2050: Psycho Island

by Williams, Phil M.

  Now, Derek sat by himself at a plastic table in the courtyard, eating a meager breakfast of dried iguana meat and mangos. Summer and Javier had left the courtyard as soon as they saw Derek, their departure an obvious protest of his presence. Derek overheard Roger telling Gavin that they were running dangerously low on food.

  Gavin said, “We used to go out in the rain and not worry about being attacked, but the Aryans must’ve figured out what we’re doing. I’m worried that they’ll pick us off one by one until we don’t have the numbers to hold the fort.”

  Derek collected his empty plate and plastic cup and stepped to Roger’s table. “I know where we can find some food.”

  Heads turned to Derek. Roger sat at a card table with Gavin, Fred, and Willow. Gavin was small and fit, with a young face under his beard. Fred looked like a sun-burnt Santa Claus on a diet. Willow was short and curvy, with brown disheveled hair.

  “Where’s that?” Gavin asked with a smirk.

  “Wade Wallace’s bedroom,” Derek replied.

  Gavin and Fred and much of the group in earshot laughed.

  “So what?” Gavin said. “Even if we had the manpower to march into the Aryan district and take the food, it’s not worth the risk.”

  “Seems to me like you risked your lives the other night and didn’t find shit,” Derek said, straight-faced.

  Gavin glowered at Derek. “Fuck you.”

  “How much food?” Roger asked Derek.

  “Maybe twenty boxes of MREs. And I know how we can break into the house without alerting the guards,” Derek replied, his tone unfazed by Gavin’s attitude.

  “It’s a suicide mission,” Gavin said.

  Roger rebuked Gavin with a stare. “Let him talk.”

  “We’ll need a rope, a sturdy basket, and two people who can climb a fifteen-foot wall,” Derek said.

  90

  Jacob Lands in Sandy Bay

  They dropped anchor in Sandy Bay, US Virgin Islands. Like Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands were destroyed by a series of hurricanes, the worst being Hurricane Zoey in 2042. It was now a primitive and lightly populated archipelago without governance or an electrical grid.

  A knock came at their cabin door. Jacob groaned and rubbed his eyes. He checked his watch—3:43 a.m. Pale moonlight filtered in from the porthole. Jacob stood from the bed, took three steps to the door, and opened it. A Panamanian crewman stood in the dim light.

  “We here,” the crewman said, in broken English.

  “Thank you,” Jacob said. “Give us a few minutes.” Jacob shut the door, went back to the bed, and shook Rebecca.

  Her eyes fluttered. “Where are we?” she rasped.

  “The Virgin Islands.”

  Jacob and Rebecca dressed and collected their things. Two crewmen helped them with their bags to the deck. They were anchored a few hundred yards from the beach. The crewmen loaded the bags and gear into the inflatable raft. The two mercenaries, Rob and Billy, kept a close eye on their gear, their rifles attached to their chests.

  Jacob and Rebecca, Rob and Billy, along with the first mate, boarded the inflatable raft, and it was lowered by two small cranes into the water. They motored toward the beach, navigating by moonlight. As they approached the beach, Rob and Billy scanned for threats. The first mate steered them to the beach, retracting the motor from the water as the boat slid onto the sand. Rob and Billy grabbed their gear. Jacob and Rebecca did the same.

  Flashlights approached, bobbing in the darkness. They stood on the sand, their gear and their feet out of reach of the tide. Rob and Billy had their rifles pointed down, but they were ready for trouble. Two Latino men walked toward them with handguns on their hips.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Roth?” one of Latino men said, his accent thick.

  “Yes,” Jacob said.

  “Cesar is expecting you. I help with your bags.”

  The Latino men carried Jacob and Rebecca’s luggage, but Jacob held on to a locked metal suitcase. They were led up a worn path through the jungle. Rob and Billy were loaded down with tactical gear. They walked about two hundred yards into the interior, the path leading upward. A stream ran alongside the path.

