2050: Psycho Island

by Williams, Phil M.

  “Ain’t much to her,” the guard said, looking her over. “Skin and fuckin’ bones.”

  “Could you open the door?” Derek asked. “She may be thin, but she’s gettin’ heavy.”

  The guard opened the door that led through the wall and to the street. Derek walked through, his heart beating like a drum. Once the door shut behind him, he picked up the pace, hustling down the narrow alley and through the wreckage of urban neighborhoods. He kept up the charade for a few blocks, then he set her down against a dark wall. Derek removed her clothes from his pockets and dressed her, but she was still in a haze.

  He shook her and said, “You have to wake up now. I’m takin’ you back to your people.”

  With his help, she staggered to her feet, her legs wobbly.

  “I’m Derek,” he said. “What’s your name?”

  “Eliza,” she replied, barely audible.

  86

  Jacob and the Mercenaries

  The morning sun heated the tarmac. Jacob and Rebecca climbed the steps into the private plane. Jacob’s younger brother, Eric, was kind enough to lend his plane for a future favor. He’d also recommended a ship. The plane would take them to Jamaica, and the ship would take them to the Virgin Islands and the Project Freedom base. Inside, the plane had eight luxurious leather seats, each with their own retractable tables, and OLED screens.

  Two well-built men stood from their seats and approached. They looked to be in their mid-thirties. “Mr. and Mrs. Roth,” one of the men said, holding out his hand. “I’m Rob. We spoke on the phone.”

  Jacob shook his hand. “Nice to meet you in person.”

  Rob came highly recommended by Eric. Jacob had hired him and the other man to provide protection while they were in the Virgin Islands with the drug smugglers. They weren’t cheap, but Eric had said that the former Navy Seals were the best. Rob was tall, maybe six two, with blond hair and a bushy blond beard. He wore cargo pants and a T-shirt that accentuated his muscular build.

  Rob gestured to his partner. “This is Billy.”

  Billy raised his hand and said, “Nice to meet y’all.” Billy was a redhead, his short hair slicked back. He had a prominent forehead, beady blue eyes, and a reddish mustache and sideburns. He wore a handgun on his hip.

  After the introductions, they settled into their seats. Jacob and Rebecca sat in the front, the men two rows back. Rebecca occasionally glanced back, obviously intrigued. Jacob gritted his teeth but didn’t verbalize his jealousy, refusing to show weakness.

  The pilot stepped aboard, accompanied by a beautiful stewardess. Jacob followed the stewardess with his eyes, intrigued by her realistic beauty. They’d met the pilot earlier on the tarmac. He’d admitted that he’d never flown a plane outside of flight school. Computers flew most planes flawlessly, the pilot merely a front-seat passenger, there to program trips, to check gauges, but only flying during the unlikely malfunction.

  The pilot said, “We’ll take off in about ten minutes.” He disappeared into the cockpit.

  The stewardess approached Jacob and Rebecca. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “I’ll have a Bloody Mary,” Rebecca said.

  The blonde smiled at Rebecca, then turned to Jacob. “And for you, sir?”

  “Coffee with cream and sugar.”

  She took drink orders from Rob and Billy, then strutted for the galley. Jacob watched her perfect backside sway as she walked.

  Rebecca noticed him noticing her. “I didn’t think you were attracted to sex bots.”

  Jacob turned to his wife. “She’s not a sex bot. She’s a stewardess.”

  “Right. And I’m the Queen of England.” Rebecca pursed her lips. “Your brother probably has sex with her.”

  “You sound jealous.” Jacob cracked a small smile.

  Rebecca mock-frowned at her husband. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “She is beautiful.” Jacob grabbed Rebecca’s hand and squeezed. “Not as beautiful as you, of course.”

  “You better say that.”

  Jacob chuckled. “The technology is amazing though. She’s almost indistinguishable from a real woman. I can see why more and more men are marrying bots.”

