2050: Psycho Island

by Williams, Phil M.

  Summer slipped out from under Gavin, her hands and poncho dark red with blood. She stepped from the vehicle, grabbed the handgun from her pocket, and pointed it at Derek. “Don’t fucking move.”

  Derek stopped in his tracks, his expression empty, his shoulders slumped. “Go ahead. Do it.”

  The gun shook in Summer’s hand.

  Javier walked around the truck, a backpack filled with batteries on his back, and a duffel bag full of batteries in hand. He dropped the duffel bag, staring at the barrel of Summer’s handgun. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “He killed Connor,” Summer said, tears mixing with raindrops.

  “Put the gun down!” Javier said, standing next to Derek, but not moving in front of him. “He’s not the enemy.”

  Summer lowered the gun, her jaw clenched tight.

  Javier stepped to her and took the gun from her grasp. “We have to go.”

  Derek reached into the BRV, searching Gavin. He took Gavin’s handgun and tucked it behind his back. Then he grabbed the remaining two bags filled with batteries. Lights appeared in the distance. It had to be the Netas. They were close.

  “We can’t leave him here,” Summer said.

  Javier glanced at the lights in the distance. “There’s no time.”

  Derek picked up two bags full of batteries and hurried for the sea containers. Javier and Summer grabbed the other bags and followed, leaving Gavin in the BRV. They dragged the canoes to the water’s edge and loaded them with the batteries. Javier and Summer were in one canoe, Derek by himself in the other. The lights were getting closer. They heard shouts in the distance. Thankfully, they were obscured by the darkness and the sea containers. Javier pushed their canoe into the water, jumping into the back as he did so.

  The water was still rough, but they were going with the current now. The earlier trip took three hours, but the return trip took only an hour. They beached at the rocky point. They carried the batteries in their backpacks and duffel bags, with plans to come back for the beached canoes. They expected to see their men on the wall, keeping watch, but nobody was there. As they hiked along the bottom wall, toward the back entrance, Derek stopped them, and put his finger to his lips.

  Despite the constant drumbeat of rain on the stone, faint voices carried outside. Derek set down his duffel bag and removed his heavy backpack. He removed Gavin’s handgun from the small of his back. He approached the back entry and peered around the corner. His head immediately retracted. He returned to Summer and Javier.

  “I saw two Aryan men inside,” Derek said, his voice low.

  “Jesus,” Javier whispered back.

  “Can you shoot?” Derek asked, looking at Javier.

  He shook his head.

  “Can you?” Derek asked, turning his attention to Summer.

  She shook her head.

  “It has to be one of you. There’s no one else.”

  “I’ll do it,” Summer whispered.

  “Lemme see that pistol,” Derek said to Javier.

  Javier handed the semiautomatic handgun to Derek. He released the magazine, checking the ammunition. Derek inserted the magazine and checked the chamber. Then he removed the revolver from the small of his back and replaced it with the semiautomatic handgun.

  Derek narrowed his eyes at Summer. “You gonna shoot me?”

  She shook her head again.

  Derek checked the cylinder of the revolver and handed it to Summer. “Revolvers are easier for your first time.” Derek showed her how to grip the gun. “You have four shots left. Line up the front and back sights and squeeze the trigger.” Derek showed her how to line up the sights. “Don’t point it at me or yourself.”

  Summer looked at the revolver in her hand like it was an alien object.

  “What are we doing?” Javier asked.

  “I’m gonna shoot those guys and take their rifles,” Derek said. “Hopefully, you two will back me up.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We need a plan.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “We could take the canoes and get outta here,” Javier said.

  “We can’t leave everyone,” Summer said, whispering. “We have to go in.”

  “But we need a plan,” Javier hissed in response.

  “They won’t be expecting anyone,” Derek said. “It’s an ambush. That’s our plan.”

  They crept through the open back entrance, Derek in front, Summer next, and Javier bringing up the rear, a knife in hand. A few candles flickered up ahead. Men clustered around the submarine.

  “You’ll never get off the island.” Fred’s voice was low and gravelly.

