by Jack Kilborn
“We have to get going,” Sara said. “Can you understand me?”
“Hand hurts bad,” he mumbled.
“Can you understand me, Tyrone?”
“Yeah.”
Cindy raised Tyrone’s feet, increasing the blood flow to his brain.
“Can you wrap his hand?” Sara asked.
Cindy nodded and got to work. Sara took the time to examine her new injury. It was just a few inches below the previous one, and not bleeding as badly. Sara found an Ace bandage in the kit and wound it tight around both her wounds. Then she checked her watch.
Half an hour until the boat arrived. Hopefully the Coast Guard was en route as well. Sara pulled the radio off her belt and pressed the button.
“Captain Prendick, this is Sara Randhurst. Can you hear me?”
A few seconds of quiet, then, “I hear you, Mrs. Randhurst. I should be there soon.”
“How about the police?”
“I contacted them, and the Coast Guard. Both are on their way. Over.”
Sara pressed the call button, but didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure how to say what she was thinking without sounding paranoid. Not that she didn’t have good reason to be paranoid.
Captain Prendick must have guessed her intent, because when she released the button he was in mid-sentence. “…try it for yourself. Emergency frequency is on channel A, one, five, six, point, eight, zero, zero. Use the word mayday. The Coast Guard will respond. Over.”
“What do I press?”
“Hit the 16/9 button two times. That resets it to the emergency channel. Then hit it two more times to be able to reach me again. Over and out.”
Sara followed instructions, then pressed the call button again.
“Mayday, mayday, this is Sara Randhurst. I’m on Rock Island with several children and we need help.”
After a pause, a nasally voice said, “Mrs. Randhurst, this is the Coast Guard. We have been informed of your situation. Estimated time of arrival is nineteen minutes. We’ll be coming ashore on the north-east beach, over.”
“Thank you so much,” Sara said. She took a quick glance at the still-twitching cannibal and added, “Bring guns. Lots of guns.”
“Roger that, Mrs. Randhurst. Coast Guard over and out.”
Sara clipped the walkie-talkie to her belt and let out a long breath. They needed to get moving. Not only because of the danger, but because Sara didn’t want to sit still long enough to deal with everything on her mind. She and Cindy helped Tyrone to his feet, Sara shouldered the backpack, and the trio got on their way.
The woods were dark. Quiet. Scary. Sara stopped often to check the compass and scan the outlying foliage for pursuers. Tyrone was moaning softly, but not soft enough. Sara was afraid he might be heard.
Cindy whispered, “How much farther?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tyrone is really cold.”
“I think he’s going into shock, Cindy.”
“What do we do?”
“We keep going. Help is on the way. They’ll take care of him.”
A few steps later, Tyrone couldn’t walk anymore. Sara sat him down and handed Cindy a bottle of water.
“Make sure he drinks this.”
“Where are you going?” The teen looked panicked.
“I think I can hear waves. I’m only going a few yards ahead.”
“Please don’t leave us, Sara.”
Sara drilled her eyes into Cindy. “I won’t. You have my word. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Leaving Tyrone in Cindy’s capable hands, Sara pressed ahead. In just a few steps she found something. Not Lake Huron, but something that indicated the water was close.
A boat.
It was on its side, the hull split wide open, vines and overgrowth obscuring the outline. Sara guessed it had been here for years. She played the tiny flashlight beam across the bottom, up the side, to the stern, and the read the fading name painted there.
SS MINNOW
That was the boat from the TV show Gilligan’s Island. But it was also the name Martin had used in his campfire story, when he talked about the party of eight who had come to the island and were attacked.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. This must have been the boat he was talking about. But how could he have known? Unless…
Sara crept around to the other side of the boat, a growing feeling of dread creeping up her back. She had to fight the thicket, and branches poked at her hair and caught on her clothing. The cabin was setting on the ground, partially crushed like a stepped-on soda can. Two of the bridge windows were broken out. Sara shone the light through one, peering into the cabin interior.
