Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

Kaiju roared as she chased Bennett through the jungle. He was fleet-footed and did an admirable job weaving in and out of the trees. But Kaiju slowly closed the distance like a cheetah pursuing a gazelle. It would be over in a few seconds.

Hawkins flipped the remote over and found a plastic indentation. The device slipped open, revealing two more red buttons. Neither was labeled, but he knew these were the buttons that would detonate the explosives in Kaiju’s and Kam’s bodies.

Bennett squealed like a wounded pig. Kaiju was upon him. He could see her claws sweeping back and forth, goring the smaller man.

No one should live like that, he thought. Kaiju had been born a monster, but part of her was still human. What she was, what she’d done, had to weigh on her. And now her son was dead. All that was left for her was killing. Hawkins offered a silent “sorry” and pushed both buttons.

Bennett screamed as he was lifted off the ground. Kaiju gripped the man’s thigh in her aye-aye hand and his torso with the polar bear claw. His guts hung from his sliced-open belly. Her massive muscles twitched as she pulled. Bennett’s wail reached an impossible pitch as he came apart.

And then both of them ceased to exist.

Hawkins had no idea what explosive Bennett had used, or how much, but it seemed like overkill. Their bodies were instantly vaporized, becoming a cloud of pink before being enveloped by flame and consumed by smoke.

The blast knocked nearby palms to the ground and sent Hawkins flying. He felt the landing, but only briefly.

When he opened his eyes, he found the barrel of an M4 carbine assault rifle with a laser sight aimed at his forehead. His vision spun and his ears rang. There were people standing above him, at least eight mercenaries.

Above the ringing in his ears, he could hear the chop of helicopters, but no gunfire. The battle, it seemed, was over. An Apache roared past overhead and began circling the clearing.

“Who are you?” Hawkins groaned. He pushed himself up onto his elbows. The barrel of the M4 settled on his forehead.

“Don’t move,” the soldier ordered. No threat was required. The M4 spoke loudly enough. Hawkins stopped, but didn’t lie back down. They were going to kill him, of that he had no doubt. But there was a reason they hadn’t already. He looked up at the soldier. The man wore black gear from head to toe. His vest and belt were thick with knives, ammo clips, and a variety of grenades. Enough to wage a one-man war. Hawkins would have liked to look the man in the eyes, but they were concealed behind a pair of reflective sunglasses. Even the man’s lower face was concealed by a black mask.

“Move aside,” said a gruff voice.

The soldiers parted for the newcomer. Like the rest of them, a black uniform concealed his identity, but his voice was older and held authority. This was the man in charge. He stood over Hawkins, turning his head from side to side as he looked him over.

“Huh,” the man said. He reached into a pocket on his vest and took out a stack of laminated cards bound by a metal ring. He flipped through them, occasionally pausing to glance at Hawkins’s face.

Hawkins realized the man was looking at a stack of faces, like the cards used to identify terrorists post-9/11. Only the faces on these cards were Island 731 staff and scientists. “You won’t find me.”

“I’m starting to see that.” The man lowered the cards. “Who the hell are you?”

Hawkins nearly didn’t answer, but decided it couldn’t hurt. With the Magellan still floating in the lagoon, withholding his identity wouldn’t protect the others if they managed to escape.

“Mark Hawkins. I’m a crewmember on board the Magellan. ”

“That the ship anchored in the bay?”

Hawkins nodded. “We were brought here against our will. The crew was tortured, murdered, and experimented on.”

The man shook his head. He squatted down next to Hawkins, removed his glasses, and pulled down his mask.

Dammit , Hawkins thought, now they’re definitely going to kill me .

The man had a salt-and-pepper, close-cropped beard. His pale eyes were intense, but held a hint of remorse. “Are there any other survivors?”

“None,” Hawkins said without hesitation.

“He’s lying, sir,” one of the other soldiers said. “We saw three more flee into the jungle to the south. Reno and Dolan are on them.”

“Check on their status,” the older man commanded.

The soldier tapped his ear and spoke. “Action Team Beta, report.”

Hawkins heard nothing, but could tell the man was listening. “Castle, they’re closing on targets. Requesting permission to engage.”

Hawkins closed his eyes and rubbed his head. He couldn’t think of any way out of this mess, for himself or the others. Even if they made it to the disguised boat, the Apache helicopters no doubt had heat sensors that could easily pick up their bodies, or a warm engine, against the cool backdrop of the Pacific. Then the name registered. Castle. “Michael Castle.”

The man’s head snapped toward him. His eyebrows furrowed. “Where the fuck did you hear that name?”

Hawkins cringed. Had he just signed their death warrants? Instead of answering the question, he asked one of his own. It was a bit of a leap, based on what Green had told him, but the way he commanded these men left little doubt that he was actually the man in charge. “How long have you been running the program on this island?”

The man tensed, but answered. “Since you were still in diapers. Had a good thing going. Real progress. Looked away for a few years and things fell to shit. Too many balls in the air.”

Too many balls in the air? Hawkins wondered. Are there other secret research programs like this one?

“How do you justify it?” Hawkins asked, growing angry.

“Justify it?” Castle said and then chuckled. “Justify it. Are you that naïve? The modern world wouldn’t exist without research done by people like me. Medicine, surgical techniques, the weapons that keep you and your pals safe, and just about every damn thing you buy in a store, including the grocery store, has a history that would make you squirm. Human experimentation is part of human evolution. Those of us who can stomach it are servants, not criminals.” He shook his head again like he couldn’t believe he had to explain.

“And DARPA? Are they a part of this?” The knowledge wouldn’t do Hawkins any good, but he wanted to know and every second they spoke was an extra second the others had to make their escape.

The man laughed. “DARPA is all brains and no balls. They won’t push to the limits, and they won’t question a black program that’s hardwired into the Mansfield Amendment, which keeps the organization focused on defense and guarantees their generous funding.”

“Sir,” the man with the radio said. “Action Team Beta is waiting.”

Castle looked into Hawkins’s eyes and shook his head again. He stood, pulled his mask back up, and put his glasses back on. “They’re clear to engage. No survivors.”

Hawkins looked to the sky, thinking of Howie. What advice would he give now? Take it like a man? Beg for mercy? Pray for a mira—

Hawkins’s eyes went wide. He twisted his neck one way, and then the other, feigning a last stretch. As he looked to the right, he found his miracle.

The older man drew his sidearm and pointed it at Hawkins’s head. “I’m sorry about this. Really. You’re misguided, but brave. And I respect that. You just have really shitty luck.”

Hawkins looked up, staring into the man’s sunglasses. “Makes two of us.”

The man’s face was covered, but his body language showed confusion as the gun lowered a notch. “What are you—”