JACK KILBORN ~ TRAPPED (68 page)

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 with Kong Zhi-ou.

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. 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 scare 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. Curing him. Enhancing him.

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. He’d even be able to buy some better, more modern equipment, and have enough left over to feed those unfortunate ferals for a while.

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 Kong was going to do what 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. So were Tom and Laneesha and Georgia. But Martin…

I’m more worried about him than the kids.

The thought surprised her. Here they were, a signature away from never seeing each other again; something Sara initiated. Yet the thought of Martin being killed—it scared her more than anything else.

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 to 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 and six 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 do it. 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 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.

Just in case any of the others showed up, she found a notebook and left a message.

We went north-east, to the beach, to wait for the boat. Captain Prendick is coming with help. Hide nearby and wait for us to return. Sara, Tyrone, and Cindy.

She left the notebook open to that page, sitting on the ground near the fire. For a few seconds she wondered if maybe she should use a stick to point north-east, but her time in the woods had shown Sara how easy it was to lose your sense of direction.

Sara took a last, lingering look at John, his head askew and his red eyes staring off into infinity, and told the kids it was time to go.

Captain Edward Prendick considered himself a good man. He loved his mother, and visited her on every holiday, Labor Day and Valentine’s Day included, even though she lived out of state and it cost a fortune. He treated other people with decency and respect. He had an aquarium on board his boat, which contained a single goldfish, named Goldie, which he’d dutifully taken care of for more than five years.

That’s why the distress call from Mrs. Randhurst was, well, so
distressing
.

Rock Island was a bad place. It even had an aura about it. An evil vibe. And something shady was definitely going on there.

He’d tried to warn them, to get them to camp elsewhere. But they’d been insistent.

Now he was forced to head back there. Something he didn’t relish at all.

“
Mama told me not to become a sailor, Goldie.”

Goldie was asleep in his tank. Or her tank. Prendick didn’t know if it was a boy fish or a girl fish. Actually, he didn’t know if Goldie actually slept, either. She certainly didn’t close her eyes and start snoring. But sometimes she’d stay in one place for an extended period of time, not even moving when he fed her, and Prendick assumed she (or he) was sleeping.

He glanced from the tank to the locked cabinet next to it. A gun cabinet, containing two revolvers and a rifle. Prendick checked the GPS and turned the wheel, silently praying he wouldn’t have to use them.

Tom didn’t think he could possibly be more frightened, and then the giant kissed him.

His first reaction was shock. Not only was the act totally unexpected, but it was so frickin’ gross, so frickin’ sick, that Tom didn’t know what the hell to do.

The obvious answer—push the freak away—scared Tom even more. This guy was so big and scary that rejecting him didn’t seem like an option.

So Tom closed his eyes as the psycho explored his mouth with his tongue, nibbling on his lips with those horrible needle teeth and making an awful, moaning sound in his throat.

Worst of all, this was technically Tom’s first French kiss. Yuck.

It was almost as bad as realizing he’d eaten Meadow.

Tom endured it, staying stock-still, praying for it to end. Eventually it did, and this crazy Lester person looked down at Tom and patted him on the head.

“
Mmm,” Lester said. “Tom tastes yummy.”

Lester moved in closer, like he was going for another kiss. Tom leaned away and quickly said, “Uh, are you the one that cooked my buddy?”