by Alan Spencer
Richard muttered to Addey, “Follow me. Everybody else will be right behind you.”
This was journey’s end. The government’s job was about to be unloaded upon her shoulders. She could handle heavy-duty work—she had worked construction for two months during a summer to cash in on the I-29 repairs—but to work with monsters was a different toil altogether. The wolves below everybody’s feet, they were enormous, their strength beyond human, and they were wild animals.
Once you step on this island, it’s forever.
Hesitation spread like wildfire in the group behind her. A husky man with a balding head and a sour expression lingered closer and closer to one edge of the ship. “This is serious, isn’t it?” He swayed, his legs loose. The man was hammered. “There really is an island. This is real. This is real!”
A woman hugged the drunkard close. “It’s okay, Frank. We’re in this together. It’s for the good of society. We’ll be okay.”
“I didn’t volunteer for this!” Frank lashed out, shoving aside the woman so hard she flopped onto her side and hit the deck. “I’m not working with monsters!”
Frank crawled over the barrier and plunged into the ocean headfirst. Before he landed, Richard opened fire with his pistol. Puncha! Puncha! Seconds later, Frank rose up a bleeding buoy. Two shots had landed home in his chest.
“If anybody else has any ideas like the dead man down there, I suggest you save it.” Richard’s face was enraged. “Do as we tell you, and you will remain unharmed. We don’t need cowards here. They die within the first week. Live or die, people. You decide.”
The line was eerily quiet. Interest in what occurred around Frank’s body was widespread. Two scuba divers swam out to collect the man’s corpse. They bundled the man in a net and dragged him toward the island.
“Never waste a single scrap, do they?” Richard muttered. He holstered his pistol. “Keep moving; the show’s over. Fall in.”
The island was taking shape. The white sand shore was decorated with tall-standing palm trees. The breeze was soft but cooling with the sun falling into the horizon. The island was part resort, part complex. The resort section was a square with a wide-spanning pool, open bar—huge, as if they had taken six bars and combined them—minigolf course, hot tubs, massage huts, water slides and a food court. The complex reminded her of the levels of a multilevel hotel, though there were only two levels with a possible sublevel. Each level was gigantic and the walls were comprised of steel. There were adjoining sections to the levels, perhaps private quarters or storage.
Richard checked his watch. “All right, it’s eight o’clock. That gives us an hour to disembark and to assign rooms. We’ll give you a good night’s sleep, and then in the morning, you start work. Forgive me for not showing you around. The monsters are let out at different shifts of the day for a limited time, so get a move on, people. Time’s burning.”
The boat docked. People stepped down onto the wooden pier, and Richard stayed behind to usher every person off board. Men in beige vests and cargo pants—also armed—guided them down the pier. The entrance was a short walk away. They marched down concrete steps surrounded by sand. The scent of salt water carried from the shore. Other smells tainted the air. Blood. Meat. Death. Fecundity. Many scents were so peculiar, she couldn’t identify them, but she knew they were wrong.
Herman was right behind her. “This place is unbelievable. It’s a fortress."
“It’s more like a concentration camp.” She studied Herman. “Are you keeping your head straight?”
“Yep.” He rubbed his eyes. “And you, pretty?”
“I’m taking it all in.”
Why is he calling me pretty all of the sudden?
She’d read an article in Reader’s Digest about men who repeated sweet things to women until they submitted to them. It was a psychosomatic conditioning, the brain eventually taking the words to heart. But the man was nearly three times her age, and he stank of a nasty cigar.
The concrete walk changed into a solid patio. Electric fences were camouflaged between the palm trees. The back part of her mind had considered running, but it was useless. They were on an island, the ocean—what ocean, she didn’t know—separating them hundreds of miles from civilization.
Herman asked her, “I never asked you this, but what did you do before this? Your job.”
He’s trying really hard to get to know me. “I was a cleaning lady at a hotel. I was working my way through college.”
