Horror Island: A Rex Havoc Novel

by Stenstrum, Jim

  “Where are we?” asked Goldfarb.

  Rex looked at his feet, up to his shins in muddy water.

  “The swamp, I’m guessing.”

  A water moccasin slithered between Rex’s legs and he snatched it up mongoose fast.

  “Yeah. It’s the swamp,” said Rex, and he flung the snake into the trees.

  The men moved onto drier ground to take a breather. The doctor sat on a large rock, rolling up his pant legs and wringing out his socks. Rex looked around at the thick blanket of fog that surrounded them.

  “This heavy fog will help us,” said Rex. “I can barely see my own hand in this soup.”

  Rex reached into his back pocket and took out the item that Bongo had secretly slipped to him. What he found made him smile.

  It was a little pen knife. Not as big as a Scout knife, but with a decent edge. Montgomery, bless what was left of his soul, was still looking out for him.

  Rex looked around and found a long and fairly straight branch sticking out of a dead tree and broke it off. He began to carve one end of the long stick into a sharp point, fashioning it into a primitive spear.

  “Where’d you get that knife?” asked Goldfarb.

  “From that big monster guard. I think he’s sweet on me.”

  Goldfarb smiled warmly.

  “Oh, that’s nice. Bongo was always happier when he had someone special in his life.”

  Rex smiled at the doctor, who looked so frail and helpless. He hated to bring up the next subject.

  “Listen, Doc. Our only chance of survival will be to kill Czarina and her monsters. You know these creatures. What are they? Any vulnerabilities we can use?”

  Goldfarb looked baffled.

  “Why should I know anything?”

  “You created these creatures. I saw designs for them in your files.”

  The doctor gasped, genuinely shocked.

  “Did I? Oh dear, that’s awful.”

  Something was rustling in the underbrush nearby. Rex turned to Goldfarb and put a finger to his lips.

  “Shh. Quiet,” he whispered.

  Rex moved toward the rustling, readying his makeshift spear. He prepared to throw it when little Fugly rolled out of the brush.

  “Fugly!” said Goldfarb. “What are you doing out here? It’s very dangerous.”

  The grotesque ball of sphincters and elbows rolled up to the doctor. It made happy farting noises—the equivalent of an excited puppy wagging its tail—as it bumped against the old man’s leg repeatedly.

  Goldfarb looked at Rex. “He says he wants to help us.”

  “No dice, Doc. He’ll just get in the way.”

  Goldfarb turned back to Fugly, patting the creature gently.

  “I’m sorry, Fugly,” said the doctor. “You have to go back. It’s not safe out here.”

  Fugly wobbled and whimpered, unwilling to leave. Rex sighed wearily.

  “He can’t go back. He’s locked out here, same as us.”

  Rex looked at Goldfarb, then at Fugly, and groaned.

  “Oh, goddammit, let’s just get moving,” said Rex.

  Approaching the edge of the cliff, Czarina looked down at the ocean and the sharp rocks below. She saw no dashed and broken bodies at the bottom, so the men weren’t foolish enough to try to escape this way.

  Nearby, Razorback and Hellfire growled impatiently, clawing the ground and snorting fire, hungry for game.

  “They’ve doubled back into the swamp,” said Czarina. “Come, my pets. We’ll soon fill your empty bellies.”

  She rubbed Rex’s hunchback tunic under the monsters’ snouts again, and the hunter beasts turned and tore back into the woods.

  Deep in the swamp, Rex, the old doctor, and the grotesque beach ball plodded along an uneven path, making a very curious trio indeed.

  Rex still wasn’t sure how he got himself into this pickle, but here he was up to his neck in trouble again. He was always doing dumb shit like this—his “Galahad Complex” as Lars used to call it.

  As Fugly rolled behind the men, pressure on its digestive tract caused it to fart loudly with every revolution it made. Rex stopped them and turned to Goldfarb.

  “Dammit, Doc. He’s making too much noise.”

  “Sorry, Rex, he can’t help it. He gets terrible gas sometimes. He probably had ice cream for lunch.”