  “I thought you were the mechanic,” a man replied.

  Summer recognized the voice from their initial beach landing. The same man they’d stolen food from. Wade Wallace.

  “I’m not fixin’ shit for you,” Fred said.

  There was a thud, and Fred groaned.

  Derek crept forward, inching closer to the light. As they moved closer, they saw the scene more clearly. Fred was held at gunpoint. Willow lay on the stone floor, motionless, blood flowing from a head wound. Her arm was outstretched, reaching for her motionless baby, only inches from her grasp. Roger lay on his side, holding his stomach, blood covering his hands. Summer counted five Aryans.

  Despite being outmanned, Summer and Derek had the advantage of surprise and the added advantage of darkness. They could clearly see the Aryans, but the Aryans couldn’t see them. Also, the Aryans stood, but Fred and Roger were on the ground, which lessened the chance of a friendly fire accident.

  Derek stopped about twenty yards from the men. He moved to his stomach, his handgun held out front. He motioned for Summer and Javier to do the same. Summer lay on her stomach, next to Derek. Javier was behind them.

  Derek whispered in Summer’s ear, “Start with the guy on the right, then make your way to the middle. I’ll start with the guy on the left. Go for the heart. Line up the sights, use the floor to steady the gun. You shoot when you’re ready.”

  Her hands were shaky. Summer used the stone floor to steady the revolver as Derek had instructed. She tilted the gun upward, just a little, lining up the sights. She squeezed the trigger, the pop causing her to flinch. Derek fired immediately afterward. The Aryans fired a few wild shots into the darkness, but the bullets were well over their heads. Derek and Summer kept firing until they were out of ammunition. Summer wasn’t sure if she’d hit or missed, but three men lay on the ground motionless, and two others cried out in pain.

  Derek stood and crept from the shadows, holding his knife. Summer and Javier followed him, their knives also in hand. Summer was startled by the carnage. Two men were killed with headshots, one shot between the eyes, the other had a hole in his neck, both lay in expanding pools of their own blood. The third lay on his side, his shirt drenched in blood. This was the man Summer had shot. She’d aimed for his chest and had shot him in cold blood. Summer felt sick.

  Fred lay in the fetal position, but he didn’t look to be hurt. Roger was still on his side, holding his gut, his breathing shallow. One of the injured Aryan men was Wade Wallace. Derek marched directly toward him and stabbed him in the chest. Summer and Javier stood, frozen and horrified by Derek’s brutality.

  They didn’t see the other Aryan man who was wounded but still alive. Another gunshot rang out, and Javier slumped to the floor. Fred was immediately on the Aryan, beating him with his bound hands like a single club.

  Summer ran to Javier. She removed his shirt, cutting it with her knife, revealing a small hole in his chest but a bigger exit hole, similar to Gavin’s wound. She took Javier’s shirt and pressed it to the exit wound. “Hold on, Javier. Hold on.”

  Derek was with Roger, kneeling, holding a shirt to Roger’s stomach. He’d copied Summer’s attempt to stop Javier’s bleeding.

  Roger sounded delirious. “Go to … Panama. Steven … Parker.”

  Fred stopped pounding the now-de
ad Aryan. His hands and face were bloody from the spatter. He went to his child and scooped his lifeless body from the floor. Fred sat with his dead wife, rocking his baby, tears streaking through the blood on his face.

  Summer tried. Derek tried. But there was no OR to fix them. No EMTs or ambulances. No transfusions or modern medicine. Javier was gone in minutes.

  “He’s gone,” Summer said quietly. She let go of Javier.

  Derek turned to Fred—still holding Roger’s stomach wound—and asked, “Are there any more threats?”

  Fred shook his head and said, “Everybody’s dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “They attacked a few hours ago. We fought ’em off, killed at least two hundred men. Almost got ’em all.” Fred exhaled heavily. “But we ran out of ammunition. We tried to fight ’em with knives, but they just cut us down.” Fred’s voice quivered; his eyes were glassy. “They killed everybody.”