The inside was filled with mud and dead leaves. Pieces of a deck chair, part of a life preserver, and various other detritus vied for space with an abandoned raccoon nest. Amid the mess, resting on a pile of disintegrating magazines, was a hardcover book that looked disturbingly familiar. The silver embossing on the cover was faded and dirty, but it clearly said, LOG.
Sara reached through the window, brushing the book with her fingertips. She leaned in further, snagged it, and then something screeched. Before she could pull back, it pounced, scrambling up her arm, over her shoulder, and racing into the forest.
Guess that raccoon nest wasn’t abandoned after all, Sara thought, leaning against the wreckage, clutching the book to her hammering heart. When her pulse returned to something resembling normal, she took a closer look at the log.
Please don’t let this be what I think it is.
The book was damp and smelled of mildew. The cardboard cover wilted as she opened it up. There, on the first page, Sara’s fears were confirmed. Handwritten on the first blank line was:
SS MINNOW, CAPTAIN JOSEPH RANDHURST
Joe. Martin’s brother.
Sara had always liked her brother-in-law. Joe was sort of like a more playful, less serious version of her husband. Rather than dedicating his life to making a difference, Joe preferred the life of leisure, day trading and blowing his money on travel and toys. Sara could remember the day Joe talked about buying a boat. He’d come over for Thanksgiving dinner, extolling the many virtues of living on the open water. The three of them killed four bottles of wine, and afterward Martin and Sara disregarded Joe’s plans. Joe always talked about doing silly things like that, but never did.
For Christmas that year, Sara had bought Joe the captain’s log book as a gag gift, a goofy nod to that memorable night.
That was six years ago. That spring, Joe disappeared.
Martin had taken some time off to search for him. He still continued to take occasional weekends to follow down some old lead or ancient hearsay, refusing to believe his brother was dead.
It seemed Joe had bought that boat after all. He’d apparently named it the SS Minnow, and taken it here.
Which meant Martin knew Joe had come here. After all these years, he’d followed his brother’s trail to Plincer’s island.
Sara shook her head, not wanting to believe it. How could her husband bring the children here? How could he risk all of their lives?
“I didn’t know there was anyone here, Sara. Jesus, I would never do anything to hurt you or the kids. You know that.”
But was that the truth? Was he so anxious to find his brother that he jeopardized all of them?
No, not Martin. Martin couldn’t have willfully brought them here if he thought it could do them harm.
Yet Sara couldn’t help but wonder. If Martin had kept this secret from her, what other secrets had he kept?
Sara was dwelling on that when she heard someone scream.
Martin followed the cries, hurrying through the woods as fast as he could.
Meticulous a planner as he was, he couldn’t have predicted all of the misfortunes that occurred on this trip. It was all his fault, he knew. Hopefully the consequences wouldn’t be as dire as they were shaping up to be.
He hurdled a cluster of Hawthorn shrubs and stopped dead, his flashlight focusing on
Tom.
Tom wasn’t alone. A large man with sharp teeth was munching on his finger.
Martin’s first reaction was surprise. Then came disbelief, swiftly followed by anger.
“Hey! Freakshow! Get your goddamn hands off my kid!”
“Martin…” Tom whimpered.
The tall psychotic opened his mouth, releasing Tom’s finger; the bone was still attached, but the flesh had pretty much been stripped off. He smiled at Martin, flashing his vampire teeth.
“Martin. Tom boy hurt his finger. Lester is making it all better.”
Martin clenched his fists. “Lester better back the fuck off.”
Lester stuck his hands in his overalls, winked, and then quickly backed into the woods. Good thing, too. Seven feet or not, Martin was so angry he had been ready to throw himself at the larger man.
“Martin…”
Tom was on his knees, his body wracked by sobs. Martin went over, placed his hand on the teen’s shoulder.
“Easy, Tom. Easy. I’ve got you now.”