  87

  Summer and Connor’s Killer

  Connor was on his knees, his hands up in surrender. She begged Derek not to do it, but he laughed and cut Connor’s throat from ear to ear, arterial blood spraying Summer’s face. She thrashed and woke in her makeshift bed. She’d slept on top of her sleeping bag, the old sleeping bag softened by the straw underneath. She looked around the stone room, beams of sunlight coming from the gun ports.

  Three other makeshift beds were in the room. Two of the beds were empty, the women up already, probably working on the day’s chores. Summer sat up and rubbed her eyes. A lump resided in Eliza’s sleeping bag. She had been kidnapped last night. That’s bullshit. Someone already took her bed.

  “Are you decent?” Javier asked, just outside the arched doorway. The room had no door, but the men were careful not to invade their privacy.

  Summer stood from her bed, slipped on the water shoes she’d been given, and padded to Javier. Most of the group wore prison-issued boots, but they’d scavenged old water shoes, saving usable pairs for the scavenger crews. The grippy shoes were made to get wet. They were perfect for rainy conditions and canoeing, decent for running, and great for silent steps. Summer scowled at Eliza’s bed on the way, trying to figure out who was in her sleeping bag. Whoever it was, they were wrapped like a cocoon.

  “I need to talk to you,” Javier said, his voice low.

  “Okay,” Summer replied.

  They walked a few steps down the hall, so they didn’t disturb the sleeper.

  “Someone’s already using Eliza’s sleeping bag,” Summer said, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “That’s Eliza,” Javier replied.

  Summer dropped her arms. “What are you talking about?”

  “Someone brought her back early this morning.”

  “That’s great.”

  But Javier didn’t look happy. “She’s pretty messed up. The fuckin’ Aryans gang-raped her again.”

  Summer covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes like saucers. “My God. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I hope it’s okay, but I told Roger that you’re a nurse. He wants you to examine her when she gets up.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  Javier pursed his lips.

  “Is there something else?”

  “The guy who brought Eliza back is the same guy who killed Connor.”

  Summer’s mouth hung open for a moment. She balled her hands into fists. “Is he here?”

  Javier didn’t respond.

  “He’s here, isn’t he?”

  Javier nodded.

  “Where?” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Maybe now’s not the best time—”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the common area.”

  Summer ran down the stone hallway toward the common area, which was just a large open room near the front entrance of the fort. Three men sat at the far end of the room, but, other than that, it was empty, everyone probably eating breakfast outside in the courtyard. Summer ran toward the men. They sat at a table playing cards. Against the wall, maybe fifteen feet away, Derek slept on a bed of straw. One of the men said hello to Summer, but she was unresponsive.

  She ran to Derek and kicked him in the stomach. Derek woke, disoriented, and Summer kicked him again. Javier arrived on the scene, restraining Summer, the card-playing men now on their feet.

  “What the hell, Summer?” one of the men said.

  “I got her,” Javier said, his arms around her, pulling her away from Derek.

  Derek groaned, in the fetal position, his hand on his stomach.

  “Let me go!” Summer shouted, thrashing about.

  “Calm down,” Javier said, holding her tight. When Summer calmed, Javier let her go, the men now standing be
tween Summer and Derek.

  Summer pointed at Derek. “He killed my fiancé. He took Eliza.”

  “Roger told us to watch him. That’s it,” one of the men said, showing his palms in neutrality.

  “He can’t be here.”

  “Talk to Roger.”

  “He’s outside,” Javier said.

  Summer glared at Derek, then went with Javier to the courtyard. Summer marched up to Roger, who sat at a table, eating his breakfast.

  “Why is he here?” Summer was shaking.

  Roger stood from the table. “Let’s talk in private.”

  “He killed my fiancé, and he took Eliza.”

  But Roger was already walking away from the group. Summer followed. Roger stopped, his back against the stone wall, everyone now out of earshot.

  Roger said, “I know what you think he did—”

  “I watched him kill my fiancé.”

  “They were forced to fight. Your fiancé killed men as well.”

  Summer gritted her teeth and tried a different tack. “He took Eliza.”

