New Year Island (54 page)

Four of them were still in play, plus Travis, who, she was surprised to see, hadn’t been eliminated yet. That made no sense to her.

Jordan was, unsurprisingly, in first place again.

Camilla looked at the target card in her hand: Natalie, her original target. But Natalie had been eliminated early in the game. According to the rules, Camilla needed to track her down and ask for her envelope. Then she would learn the name of Natalie’s target, who had become Camilla’s new target. It wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t planning to leave her rooftop nest and put herself at risk.

Besides, she could probably figure out who her current target was without chasing down envelopes. She considered the scoreboard again.

Camilla hadn’t eliminated Natalie. Which meant that Natalie’s own target had eliminated her, earning ten points by doing so. Juan was only up five, so it wasn’t him—he had taken out either Mason or Brent, who were each down five. Jordan was up fifteen. That meant she had either taken out three targets in a row or eliminated one target plus her own assassin. It couldn’t be three targets in a row, because then she and Juan would account for all eliminations, and that wouldn’t explain Veronica’s unchanged score. Veronica had been eliminated, but her score was unchanged, so it had gone up first, then come down by the same amount when she was eliminated.

There was only one possibility.

Veronica had been Natalie’s target originally. She had taken Natalie out instead, becoming Camilla’s new target. Camilla breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that Veronica’s elimination meant she wouldn’t have to face her.

The scores told the whole story.

Jordan was now Camilla’s target.

Camilla stared up at the clouds. Her conflicted feelings about Jordan confused her. Had Jordan’s friendliness to her
all
been an act? She couldn’t believe that. She was usually great at reading people, and Jordan’s betrayal had blindsided her, shaking her faith in herself. They never had a chance to talk after that. Jordan and Juan had been ostracized, and now people were dying, and, oh god, how important were her own silly hurt feelings in the face of that? She and Jordan needed to reconnect and try to figure out what was going on here.

But Jordan didn’t take her seriously. It hurt to acknowledge it. Maybe after she beat Jordan and took first place from her, she would have to respect
that
.

Camilla realized her original strategy was flawed now. If she waited and Jordan eliminated all three of the others, then Jordan would be ahead in overall points even if Camilla eliminated her to win the assassin game.

The same was true of Juan, also, because of the security the red team had won in capture the flag. Juan’s points wouldn’t go down when she eliminated him—making him just as much of a threat as Jordan.

No matter who won, though, they would finish this game. They would get Julian to come, and… what? Hold him hostage? Threaten him?
Kill
him?

Maybe. Camilla would do whatever was necessary to get back to Avery and the rest of her kids. They needed her. Vita Brevis had committed crimes against everyone here, endangering their lives. If they killed Julian, it would be self-defense. And when they left the island, they would find out who else was behind Vita Brevis and make them all pay for this.

Brent believed the prize money was a lie, and she figured he was probably right. But she didn’t think that mattered. She had seen that yacht, worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Whoever they were, Vita Brevis had money, even if they didn’t plan to make good on their promises. Camilla had been lured here by the promise of help for her kids; Vita Brevis
owed
them now. She would rally the other contestants and file a civil suit in addition to the criminal charges. Even if Vita Brevis had to sell its stupid luxury yacht to settle, she would make sure her kids got every penny they were promised.

But if she wanted to be at the top of the scoreboard when this game ended, it was time to change her plan before either Juan or Jordan swept the scoreboard and made it impossible for her to win. It was time to go on the offensive.

Now.

She rolled slowly to the side… and froze in place. A faint, uneven scraping drifted up from below. Raising her head slowly, she peeked one-eyed over the edge of the roof.

Her breath caught. A seal was walking upright toward the houses, lurching across the open ground. Camilla rolled onto her back, eyes wide, heart pounding again. That
couldn’t
be what she had seen. It was impossible. So what had she
really
seen?

Its loose hide had flapped as it walked. Through the gap in its hide, she had glimpsed dirty pink skin, human legs. Despite the terrible limp, it moved with a limber grace that she recognized as Jordan’s.

Camilla closed her eyes and listened, tracking Jordan’s approach. Then she rolled to the side, extending her head and arm over the rooftop to take aim at the shape fifteen feet below her. She pulled the trigger over and over again, as fast as she could. Light green paint spattered the ground around Jordan. It spattered her sealskin hood and cape and streaked her legs. Excitement coursed through Camilla, and she laughed. She had beaten Jordan.

Jordan’s paintball gun dropped from her fingers and bounced once, landing in the green-spattered dirt at her feet. Her other hand held a long black tube, which she leaned on, its point buried in the dirt. She stood with her hooded head lowered, hiding her face, but her body vibrated with tension. Her free hand rose to disappear under the hood. Camilla thought she heard a faint noise from her—a muted cry that shook with fury and despair, which was quickly stifled. Balancing on one leg like a stork, Jordan swept the end of the black tube up to point it at the roofline.

Camilla ducked away and rolled onto her back, eyes wide. Had Jordan been about to shoot her with a
speargun
? She slid her body a few feet and cautiously peeked over a different part of the roof edge.

The point of the speargun was jammed into the ground again. Jordan reached up and swept her hood back, looking around her with an icy, remote expression on her face. But she didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge Camilla. She turned her back on the buildings and limped to the edge of the bluff, where she sat at the top of the wooden stairs that led down to the beach. She lay the speargun across her knees.

They just needed to talk.

