Island 731

three or four. But there was nothing to shoot. They stood alone atop the massive, slightly domed roof. Most of the 360-degree view was jungle, but Hawkins could see the orchard, garden, and farm beyond. On the other side of the building was a dirt road that wrapped around a bend. Hawkins drew an imaginary line where he thought the road would lead and found a bit of light gray concrete that signified the presence of another, newer building. He pointed to it. “Let’s go that way.”

Bray headed to the building’s side. “The ladder is over here.”

Just a few steps into his dash for the ladder, Bray flinched and grabbed his shoulder. “Ow!”

Hawkins rushed to his side. “What happened?”

“Felt like something stung me,” Bray said.

Hawkins knew that bullet wounds could sometimes feel like insect bites when the victim had no context for the pain. It would hurt like hell a few seconds later, but the initial pinch of bullet piercing skin could be deceptively minor. He pulled Bray’s hand away from his shoulder and was happy to see no blood. What he did find was a small, oily stain and the remains of a small plastic capsule.

“Smells like flowers,” Bray observed.

Hawkins nodded. It was the same smell Joliet had pointed out before she’d been taken. He didn’t think it was a coincidence.

The horn.

The scent.

Bray was about to be taken.

Hawkins slapped his hand on his back. “Ouch!” His hand came away wet with oil.

He spun, looking for whoever was shooting at them. The small, plastic balls couldn’t travel far. He found his answer at the ladder.

Kam climbed into view. He was dressed, as usual, in blue pants and a red polo shirt. Only his Red Sox cap was missing. There were two additions to the outfit, though. He had one handgun tucked into his waist, and another in his hand, aimed at Hawkins.

“Kam?” Bray said. “What the hell?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bray,” Kam said. His voice held no amount of malice. The apology sounded genuine.

Bray took a menacing step toward Kam, but Hawkins grabbed his arm, stopping him cold. “Hold on.”

Kam walked toward them, stopping halfway between them and the roof.

“Are you okay, Kam?” Hawkins asked, thinking about how Jim had been altered. As much as it seemed Kam was complicit, it was possible he simply had no choice. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?”

Kam flinched with surprise. “You’re concerned for me?”

“You’re my friend,” Hawkins said.

A frown appeared on Kam’s face. “I am sorry.” He pulled the trigger twice.

Hawkins looked down and found a dart buried in his chest. He yanked it out, but knew he was too late. His legs already felt weak.

Bray fell to his knees. He tugged a dart from his shoulder. Then he slumped forward onto the roof, unconscious.

Hawkins fought to stay upright. He knew what was coming, even before he felt its hot breath on his neck, before its shadow fell over him. The horn somehow activated the creature. The scent, maybe some kind of pheromone or powerful extract, provided a target.

With a shout, Hawkins raised the rifle and turned.

The weapon was pulled easily from his grasp and smashed on the concrete roof.

His vision blacked out for a moment, but a tight, painful compress around his already bruised ribs ripped him back to consciousness long enough for him to look the thing in the face. It stared at him through the horizontal, rectangular pupils of a goat. The skin above its heavy brows was tinged green and looked crocodilian. It’s open mouth held the teeth of a big cat and its ears, which stuck out like two orchid petals, belonged to some form of bat. But the facial structure—the shape of the eyes, the nose, the brows, the soft-looking skin—they were all human.

And feminine.

Despite all of the disparate species blended into just the face of this chimera, it didn’t look like some kind of haphazard Frankenstein’s monster. It was a single, purposeful design that brought several different animal traits together and made them look almost like they belonged together.

The horrible face was the last thing Hawkins saw before losing consciousness. But the last thing Hawkins heard was Kam’s voice shouting, “Be careful. Don’t hurt him, Mother!”

38.

Hawkins flinched awake, confused and disoriented. His eyes opened, but he couldn’t see. He could hear, but the ambient background noise sounded muffled. He breathed through his nose, but smelled only his own breath. Cool air caressed the bare skin of his arms and legs, but his face felt warm and stuffy.

There’s a hood over my head.

The hood was a mixed blessing. On one hand, he was blind to his surroundings. On the other, his captors wouldn’t know he was awake. He focused on his senses, paying attention to his body first. He lay on his side atop a hard but smooth surface. Wood, he thought. His wrists were bound, but his feet were free, which meant he was most likely in some kind of cell.

He tried listening again, but the only sound he could distinguish was the slight buzz of electricity. Power meant that he was being kept in one of the newer buildings, but that wasn’t exactly helpful information.

Hawkins tried to remember some words of wisdom passed down from Howie GoodTracks, but came up with nothing. The man knew everything about tracking and hunting, but being held captive never came up. Yes, it did, Hawkins thought. Be the more aggressive predator. When the time came, Hawkins would put that advice to good use again. It wouldn’t matter against the monster he’d seen before losing consciousness, but he’d rather die fighting than end up like Jim.

“Hey!” Bray shouted from someplace nearby. He shouted again, more loudly. “Hey! Let me the hell out of here!”

Hawkins wanted to shush the man, but couldn’t without revealing that he, too, was awake.

“Bray, is that you?”

Hawkins recognized the new voice. Jones.

“What about Hawkins? And Drake?” This voice belonged to Blok.

Bennett had been wrong about the entire crew. They’d been taken, but not killed. Not yet, anyway. And Hawkins knew the reason: Why kill a perfectly good test subject?

Hawkins waited, hoping to hear Joliet’s voice, but only heard one other person, Bennett himself, weeping not too far away.

“Where are we?” Bray asked.

“Don’t know,” Blok said. “We’ve been masked the whole time.”

Bray grunted, probably sitting up. “Is Hawkins here?”

“Haven’t heard him,” Jones said. “Did you all see Jackie anywhere?”

“No,” Bray replied. His voice burned with rage. “But we know who brought us here.”

“Was Kam,” Bennett said with something resembling a sob.

“We heard the son of a bitch talking to someone when Bennett was brought in,” Blok said. “Whoever brought you in didn’t say a word,” Blok added.

“It was Kam,” Bray said. “He tranquilized Hawkins and me.”

“Kam carried you?” Blok asked, sounding dubious. “You’re at least twice his size.”

After a few moments of silence, Bray asked, “How sure are you guys that we’re alone?”

Nobody answered.

Hawkins wanted to second Bray’s observation, but remained silent. If they weren’t alone, whoever was listening in would be learning far more about them than vice versa.