  “He risked his life to bring her back.”

  “He was with the Aryans.”

  “Not by choice.”

  Summer shook her head. “You’re just gonna let him stay?”

  “We’re voting on it today.”

  “Fine.” Summer walked away.

  * * *

  Once Eliza woke, Summer checked her wounds. Her knees were skinned. She had bruising on her thighs and wrists. There was vaginal and rectal tearing, but Summer believed Eliza’s physical wounds would heal. Summer worried about STDs, but she didn’t have any antibiotics. Eliza didn’t think she’d get pregnant again. She hadn’t menstruated in many months. No doubt a result of malnutrition.

  Summer bathed Eliza in the ocean, the salt water cleaning her wounds. The sea was calm. Eliza lay on her back in the water, Summer’s hands holding her steady, keeping her head above water. Eliza closed her eyes and breathed. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, merging with the sea. They stayed this way for a long time, Eliza crying softly, and Summer holding her.

  Summer dressed Eliza on the beach. The guards on the fort wall turned away as she dressed. Summer walked with Eliza back to the fort.

  Inside, Javier approached them. “Roger wanted to know if you were up to voting on Derek. He said we can do it later if you want.”

  “Now’s not the time,” Summer said.

  “I wanna do it now,” Eliza said.

  Everyone was in the common room. They’d arranged the plastic tables and chairs in a horseshoe pattern. Only a few guards weren’t in attendance. Someone had to patrol the walls and keep watch. Derek sat in a lonely chair in front of the group. Summer, Eliza, and Javier sat at one of the tables. Summer glowered at Derek, willing him to look her way. When he did, he quickly looked away.

  “All right, let’s bring this meeting to order,” Roger said, sitting at the apex of the horseshoe.

  Everyone quieted.

  Roger said, “Derek will have his chance to talk and answer questions. Then any group members are welcome to voice their opinions. Once everyone’s been heard, we’ll vote whether or not to let Derek stay. Any questions?”

  Nobody spoke.

  “Derek, why don’t you explain how it is that you ended up here.”

  Derek cleared his throat. His beard was thick and dark, matching his wavy hair. His eyes were bloodshot. “I know y’all know about the games. The Race War. I didn’t wanna kill anyone.”

  Summer crossed her arms over her chest, one side of her mouth raised in contempt.

  Derek continued, “I did what I had to do to survive, but I didn’t win my freedom. The Aryans said they owned me. They assigned me to a raider group. The raiders scavenge for supplies and kidnap people, specifically women. Six other men were in the group besides me. I didn’t want anything to do with kidnappin’ or anything they were doin’. I’m sorry I didn’t stop it, but … I was afraid.” Derek swallowed hard. “Then they all fell asleep, and I snuck Eliza out of the compound, and we walked back here. Y’all seem like decent people. I’d like to stay, but I understand if that’s not possible.”

  The room was silent for a few beats.

  Roger said, “Does anyone have any comments or questions for Derek?”

  Gavin said, “How do we know he’s not an Aryan spy? Maybe they sent him here with Eliza on purpose.”

  “I find that unlikely,” Roger said. “He was only with the Aryans for a few days. They wouldn’t send someone so new.”

  “What can he do?” asked a male group member. “It’s already tough enough to feed everyone.”

  “I was a farmer,” Derek said. “I can help with foraging. I know plants, even tropical plants. If you need someone to go out for supplies, you can send me. I can shoot. Shotguns, rifles, handguns. I’ve been shootin’ since I was ten. I can hunt and trap and butcher animals. I know a little about medicinal herbs.”

  The group nodded along with Derek’s words, obviously impressed with his résumé.

  Javier raised his hand. “I have a question.” He stared at Derek and said, “What did you do to be sent to this island?”

  “I killed the man who raped and killed my girlfriend,” Derek replied.

  “You were a killer before you came here.”

  A few group members nodded in agreement with Javier.

  Derek also nodded, his expression resigned. “That’s true.”

