by Jack Kilborn
Now there are two of my kids in danger.
Sara slammed her eyelids closed, clenched her fingers around the fork handle, and yanked.
She staggered sideways, her balance, her stomach, her mind all going wavy. Jerking her eyes open, Sara oriented herself and limped to the tent, ducking inside, seeing Tyrone struggling with a man, a man who was growling and biting Cindy on her shoulder. Cindy beat at his head and whined like a kicked dog.
Sara made a fist, pressing her thumb down hard across the top of her index finger knuckle, and threw the punch.
Her thumbnail jabbed into the cannibal’s eye. He opened his teeth and howled, allowing Tyrone to snake his arm across his neck. Sara grabbed his torn, filthy shirt, and she and Tyrone manhandled him out of the tent, forcing him to his knees. The eye she’d poked was bleeding. The other one was bloodshot and… crying.
He ceased struggling, his arms limp at his sides.
“I… am… bad… man.” His voice was odd, somewhere between a croak and a hiccup.
Sara paused. She was hurt, and sick to her stomach, and part of her knew she needed to end this monster’s life, but another, bigger part saw he was not only docile, but quite possible in need of help himself.
“Who are you?” Sara asked.
“My… name …John.”
Cindy crawled out of the tent, crying. She held a white gym sock to her bleeding shoulder.
“What’s your last name, John?”
He blinked. His body shook with sobs, but there were no tears.
“Don’t… know.”
“How many of, uh, your group, are on this island?”
“Many.” The wildness in his red eyes was still there, but behind it was a tinge of sanity. “Like… animals. We… hunt. We… kill. We… eat.”
Sara bent down, wincing at the pain in her leg. “What happened to you, John?”
“Brought… here…” He swallowed, and moaned. “Doctor… did… something… to… brain.”
“Dr. Plincer?” Sara asked.
John made a nodding motion, restricted by Tyrone’s grip.
“Maybe we can get you help, John.”
“I’ve…done… things.”
By his tone, Sara could assume what those things were.
“Maybe that’s not all your fault, John.” She felt revulsion, and pity. Sara was a big proponent of free will, but she also knew that decision-making, morals, values, and even personality could all be altered with drugs or damage to the brain. But the fact that he was aware of his actions meant he had a choice.
His breath came faster. “I… want…”
Sara looked into his eyes. They seemed to implore her.
“What is it, John?”
“Want… to…”
“Want to get help?”
Sara wondered if she could get him help. They would have to restrain him somehow, maybe tie him up. Then, when the Coast Guard arrived, maybe he could be taken somewhere and treated. Sara had no clue what Plincer had done to this poor man, but perhaps it could be reversed.
“…to…”
“Maybe we can get you help, John. Maybe you don’t have to be like this.”
The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile.
“Want… to… EAT!”
He grabbed Sara’s hair, pulling her close, his ugly mouth opening to bite her face. His breath was hot and the few teeth he had left were tinged red.
Tyrone pulled him back, muscling him to the ground. They wrestled for a moment, and then everyone heard the crack.
Both Tyrone and John stopped moving. Then, slowly, Tyrone disentangled himself, letting John slump onto his face, unmoving.
John blinked. “Can’t… feel… body.”
Tyrone scooted further away on his butt and elbows. “I think I broke his neck, man. I think I broke his fuckin’ neck.”
John let out a breath, blowing dirt away from his mouth. His eyes darted around, frantic.
“Kill… me.”
Sara went to Cindy, peeled the sock back. The bite was ragged, ugly, but not very deep. She limped over to the tent and almost stepped on the first aid kit. She picked the box up and opened it. Inside were bandages, hydrogen peroxide, acetaminophen, and—thank God—a mini flashlight.
John began to wail. “They… will… eat… me! Kill… me!”
“Tyrone. Come here.”
After pouring peroxide on Cindy’s shoulder, Sara had Tyrone hold out his hands. She dumped half the bottle into his palms, the blisters foaming pink and gray from blood and dirt.
