Trapped (A Novel of Terror)

by Jack Kilborn

  The man himself was also ugly. He had a bald head, freckled with liver spots, and a long neck with a lot of wrinkled loose skin hanging from it. His face was unusually dull, as if he had make-up on. He wore glasses, which were coated with a layer of dirt and grease so thick Laneesha wondered how he could see through them, and he stood in a stooped way, his back bending like a question mark.

  Laneesha tried to stand, and realized her arms and legs were strapped to a wheelchair. She fought against the bonds, the leather digging into her wrists, and succeeded only in causing abrasions.

  “My name is Doctor Plincer. You’re about to become part of a very important scientific study. An epic one, in fact. Unfortunately, you’ll be part of the control group. Sort of. Well, not really, but it sounds better.”

  Laneesha looked hard at the doctor, more angry than afraid. “You better let me go, you dirty ol’ man. Or I am gonna kick yo ass.”

  Doctor Pincer scratched at his chin and something flaked off his face.

  “You see, my dear, there are wolves, and there are sheep. While I admire your spunk, I’m out of sheep at the moment, and I don’t want Subject 33 mad at me. So I’m giving you to him.”

  “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”

  “Hmm. Yes. Well, no harm in telling you, and truth told, I don’t have many people to talk to these days. The ferals are, well, feral, and they would prefer eating you to good conversation. Lester, dear Lester, he listens, but he’s heard all of my stories before, and I worry I bore him sometimes. And Subject 33, well, frankly, he frightens me. He frightens the piss out of me. Which is why I’ve kept him locked up. He hasn’t been out in over a year.”

  Laneesha looked away from the doctor, taking in her surroundings. She was in some sort of hallway. The walls were brick. The only light was a bulb hanging from the ceiling. Her wheelchair was next to a large iron door with a slot in it at waist-level. Laneesha recognized it as a solitary confinement door. The slot was for food, and it was open. She peered through and it seemed to lead to another room, with another identical door and slot.

  Through this second slot, a pair of bloodshot eyes stared at her.

  “He’s watching you, I see. I think he likes you. If he doesn’t like what I’m giving him, he doesn’t keep looking. He’s one of my greatest successes, Subject 33. Too much of a success, really. The procedure worked like it was supposed to. Worked perfectly. But afterward he wouldn’t follow orders, couldn’t be trusted. Tried to kill me on several occasions. Once he even dragged me into that horrible room of his. If Lester hadn’t been there to help, I shudder at the things he would have done to me.”

  Subject 33 blinked. Then his head moved up and he stuck his nose in the slot. Well, part of a nose. Even at this distance Laneesha could see the disfigurement. His nose twitched, and Subject 33 snorted.

  He’s trying to sniff me, Laneesha thought. And that freaked her out even more than his scars and creepy stares.

  “I don’t even remember his name,” Doctor Plincer said. “Isn’t that funny? My second greatest success. He was a soldier, I think. In bad shape when I got him. Broken back. And animals—wolves or coyotes or some other such apex carnivore—had been snacking on him. Bad shape, nearly dead. I can relate, let me tell you. But I patched him up. Even better than that. I enhanced him.”

  Subject 33 stuck his tongue through the slot and licked the air.

  “But he doesn’t follow orders,” Doctor Plincer continued. “Not at all. He hasn’t even spoken a word since the procedure. He writes me notes. That’s how he tells me what he needs. The last few have been, well, rather odd.”

  Subject 33’s tongue disappeared, and then those red eyes were back. Wide and staring. Laneesha wanted to turn away, but couldn’t.

  “He’s building something in there. I’ll be damned if I know what it is. Here I am, a future candidate for the Nobel Prize, and I can’t figure it out. Besides enhancing his appetites, the procedure also seemed to amplify his intelligence. So he leaves me notes, I order the parts, and give them to him when the supply boat comes. I’m curious to know what he’s building, but I’m too frightened to look. Some sort of pain machine, I suspect. The lambs I bring to him scream like I’ve never heard screams before. And, believe me, I’ve heard screams. Lester is very good at making people scream. I know this firsthand. But Subject 33… well, whatever he’s doing to those people, it’s inhuman.”

