by Jack Kilborn
“Doctor Plincer.” Sara felt the lump in her throat. “And you’re Lester Paks.”
“Lester is Lester Paks. Doctor Plincer is Lester’s friend. Martin is Lester’s friend. The Sara woman should come with Lester.”
Sara’s hand was shaking now. She believed, hoped, he was lying, and desperately wanted this man to get the hell away from her and the kids. But first…
“How about Joseph? Joe? Joe Randhurst? Is he at the prison, too?”
Lester’s eyes got wide, and his angular head bobbed up and down in a nod. “Of course Joe is there.”
Sara limped in front of Cindy and Tyrone, putting herself between them and the serial killer. Her gun hand was shaking, but she made sure her words were strong.
“Thank you for talking with us, Lester. But we aren’t going to go with you right now.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. “We’d like you to go away.”
Lester pulled something out of his pocket, and Sara cringed, trying to shield the kids. But Lester didn’t have a weapon. It was only a camera.
He snapped a picture, the flash momentarily blinding her.
“The Sara woman is pretty.”
Sara blinked a few times, tried to focus.
“Thank you for the compliment, Lester. Now you really do have to go. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”
Lester took another picture.
“I’m serious, Lester. It’s time for you to leave.”
A tongue flicked out of Lester’s mouth, running across his bottom lip. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. “Lester is going to ask Martin.”
“We want you to leave us alone, Lester.”
“Lester will ask. Lester wants permission first.”
“You need to go. Now.”
“Lester wants permission to bite the Sara woman’s pretty face off.”
He opened and closed his jaw several times, his sharp teeth making clicking sounds.
“Get. The fuck. Back.” Sara said.
Lester raised the camera, took one more picture, and then advanced on them.
Sara didn’t think. She reacted. Planting one foot, pivoting her hips, swiveling them around and kicked Lester as hard as she could, throwing her bad leg into his stomach.
The pain was otherworldly, making her vision burn orange.
But the blow had its desired effect, doubling the tall man over, making him fall onto his ass.
Lester stared up at Sara, his face a mask of disbelief. Blood tricked from the corner of his mouth.
“Lester bit his tongue.” The aforementioned tongue darted out, licking at the line of blood, making an even bigger line of blood.
Lester’s eyes got a glassy look, and he smiled, his vampire teeth streaked with red. He held up his hand and stared at it, as if in a trance. Then he opened his jaws wide, and began to gnaw on his fingers.
The blood really started to flow after that.
“We need to leave,” Sara said.
Tyrone nodded. “No shit.”
Lester moaned, then locked eyes with Sara. She saw depths of hatred there that she didn’t think possible in a fellow human being. He tugged his bleeding hand from his mouth, spat at her, and then rolled over, scurrying on all fours off into the woods.
Sara stood guard for a moment, listened to the woods. All she heard were crickets.
“That was seriously effed up,” Tyrone said. “I would have shot his ugly ass.”
Sara nodded. “Me too. But the flare gun is empty. I couldn’t find any cartridges.”
“He dropped something.” Cindy began to move toward the spot where Lester was sitting. “It’s his camera.”
She brought it over to Cindy. It was a digital model, with a large LCD screen on the back. Dread perched on Sara’s shoulders like a gargoyle, weighing her down. Even though she didn’t want to look at any of the pictures, her finger hit the play button, beginning a slideshow.
A photo of Sara appeared on the screen, the one Lester had taken a few moments ago.
A second later, a photo of Cindy and Tyrone came on.
Then a photo of everyone sitting around the campfire, Martin telling his story.
Then a photo of Georgia, alone on the beach.
Then a photo of Tom, looking terrified.
Then a photo of Sara and Laneesha, walking in the woods.
Then a photo of Meadow, locked into the gridiron…
Sara put a hand over her face, stifling the cry. The image was the single most horrible thing she’d ever seen.
