Lost Island Rampage

by Gustavo Bondoni

  “And she knows this?”

  “We have a truce.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. But as soon as the truce ends, are you sure she won’t shoot you in the face?”

  Harold shrugged. “I don’t think so. What you just saw back there, it was personal. With me, it’s just business. We keep our side of the bargain, everyone walks away.”

  Cora just stared at these two guys. They acted like everything they were saying was perfectly normal, that criminals and hackers were just in business, and that a murder could somehow not be personal. She stood.

  “Sked, I need you to keep an eye on the prisoners while I explain that murder we just saw to the Colonel. And then I’m going to see where Akane has gotten off to.”

  ***

  The Colonel proved the simple part of the equation. When Cora explained what she’d learned, he reacted exactly the same way she had, but with more self-control. He didn’t look as if he was about to kill the staff of the place as soon as she got out of his sight.

  Finding Akane proved more difficult until Cora noticed a small door leading out of the main room into a corridor built of bare concrete.

  About five feet in, Akane sat on the floor, sobbing.

  “Go away,” she said.

  Cora thought about obeying, but only for a moment. “No. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. But you’re not staying here alone with that gun. I’m trying not to lose any more people.”

  “I’m not one of your people.”

  “You are to me,” Cora replied.

  The red-eyed woman looked up. There was gratitude in her eyes, but also something else: a deep-seated mistrust. Cora suspected no one would ever get past that barrier: it was integral to her need to protect herself. “Whatever,” Akane replied. “But it’s not me you need to worry about. There’s a woman in the third cell over. Get her out. I tried, but that cell…” She began sobbing again.

  Cora gave her a look, trying to see if anything about the woman in the fetal position on the floor indicated that she was about to do herself harm. It didn’t look that way, and trying to take the gun might do more harm than good. So Cora walked down the corridor towards the indicated door.

  The hall was as filthy as the room outside was immaculate and corporate. The passageway actually smelled of human waste, and the floor looked like it hadn’t been swept in years. The walls and floor were of roughly-finished concrete, jagged to the touch. The only illumination came from an incandescent bulb suspended from its own wires hanging from a hole in the roof.

  The third door was rusted and slick with slime. The only part of it that wouldn’t give you tetanus—or worse—was the bolting mechanism. That was shiny and sturdy. No one was breaking it away.

  But there was no key. All you had to do was to slide the bolt aside and the door would open.

  Cora gripped her pistol, tensed and slid the bolt aside. She pushed the door inward.

  Nothing happened. No one jumped her.

  At first, she thought the disgusting cell on the other side was empty, holding nothing but a tiny cot and a bucket.

  Then she realized that what she’d thought was a pile of ragged blankets in one corner was a person. A woman.

  She was covering her face and trembling.

  “Hello,” Cora said, not sure whether it was safe to approach. The figure made her think of the very definition of the word ‘cornered’. “Can you hear me?”

  Her only answer was a soft whimper, barely audible even in the silence of the hall.

  Cora stepped into the cell. The floor was wet and it smelled worse than the corridor.

  “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you,” Cora said.

  A face looked up at her. Thin to the point of emaciation, skin so pale a network of veins could be seen under it. Bags under her green eyes. Delicate features, but too thin for Cora to call her beautiful.

  The woman didn’t speak.

  “I think you need a doctor,” Cora said.

  That got a reaction. The woman pressed herself even harder against the wall and screamed, a short, hopeless sound.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Cora said. She stuck her head out the door and called out to Akane. “Go get the doctor.”

  Akane looked up with a dazed expression.

  “Do it now,” Cora repeated. This time she used the special sergeant’s bark she reserved for wet-behind-the-ears recruits that were moping and feeling sorry for themselves. “This woman needs help!”

  Akane actually stood with an alacrity that made Cora think she would snap off a salute.

  Of course, that didn’t happen—she suspected Akane was incapable of that particular gesture—but the hacker girl was back in less than thirty seconds with the Indian doctor in tow.

  The man took one look at the cell, cursed under his breath and walked straight up to the woman on the bed without even asking if it was dangerous. That guy was truly amazing.

  The woman on the cot tried to shove the doctor away, but the man delicately—but firmly—pushed her arms aside and took her head in his hands. He looked at her eyes and then took her pulse.

  “Open your mouth,” he said.

  Completely in his power, the woman complied.

  “All right. You can close it.” The doctor turned to Cora. “It should be safe to move her to one of the operating tables. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. She’s not in immediate danger.”

  “No. Please. No. Not the operating table. Please. You promised.” The woman’s voice was a hoarse whisper laced with desperation.

  “Can you help me pick her up?”

  They hauled the feebly protesting woman out of the cell and into the main room, where every pair of eyes followed their progress. As they laid her on the soft surface of the bed, Cora realized the woman was crying.

  “Can we clean her?”

  “Yes. But not yet. Find something for her to drink. Water first. Clean water. And then find some juice, too. They’ll have it somewhere because their intention is for their victims to live.”

  “You’ve seen this before?”

