by Val Tobin
They’re intelligent enough not to be fooled by peek-a-boo. An interesting thought.
Jeff’s notes had mentioned the grendels’ ability to recognize faces. Peter still had the memory stick Rachel had given him for safekeeping. He’d locked it in a safe deposit box in the bank and hid the key to it in his vehicle. When he returned, he’d ensure legitimate scientists doing serious grendel research to benefit all humanity had access to those notes.
He located the keys to the boats. If he turned them on, he’d probably make enough racket to give away his presence, but hopefully, he’d be long gone by the time the bad guys arrived. He went to one boat and tried the keys until one of them fit. When he turned it in the ignition, the motor never even sputtered.
Of course, it wouldn’t work, but he’d had to at least try. Peter left the key in the ignition and ran back to the fishing boat. In the dark, the grendels resembled skinny apes. Three of them huddled nearby. They kept a distance of at least three metres from him.
He scanned the lake in the direction from which he’d come. Everything was calm and quiet. The motor in the distance had quieted. A cold sweat broke out on his neck, and he shivered. What if they’d reached the island while he’d been screwing around in the boathouse? Quickly, he determined which way was closest to his target—Storm Lake Boat Launch, located two kilometres to the north-east of the island.
Peter made a move to slip the boat quietly back into the water when he changed his mind. Perhaps, he could get himself a motorboat after all. He smiled in the darkness as he headed for the crushed cottage.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A woman from the cafeteria appeared with trays of food for Rachel and Hound Dog, and Captain Pattenden took the excuse to leave. As soon as the door closed behind the food server and the captain, Rachel climbed from her bed and, holding the back of her gown closed, searched the room for their clothes.
Hound Dog broke a packet of crackers into the bowl of chicken soup and tucked in, blowing on each spoonful before shovelling it into his mouth.
“Eat, Frosty. Whatever else we do, we have to eat first. Take food when you have the chance.”
He was right, but her stomach was in knots, and she didn’t know if she could handle even a bite. She didn’t find their clothes but held panic at bay with the hope it was because they’d been too soiled and torn to keep. At least they could’ve let them have their underwear. For a moment, she allowed herself to be distracted by the question of whether Hound Dog wore boxers or briefs. But only for a moment. Peter needed them to get moving.
“Our clothes are gone,” she told Hound Dog.
“Are you surprised? I had pants and underwear left. Your pants were shredded where the grendel bit you. You’d already torn your shirt into pieces. I guess they could’ve salvaged your panties and bra.” He grinned. “I’d have paid money to see you wearing just those.”
“I thought you were going to grow up,” she said.
His expression sobered. “Old habits. Sorry.”
She gave him a contemplative stare. “It’s disrespectful because I’m your team leader.”
“I said I was sorry. It’s nothing personal.”
“It’s personal to all women, Jack.”
He fell silent. The room became too quiet until her stomach growled, breaking the awkward silence. She returned to her bed to eat her meal. If nothing else, she needed nourishment. She’d need all her energy for whatever came next.
After she’d filled the hole in her belly with soup, crackers, and half the tuna sandwich they'd provided, she said, “Why drug us and bring us here?” She opened the bottle of water and took a swig.
“I wondered that myself. If Cap told us the truth, they only had to explain it to us. We’d have walked out with them.”
She considered. “Would we have? I wouldn’t have left Peter. He needs us. With a team, we could’ve followed him …”
He understood why she’d trailed off. “Yeah. Followed him where? How? Find a boat while your father’s people are searching for us? While the team and you are grendel bait? And there’s no telling where Peter went ashore. If he went ashore.”
“At least my father’s people will have the same problem.” She didn’t vocalize her fear that, by now, all her father’s people had been vaccinated. Surely, they wouldn’t want to inject themselves without further tests. She was no scientist, but she believed whatever they learned from Code Master’s body wouldn’t be as helpful as if they could run more tests on a living person.
“We need to get out of here and find Peter. We shouldn’t have left him.”
“It was the best decision at the time. We slowed him down. He needed the chance to escape.”
“I understand all the reasons we did what we did, but he could be here with us now.”
“Sure,” he said. “Caught with us if Pattenden is on your father’s side.”
She reached under the covers and pressed on the bandage covering her wound. She winced at the stab of pain. “They patched us up.”
“Yeah. For what? To turn us both over to your dad?”
“You done eating?” She pushed the tray table aside and got out of bed again. “Let me see your bandages.”
He shoved his empty dishes away and let her examine his head and his shoulder.
“It all looks good. How do you feel? Can you move?”
“It’s fine.”
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“They never brought a doctor in to talk to us. I’d like to verify you don’t have a concussion.”
“We can’t wait around for that.”
“I know.” She sighed. “Let’s go. We’ll get spare clothes from our lockers and slip out.”
“That’s gonna be a trick. We’ve got no vehicle.”
“I’d settle for clean clothes. One thing at a time.”
They both used the facilities first, not only to wash up and use the toilet but to scope out their environment. They couldn’t use searching for a bathroom as an excuse to leave the room.