“KILLMEKILLMEKILLME!”
“There are bottles of water inthe tent. Get a few, and each of you take some painkillers.” She handed him the acetaminophen, which he gingerly took using two fingers. “Don’t come out until I say so.”
Sara and Tyrone exchanged a knowing look, and he nodded, putting his arm around Cindy and leading her away. Sara moved over to John. He looked pathetic, sad, terrified. Human.
“Please! They… will… cook… me… alive.”
Sara chewed on her lower lip. She knew what the right thing to do was, and it made her stomach churn. With effort, she sat down next to him.
“Chi… children…”
“Are you a father, John?”
He blinked. “Yes…”
She didn’t want to do this. She really didn’t want to do this.
“Do you remember their names, John?”
“Greg… Jen…”
“Do you want me to,” Sara swallowed the lump in her throat, “give a message to your children?”
“You… can’t…”
Sara closed her eyes, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Yes I can, John. When I get off the island, I’ll make sure I find out who you are. I promise I will, John.”
She looked at him, and he was smiling again. Sara placed her other hand under John’s chin, winding her fingers in his hair.
“Tell me, John. What should I say to your kids?”
His eyes opened really wide. “I… ATE… THEM!”
Human beings always had a choice. If you knew the difference between good and evil, you could choose good. If you knew the difference between mercy and vengeance, you could choose mercy.
Sare looked deep inside herself, and found mercy.
The crack when John’s neck hyper-extended wasn’t as loud this time. It was more like a pop.
Lester peered at the vomiting boy through the viewfinder, then pressed the button again. The flash went off, and he looked at the screen on his digital camera to see how the picture came out.
Very nice. He glanced up at the boy, who was looking around, wondering what was happening.
Time for Lester to show him.
Lester tucked the camera into the bib pocket of his overalls and walked out of the scrub brush. He smiled at the boy’s reaction, a mixture of fear and awe.
“The boy shouldn’t try to run. It will just make Lester mad.”
Lester strolled over, appearing casual but ready to bolt if the boy took off. But the boy stayed on his knees, mouth hanging open, some barf on his chin.
Lester stood next to the boy and peered down at him. He reached down, and with his index finger, caressed the lad’s cheek.
“What is the boy’s name?”
“T…Tom.”
“Lester.”
Lester glanced down at the mess Tom made, locking his eyes onto one of the bigger chunks. He tried to remember all the things he’d ever put in his mouth, but knew he’d never be able to remember them all. If Lester could bite it, he had. But he didn’t think he’d ever eaten something that had already been eaten by someone else.
Unable to control the impulse, Lester snagged the piece of meat from the puddle of stomach acid. He opened his jaws and tossed it in like popcorn.
Tangy.
“Lester has a girlfriend,” Lester said, chewing.
“That’s…uh…cool.”
Lester nodded. “Does Tom have a girlfriend?”
Tom’s eyes were very wide. He shook his head. “No.”
“That’s sad. Does Tom have a boyfriend?” Lester asked.
The boy shook his head again.
“That’s good.” Lester got on his knees. He still towered over the boy, and had to lean down.
“Lester doesn’t have a boyfriend either. What a lucky day for Tom and Lester.”
Lester felt Tom scream in his mouth as he kissed the boy’s deliciously tangy lips.
Doctor Plincer got under the bed covers, then reached onto the nightstand for his earplugs. Subject 33 was really coaxing some screams out of his new playmate, and Plincer needed to get some sleep before the meeting tomorrow.
He found the two foam plugs by the base of the lamp, and spent a minute taking off his prosthetic ears and shoving the plugs into the holes. When the cries were dulled to a whisper, Plincer placed his glasses where the earplugs had been, switched off the light, and rested his head back on the pillow.
Oops. Almost forgot.