  A squat concrete building was hidden among the vines and shade trees, dug into the hill, and lit with dim LED lights. It was situated one hundred feet above sea level, no doubt to avoid flooding. The stream ran past the building, turning a microhydro turbine. The banks were contained with concrete blocks. A fence with razor wire surrounded the building. A guard opened the gate, and everyone entered the property. Their escorts took them inside. The ceiling was low, the floors and walls concrete.

  “You leave bags here. We take to your rooms,” one of the escorts said, his English broken.

  Rob and Billy refused, not wanting anyone to touch their tactical gear. Jacob still held on to his metal suitcase. They were led to a cramped room with a rectangular table for ten.

  One of the escorts flipped on the light and said, “You sit here. I go get Cesar.”

  Rob and Billy left their gear just outside, but they took their rifles into the room. On the walls were pictures of black speedboats and a black submarine.

  A few minutes later, a very unassuming man stepped through the open doorway, a laptop under his arm. He spoke with a very faint accent. “Mr. and Mrs. Roth. Welcome. I’m Cesar. We spoke on the phone.”

  Everyone stood from their seats.

  Jacob stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “I’m Jacob Roth.”

  “Mr. Roth. Pleased to meet you in person.” Cesar turned to Rebecca. “And this must be Mrs. Roth.”

  “Please, call me Rebecca.”

  Cesar took her hand gently. “Pleased to meet you, Rebecca.”

  He wasn’t the drug kingpin that Jacob had expected. Cesar was average height, thin, with a boyish face, and a light olive complexion. He looked more like an accountant or a software engineer. He wore business-casual attire—a button-down shirt and slacks.

  After Cesar released Rebecca from his grasp, Jacob introduced Billy and Rob.

  After the introductions, Cesar said, “You must be tired from your journey. If you desire, I can show you to your rooms.”

  “I’d like to get started,” Rebecca said.

  Cesar smiled. “As you wish.”

  They sat around the table.

  Cesar opened his laptop. “As I said on the phone, the first step is to locate Derek. We have stealth drones capable of facial recognition. We will search until we find him.”

  “When can you launch the drones?” Rebecca asked.

  “In a few hours, at sunrise,” Cesar replied. “There is a hurricane coming. We’ll do what we can before the hurricane. Then we’ll start again immediately afterward.”

  “I’d like to talk with Cesar alone,” Jacob said.

  Rob and Billy stood from their seats and exited the room.

  Rebecca didn’t budge. “Whatever you have to say to him, you can say in front of me.”

  Jacob glared at his wife. “If you expect me to finance this mission, you’ll do as I say.”

  Rebecca left without a word, slamming the door behind her.

  Jacob placed his locked metal suitcase on the table. He placed his palm to the reader, and the lock released. Jacob opened the small suitcase to reveal eighty shiny gold coins, worth approximately 400,000 Fed Coins. He pushed it across the table to Cesar. “As we agreed.”

  Cesar picked up a Canadian Maple Leaf coin, then placed it back in the suitcase. “Very good, Mr. Roth.” He shut the suitcase.

  “This has to be believable,” Jacob said.

  “I understand.”

  “When will you have the footage?”

  “As you know, we already have footage of violence and death on this primitive island. It is not difficult to place someone’s likeness on one of the dead. I could have that complete in a few hours, but I do not think your wife would believe that we found him dead, just like that.” Cesar snapped his fingers. “She’ll want to see the drone launch, and she’ll
want to see the footage in progress. We have to make it look good, no?”

  Jacob leaned back in his chair. “Of course.”

  “Mrs. Roth can watch the footage and see our progress in real time. In a few days, she’ll see video footage of Derek Reeves, dying on a primitive tropical island.”

  “Under no circumstances can she find out.”

  Cesar leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands steepled. “I understand very well, Mr. Roth. We are very good at what we do.”

  Jacob narrowed his eyes at Cesar. “What exactly are you good at? Lying to families and taking their money?”

  Cesar stared at Jacob, more interested than angry. “We give them closure or hope, depending on what they want. In your case, we provide something more valuable.”

  Jacob crossed his arms over his chest. “And what’s that?”

  “A wife who forgets her ex-husband.”

  Jacob scowled at Cesar but didn’t speak.