But the next picture shook her even more. Sara let loose with a cry that was half sob, half scream, and she fell to her knees, her whole body trembling.
It was a picture of Jack, being held by an old, bald man in a white lab coat.
Tom hurt. Physically, and emotionally. As he walked the tightrope between hysteria and unconsciousness, he knew he was going to die.
A weighty realization. Tom’s ADHD meant he took self-interest to a whole new level, and the thought of him no longer existing was almost too much to grasp.
And yet, having spent his whole life not caring about anyone but himself, Tom was somewhat surprised that another thought entered his head. A sympathetic thought, for someone other than himself.
That poor baby. Jack never hurt anyone. How can something this awful happen to him?
Tom prayed to God, asking for an answer.
God didn’t reply.
Martin rubbed his eyes, then extended the motion into probing the puncture wounds on his face.
This had all gone so terribly wrong.
He thought about Sara, and the kids, and his brother Joe, and how this simple trip had become a horrifying clusterfuck.
Martin took a deep breath, let it out slow, and hoped for some miracle to make everything right again.
The OB/GYN rubs the transducer over Sara’s distended belly. The conducting jelly it glides across is cold and wet, and Sara shivers.
Martin grips her hand tighter. They’re both focused on the ultrasound monitor, staring at a triangular cone that is revealing their baby’s head.
“Did you want to know the sex?” the doctor asks.
Sara and Martin had discussed it, ultimately deciding not to know. But seeing her child’s perfect little face on that blue screen, eyes closed and actually sucking his tiny thumb, Sara changes her mind.
“Let’s find out,” she says, looking at Martin.
“Are you sure?”
They had already bought paint for the nursery—a sexless, neutral green—and crib blankets and sheets to match, and enough onesies to last the child until Kindergarten. But the prospect of exchanging everything for pink or blue is so tantalizing that Sara can’t resist.
“I’m sure,” she says.
The doctor slides the transducer around, revealing the baby’s right leg. Sara thinks back to Martin’s promise when they got pregnant, of letting her name their child.
Sara had bought baby books, scoured the Internet, and even kept a dictionary next to the bed to leaf through in case some random word lent itself to the perfect name. But her choices ultimately came down to the obvious ones, and she decides to share them with Martin for the first time.
“If it’s a girl, let’s name her Laura,” Sara says. “After my mother. And if it’s a boy, how about Joe?”
Martin smiles, but it’s painful. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not sure I want to think of my lost brother every time I hold my kid.”
Sara knew he might act that way, so she has a back-up.
“Jack.” After Martin and Joe’s father.
Martin’s smile is genuine this time. He holds Sara’s hand so hard it almost hurts.
“Mr. and Mrs. Randhurst,” the doctor says, keeping the transducer steady. “Meet your son, Jack.”
Sara starts to cry. “I want him to be like you, Martin. I want him to grow up to be just like you.”
Her husband bends over and kisses away her tears.
Sara’s tears fell on the
camera screen, onto her baby’s face.
She flinched when someone placed a hand on her shoulder. Cindy.
“I’m sure he’s okay, Sara. The doctor has him, not the cannibals.”
Sara wanted to scream that’s even worse! but she kept it reigned in.
“Sara,” Tyrone also put his hand on her, even though it must have been painful. “We have to get to the beach.”
Sara stared up at her kids. She had to find Jack. But she also had to make sure they get to safety. Prendick and the Coast Guard would be here soon. As soon as Cindy and Tyrone were okay, they could go in search of Jack and the others.
An image of Martin appeared in Sara’s mind. If the doctor had Jack, what had he done to her husband?
“Please, Sara.” Cindy looked ready to cry. “We need to go.”
Sara nodded, allowing the teens to help her to her feet. She took a last look at the picture of her beautiful baby boy, then tucked the camera into her pocket, digging out the compass.
After a big breath she said, “This way.”