Plincer flicked the lamp back on, sat up, and spent a minute picking the facial putty out of the divots in his nose, chin and cheeks. Specifically made for burn victims, this make-up was used to smooth out scar tissue. It didn’t hold up to close scrutiny, giving his complexion an artificial dullness, and when it dried it would flake off, making him look like he had crumbs on his face. Still, it was preferable to looking like a loaf of headcheese.
When he had a decent sized ball of it, he set that next to his glasses and again killed the light.
The doctor actually did sympathize with the poor suffering girl. Sympathize, and empathize.
Plincer rested his hands on his bare chest and ran his fingers over the rubbery scars. There were several dozen gnarled, shiny bumps, in precise, even rows. It felt like touching a truck tire.
The plastic surgeons weren’t able to do skin grafts, because there was no place on the doctor’s body where skin could be harvested. His arms, legs, back, and even buttocks had the same scars.
Scars from Lester.
Doctor Plincer knew, firsthand, what it was like to be completely at the mercy of a psychopath. After the court ordered Lester into Plincer’s care, the doctor had been so intent on curing the teenager he hadn’t given enough thought to precautions. Lester was smart, and managed to escape his room one night and sneak into the doctor’s.
For two days, Doctor Plincer had been victimized by the boy. Lester stripped him naked, tied him up, and began the methodical process of biting him over his entire body.
Human beings can clench their teeth with a hundred and fifty pounds of force. It hurt worse than being pinched with pliers. Not to mention the obscene intimacy of it. Plincer often imagined he could still feel Lester’s lips, his warm breath, his slick tongue, on his skin. Followed by the piercing, tearing pain.
Plincer had screamed during the ordeal. Screamed until his throat went numb. And when Lester finished, when he’d covered almost every bitable square inch on the Doctor’s body, he started over. Nibbling off the scabs. Reopening the wounds. Ramping the agony up to surreal levels.
The maid saved Plincer’s life. Coming in for the weekly cleaning, she heard the doctor’s whimpering and called the police.
Doctor Plincer needed over two hundred stitches and staples, and three pints of blood. The most extensive reconstruction work was done on his face and genitals, to little effect. It took him weeks to recover, and Plincer knew that perhaps he never truly did get over the psychological aspects of the attack.
But he didn’t blame Lester, any more than he could blame a shark for following its nature. When Plincer healed, he resumed his experiments with Lester. But instead of curing him, he enhanced him, making the boy even more evil.
The world didn’t care about him curing psychotics. But it turned out people were willing to pay big bucks to Plincer to create psychotics.
So strange how life works out.
Plincer sighed, digging another bit of putty out of the gap in the bridge of his nose and flicking it off into the dark. Funny, that he’d still have so much vanity he had to put on his face before the new arrivals saw him. He had no reason to care if they saw his disfigurement or not. Even if one of the female visitors on the island took a liking to Plincer, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Lester had bitten off those parts of him.
Chalk it up to an old man’s pride, Plincer thought. We’re all entitled to our little idiosyncrasies.
He sighed deeply and burrowed his head into his pillow. If all went as planned, by this time tomorrow he would no longer have money troubles.
Plincer allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he should write a letter to his accountant, have him invest in a company that made ear plugs.
If the meeting went as well as Plincer anticipated, there would soon be a lot of screaming, all around the world.
The flashlight from the first aid kit was small, but it had a nice bright LED bulb. Sara clenched it between her teeth and bit down, hard, as she peeled off her jeans. The wound didn’t look too bad when she cleansed it; just four tiny punctures and a growing oval bruise. But it bled like hell and wouldn’t stop. Sara knew that a vein, or maybe an artery, was torn beneath the sin, and wasn’t sure what to do about it. She settled for wrapping it as tight as she could, then putting on a fresh pair of jeans and a sweater.
While Sara chugged a bottle of water she went through the backpacks, searching for anything useful. She pocketed some fingernail clippers, a lighter, and a compass when something caught her attention. Resting unfolded on the ground, like a dead dove, were the divorce papers.
Seeing them brought a lump to her throat.
Martin, her Martin, was out there, in the woods, with their son. So were Tom and Laneesha and Georgia. Of course she worried about Jack, and the others, who were like surrogate children.