  Rex knelt down on one knee to talk to Fugly.

  “Look, little guy, do you really want to help?”

  Fugly bounced in place, farting excitedly.

  “All right,” said Rex. “Hide somewhere and be our lookout. Whistle or fart or whatever you do if you see anything. Can you do that?”

  The little creature looked up at Goldfarb. It trembled, not wanting to be left behind. But the old doctor shook his head sadly, deferring to Rex.

  “We’ll be back for you soon. I promise,” said Goldfarb.

  The two men walked away, leaving Fugly behind on the trail. The creature sat alone for a bit, whimpering softly as the men continued down the path.

  Goldfarb wanted to look back, but Rex grabbed his arm and kept him moving.

  “Rex…”

  “We can’t take him along, Doc. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  “He’ll be all right. They’re after us. They’re not looking for him.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  Fugly watched the men until they vanished into the fog. Then it bounced into the trees and rolled around in the mud, camouflaging itself until it looked like a weird gray boulder.

  And there Fugly remained, alone in the swamp, waiting for its master to return. It heaved a great sigh, which sounded like forty people sitting on forty whoopee cushions all at once.

  A thousand yards from the men and closing rapidly, Czarina and her hunter beasts sprinted through the forest. As veterans of many such blood hunts, they knew every square foot of the woods and could navigate the entire island wearing blindfolds.

  If Rex thought the heavy fog was going to offer the men any advantage or delay the inevitable, he was dead wrong.

  Meantime, Rex and Goldfarb stumbled around in the impenetrable fog, hopelessly lost in the swamp. Rex held the old doctor by his belt as they walked, making sure they didn’t get separated. High overhead, there was a peculiar sound, like a model airplane buzzing the treetops.

  “What’s that noise?” asked Rex.

  “It must be Rocky. He’s flying over us.”

  “Can he see us through this fog?”

  “I don’t think so. But the others can. They have thermal vision.”

  “Good to know,” said Rex. “What else do you remember?”

  “I remember some birthdays, but not everybody’s. I think Dr. Cyclops’s birthday is in June, but it might be January.”

  Just then they heard the clacking sound of Razorback’s bayonet claws, and in the fog they could see the orange glow of Hellfire’s flaming nostrils. The hunter beasts were speeding their way.

  Rex grabbed Goldfarb’s hand and they ran. But as they broke through a thick wall of underbrush, they found themselves at the edge of a large quicksand bog with nowhere else to run.

  The monsters were nearly upon them, clacking and snorting fire, less than fifty feet away.

  Rex dropped his spear and turned to Goldfarb.

  “Hold your breath!” said Rex.

  “What?”

  Rex grabbed Goldfarb around the waist and made a flying leap into the quicksand, grabbing a dangling tree root with his free hand as they both plunged into the bog. The quicksand had the consistency of wet shit, and dragged them under very quickly.

  Moments later, Razorback and Hellfire burst out of the underbrush, stopping at the edge of the quicksand bog. They sniffed the air, sensing the men were very close.

  A few feet away, just beneath the surface of the quicksand, Rex clung to the tree root, their only lifeline. He held tightly onto Goldfarb’s hand, but he could feel the old man already struggling for air.

  The hunter beasts spli
t up, creeping along either side of the bog, sniffing the area suspiciously. Razorback found the spear Rex had dropped on the ground. It clawed at it, and then looked at the bog.

  Rex remained dead still, listening to the movements of the creatures above them. He felt Goldfarb struggling harder, and suddenly he lost his grip on him.

  He didn’t dare make a move. The slightest movement would cause a ripple on the surface of the quicksand and give them away. Then he felt Goldfarb again, clutching his ankle.

  With a low growl, Razorback stared at the quicksand. It saw some kind of heat signature just below the surface, and hungrily clacked its claws.

  Rex prepared to grab the creature and yank it into the quicksand with him. He knew the other beast would immediately torch the top of the bog with sticky napalm, and that they would probably not get out alive. But it was maybe burn or definitely drown.

  He lifted his free hand, about to break through the surface, when suddenly he heard a shrill, piercing whistle.