  “It’s a standard breaking procedure for women bound for the… houses of ill repute. They starve them and keep them in filth, so they’re grateful to get the luxury of the… houses.”

  Had the situation not been so serious, Cora would have laughed at the doctor. He’d shown himself to be both fearless and dedicated… but he wouldn’t talk about whorehouses.

  It made her like him even more.

  “I understand what’s happening, doctor. Stay here with her.”

  She went straight for the fridge in the break room, where she found both bottled water and an Indian brand of orange juice she’d never heard of. She opened the container and found it smelled all right, so she took it along.

  When she arrived, the doctor had the woman sitting on the bed, and was asking her questions in soft tones.

  She drank the water without question, trying to get too much down at once. “No. Go slowly,” the doctor said.

  The woman nodded, but when he tried to take the glass away from her, she clutched it close.

  “We’re going to clean you now,” he told her.

  “Not you. Her,” the woman whispered, pointing at Cora.

  The doctor nodded. He lay the woman down again—glass still clutched in her hand—and took Cora aside. “There are other… aspects… to the torture. It’s normal that she wouldn’t want a man with her. Can you do this?”

  “You bet your ass,” Cora replied. “I don’t care how dirty she is. Just get me some water and some sponges or something.”

  The doctor nodded, and Cora began to pull the privacy curtains around the operating area shut. Moments later, the doctor returned with a big bucket and an armful of white towels. Cora was unsurprised to see Akane with him, but she was utterly shocked to see the bunny from the boat. She’d changed out of her Union Jack bikini, but still looked like a low-class bimbo.

  Damn. Old habits were ha
rd to break. This one had already proven herself to be at least as good as anyone else on that yacht, and yet Cora still couldn’t get past her prejudice.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” the woman said, advancing towards the woman on the bed. “What have they done to you?”

  That pushed Cora into action. She closed the curtain behind Akane and got down to helping the emaciated girl.

  But Akane pushed her aside and grabbed the woman’s chin.

  “What’s your name?” she asked roughly.

  “I am a Blossom of the Goddess of Love.”

  “No. Fuck no. Your real name.”

  “I am a Blossom of the Goddess of Love.”

  “I won’t hurt you for not saying that. Tell me your name. I want to know your name. Look.” She showed the woman her arm, the tattoo that matched the one on the woman’s own skin. “I was what you are once. I saved myself. But you need to say your name.”

  “I…” the weak voice petered out. She stared hard at the tattoo for several moments. “Ania. My name is Ania.”

  “Good,” Akane said. She hugged the woman. “I’ll save you, Ania. I’ll save you from everyone.”

  ***

  Once they’d gotten her cleaned and gave her some orange juice—the doctor also found an IV for her—Ania slept, fitfully at first and then deeply.

  “That’s a good idea,” Cora said. “I’m going to get some sleep. Who wants first watch?”

  “What do you mean? We need to figure out what we’re going to do next,” Sked said.

  “We’re safe for now. Neither the villagers nor the dinosaurs are going to be able to get in that door. See if you can get our prisoners to tell us where their bosses are, and when they expect them back. I want everyone who isn’t on watch getting some sleep. We’ll plan after we’ve rested.”

  “But…”

  “She’s right,” the Colonel said. “I’ll take first watch.”

  Cora knew the staff had to sleep somewhere so she searched for the dormitories. She found one, and was probably asleep before her head hit the pillow. It was easy to do, knowing the Colonel would bully people into getting some shuteye.

  She woke hours later and entered the larger chamber to find almost everyone still asleep. The doctor was on watch.

  “Where are the prisoners?” she whispered.

  “Over there.” He pointed to several white lumps piled in a corner.

  For a second, she was confused, but then the doctor pointed to another pile of debris.

  “And their heads are over there. If you want my professional opinion, the murder weapon was a watermelon chopper. They only woke me up to patch up the technician.”

  “Patch up…” she was numb.

  “To stop the bleeding. But between you and me, he will never sing bass in the men’s choir again.”

  “Holy shit. Who did this?”

  “I promised not to say, but there were enough of them in the group that woke me that I can tell you it was a majority decision.” He grabbed her forearm as she turned to go. “This isn’t the army, Sergeant. They don’t have to obey your orders.” He said it softly. “They wouldn’t have obeyed mine. Or the Colonel’s. Or your boss’. This was going to happen.”

  “Akane…”

  “Was asleep when they woke me. She’s still asleep and will be for a couple of hours more.” He smiled. “She needed to calm down, and she shouldn’t have trusted anything any doctor gave her, because doctors are sneaky bastards who slip stuff into your drink. She didn’t do it.”

  “We needed their information.”

  “We have it. They didn’t die quickly.” He pointed to a sheaf of neatly written notes. The top sheet was spattered with brown droplets of dried blood. “And the tech guy, who was in charge of communications, will live. He isn’t happy right now, but there are still painful things to cut off if he doesn’t cooperate.”

  She gave him a hard look. “You sound like you approve of what they did here.”

