Trapped

He unbuckled his seat belt and grabbed his metal suitcase, waiting for the rotor blades to stop turning before he exited the chopper because he disliked his carefully combed hair to be blown around. The pilot, Lau, would stay with the helicopter. Lau’s partner, a burly man named Chow Kar-wang, would accompany Kong to the meeting and act as muscle if needed.

So far, Chow had kept silent. But he had been corrupted by American influence for too long, and Kong knew it was only a matter of time before the bodyguard disappointed him in some way. It shouldn’t matter. Intel reported that Plincer lived alone on the island, except for his Level 6 subjects and a few wild people who didn’t respond well to the procedure. Kong didn’t expect any trouble. Still, it was somewhat reassuring to see the bulge under Chow’s left armpit, knowing it meant a firearm.

The clearing they’d landed in was ugly. Ugly trees, Ugly ground. Ugly sky. Nothing at all like the serene forests of China. Kong would commit suicide if he were forced to live in such an ugly country.

The prison, also ugly, was less than fifty yards away. Kong walked briskly, and Chow matched his pace, scanning the treeline, watching for trouble. Perhaps he wasn’t as incompetent as Kong had surmised.

Kong didn’t need to look at his watch, but he did so anyway. Nine o’clock precisely. He allowed himself a small measure of smug satisfaction, then rapped strongly on the iron door.

Almost immediately it creaked opened, but so slowly that Kong ordered Chow to assist.

Dr. Plincer was balder, older, and uglier than in his press clippings from a decade ago.

“Good morning, Mr. Kong. Welcome to my island.”

Kong was grateful the doctor didn’t attempt to shake hands. Who knew what germs this filthy man carried?

“Good morning, Dr. Plincer.” He didn’t bother introducing Chow.

“Allow me to take you around to the back of the prison. We’ve decided to stage our demonstration outside. No need to worry about cleaning up afterward.”

He led them around the side of the prison, to a small courtyard where six people were waiting.

One was an unusually tall man in overalls. He was flanked on either side by a chubby girl in jeans and a sweater, and a man in khakis and a button down shirt.

Ten yards away from them were three teenagers. They stood with their hands behind their backs, each in front of a large, wooden pole. Kong noted their necks were tethered to the poles.

“This area was used for the firing squad, during the Civil War. You’re familiar with the war between the states?”

Kong nodded, keeping silent in his belief that any war where Americans killed Americans was a good one.

They approached to the tall man and his companions.

“Mr. Kong, these are three of my Level 6s. High level functioning, perfectly rational.”

“But totally psychotic,” Kong said.

“We prefer to use the term enhanced. The procedure enhances the brain’s aggression centers, triggering the neurotransmitter dopamine during violent acts. In layman’s terms, killing is an addiction. Causing harm gets them high.”

Kong frowned, simply because frowning made people try harder to please him.

“Do they follow orders?”

“But of course. Anything you’d like for them to do to our volunteers over there, they’d be happy to do. But first, I’d like to see the item I requested from you.”

Kong gestured for Chow to hold the metal briefcase while he opened it.

“Wonderful,” Plincer said, eyes twinkling. “The papers are in order?”

“Yes. Complete with bill of sale. Where are the notes and the serum?”

“Inside. I assumed you’d want to see the demonstration first.”

Kong nodded, closing the briefcase. “You may proceed, Doctor.”

“Certainly. Pick one of the Level 6s and tell them what to do.”

“What are they capable of doing?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

Kong raised an eyebrow. He was getting more interested. “Torture? Mutilation? Rape? Murder?”

“Any and all of the above, if you wish.”

“Not to be rude, Doctor,” Kong said, knowing he was being rude, “but I could order my bodyguard here to do any of those things, and he’d also obey.”

That probably wasn’t true. Kong knew that most men had their limits, and only a special few could commit atrocities without being affected by it. Even the Chinese, the superior race on the planet, had their limits.

“I have no doubt, Mr. Kong. But he wouldn’t enjoy it as much as they do. And he wouldn’t do it on his own if given the chance.”

“Fine,” Kong said. “The girl. Have her disembowel…” Kong studied at the three victims, then pointed. “That one.”

Sara was torn. Maybe the helicopter was sent by the authorities. Or maybe it was part of all the other bad things happening on this island.

So do I follow it, or search for the gun?

She hoped, needed, for the helicopter to be the good guys, coming to the rescue. Even with a gun, what was she going to do? Kill Martin, Plincer, Lester, and Paulie Gunther Spence? Sara had never fired a gun, but she knew most held six bullets, and people could be shot multiple times without dying.

Perhaps she could use the gun to keep them at bay and save the kids, but they’d still be stuck on the island. Could she force Plincer to call Captain Prendick, and then force him to take them back to safety? It was sounding more and more far-fetched.

Or maybe she could save the kids and force the helicopter to take them to safety.

That made better sense. Now all Sara had to do was find a lone gun in two miles of forest.

She still had the compass, but realized it didn’t matter because she didn’t know which way to go. The cliff was north. The beach was east. But where was the gridiron?

That’s when another sense took over. Sara’s sense of smell.

Someone is cooking meat.

But Sara knew it wasn’t meat. It was something else. Her stomach threatened to tie itself into a knot.

Still, she had to follow it, because the smell would probably lead to her destination.

Tracking by smell wasn’t easy. Sara would take ten steps in a particular direction, lose the scent, and have to go back. The breeze was strong enough to mix and twist the odor, but not so strong she could simply follow it upwind.

But eventually Sara came upon something better than scent alone. Smoke.

Smoke could be followed. The thicker it got, the closer she got, and whenever the trees thinned out Sara could see the gray cloud climbing into the sky, the X marking the spot.

When she got closer, her mouth began to water, and she hated herself and her body for betraying her.

When she got really close, she saw that she wasn’t the only one drawn to the cookout.

At the sight of the first feral, Sara ducked behind an ash tree. She was still a good twenty yards away from the fire, and from Cindy’s earlier description, the girl had been only a few feet away when she lost the gun. Sara chanced another look, doing a head count.

It was tough to be accurate because of the bushes and tree cover, but she estimated there were between fifteen and twenty cannibals.

Sara didn’t like those odds. She had a bad leg and didn’t know the territory, plus it was daylight and much easier for them to see her. A chase would end in her being caught, and if she was caught…

Her stomach grumbled, and she cursed herself.

I’d just better make damn sure they don’t see me.

Sara moved slow and low, alternating her attention between the ferals and her footing. She didn’t want to step on a twig and make a sound, or worse, trip. The task absorbed her full concentration. Never before had she