ight flashed.

Flit. Was gone.

What was that?

It was the third or fourth time my eyes picked it up. I thought the glint came from the trees but wasn’t sure. I scanned the canopy, looking for a clue.

When a gumball nailed my forehead, I figured it out.

“Ow!” My hand flew up in surprise. “A monkey just pegged me!”

I was sitting in a glade with my back to a tree. We were far from LIRI, in a little-traveled quadrant of the forest. Hi was stretched out beside me, shade-happy.

Ben and Shelton were searching for the trail. Again.

We were out-of-bounds, but so what? Following the path to Dead Cat was très routine. When Ben spotted an older run heading north, we’d decided to go off-road.

Screw you, Karsten.

We hadn’t located the pack. No surprise there. The entire island was their turf, and canines are masters at stealth. They could be anywhere.

Last year, an enterprising lab tech had installed a timed-release food dispenser in a cave below Tern Point. Whisper and her crew took to it immediately, and were rarely seen near the compound anymore.

Well, until the howling started.

Recently the pack had begun circling the LIRI fence each night, baying up a storm. No one knew why. The guards were thoroughly creeped out.

The change in behavior worried me. If the pack kept making a racket, eventually they might attract too much attention. They weren’t really supposed to be there.

But my concern went deeper. Only three members of the family were appearing each night. Coop was missing.

Despite our mission failure, I was enjoying the trek. At one point we’d startled a group of monkeys clustered at a feeder. Somewhat used to people, they’d scurried into the trees to watch us from a distance.

Young males barked and bobbed, putting on a show in the branches. Babies peered from their mothers’ backs or bellies. Big ears. Big eyes. Total cuties. Females groomed each other like they were prepping for a prom.

To that point, the hike was a winner.

But after the primate encounter, the track had narrowed, penciled, then disappeared altogether. Glumly, we’d conceded to being lost. Spotting a clearing, we’d cut over, hoping to find the trail on the far side.

Nope.

So there I sat, being bombed by a monkey.

Finally, I spotted my assailant. A big female with gray-brown fur and one notched ear. The tattoo on her chest said Y-7.

Y-7 wasn’t happy. Restlessly shuffling from branch to branch, she paused now and then to lunge in our direction. Fear and anger drew her lips back in a full-toothed grin.

Y-7 let fly again. Retreated.

Good aim! I rubbed my shoulder. Good arm, too. I scooted behind the tree, taking cover.

“Looks like you have another fan.”

“Shut up, Hi.” I peered around the trunk, trying to locate my attacker. “I’ve never seen this behavior in a female.” Air whooshed as a missile zipped past my ear. “What the hell? Is her baby nearby? I don’t see one.”

I peeked again. Another projectile drove me back.

“She’s pretty agitated.” My warning to Hi was an understatement.

“Great call, Captain Obvious.” Hi hadn’t moved. Not smart. Whack! He took a direct shot from on high.

Cursing, Hi rolled from the line of fire. “Agitated? That monkey’s rabid. Out for blood. She went for my bad knee.” He snatched a spiked gumball fruit that had fallen from the tree. “This means war.”

Hi stood, took aim. “Payback! Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

Y-7 easily dodged Hi’s weak throw. Returned fire.

Hi ducked back, panting. “I’m overmatched. Call for backup.”

Flit.

There it was again! A quick burst of light.

“Did you see that?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Hi crouched beside me, gazing upward. “I think Donkey Kong has something on her wrist.”

Overhead, Y-7 sprang with outstretched arms, went airborne, landed. A threatening branch-shake completed the display.

I saw another flash.

It clicked. “She’s got something in her paw. Something reflective.”

“Yep,” Hi agreed. “It’s metal. Maybe glass.”

We were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder behind the trunk of a live oak. It wasn’t big enough to shield us both. Sardines in hiding. Sitting ducks.

Suddenly, our adversary leaped into the branches directly above our heads. Hanging low, she drew her lips back and screeched.

Alarmed, I fell backward and curled into a ball. Monkey bites are not pretty.

Y-7 hurled what was in her hand.

Branches swished.

Quiet.

I sat up and unwrapped my arms from my head. Dirt coated my shirt. Twigs adorned my hair. Nice.

“Hi, next time you want to throw something at a monkey, don’t.”

“It was only a gumball.”

Hi had rolled to the bottom of a slight incline. He righted himself and glanced at an elbow scrape. “Man, this is not my day.”

Curious, I scooped up Y-7’s projectile.

“What are you fools doing?” Shelton called. The trailbreakers were back, having missed our brief firefight.

“Monkey attack.” Hi slogged back up the grade. “The enemy had air superiority, but we survived.” He swatted Ben on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I sent a message. They won’t dare return.”

“Guys, check this out.” I rubbed Y-7’s missile with my finger, trying to clear gunk from the surface. Thin and flat, the thing weighed maybe an ounce. A tiny hole punctured one end.

Shelton joined me. Hi was busy explaining to Ben how many punches he’d absorbed before body-slamming the primate gang leader. His audience looked dubious.

Y-7’s weapon of choice was about two inches long and one inch wide. Though a hardened crust covered 90 percent of its surface, one outside edge glinted in the afternoon sunlight.

“Definitely metal,” I pronounced.

Shelton nodded. “It’s practically fossilized. I’ll bet it was buried at some point.”

Nose close, I gave the thing a careful inspection. It smelled of rust and embedded dirt.

“It’s pretty banged up, but I can make out indentations,” I said. “Lettering, maybe?”

Shelton smiled. “Come on, girl. Think! A metal rectangle with symbols punched in?” Smug. He knew what it was.

“A strike pad?” I hate guessing. It’s so inexact. “Like for a stamp or something? Or a stapler?”

Shelton’s grin widened. “Use your brain. Who prints things on small pieces of steel?”!!!Of course! And the hole. Duh.

I met his eye. My grin mirrored his.

“You got it!” Fist bump. He turned to the others. “Guess what we found, ya’ll.”

“It’s a dog tag,” I blurted, stealing his thunder. “A military ID.”

Shelton nodded. “No doubt about it.”

“What’s it doing out here?” Ben asked. “More Civil War stuff?”

“Crazy talk,” Shelton scoffed. “Metal dog tags first came out in World War I. Standard issue ones, anyway. It’s at least from this century.”

I handed Shelton the tag. His show now.

“If we knew what was printed on it, we could date it,” he said. “The type of info that was stamped changed over time.” Another thought. “The material used to make them changed too.”

I frowned. “But Loggerhead was empty for decades before the university bought it. It’s been vacant most of this century.”

“Sure,” Hi said. “Officially. You think people didn’t cruise out here looking for some action?”

Good point.

“Waste of time,” Ben said. “You’ll never be able to read it. The lettering’s too far gone.” He checked his watch. “We should head out. I found the way back.”

“We found it.” Shelton shrugged and tossed the tag.

The boys moved off.

I stared at Y-7’s prize resting in the leaves.!!!Why not try to clean it? It’s not that different from a seashell.

The tag held someone’s name. Not trying to decipher it? Crazy. I scooped it up and hurried after the others.

Man.

If I hadn’t done that, everything would have been different. Everything.

That whim changed my life.

Opened the door for what came.

Paved my path to monsterhood.