  The two monsters snapped their heads toward the sound. The whistle came from Czarina, who was some distance away and was calling back her beasts. Razorback looked back at the bog and grumbled in frustration, certain their prey was within killing distance.

  Czarina whistled again and both of the monsters ran off, trained to be obedient to their mistress at all costs, speeding away to rejoin her.

  Rex’s lungs were on fire but he waited a couple seconds more for the monsters to run out of sight. Then, instead of bursting to the surface for a precious gulp of air, he dove deeper to try to retrieve Goldfarb, who could be at the bottom of the bog by now.

  He remained submerged for several seconds more, his thrashing causing waves on the surface of the bog. Finally he appeared again, his hand clutching Goldfarb’s collar, pulling the old man to the surface and into the delicious air.

  Rex lifted Goldfarb by an arm and heaved him onto dry land. Then he pulled himself out of the bog with the tree root.

  The old doctor coughed and gagged, and was layered in wet sand and muck. But he was breathing and alive.

  “Oh my!” exclaimed the doctor, choking and looking like a muddy, half-drowned rat. “That was no fun at all.”

  “You all right, Doc?” said Rex, spitting up globs of mud.

  “I think so,” said the old man between gasps for air.

  Rex wiped the muck out of his eyes and ears.

  “Take a minute. Rest a bit.”

  Goldfarb gave him a nod, lying on his back, gulping air by the liter.

  “If you don’t mind… maybe we could take a couple minutes,” said the doctor.

  Inside the fortress, Montgomery was sitting alone in his laboratory, smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of Crown Royal.

  He was due to meet with the Count in an hour, to discuss the day’s pitches and to determine which of the numerous mad schemes they should move ahead with and apply their resources. The Count rarely slept, so Montgomery was used to these late night meetings with the boss.

  Montgomery had placed a handwritten note inside his desk drawer, apologizing for his involvement in the Count’s crimes against humanity and wishing he had taken action earlier. Perhaps what he was about to do would go a long way toward redeeming his soul, but he wasn’t counting on it.

  Opening his private safe, he pulled out a large syringe, containing a dangerous cocktail of methohexital, etorphine and a curare extract, designed to induce a coma-like state in his intended subject.

  The drug was meant for the Count, but the real danger would be to the doctor himself. The drug might not have any effect on the Count’s bizarre insect metabolism, or it could take several seconds to knock him out, and in that short span of time he could kill everybody in the fortress with a single thought.

  On the other hand, if the drug killed the Count or stopped his heart for even a few seconds, that would be much worse, causing the Doomsday Weapon to explode and blasting the entire island off the face of the earth.

  Montgomery put the syringe in the pocket of his lab coat, and sat at his desk again. He leaned back in his chair, determined to finish his cigar and empty the bottle of Crown Royal.

  If his plan failed, he was going to need as much painkiller in his system as his body could hold.

  Chapter 12

  “I’m Not Very Keen on This.”

  Back in the swamp, Goldfarb begged Rex to stop running. He slumped against a large tree to catch his breath.

  “Rex, please, I can’t run another meter. I’m slowing you up. You go ahead.”

  “Sorry, Doc. We gotta keep moving.”

  “Seriously, Rex, I wish you’d left me back in the quicksand.”

  Rex looked at the doctor, and knew he was completely spent. He looked around the area, and considered hiding the doctor in the underbrush, but then he noticed the tree Goldfarb was leaning against. It was a monkey pod tree—tall, sturdy, and fairly easy to climb.

  “Maybe you’re right, Doc. But let’s get you out of sight first.”

  Rex stooped next to the tree and knitted his fingers together to form a stirrup.

  “C’mon, Doc, I’ll boost you. I’m sure you’ve climbed a tree before.”

  Goldfarb looked up at the enormous tree and blanched.

  “When I was a kid, sure, but—”

  “Let’s go, then. Alley oop.”

  “Okay,” he said, placing his foot into Rex’s clenched hands. “But I’m not very keen on this—whupp!”

  Before the doctor could protest further, Rex had already boosted him up to the lowest limb of the tree.