  Summer went to Derek and Roger. She checked Roger’s pulse. “He’s gone.”

  Derek removed his bloody hands from Roger’s body. He stood and walked a few feet away, his back to Summer and Fred. His head hung for a minute. His upper body trembled, but he didn’t make a sound.

  Fred placed his dead son in Willow’s arms. He staggered to his feet. Summer hugged the man, or maybe it was the other way around. After a moment, they disengaged, their eyes red and puffy.

  Derek wiped his face, turned around, and approached Summer and Fred.

  Summer said, “We need to check for survivors. You never know.”

  Summer, Derek, and Fred walked through the fort, through the war zone, poking dead Aryans with the barrel of their rifles, making sure they were dead, also checking their fallen comrades for nonexistent pulses. Two-year-old Joy had died in the arms of one of the men.

  He had been shot multiple times in the back, one of them going through and through and killing their little girl, the child raised and loved by the group. Upon seeing the lifeless little body, Summer sank to her knees and sobbed. Fred was right. Everyone was dead.

  Derek and Fred stood over Summer, silent, heads bowed. Once Summer stopped crying, Fred helped her to her feet.

  “You two should leave,” Fred said, glancing from Summer to Derek. “They’ll be back.”

  Derek cleared his throat. “Roger said somethin’ about Panama and Steven Parker.”

  “That’s where he was gonna take the video footage.” Fred shook his head, his face twisted in disgust. “That’s not gonna happen now. All this for fuckin’ nothin’.”

  “We have the batteries,” Derek said.

  Fred snapped to attention. “Then we have to do it now. We’re runnin’ outta time. The naval blockade’ll be back soon.”

  They hurried back to the submarine. The sub was heavy, even without the pontoons attached or the batteries adding extra weight. The three of them struggled and heaved and cursed but they managed to carry the submarine to the water’s edge. The rain stopped. The first rays of sun provided dim light through the dark clouds.

  Derek and Summer brought the pontoons and the batteries to Fred as he worked on the craft. They collected water from the rainwater cisterns under the fort. Water to quench their thirst and a bottle for the journey. The pontoons bolted to the hinged connection points easily with help from Derek and Summer holding the pontoons steady. The batteries were a pain in the ass, as they were placed at the front of the craft. Fred had to crawl inside the cockpit, head first, to connect the batteries.

  Once the sub was ready for its maiden voyage, Fred said, “Who’s drivin’ this thing?”

  “I thought you were,” Summer said.

  “So did I,” Derek said.

  Fred shook his head. “I’m not leavin’ my family.”

  “Can two people fit?” Summer asked.

  “It’s tight for one person,” Fred said. “Weight’s an issue too. I don’t know if this thing can go the distance. The more weight we put in it, the less likely it is to make it to the Virgin Islands.”

  Faint Spanish words carried with the wind. They all stopped and listened. They stood near the point but on the bayside. Derek crept toward the oceanside and peered down the beach. He ran back, his eyes wide open.

  “The Netas. Maybe ten men coming down the beach with rifles,” Derek said. “We need to get her launched. Summer should go.”

  They pushed the sub into the water. It floated, which was a good sign. Summer climbed into the cockpit. A full water bottle was on the floor. Fred and Derek were alongside the craft in water up to their chests. A small watertight box was on the floor, with a carabiner clip attached. Inside, was a compass, a folded piece of paper protected by plastic with compass headings and times, a windup stopwatch, and the USB flash drive with the video footage. A hammer, a manual drill, and a scuba snorkel with a mask were on the floor next to the small box. Fred gave her the sixty-second tour. He told her how to work the throttle, how to dive and surface and steer.

  “Do you know how to use a compass?” Fred asked.

  Summer nodded.

  “Just use the stopwatch and steer those exact coordinates in that exact order for the times listed at full throttle. It should put you in the Virgin Islands. Take the video to Silver City. It’s in the Darién Province of Panama. Ask for Steven Parker Jr.” Fred pointed to the snorkel and said, “Gimme that snorkel and mask.” He took the snorkel and mask from Summer, then said, “Use the drill if you can’t—”

  A loud pop sounded, and a bullet whizzed by, too close for comfort. Another shot. The Netas from the beach were near the point now, only seventy yards away.

