Trapped

Martin rubbed his eyes, then extended the motion into probing the puncture wounds on his face.

This had all gone so terribly wrong.

He thought about Sara, and the kids, and his brother Joe, and how this simple trip had become a horrifying clusterfuck.

Martin took a deep breath, let it out slow, and hoped for some miracle to make everything right again.

The OB/GYN rubs the transducer over Sara’s distended belly. The conducting jelly it glides across is cold and wet, and Sara shivers.

Martin grips her hand tighter. They’re both focused on the ultrasound monitor, staring at a triangular cone that is revealing their baby’s head.

“Did you want to know the sex?” the doctor asks.

Sara and Martin had discussed it, ultimately deciding not to know. But seeing her child’s perfect little face on that blue screen, eyes closed and actually sucking his tiny thumb, Sara changes her mind.

“Let’s find out,” she says, looking at Martin.

“Are you sure?”

They had already bought paint for the nursery—a sexless, neutral green—and crib blankets and sheets to match, and enough onesies to last the child until Kindergarten. But the prospect of exchanging everything for pink or blue is so tantalizing that Sara can’t resist.

“I’m sure,” she says.

The doctor slides the transducer around, revealing the baby’s right leg. Sara thinks back to Martin’s promise when they got pregnant, of letting her name their child.

Sara had bought baby books, scoured the Internet, and even kept a dictionary next to the bed to leaf through in case some random word lent itself to the perfect name. But her choices ultimately came down to the obvious ones, and she decides to share them with Martin for the first time.

“If it’s a girl, let’s name her Laura,” Sara says. “After my mother. And if it’s a boy, how about Joe?”

Martin smiles, but it’s painful. “I appreciate the gesture, but I’m not sure I want to think of my lost brother every time I hold my kid.”

Sara knew he might act that way, so she has a back-up.

“Jack.” After Martin and Joe’s father.

Martin’s smile is genuine this time. He holds Sara’s hand so hard it almost hurts.

“Mr. and Mrs. Randhurst,” the doctor says, keeping the transducer steady. “Meet your son, Jack.”

Sara starts to cry. “I want him to be like you, Martin. I want him to grow up to be just like you.”

Her husband bends over and kisses away her tears.

Sara’s tears fell on the camera screen, onto her baby’s face.

She flinched when someone placed a hand on her shoulder. Cindy.

“I’m sure he’s okay, Sara. The doctor has him, not the cannibals.”

Sara wanted to scream that’s even worse! but she kept it reigned in.

“Sara,” Tyrone also put his hand on her, even though it must have been painful. “We have to get to the beach.”

Sara stared up at her kids. She had to find Jack. But she also had to make sure they get to safety. Prendick and the Coast Guard would be here soon. As soon as Cindy and Tyrone were okay, they could go in search of Jack and the others.

An image of Martin appeared in Sara’s mind. If the doctor had Jack, what had he done to her husband?

“Please, Sara.” Cindy looked ready to cry. “We need to go.”

Sara nodded, allowing the teens to help her to her feet. She took a last look at the picture of her beautiful baby boy, then tucked the camera into her pocket, digging out the compass.

After a big breath she said, “This way.”

Sara led them through the woods, heading north-east. The water noises were faint at first, almost imaginary. But they grew stronger, the unmistakable sound of waves lapping at the shore. Then the trees finally parted, revealing…

“It’s the beach,” Cindy said, her enthusiasm making her sound ten years younger.

Sara was relieved as well. That relief became excitement when she saw the running lights of a boat moored offshore. She headed for the boat, her leg hurting a little bit less, her energy level kicking up several degrees.

“Do we have to swim to it?”

“No, Cindy. The Captain will use the dinghy again.”

The dinghy was a sixteen foot inflatable, shaped like a large U. It sat five. When they’d arrived at the island, it took two trips to get everyone from the boat to the shore. Sara listened for the outboard motor, but the lake was quiet.

“Maybe he just got here,” Tyrone said.

“Or maybe he’s already here.”

Sara spun around. Captain Prendick stood on the sand. Sara’s joy in seeing him was immediately dampened when she saw the pistol in his hand.

It was pointed at her.

PART 4

SOWING

When Edward Prendick was a little boy, he wanted to be rich.

He didn’t want it for himself, though better clothes and new toys would have been nice. He wanted the money for his mother.

His father died in a car accident three days after he was born. Since the day Prendick learned to crawl he’d listened to his mother talk about making ends meet and pinching pennies and buying happiness and the root of all