Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

And feminine.

Despite all of the disparate species blended into just the face of this chimera, it didn’t look like some kind of haphazard Frankenstein’s monster. It was a single, purposeful design that brought several different animal traits together and made them look almost like they belonged together.

The horrible face was the last thing Hawkins saw before losing consciousness. But the last thing Hawkins heard was Kam’s voice shouting, “Be careful. Don’t hurt him, Mother!”

Hawkins flinched awake, confused and disoriented. His eyes opened, but he couldn’t see. He could hear, but the ambient background noise sounded muffled. He breathed through his nose, but smelled only his own breath. Cool air caressed the bare skin of his arms and legs, but his face felt warm and stuffy.

There’s a hood over my head.

The hood was a mixed blessing. On one hand, he was blind to his surroundings. On the other, his captors wouldn’t know he was awake. He focused on his senses, paying attention to his body first. He lay on his side atop a hard but smooth surface. Wood, he thought. His wrists were bound, but his feet were free, which meant he was most likely in some kind of cell.

He tried listening again, but the only sound he could distinguish was the slight buzz of electricity. Power meant that he was being kept in one of the newer buildings, but that wasn’t exactly helpful information.

Hawkins tried to remember some words of wisdom passed down from Howie GoodTracks, but came up with nothing. The man knew everything about tracking and hunting, but being held captive never came up. Yes, it did , Hawkins thought. Be the more aggressive predator . When the time came, Hawkins would put that advice to good use again. It wouldn’t matter against the monster he’d seen before losing consciousness, but he’d rather die fighting than end up like Jim.

“Hey!” Bray shouted from someplace nearby. He shouted again, more loudly. “Hey! Let me the hell out of here!”

Hawkins wanted to shush the man, but couldn’t without revealing that he, too, was awake.

“Bray, is that you?”

Hawkins recognized the new voice. Jones.

“What about Hawkins? And Drake?” This voice belonged to Blok.

Bennett had been wrong about the entire crew. They’d been taken, but not killed. Not yet, anyway. And Hawkins knew the reason: Why kill a perfectly good test subject?

Hawkins waited, hoping to hear Joliet’s voice, but only heard one other person, Bennett himself, weeping not too far away.

“Where are we?” Bray asked.

“Don’t know,” Blok said. “We’ve been masked the whole time.”

Bray grunted, probably sitting up. “Is Hawkins here?”

“Haven’t heard him,” Jones said. “Did you all see Jackie anywhere?”

“No,” Bray replied. His voice burned with rage. “But we know who brought us here.”

“Was Kam,” Bennett said with something resembling a sob.

“We heard the son of a bitch talking to someone when Bennett was brought in,” Blok said. “Whoever brought you in didn’t say a word,” Blok added.

“It was Kam,” Bray said. “He tranquilized Hawkins and me.”

“Kam carried you?” Blok asked, sounding dubious. “You’re at least twice his size.”

After a few moments of silence, Bray asked, “How sure are you guys that we’re alone?”

Nobody answered.

Hawkins wanted to second Bray’s observation, but remained silent. If they weren’t alone, whoever was listening in would be learning far more about them than vice versa.

“Actually, I’m right here.”

Kam’s voice was so close that Hawkins couldn’t stop himself from flinching and revealing his ruse. Dammit! He felt a tug on his head and the black shroud was yanked away. Brilliant white light forced his eyes shut. He took a slow, squinted look and found Kam squatting beside him, a hood in his hands and a frown on his face. For a moment, he looked like the same sheepish kid Hawkins had come to know aboard the Magellan . He looked almost apologetic. And then he mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

Hawkins nearly replied aloud, but when Kam saw this, his expression became pleading. If he’s mouthing the words , Hawkins realized, he doesn’t want someone to hear . Maybe some part of the kid really did regret what he was doing, but it didn’t change the fact that he had captured all of them.

The apologetic expression disappeared as Kam stood up. “You can speak now, Ranger.”

In a flash, Hawkins remembered the last time he’d heard Kam’s voice. Mother. He called the monster “Mother.” Was it just a name, or was that thing somehow Kam’s actual mother?

“Hawkins?” Bray said. “You’re here?”

“Yeah, Eight. I’m here.” Hawkins turned toward Bray’s voice. He was sitting on a metal bench in a cell identical to Hawkins’s—thirty-six square feet surrounded by metal bars. The smooth, gray floor held a drain at the sloped center. The cells were modern, but ultimately not very dissimilar to those of the old laboratory. Beyond Bray, Hawkins saw Jones, Blok, and Bennett, bound with plastic cuffs and sitting in identical cells, each with a hood over their heads.

Kam stepped back, out of the cell, and locked the door. It was a simple sliding lock, like an animal cage. If not for the plastic cuffs, it would be easy to escape. Hawkins strained at his bonds. There would be no breaking them, nor slipping free.

When Kam stepped to Bray’s cell and unlocked the door, Hawkins got a view of the rest of the room. It wasn’t just a holding cell, it was a surgical suite! The bright light filling the room came from an array of floodlights hanging down from the ceiling above a single operating table. The brushed metal surface was clean, but the floor around it was stained red from blood. There had clearly been some effort put into cleaning the mess and keeping the place sanitary, but whatever surgery had taken place here recently had been mopped up hastily. Next to the table were two carts. The first was empty, but no doubt meant for holding tools of the trade. The second was full of monitoring equipment and held a portable defibrillator, just in case the subject tried to go and die before the mutilation was complete.

Glass cabinets lined the walls. They were packed with medical supplies, lines of orange plastic pill containers, thick brown glass bottles, and an array of well-organized cleaning supplies. Bright blue rubber aprons hung by the exit. Matching gloves and boots rested on a bench below. On the wall opposite the supplies was a pegboard similar to the one in the barn’s slaughter shed, and some of the tools hanging from the pegs looked similar—hacksaws, scalpels, scoops, forceps, clamps, retractors, scissors, and drills. Below the wall of tools was a countertop. It held a small refrigerator, two microscopes, rows of tubes, syringes, and other nonsurgical tools. A flat-screen monitor on a swiveling arm was mounted above the microscopes.

This is Charles Manson’s dream come true , Hawkins thought.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Bray said. His hood had been removed and he was looking over the room.

Kam moved from cell to cell, removing hoods and relocking doors. He waited in silence as each man expressed his revolt at their surroundings. He was never rough. Never cruel. Almost polite. This was not the kind of man who kidnaps his friends. So who is pulling his strings? Maybe no one . The apology could have been a deception, like everything else on this island.

“Is this where you did it?” Bray asked. “Where you operated on Jim?”

“What happened to Jim?” Bennett asked, eyes wide. The kid was in shock. Hawkins didn’t know how Bennett ended up here, but guessed he’d been plucked from his hiding spot by the big chimera. That encounter probably did a number on his psyche.