But I’m worried sick about him, too.
The thought surprised her. Here they were, a signature away from never seeing each other again, which was something Sara initiated. Yet the thought of Martin being killed—it scared her down to the marrow.
Sara reached down, picked up the papers, and crumpled them into a ball.
If we get out of here, Martin, we’re going to find a way to make it work between us. I swear.
Then she left the tent to check on the kids. Both Tyrone and Cindy had put on shirts. Cindy had opted for something less baggy and a bit more flattering, a gray button-down top that showed she had a waist. Tyrone was in a familiar red and blue plaid shirt, but it wasn’t familiar on him.
“Meadow’s,” he said, noticing Sara’s stare.
She nodded at him. They’d told her about Meadow, and Sara had compartmentalized that particular horror, sealing it away until she had time to deal with it.
“I’m going to use the radio.” She knew she didn’t need to add anything else, but she said it anyway. “Stay on guard. There are twenty more of them out there.”
Sara studied the walkie-talkie, a Core-Sea VHF One Way Radio. On its face were an LCD screen, which was empty gray, a tiny red light near the base, and half a dozen buttons including wx band, 16/9, band, hi/lo, and mem. She had no idea what any of that meant. There were two equally confusing dials on the top, and a large black call button on the side. Sara hoped Captain Prendick already had it set to his unique channel or frequency, so she pressed call.
“Um, I’m calling for Captain Prendick, or the Coast Guard, or anyone who can hear me. This is Sara Randhurst. I’m stranded on Rock Island in Lake Huron with my husband, baby, and five children. We’re under attack, and one of my children was…” The words wouldn’t come out. “We need immediate help.”
She released the button and waited for a response. There was only silence.
“Please, we’re fighting for our lives. Can anyone hear me?”
More silence. Sara stared at the buttons, wondering which one to try, and then the radio squelched at her.
“Mrs. Randhurst, this is Captain Prendick, I read you, over.”
>
Sara felt like crying in relief.
“Captain, thank God, there are people on this island. They’re trying to kill us. You have to call for help.”
“Did I hear you correctly, Mrs. Randhurst? Someone is trying to kill you? That’s an uninhabited island, over.”
“Not anymore. Please. You have to hurry.”
“Is this some kind of joke, Mrs. Randhurst. There are stiff penalties for using a marine radio for pranks.”
“This isn’t a joke, Captain. I swear. We’re under attack. You have to believe me.”
Sara waited, hoping he would believe her.
“Do you know how to work the radio? Can you call the coast guard?”
“No. I don’t understand what any of these buttons mean.”
“I’ll call them right now. I’m in the area, only a few miles away, so I should be able to get there quickest. Can you make it to the spot where I dropped you off?”
Sara glanced into the black void of the woods, her hands shaking. “I don’t think so. We’re lost.”
“Do you have a compass?”
“Yes.”
“Follow it north-east. That’s where the beach is. If you reach the cliffs, you went too far north, so go further east. I’ll meet you there in an hour, maybe less.”
“Thank you, Captain. Please hurry.”
“I will. Over and out, Mrs. Randhurst.”
Sara held the walkie-talkie, wondering what to do next. Though she had a responsibility to Cindy and Tyrone, and a duty to get them to safety as soon as possible, Sara wasn’t going to leave without the others. But she couldn’t go after Martin and the kids by herself. She needed the Coast Guard, or the police, or a whole Army platoon to do that. And she certainly couldn’t do it dragging Cindy and Tyrone along. She had to get them on the boat before she searched for anyone else.
Hopefully, Captain Prendick would arrive with the cavalry.
Sara considered turning the dials, pressing a few buttons, to see if she might be able to raise the Coast Guard herself, but she was afraid she would change the setting and no longer be able to contact Prendick. Besides, there wasn’t time to play with the radio. Three cannibals had already found their campsite. Sara didn’t want to spend any more time here than necessary.