  The doctor knocked twice on the iron door.

  “I’m bringing her to you. Please assume the position.”

  The eyes disappeared, and Laneesha watched Subject 33 turn around and stick his hands through the slot, palms up. They were bent and twisted and covered with gnarly scars, like the fingers had been cut off, broken, and sewn back on in the wrong places.

  Laneesha shrank into her chair. “Old man, please don’ put me in there.”

  Doctor Plincer reached into his pocket, removed a dart pistol. He winked at Laneesha. “He’s my greatest triumph, but he’s difficult to control. The second door in the antechamber isn’t locked. He can open it any time. But he stays in there, because he knows if he doesn’t I won’t give him food. Or any parts for his infernal machine. So he behaves, but I still can’t trust him. That makes me proud, in a way. I created an evil so powerful it only answers to itself.”

  The doctor lifted the iron bar off the door, then opened it, keeping his pistol aimed at the inner room, at the slot in the second door.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them, please. You should enjoy this one. Plenty of fire in her. Maybe she’ll last you two weeks. That’s your record, isn’t it? For keeping one alive? Two weeks, isn’t it?”

  Still facing the inner door, the doctor backed up, walking carefully around Laneesha. Then he began to push her wheelchair into the small room, toward that second door. Laneesha’s eyes were locked on Subject 33’s ruined hands. On top of their deformities they were filthy, fingernails cracked, blood caked under them.

  “No.” Laneesha shook her head. “No no no no no…”

  “Please leave the wheelchair in the antechamber. I’ll pick it up when I bring breakfast in the morning. I’ll assume breakfast for two, unless you leave me a note stating otherwise. I know sometimes the lambs don’t have the strength to eat. Especially after the first night. I’m making French toast.” The doctor stared down at Laneesha. “Do you like French toast, dear?”

  “You can’t leave me with him. Please. I’ll do anything you want. Anything at all.” Laneesha couldn’t stop the tears. “I have a daughter. Her name is Brianna. Please don’t put me in there with him.”

  Doctor Plincer patted her head. “I won’t likely see you again. Or more to the point, you won’t see me. I’ll see you when he discards the remains. But, truth told, there haven’t been very many remains lately. The machine has something to do with it, I suspect. What can he be building in there? I don’t know. But you…you’ll soon find out, my dear, dear girl.”

  The doctor backed away, and Laneesha heard the iron door slam closed behind her, the crossbar falling into place. She strained against her bonds, strained so hard she saw stars.

  Subject 33 removed his hands from the slot, then he opened his door.

  Laneesha’s scream would be the first of many.

  Tom walked along the beach. He was still a little out of breath from his sprint. One moment he was holding a gun—an actual gun—then the next moment Tyrone was on top of him, and the next moment…

  What the hell were those things?

  Tom knew they were people. No duh. But they looked more like wildmen. All they needed were leather undies and some spears, and Tom could picture them hunting dinosaurs.

  For about a zillionth of a second he felt bad for leaving Cindy and Tyrone there. He wasn’t really gonna shoot either of them. But those frickin’ wildmen looked crazy, and Tom knew when to fight and when to run, so he ran. Through the forest, through the trees, all the way to shore. And now he didn’t know what to do next.

  So he beg
an to walk around the island. It wasn’t a big island; Sara said it was only a few miles across. Tom figured he would keep walking until someone found him. It’s not like Sara and Martin were going to leave him here. They were responsible adults. Even if Tyrone told them about the gun, they still had to take him back to Michigan.

  Tom tried not to think about the wildmen.

  He walked, and walked some more, and then the beach sort of ended and rose up, becoming kind of a cliff with trees on it. Tom climbed, staying away from the edge, and kept heading in the same direction. The night was cool, but he was sweating and really thirsty and kind of hungry too. He thought about drinking lake water, but heard that all the water in the great lakes was dirty and could make you sick.

  That’s when he smelled it. Barbecue.

  He paused, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Obviously, Sara and Martin had come back to camp, and now they were cooking something. And then Tom shook his head, wondering how he could have been so gullible.