  “I do my research, Mr. Roth.” Cesar smiled politely. “You will receive what you desire.”

  91

  Summer and the Laughing Gulls

  Summer had not wanted to go on the mission with Derek, but they needed someone lightweight. She’d given birth sixteen days ago, but she was likely already at her prepregnancy weight of 115, if not below. Her stomach still protruded slightly. Her uterus hadn’t returned to its prebaby size, but the food scarcity and the physical activity had dropped her baby weight faster than any workout or diet craze.

  Eliza and Summer were by far the lightest of the scavengers, but Eliza was in no shape to scavenge, not to mention, they’d be scavenging the very same location where she’d been gang-raped just two days earlier. In addition, they needed at least four people to carry the loot, and only four had volunteered: Summer, Gavin, Javier, and Derek.

  Just before sunrise, they paddled up the river, against the current. The main river forked. Derek and Gavin steered left. Summer and Javier followed in their canoe. The river narrowed, the jungle covering both banks. Caiman eyes, shining in the moonlight, pointed in their direction.

  The scavengers rarely talked, careful not to draw any unwanted attention. They paddled against the current for another half mile, now deep into Aryan territory. They beached both canoes on the riverbank, got out, and hid the boats in the brush. A nearby caiman hissed and splashed into the water. Glowing eyes moved closer, gliding through the water.

  Gavin grabbed the plastic bin, which used to be a container for recyclables. They’d made holes on each side for the rope to pass through. The rope was already tied and sitting inside the bin. Each of them wore empty backpacks, except for the duffel bag inside each. Other than Gavin’s pocketknife, nobody had a weapon. This was a stealth mission, and they needed their hands free. They wouldn’t be able to shoot their way out if they were caught anyway.

  Derek led them from the riverbank through an old park. Aryans slept in makeshift houses: tents, lean-tos, and small hovels made from reused cinder blocks. They entered what remained of a working-class neighborhood. The homes were reduced to piles of rubble. They moved through the neighborhood, zigzagging past rotting wood with protruding nails, terra-cotta, shards of glass, and cinder blocks. More Aryans slept here in their makeshift houses.

  The foursome crept into what was left of an upscale neighborhood. The plots were larger here, the materials more durable. The concrete and stucco homes were in shambles, the roofs blown away by hurricanes from a decade ago, but some first-floor walls still stood.

  Derek held up his fist, stopping the group. He crouched, the group shielded by a crumbling wall. They peeked over the rubble, looking at two homes, next-door neighbors that stood nearly intact. The mansions were surrounded by fifteen-foot high walls, only visible through the steel gates.

  Two rifle-carrying Aryan guards patrolled both gates, the embers of their marijuana cigarettes glowing red in the darkness. The scavengers watched their routine, the guards rarely looking out, more concerned with their weed. When the guards from both houses were unaware, Derek led them into the narrow alley between the mansions. Summer couldn’t help glaring at Derek, but he was standoffish, keeping his distance, rarely looking in her direction.

  Derek stopped midway down the alley and whispered, “This is it. The house that looks like a bunker is Wade’s.”

  Summer looked up at the imposing wall, then to Gavin, and whispered, “Can you climb this?”

  During their planning for the mission, Gavin stated he could scale most urban walls under twenty feet using parkour.

  Gavin murmured, “It’s easy. I’ll show you.” He handed his backpack to Javier, then touched both walls with his palms. He reached out with one foot and stepped up the wall a few feet, his arms and foot supporting his weight. He placed his other foot on the wall to further support his weight. His arms were straight out to the sides and his feet looked like the lower half of an X. Then he moved up the walls, moving one limb at a time to shimmy to the top.

  Once near the top, he peered over, scanning the area. Gavin sat on top of the wall and motioned with his hand, indicating that the coast was clear. Derek tossed the rope to Gavin, who caught it and hoisted the attached bin up the wall. Summer and Derek copied Gavin’s technique of scaling the walls, both making it to the top without too much trouble. Javier crouched in the alley as the lookout, their bags at his feet.