Sara led them through the woods, heading north-east. The water noises were faint at first, almost imaginary. But they grew stronger, the unmistakable sound of waves lapping at the shore. Then the trees finally parted, revealing…
“It’s the beach,” Cindy said, her enthusiasm making her sound ten years younger.
Sara was relieved as well. That relief became excitement when she saw the running lights of a boat moored offshore. She headed for the boat, her leg hurting a little bit less, her energy level kicking up several degrees.
“Do we have to swim to it?”
“No, Cindy. The Captain will use the dinghy again.”
The dinghy was a sixteen foot inflatable, shaped like a large U. It sat five. When they’d arrived at the island, it took two trips to get everyone from the boat to the shore. Sara listened for the outboard motor, but the lake was quiet.
“Maybe he just got here,” Tyrone said.
“Or maybe he’s already here.”
Sara spun around. Captain Prendick stood on the sand. Sara’s joy in seeing him was immediately dampened when she saw the pistol in his hand.
It was pointed at her.
PART 4
SOWING
When Edward Prendick was a little boy, he wanted to be rich.
He didn’t want it for himself, though better clothes and new toys would have been nice. He wanted the money for his mother.
His father died in a car accident three days after he was born. Since the day Prendick learned to crawl he’d listened to his mother talk about making ends meet and pinching pennies and buying happiness and the root of all evil. Money made the world go around, and the Prendicks never seemed to have any.
Mom worked in a snack cake factory. She made barely enough to get by, so when Prendick was old enough he helped supplement her income by taking whatever work he could get. Supermarkets, fast food, construction, retail, delivery, landscaping—Prendick had done it all. Most of the money went to Mom. The rest went into a savings account.
When he was in his thirties, he had enough for a down payment on a boat. Finally self-employed after a lifetime of working for others, he was able to earn enough to help Mom even more, and she retired to Social Security, a decent pension, and regular checks from her son.
Then the economy tanked. Mom’s former employer went bankrupt, taking her pension with it. Prendick’s business also took a hit, and he was barely able to make payments on his boat, let alone help Mom.
Two weeks after Medicare dropped her for missing a payment, Mom was diagnosed with cancer. Prendick had no way to pay for her treatment. Even if he sold his boat, it wouldn’t be enough to cover the surgery, let alone the chemotherapy and radiation.
Prendick vowed to do whatever he could to help his mother. He let the word get out that he would use his boat for any purpose at all, no questions asked.
That’s how he got hooked up with Dr. Plincer. And now Prendick was in so deep, he didn’t see how he could ever get unhooked.
Captain Prendick hated doing this, but the thought of Mom at home, needing her next chemo treatment, steeled his resolve.
“Drop the flare gun, Mrs. Randhurst.”
“Captain, what are—”
He fired. The bullet went high over Sara’s head, but the sound was so loud she staggered backward.
“Drop it. I have orders to take you to the prison. If you don’t want to come willingly, I was told to shoot you in the leg and leave you for the ferals.”
Sara dropped the flare gun. “You work for Dr. Plincer.”
Prendick tried to sound tougher than he felt. “I’m his supply man. He needs something, he pays me to get it for him. Now start heading up the shore. Anyone tries to run, they’re a cannibal snack.”
“What do we do?” Cindy whispered.
Sara, whom Prendrick recalled was so lovely on the trip over, now looked like she’d been chewed on and spat out. “Do what he says, Cindy.”
They began to march back the way they came. Again, Prendick felt a pang of remorse. Again, he thought about his mother and pushed the remorse down.
“You know you’re taking us to our deaths,” Sara said, over her shoulder.
“Maybe. Of maybe you’ll just wind up crazy with a taste for other people.”
“If it’s money you want…”
Prendick hesitated. They always wound up trying to bribe him. If only they could.
“I’ll listen to any offer, but the problem is the pay-off. You can promise me money, but then go to the police when we get back to the mainland.”
“I could make a bank transfer. All I need is a working phone.”