  He returned it without flinching. “I don’t. But I don’t disapprove.” He hesitated. “That woman sleeping on the bed was at the resort. The manager and a couple of other men asked me to look her over. She seemed to be drugged, but otherwise all right. I told them to let her rest and to call me if she had difficulty breathing. I never saw her again. I asked about her the next day, and the manager told me she was feeling better but didn’t want to stay on, so she’d taken the morning boat off the island. It got me to thinking how many other drunk girls I’d given a clean bill of health to send to hell. So I won’t harm anyone myself, but I’ll let them torture that bastard over there, and then I’ll stitch him back together so they can do it again…”

  “You never did tell me your name, Doctor.”

  “So you can send me to jail later? It’s Prakash. Doctor Pendalai for the criminal records. You’ll find me registered in Sri Lanka and at the resort, if any of the records survived.”

  She sighed. “I don’t like what’s happening here, but if I’ve learned one thing from this clusterfuck, it’s that you don’t deserve to go to jail.”

  “You should do what your conscience tells you. I will follow mine.”

  “I believe you,” she said. With that, she squeezed his hand and walked off to gather her thoughts.

  Chapter 14

  Sabrina growled as she watched the footage again. The first part was fun: those old women in the resort lobby had fallen to her Compsognathus without much of a fight. No matter what happened next, she would be able to use that footage to sell the product.

  Even with that in mind, what happened next truly sucked.

  The little dinosaurs went on a feeding frenzy, diving into the corpses with relish and losing track of the rest of the resort’s inhabitants.

  Then, when they did get back on the trail, the scent disappeared into what seemed to be some sort of concrete storage locker built into a hill, complete with a solid curtain door. In the jumpy footage, it looked like a bunker, and she knew there was no way twenty little theropods were going to beat down that door. Besides, the Compsognathus weren’t remote controlled, so she couldn’t order them around. The way they worked was that you put them somewhere and let their instincts—hunger and self-defense—do the rest. The bunker wasn’t edible and they wouldn’t see it as a threat… so they’d ignore it.

  But even that wasn’t the worst of it. As the little creatures milled around, unsure of what to do now that they’d lost the scent of fresh prey, arrows rained in from the forest and took down four or five—it was difficult to make an exact count—almost immediately.

  The only thing that kept it from being a complete massacre is that the wind shifted and the dinosaurs caught the scent of their assailants.

  The rest was literally a blur. It was impossible to truly see what had happened in the unfocused, jumpy night-vision images, but from what she could piece together, the remaining Compsognathus charged at the islanders hidden in the underbrush. She counted three or four definite kills against the natives… but at the cost of the entire complement of dinosaurs.

  She consoled herself with the thought that gathering data like this was why you tested, and she could conclusively state that the little ones weren’t something you’d send after armed opponents, but Sabrina still ground her teeth to think that these bastards had murdered her babies.

  The final insult came next. Instead of licking their wounds and counting themselves lucky to be alive, the natives got to work chopping down saplings, tying each carcass to a pole and carrying them away, presumably to be eaten. Every single camera was still working, and she watched them pull the poles over the fence and drag them out to a clearing where they were dumped among what looked suspiciously like dead human bodies.

  What the hell had been going on on that island? she wondered.

  Whatever it was, the savages were going to die, even if it meant flooding the entire place with little dinosaurs. Hell, she had plenty of them to send. She couldn’t take them back… getting them through US customs was
a non-starter.

  She smiled. “I hope you little savages have said your prayers to whatever insignificant tribal god you worship. Because I’m going to send you to meet them as soon as I deal with the jackasses from the resort.”

  ***

  Everyone was awake, and Mary looked around the room. There were some grim faces in the crowd, men and women who appeared ready to take on the Galactic Empire, or whatever those guys in the skull masks from the movie were, singlehandedly. Hell, with the way they hadn’t been able to shower in two days, most of them even looked scruffy enough for the roles.

  She giggled to herself, even though she knew it was completely stupid… but there was no one else to talk to. Every one of the girls she’d come on the trip with was missing, most likely dead, and the cook… well, he was a great guy, but he looked like, had this been a movie, he’d have been the first to pick up one of those laser rifles.

  It was hard to believe they couldn’t see how ridiculous they all appeared. A bunch of tired people playing soldier. They had the slim dark woman, the mysterious guy with unusual skills, two big, straight soldiers—one of them was even a woman, for diversity’s sake—and the old billionaire. She had to admit she’d always thought Lai looked wise, but then she’d always thought elderly Asian men looked wise. So they had their wise man. Not green with pointy ears, maybe, but an old Asian would work in a pinch.

  They even had three criminals helping them try to solve the problem and seek whatever absolution was on hand.

  It was straight out of central casting, and if their situation hadn’t actually been dire, she would have said so.

  But the situation was dire.

  And it was worse that she was now at least a witness, probably an accessory to four murders and a mutilation. She’d finished making love with Marco, the cook, and she was going to the fridge to see about getting a drink, when she noticed five people around a table. The Chinese guy with the big square knife and the American accent had invited her to sit with them, and had told them exactly what they did to people—both men and women—in that place, how they transformed them from pretty but clueless young people into commodities that could be sold on the worldwide sex-slave market.