  “He’s a psychopath, like the rest of them,” Summer said.

  More groups members murmured in agreement.

  “I don’t think so,” Eliza said.

  Everyone turned to Eliza, the room dead quiet now.

  “When I first came to the island, I spent three months with psychopaths,” Eliza said. “I know psychopaths better than any of you. Derek’s no psychopath. He didn’t like seeing me hurt. It was written all over his face. He refused to rape me, even though the rest of them took their turn. He was afraid when he lied to the guards to get me out of there. I could hear it in his voice. But he did it anyway. Never once did I see him act like a psychopath.”

  The vote was nearly unanimous, only Javier and Summer in opposition.

  88

  Naomi and Republican Gun Control

  Naomi sat on the couch with her husband, Alan, watching President Warner on television as he sat at his desk in the Oval Office. Warner’s face was puffy, the skin sagging appropriately for a man of sixty-two. His hair was white at the temples, brown on top, and slicked back.

  President Warner said, “School shootings won’t be tolerated by my administration. It’s my job to protect the American people, especially children. In the past, school shootings were an epidemic in this country. But our government, Republicans and Democrats, took proactive steps to nearly eliminate violent crime. And we’ll take proactive steps again to prevent another tragedy.”

  Warner paused for a beat. “Nine students and two professors were fatally shot by a deranged antigovernment activist. Eight more students were injured. These professors and students were sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and friends and citizens. They all could’ve been saved with sensible gun control. I know people out there are screaming about the right to bear arms and the Second Amendment. I’m an advocate for the Second Amendment. I’m a gun owner and a hunter myself. I have no interest in disarming Americans, but I won’t tolerate another school shooting.

  “Over the next few months, I will work with Republicans and Democrats to draft a sensible bipartisan gun-control bill. We’ll institute more stringent background checks, with a mandatory APT test. We’ll have mandatory gun registrations. If you own a gun, we need to know who you are and where you plan to store the weapon. And we’ll have sensible limits on magazine capacities. Enough is enough.”

  President Warner paused for a few seconds. “I’d like to observe a moment of silence for the victims of the University of Oregon tragedy.” Warner bowed his head, his hands claspe
d as if praying. After thirty seconds, he raised his head and said, “God bless the families of those who were lost, and God bless the United States of America.” Warner faded out, a commercial taking his place.

  Alan muted the television. “I’m surprised a Republican’s talking about gun control.”

  “It doesn’t go far enough,” Naomi replied.

  “Does this change your speech at all?”

  She already had her gun-control speech ready, and she was scheduled to give it at the University of Oregon on Thursday. “I should call Vernon.”

  Alan frowned. “You used to talk to me.”

  Naomi grabbed her phone from the end table. “We talk.”

  “We haven’t had sex in two months.”

  “It hasn’t been that long.”

  “It has. If our love life was a priority, you’d know that.”

  Naomi replaced her phone on the end table. “That’s not fair. I’m barely home. I told you that this election would be a major sacrifice.”

  Alan sighed and slumped his slight shoulders. “Do I have something to worry about?”

  Naomi scooted closer to her husband and kissed him on the cheek. “Absolutely not.”

  89

  Derek and Castillo San Felipe del Morro

  Yesterday, after the vote, Summer had left the common area furious. Roger had shown Derek around the fort. The Spanish fort, Castillo San Felipe del Morro, was built in the sixteenth century. It was situated on the northwestern point of the islet of Old San Juan. The fort was originally constructed to guard the entrance to San Juan Bay and to defend the port city of San Juan from seaborne enemies.

  Now it was home to a group of antigovernment activists called 1776, the massive stone walls protecting them from the evils of Psycho Island. Besides protection, the fort also provided water, with massive cisterns that collected rainwater runoff.

  Approximately forty-five people were in the group, two of them children, and eight of them women. Derek had been surprised to see the submarine. Roger and the married mechanics, Fred and Willow, had been cagey, dodging Derek’s questions about where it would go and who would pilot the craft.