  “I’m too far up!” cried the doctor, frantically hugging the fat limb.

  “You’re four feet off the ground,” said Rex. “Start climbing. Try to get into the leaves up there, out of sight.”

  “Okay. Okay. I’ll try.”

  “You’ll be fine, Doc. I’ll come back for you in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Rex picked up his spear and gave the old man a sly wink.

  “I’m gonna kill some mother-fuckin’ monsters.”

  And he turned and ran into the fog.

  Elsewhere, Czarina and her hunter beasts stopped to regroup on a rough trail. She was annoyed that these two men had eluded her for so long, pushing well past suppertime for her hungry pets.

  She whistled and the flying scorpion appeared out of the forest, alighting on her arm. This creature was her “spy in the sky,” and Czarina could tell by its hangdog posture that its search had come up empty.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she said, giving kisses to the gruesome creature. “We’ll find them soon.”

  Ahead of them the trail forked into two paths. She signaled her beasts to split up and each take a different trail. They ran ahead of her, Hellfire to the left, Razorback to the right. She released the flying scorpion into the air and followed Hellfire into the woods.

  High up in the monkey pod tree, Goldfarb had forgotten why Rex had wanted him to climb it. He was cold and getting hungry and was thinking about coming down.

  Not far from there, Razorback was tearing down an uneven path, scanning the woods ahead of it for moving heat signatures. It never noticed the strange muddy boulder quivering on the side of the trail.

  As Razorback raced past, Fugly rolled onto the trail. When the hunter beast was completely out of view, Fugly inhaled air into all forty of its orifices. Then, like a bagpipe, it blew air out of every cavity at once, sounding like a distant fog horn.

  At that same moment, Rex spotted Czarina and Hellfire walking together down a winding path. He was hiding inside the trunk of a rotted tree, primitive spear in hand, ready to ambush them as soon as they walked past.

  Hellfire was drooling flaming napalm, creating tiny spot fires as they walked. Czarina kept her crossbow at the ready with an arrow nocked. They were less than a hundred yards away.

  Then a weird, low sound reverberated through the forest, and Czarina and Hellfire stopped in their tracks.

 
Rex heard it, too.

  “Crap, what now?” he muttered to himself. Then he realized it was Fugly calling out an alarm. Maybe Goldfarb was in trouble, or maybe Fugly itself.

  He saw Czarina and Hellfire turning off the path to investigate the sound.

  Rex cursed to himself. The opportunity was gone. He ran back to check on Goldfarb.

  Back at the monkey pod tree, Goldfarb had climbed up another ten feet and was now completely out of view from the ground. He stopped climbing when he recognized Fugly’s warning call in the distance.

  He called out to Rex in a loud whisper, praying he was close enough to hear him.

  “Rex! It’s Fugly. I think they’re heading this way!”

  There was no response. Rex could be on the other side of the swamp by now.

  Then Goldfarb heard the telltale clackety clack of Razorback’s bayonet claws approaching rapidly. As the clacking sounds grew louder, the old doctor became frightened and started climbing higher.

  He made it up another five feet when Razorback charged into the clearing and started prowling under his tree. Goldfarb froze, afraid to move.

  Razorback sniffed the ground obsessively, certain there was something tasty nearby. It snuffled at the trunk of the monkey pod tree, and then slowly raised its head. It couldn’t see Goldfarb in the leaves, but it could see his heat signature.

  The monster tilted its head, displaying a mouth full of sharp, bear trap teeth, drawing its lips into a sardonic smile.

  Goldfarb watched in horror as the creature plunged its bayonet claws into the tree trunk and started to climb. The doctor turned and scrambled higher himself.

  The monster continued to climb, clawing its way up the tree after him. It was effortless for the monster—like a lumberjack using tree climbing spikes to scale a tall timber. As Razorback drew very close, only a few feet away, it reached out and clawed at the doctor’s foot.

  Goldfarb kicked at the creature and climbed still higher, but then he saw the flying scorpion land on the branch just above him. Boxed in by the two monsters, the old man made a desperate leap out of the tree, landing in the bushes below.