“That guy…that guy Lester…he was…”
“Lester is gone.” Martin’s eyes darted around the forest to make sure. “He won’t hurt you anymore. I promise.”
He patted the Tom’s back, then eased his hands under his armpits, gently guiding him to his feet. The kid looked shattered, and with good reason.
“We’ve got to find the others, Tom. Do you have any idea where they are?”
Tom sniffled, seemingly getting his control back. Then he looked at his hand and began bawling again. Martin could appreciate the pain and fear, but they didn’t have any time to waste.
“Tom, do you know where Sara is?”
“That’s my bone…Jesus Christ…my bone is sticking out.”
“You finger can be fixed,” Tom lied. “Now do you know where Sara is?”
“How can it be fixed?” Tom whined, drawing out his vowels. “Theeeere’s nooooo skiiiiiiiiin leeeeeeft.”
Martin put his hand on Tom’s chin, forcing the boy to look at him. “Focus, Tom. Sara. Where is she?”
“I dunno.”
“How about the kids. Cindy?”
“She’s with Tyrone. I think they’re still at the camp.”
“Meadow?”
“Oh, God. I aaaaaaaate Meeeaaaadooooow…”
Martin realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of Tom. He stared off into the woods, thinking of Sara, and felt like putting his fist through a tree.
Calm down. This island isn’t that big. You’ll find her.
Martin knew he would. He just hoped Sara would still be alive when he did.
Cindy used the rest of the burn ointment on Tyrone’s hand, then wrapped it in gauze. Her shoulder hurt like crazy, so she couldn’t even imagine the pain he must have been in.
“Sara said you need to drink this. When she comes back, I’ll ask if you can have more aspirin.”
Cindy tilted the water bottle up to Tyrone’s lips. Some spilled down his chin, but he managed to swallow a few gulps. She cupped his cheek. A few hours ago, Tyrone had been just another kid at the Center. But now Cindy felt such a wealth of affection for him she was ready to start crying.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
Cindy fought the urge to hug him. “Sara will be back soon. The boat is coming. We’re gonna be safe.”
“Cool.”
“You’re in a lot of pain, huh?” After she said it, Cindy wanted to bury her head in a hole. Of course he was in a lot of pain.
“Ain’ so bad,” Tyrone said. “Cause you’re here.”
This time she did hug him. Cindy held the embrace until she realized how exposed they were. With neither of them paying attention, those wild people could sneak up.
“We need to watch the trees. Make sure no one is coming.”
Cindy took one side, Tyrone the other. The woods were quiet and dark, and though a sliver of moonlight broke through the tree tops, it was hard to see more than a few yards. Her eyes swept back and forth, like a security camera.
When she heard the scream it made her feel like she needed to pee again.
“That’s Tom,” Tyrone said.
“He doesn’t sound too far away.”
They listened, and the sound made Cindy want to claw her ears off. She didn’t like Tom, especially after he acted all crazy with the gun. But he didn’t deserve whatever horror was happening to him.
“You think they’re cooking him?” Her tone was hushed. “Like Meadow?”
“Dunno.”
“What should we do?”
“Wait here for Sara.”
Tom was begging now, screaming, “No!” and “Stop!”
What could they be doing to that poor kid? Something even worse than burning?
Then, after a very long minute, the screaming stopped.
Now what?
They waited. Cindy’s imagination went into overdrive. Was he dead? Were they eating him? Or did they gag him, like Sara had said they’d gagged Martin?
Cindy stood perfectly still, staring into the woods, waiting, hoping, to hear Tom scream again.
Then something flashed. Bright and quick, temporarily blinding her.
Cindy took a step back.
“Tyrone…”
“I saw it too.”
“What was it?”
“Maybe Sara comin’ back. She got a light.”
Another flash, lasting only a few milliseconds. From the thicket to their right. Cindy realized with a shock what it was.
“It’s a camera. Someone is taking our picture.”
Tyrone stepped in front of Cindy. “Who’s there? Answer me.”
