JACK KILBORN ~ TRAPPED (40 page)

Tope was liking this serum more and more.

Rather than try to shoot them like she should have, the woman instead ducked around the boy’s pole. There was another shot, and then the boy’s hands were free.

Stupid.
She should have taken care of the threat first, then released the children. This woman was no soldier. She was an idiot.

The men closed the gap on her, and she wasted even more time freeing the girl by firing at her bonds.

Then a handful of wild people rushed out of the woods.
The ferals.
They threw themselves at Lester and Martin, snarling and slobbering and brandishing…
was that silverwear?

What the ferals lacked in technique, they apparently made up for in savagery. Tope became concerned.

Lester and Martin had much better skills than the pudgy girl. They dispatched several of those wild people with precise, almost eloquent, strokes of their knives.

But when a dozen more ferals came screaming into the area, Lester and Martin fled. So did Dr. Plincer.

Benson had his gun out, shooting two of the wild people who ran at him. They fell, but were quickly followed by five more.

That’s when Tope’s concern became fear.

He ran, briefcase in hand, back the way he’d come. Benson fired twice more, and it sounded like the woman was shooting as well.

Then a man cried out, “Help me!”

Benson, whom Tope had hired to protect him, was calling for help. General Tope found no amusement in the irony, and he certainly didn’t offer assistance of any kind. Tope didn’t even turn around to see what had happened. He was too intent on running for the helicopter.

Tope rounded the corner and saw the chopper in the distance. He hoped the pilot, Crouch, was paying attention and about to start the engine, because Tope could sense he had several feral people chasing him. He chanced a look.

More than several. Five or six.

Tope wasn’t in the best shape, and wasn’t a fast runner, but terror was the ultimate motivator. He reached the helicopter before the savages, yanking on the door handle.

Locked.

The turbine engine whined to life, the rotors beginning to spin. That idiot Crouch was staring over Tope’s shoulder at the oncoming horde, his eyes big as duck eggs.

General Tope banged on the door. Once he got inside he was going to strangle that fool. Revise that; after he got inside
and
was taken to safety, he would strangle him.

Then the unthinkable happened. General Alton Tope, the man who was going to make sure the US military maintained world supremacy, was dragged away from the helicopter in utter disbelief.

The suitcase was ripped from his hand, but these people had no interest in its contents. They seemed interested in him, wrestling him to the ground, pinning him down.

But why? What could these ferals possibly want?

The first jolt of pain was in Tope’s leg. It was followed swiftly by an equal pain in his arm.

They’re biting me.

Typical Army fuck-up. A multi-billion dollar spy telescope, plus a decade of clandestine intel, and no one had known the ferals were maneaters.

Tope screamed, and a savage stuck his ugly face in Tope’s, flecks of flesh and blood in his filthy beard, mouth open and drooling, his lips moving closer and closer.

Tope was more revolted by this man’s kiss than by those who were chewing on him.

But it turned out this man wanted to chew as well.

General Tope was tangentially aware of a strong wind, the helicopter taking off, as more and more of his body was gripped in the mouths of these cannibals. He began to choke, blood running down his windpipe from the bleeding hole where his nose used to be.

The helicopter’s speaker system crackled and came to life. The last human voice Tope ever heard was that bastard, Crouch.

“
Sorry, General. You didn’t pay me enough to die here.”

Tope exposed his neck, praying to be bitten there, praying for someone to pierce his jugular or carotid and end his suffering.

He had no takers.

Apparently the ferals liked their meals alive and kicking.

This was unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed. Dr. Plincer had been so close to sealing the deal. Who could have guessed the ferals would have showed up?

Well, actually, he should have guessed it. He was the one who made them that way in the first place.

But Plincer hadn’t known there were so many. He also hadn’t known they’d been able to organize their group, almost like some primitive tribe. It was fascinating, from a scientific standpoint, but a huge disaster from a financial one.

Hopefully, General Tope would get away, and they’d be able to try again at a later date. If not, perhaps the military would send another representative. The Russians were also a possibility. Plincer had even been contacted by a former member of the KGB. This situation was just a slight delay—a hiccup—in the overall game plan.

Plincer hurried through the big iron door into the prison, but before he got a chance to lock it someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arm up behind his back.

Subject 33.

“
Well, you recovered quickly,” Plincer said. “It’s good to see you up and about.”

Subject 33 twisted upwards, popping Plincer’s shoulder out of its socket and taking the doctor’s breath away.

After that it got bad.

Very bad.

They didn’t run. They hid. Cindy couldn’t believe how wonderful it was to get this second chance. She promised herself she wouldn’t waste it.

Right after Sara freed her and fired a few times at the oncoming wild people, the four of them ducked into the trees and jumped into a shallow ditch.

Tyrone had his arm around her, and it felt better than the biggest hit of meth she’d ever taken. She helped him take the dog collar off, and then removed hers. After being unable to use her hands for so long, the freedom to move them again was fantastic, though the cuffs were still pinching her wrists—Sara had only shot the chain between them. Even the throb from the bite wound seemed to hurt less.

Now all they needed to do was keep away from the psychos, the cannibals, those army guys, and the mad doctor. The army guys seemed to have left, their helicopter flying off overhead.

“
Help me!”

Cindy turned in the direction of the plea. It came from nearby. A woman.

Georgia.

Sara stood up. She looked strong and sure and every bit Cindy’s hero.

“
You two stay here,” Sara said.

Cindy shook her head. “Don’t.”

“
I have to help her.”