  “Go!” Fred said, shutting the hatch.

  104

  Naomi and Man Up

  Early Monday morning, Naomi heard voices outside. She was in her bedroom, dressing for work. Alan straightened his tie in the mirror.

  “Did you hear that?” Naomi asked, walking to the window.

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Alan said, not turning from the mirror.

  Naomi saw two men in masks running from her house.

  “Two men are running away from our house,” Naomi said, watching them disappear from view.

  “Maybe they’re jogging,” Alan said, approaching the window. He looked from the window, scanning the area. “I don’t see anybody.”

  “They were just here, and they were wearing masks. Nobody jogs in a mask in the summer.”

  “It’s the shadows from the buildings. Maybe it just looked like they were wearing masks.”

  Naomi blew out a frustrated breath. “Aren’t you concerned?”

  Alan turned from the window to his wife. “When was the last time we’ve even had a robbery around here? There’s no crime anymore.”

  “There’s less crime, but there’s still crime.”

  Alan rolled his eyes. “You want me to call the police?”

  “No, I want you to go outside and check it out.”

  “What am I supposed to do if I find someone?”

  Naomi glared at Alan and said, “Be a man for once.” She regretted the statement as soon as the words left her lips.

  Alan crossed his arms over his chest. “Like Vernon?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes, you did. I’m not stupid. I see the way you look at him.”

  “I said I was sorry. Can we just let it go?”

  Alan dropped his arms and narrowed his eyes at Naomi. “I know you’re having an affair.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Naomi said, turning away from Alan and slipping into her flats.

  “Blake told me.”

  Naomi clenched her fists, thinking about her deadbeat son. She turned back to Alan. “And you believe him?”

  “I do now.”

  “Look. I know I’ve been a neglectful wife. I’m sorry. We’ll work it out.”

  “I want a divorce.”

  Naomi’s eyes bulged; her eyebrows arched high. “A divorce? Are you insane? Is this some kind of midlife crisis?�
��

  “You want me to be a man for once? I’m being a man. I want a divorce.”

  Naomi softened her tone, knowing that a messy divorce would ruin any chance of winning the presidency. “Alan, be reasonable. Let’s talk tonight. We’ll work it out.” She grabbed his hand.

  He pulled back and said, “I’m taking the car to work by myself. You can call an AutoLyft.” Alan left the bedroom for the stairs.

  Naomi hurried after him.

  105

  Derek’s All Alone

  They pushed the submarine into the depths, gunshots snapping overhead. The water was up to their necks now. Fred handed the snorkel and mask to Derek.

  “Keep your head under water and swim across the bay,” Fred said.

  “We’ll go together,” Derek said.

  But Fred swam for the shore and Summer motored toward the ocean, leaving Derek alone. Two more gunshots sounded. These were aimed at Fred. Derek put on the mask, the snorkel in his mouth, and slipped under the water. He swam across the bay toward a small islet about five hundred yards away. The water was still choppy but had calmed considerably.

  Derek swam with a modified breast stroke, keeping his head and body submerged, trying not to splash, sucking in air through his snorkel. On occasion, he sucked in seawater and spat out what he could through the snorkel, like a whale. His boots and camo pants made the swimming especially tiresome.

  He heard a flurry of gunfire, but he didn’t raise his head from the water or stop swimming. He knew the Netas had killed Fred on the rocky beach.

  106

  Jacob and Moving On

  An urgent knock came at their door. Jacob answered the door, Rebecca right behind him.

  It was Cesar, his expression grim. “We found him.”

  “Is he okay?” Rebecca asked.

  “Come with me,” Cesar replied.

  Jacob and Rebecca followed Cesar to the command center of the bunker. The command center was a small room with desks and computers and three Project Freedom technicians. They’d launched both drones early that morning, as soon as the rain slowed.