Another flash. Cindy doubted the cannibals had a camera. So who could it be? And why didn’t they say anything? This was seriously freaking her out. Where was Sara?
“Maybe we should go,” Tyrone said.
“What about Sara? We have to wait for her.”
The bushes shook. Whoever had the camera was coming toward them. Cindy decided that Tyrone was right. The smartest thing to do was get the hell out of here, fast.
Tyrone apparently wasn’t waiting for her to approve, because he had his left arm around her waist and was already pulling her away. The pair had only taken three steps when they heard:
“You’re Martin’s kids.”
The voice was soft, almost effeminate, but definitely male. Whoever it was, he knew Martin. Cindy stopped and swung around to face him.
The man was ridiculously tall and thin. He wore blue denim farmer’s overalls, and even in the low light Cindy could see a smiley face button pinned to one of the straps.
Tyrone had also turned to look. “Who the hell are you?”
“Lester.”
Lester raised his camera and took another picture, causing Cindy to blink. She was still scared, and this guy totally qualified as creepy, but he seemed extremely relaxed. So far, his appearance was more menacing than actually threatening.
“Do you know Martin, Lester?”
“Martin is Lester’s friend.”
Cindy didn’t know if she bought that. But Martin was a psychologist, and he did work with all types of people.
“How do you know Martin, Lester?” she asked.
“Martin is Lester’s friend.” He paused, cocking his head to the side. “Would the boy and the girl like Lester to take them to Martin?”
God, did she ever. Martin was smart, and strong, and Cindy trusted him even more than she trusted Sara. But that didn’t mean she trusted Lester.
“Do you know where Martin is, Lester?”
“Lester knows. The boy and the girl should come with Lester.”
Lester smiled. Cindy was shocked to see fangs in the big man’s mouth.
Tyrone shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He backed up a step, pulling Cindy with him.
“Lester won’t hurt the boy and the girl. That would make Martin angry. They should come with Lester.”
“Where’s Martin?” Cindy asked.
Lester took another picture.
“Stop taking pictures and tell me where Martin is!”
The strength in her voice surprised her. It must have surprised Lester too, because his smile became a deep frown.
“The girl yelled at Lester. Lester doesn’t like that.”
Tyrone pulled her closer. “You know where Martin is, man? Then tell us.”
It hit Cindy all at once, like a physical blow. Lester. Lester Paks. This was the serial killer Sarah had told them about, the one that crazy doctor had experimented on.
Lester moved toward them, spreading out his arms. His reach was so wide he looked like he could hug a truck. “Lester will take the boy and girl to Martin. They will come with Lester. Martin will be so happy.”
When Lester got within five yards he’d officially gone from menacing, to threatening, to terrifying. She and Tyrone continued to back up, but Lester’s strides were so big he’d be on them in only a few seconds.
“The boy and the girl shouldn’t try to run. Lester gets angry when they run.”
That’s when someone grabbed Cindy from behind.
Sara couldn’t find the kids.
After hearing Tom’s screams, she quickly stuck her head back through the window and into the cabin to grab something she saw inside. By the time she had it, the screaming had stopped.
Her first intention was to go after Tom, to protect him, to save him, and without considering anything else she’d impulsively headed in the direction of his cries.
But Sara wasn’t sure where he was, or even how far away, without the sound cues. Even worse, once she lost sight of the boat she became lost, unable to find her way back. That meant she’d abandoned Cindy and Tyrone.
She spent a good minute studying the compass, panicking to the point of hysteria, and then decided to follow a south-west direction, keeping as quiet as possible, listening for their voices.
Luckily, she found them, coming up from behind and placing a hand on Cindy’s shoulder so she didn’t get trampled by their quick pace.
Unluckily, they weren’t alone.
The man chasing them was so grotesquely tall it was almost funny. But unlike the cannibals, he had short hair and was clean shaven, and his clothes, though odd, looked relatively new.