  The wildmen. They were fake.

  It must have been part of Martin’s stupid plan to scare them all. In fact, one of them might have even been Martin, all dressed up to look like a wildman. And Tom took it for the real thing, like a dummy.

  No, not like a dummy. It wasn’t Tom’s fault he was scared. He was off his meds. He always acted stupid off his meds.

  Which was a perfect excuse for why he pointed the gun at Tyrone and Cindy. It wasn’t Tom’s fault. It was Sara’s fault, for not giving him his Risperdol. Which meant they couldn’t punish him for anything.

  Tom headed into the woods, toward the barbecue smell. He couldn’t wait to dig in.

  Georgia stared at Lester’s pet, her hands over her mouth, the odor so bad it made her stomach roil. At first, she wasn’t sure what she was looking at. It looked like a giant, pale worm. But then she noticed the buttocks, the shoulder blades, the bumps of the spine beneath the dirty flesh.

  It was a torso. No arms. No legs. Just a body with a head attached. And it smelled awful.

  “Go on, Georgia girl,” Lester said. “Touch the pet.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Is it dead?”

  “The pet is not dead.”

  Lester kicked the crate, and Georgia watched in awe as the head swiveled up and faced them.

  “Uhhhhhnnnnnn,” it said.

  Georgia dropped her hands. “Holy shit. This thing is freaking alive?”

  The man’s face was a ruin. Eyes gone. Ears gone. A big scar across the scalp. When he opened his mouth to make that hideous sound, Georgia noted the tongue was also missing.

  “The pet Lester’s best friend,” Lester said. “Except for Doctor.” He glanced sideways at her, showing his fangs as he smirked. “And Georgia girl.”

  “Did you do this to him, Lester?”

  He nodded. “It took a long time. Lots of cutting.”

  Georgia stared, fascinated. It was at once the most horrible and most amazing thing she’d ever seen.

  “Want to see the pet do the funny dance?” Lester asked.

  She nodded.

  Lester walked over to the tool cabinet and grabbed something. He brought it over to the crate. It was a broomstick, with a nail sticking out the end.

  When Lester poked his pet in the butt with it, the thing flopped around, rocking back and forth. When it rolled onto its back, Georgia noted that its genitals were also gone.

  “Does Georgia girl want to make the pet do the funny dance?”

  The next thing Georgia knew, the broomstick had been pressed into her hands. She stared down at this poor pathetic creature, rolling around in its own mess on a pile of dirty hay, and searched for any semblance of humanity. She didn’t see any. This wasn’t a person anymore. Just a mindless thing.

  The thing began to roll again, making a moaning sound, and Georgia realized that without even being aware of it she’d given it a poke.

  So she poked it again. And again.

  The fourth time, she began to laugh.

  “So I see you have a new guest for your playroom, Lester. But why isn’t she strapped onto your play table?”

  Georgia turned, surprised at the voice, and saw an old man in a lab coat standing in the doorway. She instinctively backed away, bumping into Lester.

  “This is Georgia girl. Georgia girl is Lester’s girlfriend. Georgia girl and Lester are going to make babies.”

  Georgia looked up at Lester, then unconsciously rubbed her belly. She decided that now wasn’t the best time to tell him how she got along with babies.

  The old man clucked his tongue. “You tried to make babies before, Lester. Do you remember? But whenever you get a new girlfriend you always wind up biting her too much. How many times have we been through this?”

  “Georgia girl is different.”

  The old man glanced at the stick she held, and then nodded. “Yes. Yes she certainly seems to be, doesn’t she?”

  “You must be the doctor,” Georgia said, finding her voice. “Lester’s friend.”

  “Indeed, indeed I am. Doctor Plincer, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lady.” Georgia shook the dry, bony hand he extended toward her. “You like playing with Lester’s pet, I see.”

  “He’s funny,” Georgia said.

  “Funny? Hmm. Yes, I suppose he is. No real brain activity anymore. Delta waves. More like delta bumps. Full frontal lobotomy. Had him for years, kept trying to escape, even without limbs. And the begging, all the time, non-stop. We finally did a little work on his prefrontal cortex, just to calm him down. Not much for conversation anymore. But he is kind of funny, isn’t he? Especially when you stick him with the nail. Yes?”