“You don’t have to justify it. There’s no shame in paying your bills.”
That’s one thing that changed for the better, she thought. She had no more bills to pay.
A large set of double doors was opened to let them. The main entrance. Armed guards awaited them, equipped with M-16s. Once inside the building, the lobby wasn’t anything to behold. There was no front desk, no seating area, just a square outlet to four hallways. She assumed this was their living quarters.
Richard returned from the dock, making announcements with each step. “Okay, people, listen up. This, I’ll only say once. This is where you now live. You each get a private room. Toilet. Sink. Bed. Cable TV—even the nudie channels. And you’ll have changes of clothing as well. Every need you have will be fulfilled by the staff here. One of my assistants will split you up into groups and deliver you to your rooms. Rest up. Tomorrow, you will be given a tour by the director of the complex himself, Carl Brenner. He’s worked here for the better part of thirty years. He’s been in your shoes and has stayed in them. If anyone has a right to complain, he does—and he doesn’t complain. Not once.” He cleared his throat, waiting for any questions. “Okay, listen up for your name and line up in front of the appropriate officer.”
Names were rattled off. Richard called hers, and she stood in front of him. Herman was right behind her. Four more individuals were called out. “Okay people, follow my lead.”
They were guided to the west wing of the building. The setup was much like that of a college dorm. Tack boards brimmed with posters, reading, Get Eight Hours of Sleep; Stay Alert! You Are Never Safe On The Job; They Are Monsters, Not Humans; Fed, Satisfied Monsters Are Less Dangerous; and Do Not Attempt To Escape. You Will Be Shot On Sight.
Uplifting, she thought. Motivational.
“The job you have here will depend on your previous life experience,” Richard explained as he walked them onward. “Some of you will work night shifts, while others will be on the day shift. There are over a thousand workers in this place. This isn’t the only residence quarters on the premises. Jobs range from hard labor to sit-down work. Regardless, you will get your hands bloody. Now’s the time to get over it.”
They passed a lounge stocked with ten soda machines, six vending machines, a large-screen television, seating accommodations for a hundred people and a sizable video arcade. On the opposite side, there was a library.
“This lounge has all the accommodations you’d ever want. There are no computers—or at least no Internet. Sorry, folks. There are also no outgoing phone lines. If you haven’t caught on,” he joked, “this is secret government stuff.”
“Emily Hawkins,” he called out, “you’re in room 113. You can walk about this floor freely, but be advised, you won’t get through security to anywhere else, and you can’t access the elevator. They’re hooked up to a computer system, and only a select few can get special access to other floors, and people, you are not that select few. This is for your safety. I’m sure you don’t want to walk on the floor where the vampires stay.”
Nobody disagreed.
The others in the line were assigned rooms, and that left Addey and Herman. He smiled at them, though it was a put-on. “Last but not least, you two are neighbors. Herman, your room is 119, Addey, 120.” He handed them each a key card. “Don’t lose this. They’re hard to replace. That is all. Have a good night.”
She called out to him, “Hey, wait. What are we going to do in the meantime?”
“Chill out. Play video games, enjoy a so
da, get used to your room, whatever. At six o’clock sharp in the morning, you’ll be woken up. That’s it.”
Richard moved on, leaving her standing there, a confused stump. His form grew smaller down the narrow corridor until he vanished. Herman stepped in front of her when that happened. He’d been watching the man leave too. “Hey, this ain’t so bad. You see all those vending machines. And my grandkid got me into those video games. I saw a row of gaming consoles—and holy crap, we get our own rooms.”
“Shut up.” She felt herself growing weak. “I’ve got a killer headache. I just want to be alone.”
He nodded at her. “No, I get ya. Hey, sorry I called you ‘pretty’ earlier. It’s a habit I have. If I like somebody, I call them that—if they’re female, I mean. I’m not trying to romance you or anything. I’m much too old. And I don’t know about you, but this is stressful as hell. Jabbering on and on is therapeutic.”