Camilla slid down the sloped roof of the Victorian and swung her legs over the edge, lowering herself to hang from her arms. She let go and dropped. Her landing was a little clumsy, but she stood up and dusted off her hands and knees. Then she walked over to sit on the steps beside Jordan.

Jordan stared out over the water, toward the mainland. She never looked at Camilla. Through the thickening clouds, a band of sunlight made a stripe of ocean glow silver, bright enough to make Camilla squint. Seabirds hopped near their feet. Jordan’s ankle looked swollen. Painful. Camilla wanted to ask about it. But instead, she just watched the waves, the changing patterns of brightness, and held her tongue. She would leave it up to Jordan to break the ice first.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

Jordan flicked her wrist and two blue envelopes fluttered to the step at Camilla’s feet. She spoke without much life.

“You were under a collapsed freeway for four days? Is that true?”

Camilla nodded.

Jordan looked away toward the north. The silence stretched between them again.

Camilla swallowed. As difficult as it would be, she was ready to talk about what had happened to her, if that was what Jordan wanted. She would answer her questions. She didn’t want it to be another source of awkwardness between them.

Jordan spoke again.

“I want to go home.”

J
acob sat cross-legged at the end of the dock, with his back toward the island. He waited patiently, facing the churning, frothing vastness of the Pacific Ocean. The most essential pieces of his research were piled beside him on the dock, next to his thigh. He stared out at the roughening water, not thinking much, reminiscing about surfing—he had done a lot of surfing in high school.

San Diego had some good surf spots. Maybe on the weekends he’d take it up again, once he got settled in down there.

There was a great surf break off the south side of the island here, too. No one really surfed it, though. For the life of him, Jacob couldn’t imagine why.

A footstep sounded behind him on the dock. A shadow fell across him.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder and smiled, reaching to take the offered hand.

“
You’re
the San Diego director?” he asked.

In answer, a bulky gray pistol shape like a power drill was pressed lightly against his forehead.

Jacob frowned.

His confusion disappeared in a wet, splintering thump that echoed off the rocks of the breakwater.

C
amilla stood facing the corner of the Greek Revival house, steeling herself. A black gap yawned in front of her, close to her feet. The structure had settled, separating from its foundation, leaving a seal-size opening into the darkness beneath. She didn’t want to go in there.

Jordan had limped away without another word, leaving her alone at the top of the steps, so she had slipped back inside the Greek Revival house for another peek at the scoreboard.

Now she could afford to play the waiting game again, but her rooftop hiding place was no good anymore. Jordan had seen it, and Jordan would tell Juan. So Camilla would go underground instead. She could watch both entrances and the entire flat area surrounding the houses, through the small gaps in the foundation.

The others all knew about what had happened to her when she was seven. Hiding
underneath
the house was absolutely the last place anyone would expect her to be. To win this game, she would face her terror, her childhood nightmare, head-on.

Juan and JT were the only two left. Travis had to be JT’s target, but JT had ignored him for some reason, probably saving him for the very end. But whichever of the two—Juan or JT—prevailed, when they returned she would surprise them by firing from the darkness below.

She looked at the hole again, steeling herself to enter it. The longer she stood here in indecision, the greater her risk of being seen. But it was difficult, oh so difficult, to make herself enter that narrow, black space. She squatted in front of the gap and closed her eyes.

Sliding her legs through, she rolled over onto her belly and eased backward through the gap. Her breath caught in her chest as darkness closed over her head. She turned and crawled deeper under the house to check the view from the other gaps, but the pinholes of light where they opened to the outside seemed dim and distant now. The blackness she moved through felt suffocating, like a blanket. Her heart sped up, thudding in her chest and throat. She looked back over her shoulder. The entrance was still visible behind her, but it seemed faraway and fragile.

Oh god, what if it disappeared? What if something blocked it? She stopped crawling and froze. Dread flooded her limbs with weakness, and she bit her lip. She had to get moving again. But she couldn’t force herself forward.

Keep going. You can’t freeze up now. Arms and legs. Move!

A bulky shape emerged insect-eyed from the darkness beside her.

One strong hand clamped over her mouth, holding her head immobile. The other hand reached out and took her paintball gun from her. Camilla’s eyes bulged with fear as an inhuman face with green, telescoping eyestalks leaned into hers. Its mottled skin made it impossible to make out other features.

“Brave girl, coming down here,” JT said. “Where did Jordan go?”

The night-vision goggles and camouflage facepaint made him look alien and terrifying. The hand over her mouth relaxed slightly.

Sagging against his fingers, Camilla sucked in a ragged breath. Her heart felt like it was going to explode. “I don’t know,” she gasped, muffled by his palm.

“I never figured you for a cheater. But I guess money can do that to anyone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You took out Jordan,” he said. “I think you’re a free target now, Camilla. Five points for anyone.”

“But why? She was my assigned target.”

“Show me.”

With shaking fingers, Camilla rummaged in her pockets. She pulled out two envelopes, thankful that Jordan had left her Veronica’s envelope as well as her own. Camilla had transferred Veronica’s target card into her own envelope—one of the two she held out now in the near darkness.

JT plucked them away, and she heard paper crinkle. The stalks of the night vision goggles aimed downward, and JT chuckled.

“Jordan was after Juan. I wish I could’ve seen that.”

Then he opened the other envelope. Hers. He stared at it silently for a while. Then his fingers released her face.

Camilla fell to her hands and knees in the dark crawlspace, gasping. She strained to see. She could hear paper crinkling again, then JT spoke in a cold, emotionless voice that sent a chill down her spine.