  Georgia wondered if this was some sort of test. She responded by giving Lester’s pet a few more pokes.

  The doctor stroked his dirty chin. “Interesting. Very interesting. Sadistic personality. No remorse. Obvious sociopathic tendencies. And I don’t see a single bite mark on you. For one of Lester’s girlfriends, that’s remarkable. Did he happen to tell you what kind of doctor I am?”

  Georgia shook her head. She couldn’t tell if she passed this old coot’s stupid test or not.

  “I’m a brain specialist. Perhaps the foremost in the world. And I think, I think that you would be perfect for my experiments.”

  “Lester is keeping Georgia girl.” Lester draped his long arms over her.

  Doctor Plincer nodded. “But of course, Lester, of course. But perhaps your little girlfriend could be,” he smacked his lips, “enhanced. By the procedure.”

  Georgia didn’t like the sound of that at all.

  “Lester doesn’t want Georgia girl to be like the ferals,” Lester said. “Lester and Georgia girl are going to make babies.”

  “This one won’t go feral, Lester. This one has all the traits I’m looking for. Plus she’s young. Strong.”

  Ferals? Lobotomies? Procedures? Georgia didn’t like the way this conversation was heading.

  From somewhere else in the prison, Georgia heard screaming. A girl. It sounded like Laneesha. She held her breath, resisting the urge to run away, making sure her face was calm even when she was close to freaking out.

  “Lester won’t let Doctor take Georgia girl.”

  “You hear that, Frankenstein?” Georgia said. “Back the fuck off.”

  The doctor nodded again. “I see. I see. But I think, Lester my boy, that this is the best for all concerned. For me, for you, and for her. So I’m going to ask you, very nicely, to bring her to my lab. I promise no harm will come to her.”

  Lester’s protective hug turned into a grab, seizing Georgia in his gigantic hands.

  “Lester!” she cried, squirming to get away. She might as well have been bound with steel cable.

  Doctor Plincer came closer, smiling. He was bent over with age, and Georgia could see straight down his collar. He wore no shirt beneath his lab coat, and his hairless pink chest was covered with shiny, puckered scars.

  “Don’t you worry, my dear. I’m go
ing to take very good care of you. You may even thank me for this later. Thank me, or…God forbid…try to eat me. Let’s all hope it’s the former.”

  Georgia tried very hard not to scream as Lester dragged her off to the lab.

  She almost succeeded.

  Martin closed his eyes. The throb in his jaw was finally going away. He wondered how this had all gone so horribly wrong, and questioned his decision to bring everyone to this island.

  He rubbed his eyes and dismissed the thought; regretting the past was a fool’s game. The thing to do now was think ahead. But was that even possible? What could he do to save Sara, the one-time love of his life, from the horrors in the woods?

  The key to saving her was predicting her next move. What would she do next? Where would she go?

  He stared down at his son, asleep in the sling, and an idea came to him.

  Martin began to plan.

  Moments after Cindy dropped the gun, Tyrone was dragging her away from the scene. It had been a mistake to try and shoot the cannibals. No one could have looked at that horrible feast and still been able to act. Tyrone would never be able to forget that image, even if he scrubbed his mind with steel wool.

  He winced at the pain—he’d stuck his burned right hand under Cindy’s armpit to pull her, while his less-injured left held the torch. The extra illumination allowed them to move fast, sidestepping obstacles, minding their footing. Unfortunately, it was also like a beacon to those cannibals. From the sounds of it, they had no problems moving quickly in the dark. Tyrone guessed they were less than twenty yards behind them.

  Seeing he had no choice, Tyrone ditched the torch, tossing it into a clump of bushes and then tugging Cindy to the immediate left, breaking their current trajectory. Without the light it was like swimming in ink. Tyrone was forced to slow down to a quick walk, moving with one hand in front of him so he didn’t knock himself out on a tree. Gradually his night vision adjusted, and the trees thinned a bit to let occasional moonlight in, and the pair moved at a jog, Cindy in step beside Tyrone.