“
She killed Tom.”

“
Plincer did something to her brain. It’s not her fault. Maybe it can be fixed.”

Cindy reached out, grabbed Sara’s arm. “You didn’t see it, Sara. She’s a monster.”

Sara’s eyes got glassy. She placed her hand on Cindy’s. “I wouldn’t give up on you. Or Tyrone. I’ve… lost… I just… I can’t give up on Georgia either.”

Cindy understood. “We’re coming with you, then.”

Sara kissed the crying Jack on the head, and nodded.

“
Please help!”

They crept over the ditch, so close to each other they looked like a single six-legged creature. Georgia was lying on her back in the clearing, twenty yards away from the bone yard. Her face was a mask of bright red blood, but her chest was moving up and down. One of her hands was clenched in a fist. The other still held the cylindrical propane torch. Cindy could see the blue flame coming out of it, scorching the earth it touched black.

Cindy didn’t want to get any closer. Though Georgia looked seriously injured, she had a weapon in her hand. A terrible weapon, one she’d tried to use on her and Tyrone. If Cindy lived to a hundred and never saw another flame again, she’d be fine with that.

But they did get closer. So close that if Georgia so much as flinched Cindy would have wet her pants in fright.

“
Sara!”

Tyrone pointed to the right. Cindy glanced in that direction, saw Sara turn and raise the gun and aim at two cannibals rushing at them, but then Cindy turned back to Georgia, not trusting the insane girl, feeling something wasn’t right.

There. On the ground. Small and white and plastic.

A ketchup wrapper.

Sara fired the gun, the shots so loud they made Cindy’s head ache.

Georgia sat up and her eyes popped open, boring into Cindy. She smiled, licked some ketchup off her upper lip—ketchup she’d shown Cindy last night, the stuff she was going to scare the boys with.

“
Burn, bitch.”

Georgia’s lips formed the words, but Cindy’s ears were ringing so she couldn’t hear them, and then Georgia was raising her clenched fist—it was filled with that powder she had in the baggy—and Sara fired another shot, and Cindy decided she was not going to burn, not now and not ever, and she lashed out and slapped Georgia’s hand, the powder forming a cloud in the air.

Georgia’s face went from surprise to anger as the cloud settled around her. Then it went from anger to surprise as she turned her attention at the open flame she was holding.

There was a huge
whump
, and Cindy felt like she’d been hit with a thousand hairdryers at once as the cloud around Georgia exploded.

Cindy jumped backward, feeling her eyebrows singe, quickly patting out the tiny fire that had started on her shirt.

Georgia also tried to pat herself out, with less effective results. She was completely on fire. Her hair. Her clothes. Her shoes. Even her skin.

Sara stepped in front of Cindy, thrusting a yowling Jack into her arms, tugging her own shirt up over her head and swatting at Georgia. But that only fanned the flames, making them bigger.

Georgia may have tried to scream, but she’d apparently inhaled some of that powder, because the only thing that came out of her mouth was flames.

Cindy turned away, saw two cannibals dead on the grass—the ones that Sara had shot—and then Tyrone was holding her and patting her back and Cindy wondered if this nightmare would ever be over, if they’d ever be safe.

That’s when she saw Lester walking toward them.

Every nerve ending in Georgia’s body was firing at once. All she cared about, her entire world, was centered on when the pain would end.

She remembered, inexorably, an old saying—a star that shines twice as bright burns half as long—and hoped it was true, hoped this would be over soon.

It wasn’t.

Georgia burned bright, that was for sure. But she also burned for a very long time.

Lester Paks watched the Sara woman standing over Georgia girl. First the pet. Now his girlfriend. Lester was so angry his teeth were clenched, something he tried to avoid because their sharp points made his gums bleed. His gums were bleeding so badly his cheeks began to bulge.

The Sara woman needed to die. And the boy and the girl with the Sara woman needed to die.

And the baby?

Lester liked the baby. It would make a nice, new pet, once he chewed off its arms and legs.

Lester walked after them, barely glancing at the still burning, still twitching Georgia girl. When the three began to run, Lester ran too. Lester had long legs, and strong muscles. He would catch them.

They went into the area where the helicopter landed. The helicopter wasn’t there anymore. But the General was still there.

At least, most of him was.

The feral people were squatting around his body. The Sara woman and the children jogged past, but the boy broke away, heading for something; the metal suitcase Tope had been carrying. The boy picked it up and rejoined the two women.

The ferals paid the boy no attention. But when they saw Lester, they scattered. The ferals were scared of Lester. They had reason to be. Usually, Martin would bring Lester playmates. Sometimes boats would come to the island, and Lester could get his own playmates. But if Lester didn’t have any playmates, Lester would take a feral person. They were smelly and dirty, but they screamed as well as anyone else.

The Sara woman and the children ran north, probably not knowing why. This pleased Lester. The lake was to the north. Very close. And the shore was high up, more than thirty feet above the water. When they reached the ledge, there would be no place left to go.

Lester ran faster, closing the distance between them.

The clearing ended, and the forest began. The woods were thick here, blocking out most of the sun. Sometimes Lester lost sight of them. But they were easy to hear, clomping through the woods, breathing heavy, yelling encouraging words at each other. Lester spit out a stream of blood, and his cheeks began to fill again.

“
There’s nowhere to go,” said the Sara woman. “We’re trapped.”

That made Lester smile. He had many items on his tool belt. He decided to use the mallet first. He would break all of their knees, so they couldn’t run away. Then he could take his time.