They crept to the door and opened it. To Rachel’s dismay, a guard stood on the other side.
He said, “Can I help you?”
She spoke boldly, as if she had no idea he was there to prevent them from leaving. “No, thanks. We’re heading out.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely regretful. “Captain Pattenden assigned me to guard this room and allow no one in or out she hasn’t authorized.”
“Why?” Rachel replied.
“Didn’t say. I’m just following orders.”
“She’s got no right to keep us here,” Hound Dog cut in.
“I’m sure she has her reasons. Should I send someone to track her down?”
“Yeah, you do that,” Rachel said. She gave the guard a dirty look even though it wasn’t his fault they were stuck here.
“Close the door, please, ma’am, and I’ll call her.”
Without responding, Rachel slammed the door in his face.
“Now what?” she asked Hound Dog. “Do we wait for her or jump the guy in the hallway? I’m good either way.”
“I think,” Hound Dog said, grinning, “we wait. Why jump him when we can jump two for the same price.”
Rachel couldn’t stop a laugh from bursting out. “Works for me,” she said but immediately sobered. “We’re not strong enough to take this guy on. We can’t go two against two.”
“We may not have to. Hear me out.”
“All right,” she said. “What’ve you got?”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Peter kicked in the cabin’s front door, hoping the trees on the roof wouldn’t crash down on him when the cottage shook. The place smelled mouldy and damp. He stood for a moment in the foyer to let his eyes adjust to the inkier black inside.
Too bad the roof hadn’t been completely ripped off. Starlight and moonlight would’ve helped. After standing still and scanning the area around him, he figured out the kitchen was on his left.
With luck, the family who owned the place stored candles and matches in there. If not, he’d have to expand his search to the living area and then the bedrooms.
He’d have preferred a flashlight, but the batteries in those would’ve crapped out a long time ago. Candles and matches would work best—especially the matches. He primarily came for those.
As he worked, he was aware of time passing and the sound of the motorboat starting up again. Did that mean they’d hunted down his friends and now came after him? Had they interrogated the two protectors, torturing them to tell what they knew about Peter and where he might have gone? He pushed the visions of torture and pain from his mind. If he didn’t, he’d freeze and they’d find him curled up in a little ball on the musty couch.
It didn’t take him long to stumble across a drawer with emergency candles and boxes of matches. Relieved, he struggled with the stale matches and lit a candle, then he pocketed as many as he could carry. With that bit of light, he found a holder for the candle, one with a wide base and a rounded glass cover to shield the flame from the breeze outside.
Peter scanned the cottage in the semidarkness, for the first time seeing it as a place where a family once gathered to have fun and spend time together. It would’ve been quaint in its time. Rather than a television, a wood-burning stove was the living room’s focal point. A couch, love seat, and armchair surrounded it. In the corner of the room, a dollhouse as demolished as the cottage stood next to a large chest that probably held toys and games.
The sight of items indicating the presence of children hurt his heart. While he hoped the family hadn’t been here that fateful weekend the grendels first appeared, he doubted it. The family members were all probably dead these past twelve years.
He picked his way through the debris back outside, the weight of tragedy stooping his shoulders. As he worked to execute his plan, he questioned the sanity of it. The odds were fifty-fifty his pursuers would catch him before he could escape, but if he didn’t try, he’d spend the rest of the night paddling on the lake, and they’d still catch him. At least this way, he could feel as if he had a measure of control over his fate.
As quickly as possible, he collected the driest wood he could find, as well as small twigs and sticks to use as kindling. The cottagers had a woodshed stocked with nicely seasoned hardwood—very well seasoned, considering the number of years it had sat untouched.
He found a large fire pit in the centre of an expansive clearing outside the back door. He cleaned the pit out as best he could and stacked his kindling and small logs beside it. Since he’d always enjoyed camping and often did it when in pursuit of a story, his fire-making skills were sharp. He had a blaze going after a few minutes of struggling with the old matches. He stoked the flames up enough for someone to think a dumb city slicker had built it for warmth even though pursuit was close.
When he considered it perfect, he walked the island’s perimeter to verify the fire could be seen flickering through the trees surrounding it. He wanted it to look as if he camped there for the night and had built a small fire for warmth. Hopefully, it wasn’t so obvious they’d suspect a trap.
The grendels kept their distance from the fire. Most people knew grendels hated fire, which might make whoever chased him believe he had valid reasons for the blaze.
By the time he returned to his campfire, he was confident it burned bright enough but not too bright. He only had to wait for his prey to appear. Peter sat on a log at the edge of the forest and scanned the horizon.
Come and get me.
***
The wait, for Peter, felt like hours. In actuality, it was only forty-five minutes. The boat chugged its way closer to the island and then veered directly at it when whoever was in it spotted the bonfire.
Peter’s palms grew clammy. Now it was happening, he had a momentary regret he’d started all this. He could’ve paddled far in forty-five minutes. What had he been thinking? The panic escalated, and he almost ran from his hiding spot to the other side of the island where he’d hidden the fishing boat.