She offered him the best smile she could muster. “Yeah, I understand. No problem. Herman, good night.” She extended her hand. “Friends, is that fair?”
He shook her hand. “I appreciate that. Good night, Addey.”
Herman entered his room with a swipe of the key card. The light on the lock mechanism changed from red to green. “Sleep if you can, Addey. I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be crazy.”
The door closed. She was the last of the group in the hall. The uncomfortable sensation quickly ushered her into the room.
Here goes the rest of my life.
She hadn’t turned the lights on yet before she began to weep.
Chapter Ten
Addey cried and cried. The release of tears was as potent as ten shots of alcohol. She wiped the tears with the backs of her hands, ending the moment. She couldn’t fight the split-second images of Deke’s death. His blood. Junior’s concave wound to the skull. And she was dead on paper, but more importantly, to her family too.
“I’m so sorry, Deke.”
Odd talking to herself in the dark, so she finally flipped the switch on the wall. The room was compact. Twin-size bed. Oak bureau and matching desk. A Zenith flat screen hanging on the wall like an oversize picture frame. The bathroom and shower left barely enough room to stand in place without bumping into one of the fixtures. The floor was tiles, the walls an ugly mother-of-pearl color.
“It’s not the Ritz, and it’s sure as shit not home.”
She opened the standing bureau. Rows of clothes faced her, the same as what she was wearing now: white button-up tops and black pants. The shoes ranged from pumps to steel-toed boots. Panties, stockings and socks were on the bottom shelf. The room stank of fresh bleach. Had someone else resided here recently?
I bet people die here all the time.
The inhabitants of the boat didn’t fully realize that reality, but it was finally sinking in for her. Death was a possibility—an expectation—and she was her only bodyguard. Tomorrow morning would be the beginning of work. She had a feeling she was going to meet one of the monsters from the manila folder up close. She was curious as much as alarmed at that prospect.
Addey showered clean the smell of salt water and layers of sweat she’d built up on the boat. The products were institutionalized, the ugly tan bottles labeled soap, shampoo and conditioner. There was another tier to the plastic shelf installed in the shower, containing shaving cream and a razor.
Finished cleaning up, she wrapped herself in a dark blue terry cloth robe and sat on the edge of the bed, patting dry her hair. She was so tired now, and against her intuition, she rolled back on the bed and closed her eyes.
Sleep came effortlessly.
“Addey.”
It was a summoning from the bottom of a chasm.
Again, “Addey…waaaaake up.”
The statement was wispy and broken apart by distance.
“Addey, you’re in danger!”
She was jolted from sleep. Static electricity clung to the bedsheet, shocking her enough to give her a real startle. The room was dark, though she didn’t remember flipping off the lights. She gawked at the tall-standing mirror on the wall. In the glass was a ghastly figure lit up by a bluish-white light, like a Bunsen burner flame. The face was a mere reflection of a reflection, weak, but sharp enough to distinguish the speaker. It was Deke. He was sodden in blood, drenched from the still-gushing bullet wound to the chest. The villainous expression he’d worn before had faded into humbled fear. He beckoned to her with every shred of his life: light, energy and soul. Addey wasn’t sure what was left of him.
Farther away his image fluttered, as if something was dragging him back to where he’d come from, and he shouted at her in one last round of desperation. “This island won’t be the same soon, maybe in days. There will be a war. So many will die brutally. I can see it now, but I don’t know why. You have to find out why, Addey. You must escape before it happens!”
“But how do I find out what’s going on?” She couldn’t believe she was talking to a mirror, even seizing it by the edges and shaking the thing. “Jesus, they’ve got electric fences up. I’m on an island without transportation. Nobody can swim that far. I can’t escape. There’s nowhere to go!”
Deke’s image turned murky and then all went dark the moment his final words were issued. “The monsters are plotting against us.”
