This e-mail hadn’t elicited a response, either.

Now he paused and texted Delaney.
Did u get my 2 e-mails?

Almost immediately, a response came through.

O’Donnell is pissed u went rogue, filed a complaint with my boss. The CDC running this show. They believe the virus is a contagious, biological weapon. If u left now, u would b quarantined. Keep gathering info. They’re talking about sending in hazmat unit. I’ll give u ample warning. Use txt message. Safer.

Sanchez’s fingers flew over the keypad.
Insanity 2 send hazmat
.
They’ll b seized, bled out.

He stood there a moment, staring at the BlackBerry, waiting for a response. Nothing came through. He quickly texted his sister:
Hiding out with a group that hasn’t been seized. Am ok.

Seized: She wouldn’t have any idea what he was talking about. Sanchez navigated to Wikipedia and sent Nicole a link about
brujos,
djinn, and other legendary life-forms. Brujos
are hungry ghosts and they’re all over CK. More soon. Luv u

After a few minutes, Sanchez hurried on through the camp, anxiety eating away at him. Why hadn’t Delaney replied? Was O’Donnell with him? Was that it? His sister would find the text message as soon as she woke up tomorrow morning.

He passed the now cold campfire, half-burned logs within a ring of stacked stones. It reminded him of the only time he, Nicole, and his parents had gone camping when he was a kid. It was somewhere in the Ocala National Forest, outside any of the designated camping areas. He and his old man had gathered stones like these, and his mother and Nicole had collected wood. The four of them had sat around the campfire that night roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, and it was one of the few times he could remember his parents laughing together. That night, he and Nicole had lain awake in their tent, whispering back and forth, excited at this unexpected turn in their parents’ relationship. It hadn’t lasted, but for those few glorious hours, he had learned the meaning of hope.