Calm down. This’ll work. Then I’ll be speeding away from here, and they’ll be trapped—with the grendels.
He waited and watched, his breathing shallow and rapid.
Two men pulled up to the shore, and both stepped from the boat. So far, so good. He hoped like hell one didn’t hang back to guard the damn thing. If that happened, Peter might have to shoot him, and Peter had never killed anyone in his life—had never even wanted to until this excursion to Stefan Needham’s resort from hell.
The thought of Rachel’s father brought Rachel to mind. What had happened to her and Hound Dog? He hoped they’d made it out of the woods and found a ride back to HQ and safety. Maybe they were on their way back for him already with a search party.
The two men stood on the rocks at the edge of the shoreline and conferred in low voices—probably discussing strategy. Separate and risk attack from the grendels—assuming the two men hadn’t been vaccinated—or stick together and risk Peter finding the boat before they found Peter. The smart money was on them splitting up. Each had a rifle and probably other weapons Peter couldn’t see in the dark. He fervently hoped they assumed him too stupid to consider pursuit by boat.
His hopes were dashed when only one man made his way up the slope toward the woods and the fire. The other left the boat but only climbed partway up the rocks. Instantly, the grendels swung down from the trees, loping toward the men, who reacted quickly and efficiently.
The rifles blasted, but Peter didn’t waste time checking to see if they’d hit the targets. He crept toward the boat, staying close to the water’s edge where he could use the rocky shoreline as cover. The two men continued their assault on the grendels. Peter reached the boat and climbed into it while shoving it off the shore and into the water.
He didn’t get far before he heard a shout of discovery and a bullet whizzed over his head. Hunched over, Peter tried to pull-start the motor. The first tug failed. A glance at the shore showed one man approaching. Should he use his gun or try the motor again? Peter tugged at the starter, but the attempt was feeble, and the motor sputtered and coughed.
Damn it, the gun.
The man, almost on him, waved and shouted at Peter to surrender. Another bullet sailed over his head, and beyond the first man, the second one approached, rifle raised.
Heart despairing, Peter held up his hands in surrender.
Chapter Thirty-Five
They agreed they needn’t physically attack the captain. What they did would depend on how she responded to their desire to walk out of here. Neither Rachel nor Hound Dog had heard from a doctor, and Rachel’s main concern was Hound Dog’s head wound.
Voices floated in from outside the door: the captain greeting the guard and the guard responding in kind.
Rachel sat on the edge of her bed. Hound Dog stood next to his, one hand clutching the back of his gown closed.
After a quick tap on the door, the captain opened it and stepped into the room.
“Everything all right with you two? My man outside tells me you want to leave.” She glanced first at Hound Dog and then settled her gaze on Rachel.
“Your man would be correct,” Hound Dog replied.
Captain Pattenden shot him a look, displaying her displeasure at his tone. “You aren’t ready to leave yet. You’re both too injured, and you haven’t told me where Dalton Morin, Paul Fraser, and Peter Sanderson have disappeared to. You left as a team. Only you two returned.”
“Really?” Rachel laced her response with surprise. “Didn’t my dad tell you anything?”
“He said grendels attacked you and you lost two of our men. Lost as in dead.” Her voice rose a decibel. “Where’s the reporter? How did you lose two men as solid as Morin and Fraser? I find it difficult to believe mere grendels could take them down.”
“What did you tell my father?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you tell him Hound Dog and I are here?
“I’ll bet he did.” Rachel risked a glance at Hound Dog, who’d shifted to stand behind the captain. They’d have to be quick. Any racket from Pattenden would bring the guard into the room, something Rachel and Hound Dog counted on. They needed uniforms and weapons. After that, they’d worry about how to get back to Storm Lake to find Peter.
“What’s going on with you, Needham? What happened to the others? What aren’t you telling me?”
Hound Dog crept closer to the captain, but just as he poised to move, the door opened and he held back.
“Rachel, I’m so glad I finally caught up to you.” Stefan Needham stepped into the room, an aura of command and arrogance wafting off him.
Two guards, wearing uniforms sporting Needham Scientific Research Facility labels on the breast pocket, followed close behind. They moved quickly to intercept Hound Dog and block him in.
“What the hell is this?” Hound Dog, understandably infuriated, took a step backward and bumped into his bed.
“We’re cooperating with the research facility,” Captain Pattenden replied. “I’ve given the go-ahead for the two of you to participate in whatever work they’re doing there.”
“Participate!” Hound Dog roared. “You want to know what happened to Coder and Foot-Long? They’re dead, all right.” He waved his hand in Stefan’s direction. “That fucking guy killed them with his experiments. I’m not going along with this. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Rachel hoped to see shock or horror in her superior’s expression. Part of her continued to hope Pattenden remained somehow innocent in all this. One glance at the captain, however, removed all doubt: Pattenden had betrayed them.
“When did he buy you, Captain?” Rachel spit out the accusation, her expression filled with revulsion. “I hope he paid you well, you traitor. You told him our location. You spied on us using the cameras after he called you to tell you we’d escaped.”