  The walls were thick, six-feet wide at the top. Probably the main reason the concrete bunker of a house was still intact. Where they stood, the sprawling house nearly touched the concrete wall, but they’d have to jump about a six-foot gap between the wall and the roof. Also, the roof wasn’t level with the top of the wall. There was a one-foot drop.

  Gavin went first, taking a few quick steps and jumping, easily clearing the gap and landing on the roof. This part of the plan worried Summer. She’d expressed concern that their footfalls would be heard, but Derek had said that they were jumping on the garage, and he didn’t think anyone slept there. Derek went next, also easily clearing the gap.

  Summer glanced down at the fifteen-foot crevasse between the top of the wall and the ground below. She took a few baby steps back, so she was on the edge of the wall. Summer took a deep breath and a few quick steps, then she jumped. Her legs cycled through the air, like she was doing the long jump in track and field. She landed on the EPDM rubber roof, still on her feet, her momentum carrying her a few steps forward.

  From their vantage point, they saw two Aryan guards at the back gate, slumped in their seats, their heads lolled to the side, obviously dozing on the job. The guards in front were too close to the house to see over the eaves, but Summer smelled their skunky marijuana.

  They tiptoed on the roof to the opposite side of the house. Solar panels were bolted to the roof and angled toward the sun. Derek showed them the tarp that covered the hole in the roof. They moved aside the stones that held the tarp in place, exposing the dark bedroom. They peered inside, the moonlight casting a dim glow. Nothing appeared out of order. Three people slept in the king-size bed, no blankets needed for the humid night. Wade’s snoring was audible.

  The rope was tied in a loop at one end, large enough for Derek to fit around his waist. The other end was tied to the plastic recycling bin. Gavin placed the bin through the hole in the roof and lowered it inside Wade’s bedroom. Derek stepped into the loop and situated the rope around his waist. Summer, being the lightest, shimmied down the rope, into the bedroom.

  She glanced toward the bed, her heart racing. Wade Wallace snored, his gut rising and falling with his breath. A naked woman slept on each side of him, both of them thin with leathery tans. The room smelled like body odor and sex. Summer found the boxes of MREs along the wall, right where Derek said they’d be.

  She tiptoed to the boxes and grabbed one. It was heavy, maybe twenty pounds. As they’d planned, she put two boxes into the bin, and Derek hoisted the MREs to the roof. Summer crept back to the boxes, and glanced at Wade and the women again. They still sl
ept. She carried two more boxes to the hole in the roof. Derek had already lowered the empty bin. Summer placed those two boxes inside and again Derek hoisted the bin and the MREs skyward.

  They did this six times. There were twenty boxes, but they’d only planned to take twelve, figuring that was the maximum they could carry. On the sixth and final time, Summer looked up, watching the bin move upward. A rustle from the bed caused her head and gaze to snap that way. Her heart skipped a beat.

  One of the women stared at her, the whites of her eyes visible in the dim light.

  Summer put her finger to her lips. The woman didn’t react.

  Once they emptied the bin, Gavin sent the rope back down for Summer, Derek with the rope end around his waist to hold Summer’s weight. She shifted her weight back and forth on the floor quietly, from one foot to the other, eager to get out of there. She glanced to the woman again.

  The woman still stared at Summer, unblinking eyes peering from the darkness.

  Summer grabbed the rope and climbed, using the well-positioned knots to push off with her legs. Once Summer was on the roof, Gavin extracted the rope and the bin, hoping to keep the valuable materials.

  Summer whispered to Gavin, her hands trembling from stress. “One of the women saw me.”

  “Let’s get outta here,” he whispered back.

  They carried the boxes across the roof, back to where they’d jumped across. The cover of darkness was waning; the first hint of sunlight peeked through the trees. Gavin sliced open the boxes with his pocketknife.

  The return jump was more difficult because the top of the wall was one-foot higher than the roof. On the plus side, they had more room for a running start. Gavin went first, easily making the jump. Summer took a running start, doing another long jump, clearing the wall with a bit too much momentum. Gavin grabbed her, saving her from going over the other side of the wall and plummeting into the alley.