“Again, what’s to stop you from going to the authorities? I’d love to take your money, really I would, Mrs. Randhurst. But I can’t figure out how to make it work.”
Even if he somehow managed to take it after she died, it could still be traced back to him. And with Prendick in jail, what would happen to Mom?
Sara stopped walking and stared at Prendick. She pushed her hair behind her ear.
“Maybe, maybe I can offer you something else.”
He sighed, feeling bad for her. “I get that offer a lot, too. But there’s still the law thing. If I let you go, I’ll get in trouble. Plus, I really do need the money.” He paused, not expecting sympathy, but feeling the need to unburden himself. “It’s for my mother. She needs cancer treatment.”
Sara took another look at the water, then began to walk slowly toward Prendick.
“I’m sorry about your mother, Captain. Maybe I can convince you I won’t say anything.”
Prendick shook his head. “You’re an attractive lady, Mrs. Randhurst. But I wouldn’t feel right about it. Besides, having to hold a gun on a woman while I make love to her isn’t exactly a turn on.”
“I’ll hold it for you,” Tyrone said.
“Nice try, kid. But the answer is no. Besides, I don’t want you thinking that you just need to stall me until the Coast guard gets here.” Prendick pinched his nostrils together. “Mrs. Randhurst, this is the Coast Guard. We have been informed of your situation. Estimated time of arrival is nineteen minutes.”
Prendick watched Sara deflate.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Prendick said. “The radio I gave you was broken. Only worked on my frequency. If it matters any, I’m sorry. I wish there was some other way.”
In a burst of anger, Sara unclipped the walkie-talkie from her belt and pitched it at him. She missed by two feet. He bent down and picked it up, keeping the gun on her the whole time.
“I told you to pick another island, Mrs. Randhurst. I tried to insist. But you wanted to come here. Now turn around and get to walking. Please.”
“You’re a bastard,” Sara said, her words dripping venom.
“True. But I love my mother, and I promised I’d do anything for her.”
“You think this is what she’d want?” Sara said. “You killing people?”
“
I don’t do any of the killing. I’m just a delivery man, and I think, deep down, I’m a good person. But I will shoot you and leave you here if you don’t keep walking. Point the flashlight forward, and keep your mouth shut.”
They were pretty much quiet after that. Prendick had walked this route enough times that he didn’t need a compass, even at night. But he did keep his eyes and ears peeled for the feral people. Those primitives seemed to respect his guns, but they’d been getting bolder lately, sometimes even following him from only a few yards away. They scared the crap out of Prendick. He’d seen the aftermath of some of their feasts. The nightmares were so bad he had to borrow Mom’s prescription sleep medication.
But from what Prendick could gather, the things that went on at Doctor Plincer’s prison were a thousand times worse.
When they arrived at the entrance to the prison, Prendick tossed the girl his key, instructing her to put it in the lock. It took both women, and the boy, to tug the heavy iron door open.
The hinges squealed, the equivalent of a lunch bell for the cannibals. Prendick quickly scanned the forest for movement, then ushered the group inside. It was dark, quiet.
“Point the flashlight to your right, Mrs. Randhurst. See those first three cells? Each of you get in one.”
They followed orders. Prendick wondered why the people he took here were always so docile. None of them ever fought back, or tried to run. Maybe because they truly didn’t believe this was going to be the end. Or maybe because the prison was old and scary, and the cells seemed like a safer alternative to running off alone into the darkness. Or perhaps they were just tired of fighting and had accepted their fate. Like cows marching into the slaughterhouse.
Prendick checked each cell door, made sure they were locked.
“Can’t you at least let the kids go?” Sara said, barely whispering.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Randhurst.”
“You’re a monster. Your mother would be so ashamed of you.”
Prendick didn’t have a reply to that. He tucked the gun into his pants and left the prison, tugging the huge door closed behind him.
A monster? Me? No. I’m just an average guy, doing the best I can.