She clung to the mirror. “Please come back. I need you. I’m all alone here. Come back! Deke, don’t leave me!”
She stared up at the mirror, reflecting a woman out of sorts.
“It hasn’t even been a day yet, and I’m already losing my mind.”
She recuperated from Deke’s visit after fifteen minutes alone with a blank mirror. She checked the clock. It was eleven at night. They would get her up early in the morning to put her to work doing God knew what.
Addey was about to slip under the sheets again when there was a knock on the door. The face behind the door was a militant one. She was buzz cut—a Demi Moore GI Jane replica. The woman’s speech was straight to the point. “I am a friend to all the women here. May I come in? I have a few things to go over with you. I want to fill you in on some details.”
She didn’t feel like having the stranger near her, but it wasn’t her choice to let her in or not by the way the woman wedged her foot in the door and teased it open. The door closed, and the woman began talking. She stood in the same uniform as the rest of them, except the gold name tag over her left breast read Grace Moony.
“My name’s Grace, and I know you’re Addey Ruanova.” She scribbled on a clipboard. “I’m going to level with you. This is no cakewalk. There’s no police. I receive complaints of misconduct on a daily basis, even on the hour. Rape, for one, perpetrated by male and females alike. This happens most often in the working yards and in living quarters. People plan, orchestrate and perpetrate sexual crimes. That’s why it’s my job to tell you any defense goes. You can’t get in trouble for defending yourself.”
How about making people not rape at all? How about some fucking regulation?
“Do people get punished for these offenses?”
Grace’s smile shifted, and her eyes went small. “Yes, they do.” She moved on without providing the details. “Defense classes have taught us men hate their balls being punched, but I prefer to squeeze them and really grind them up. The next sexual thought on their mind will send a jolt of pain into their libidos. The eyes are another pressure point too. Poke them out. Shove your fingers into the back of their scandalous heads. Reports do little to prevent rapes, I’ll confess.”
The woman removed her holster belt and handed it to Addey. “You now have a .28 caliber pistol, a spray can of Mace and a Ka-Bar knife. My best advice, and I’ve been doing this for the better part of six years, is to grow a spine. If anybody tries anything funny, shoot them without hesitation. It’s your decision if you shoot to kill, but know this: if your attacker gets up after a bullet to the arm or leg, you’re in deeper trouble than you were before. It’s best to finish them off. Nobody will hold it agains
t you.”
“Nobody will hold it against you.” I keep hearing that phrase.
“What if somebody shoots me, and I didn’t do anything? Will there be a trial?”
Grace’s eyes honed in on her; then, dodging the question, she moved on. “The first and only summons will be a knock on your door promptly at five thirty a.m. You will be expected to be waiting outside your door at six, ready to go. That will be all. Good night.”
The woman closed her door; then Addey locked it.
“What a consultation.”
She clutched the holster, unsure of the protection it offered. Addey hadn’t fired a gun before. She laughed nervously, holding the Mace and teaching herself how to use it. The label of the mace read, Maximum Strength. Will Cause Temporary Blindness and Possible Loss of Faculties.
Will somebody shit themselves if I use this?
Now that might be helpful. Nobody wants to rape you if they just dookied their pants.
She unsheathed the Ka-Bar knife. The blade was six inches long, the girth an inch. She’d seen a Ka-Bar knife before from her uncle, Eddie, an ex-Marine, and his was much larger. This was modified for the masses, like the kind you could buy at Walmart. She pictured jamming it in somebody’s stomach. The image repelled her as much as the idea of having to use it.
Addey wasn’t fond of hiding a gun under the pillow, so she placed the holster on the floor and kept the knife in her clutches. It never hurts to be too careful.
She turned off the lights and tried to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
Dawn Regan clutched the metal box in her hands and walked forward down the gray cinder-block walkway. In the box, she kept treats designed to entertain the beasts. Harold Marcello was right behind her, carrying another box of similar items. Only a wall separated them from the wolf arena.