Jeremy Robinson - Island 731

It had been a year since Hawkins returned to the Ute reservation. That they’d made the trip without being discovered was something of a miracle. They had been picked up by an oil tanker two days after escaping the island. The tanker’s sparse crew and lax captain hadn’t checked the contents of the heavy bundle carried by Drake when he had boarded the ship. Nor had they paid much attention to the rescued crew while they had quietly recovered on the three-week voyage to the Port of Los Angeles.

When they left the ship, Drake assumed his position as the Magellan ’s captain and told a fabricated story about a storm that had capsized the Magellan . Thankfully, most of their wounds, including Hawkins’s side and Bray’s calf, had healed and didn’t require a hospital visit, which allowed Drake to leave out their less believable run-in with pirates. The police interviewed them one at a time, which allowed three of them to stay with Lilly in a cheap motel, but the interviews focused mainly on confirming their identities. Their rehearsed stories matched and once their credentials were checked out, no one questioned the validity of their story. They were free to go.

GoodTracks had been confused by Lilly—neither fully human nor fully animal—when Hawkins first introduced her and requested sanctuary for them both, but quickly decided her feline traits were a blessing. To the Ute, the puma, panther, and jaguar were symbols of strength, nobility, and guardianship. She would protect them as they protected her. She basked in the attention GoodTracks had once given Hawkins.

Joliet, Bray, and Drake stayed with them for a week before heading to their various homes. The last time Hawkins had heard from Drake was just over two months ago when he called to say he was heading to Japan to reconnect with family. “Uncle” Bray had returned during every school break. He’d blamed technical difficulties for his seeming disappearance and was now writing a book on modern bioethics, which featured several chapters focused on DARPA and a Senator Mansfield, who created and implemented the Mansfield Amendment that allowed black projects under DARPA’s umbrella to not only exist, but also to be hidden from the organization’s leadership. Mansfield had died in 2001, but Bray was determined to reveal his dark legacy and, more importantly, who had inherited it.

Joliet’s trip home lasted just a week. When she returned it was with a U-Haul truck. She’d tried to claim the move was to better study and keep an eye on Lilly, but the charade only lasted three months. She and Hawkins had been sharing a room since. Lilly had taken to calling them Mom and Dad.

It was a strange family. Perhaps the strangest ever. But it had worked so far. He and Joliet did their best to educate her, but found she didn’t need much help. She took to reading quickly and devoured books like she did meat. She was a hunter, of that there was little doubt, but her instincts were tempered by a sharp intelligence and a kind heart. Bray liked to say she had the look of a cat but the temperament of a dog.

They’d had no trouble hiding her from the outside world. The reservation’s mostly unpopulated 1,058 square miles gave her lots of space to roam and she could hear, see, and smell someone coming from a mile away. She knew enough to stay out of sight and understood what might happen if she were discovered. The biggest challenge had been her growth. Six months into her stay, she’d grown. Fast. Her body, mind, and emotional development surged forward and what had been a five-year-old girl soon became a young teen. She had yet to show any real signs of puberty, but it remained one of Hawkins’s greatest fears. If she was ever going to do something irrational, it would be then. But so far, she’d remained calm, trustworthy, and clear-headed.

All things considered, they’d managed to build a good life in the wake of surviving the island. Most importantly, they were safe.

C’mon , Hawkins thought, looking through the binoculars. Any second now .

Lilly had become a skilled hunter as Hawkins and GoodTracks taught her everything they knew, minus the “be the most aggressive predator” theory—she needed no help there. But she’d learned discipline, respect for life, and skills that would serve her well if things ever became… complicated. So when an arrow didn’t fly from some unseen hiding spot, Hawkins became worried.

Joliet crouched next to him. “Where is she?”

Hawkins stood. The deer immediately saw him. They stared at him for a moment until one of them huffed. Then all three darted away, bounding through the high grass until they disappeared into the forest.

With their cover blown, there was no reason for Hawkins to stay silent any longer. Fearing Lilly might have left, he filled his lungs to shout for her. He never got the chance.

“Daddy!” Lilly’s voice was distant. Panicked.

Had she been discovered?

Hawkins jumped over the edge and ran down the grassy slope. Joliet and GoodTracks followed close behind. “Lilly! Where are you!”

“Here!” she shouted.

Hawkins ran as fast as he could, which wasn’t quite as fast as he could run a year ago. Several of his wounds still ached when he exerted himself, but concern for Lilly pushed him past the pain. He saw her crouched in a stand of tall grass.

She wore no clothes. She rarely did. They were not only uncomfortable for her, but her pelt of shiny, black fur hid anything people would consider indecent. She didn’t look up at his approach, but stared at the ground beneath her. He saw blood on her hands and arms.

Had she killed something?

Was she wounded?

She looked at him, panic filling her eyes. “Daddy, I don’t understand.”

“What is it,” he asked, his eyes searching her body for a wound. Her legs were bloody, too, but he saw no injuries.

“Look,” she said, and stepped back.

Hawkins stared at the ground beneath her.

Joliet arrived and gasped, a hand going to her mouth.

GoodTracks stopped short. He always made an effort to let Hawkins and Joliet handle Lilly’s problems the way parents might before offering his grandfatherly opinion. When no one said anything, he asked, “What is it?”

Hawkins turned around slowly. He didn’t know what to think. Or what to do. But the answer to GoodTracks’s question was a simple one. “Eggs,” he said. “Three of them.” He looked back at the clutch of brown spotted eggs, each the size of an oblong baseball. “They’re Lilly’s.”

“Over there!” Jason Bachman shouted, pointing at the distant chunk of debris. As a deckhand aboard the Darwin, his job usually entailed grunt work like cleaning the deck or fixing clogged toilets. So when the captain had offered him a chance to stand lookout for the day, he took to the role with gusto.

The Darwin had taken up the job left vacant by the missing Magellan and her crew—to study the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. They’d come with a full crew of fifty people and had already uncovered a great deal of evidence that should change the tide of public opinion and hopefully get some legislation pushed through.

“On top of the white tarp!” he shouted to the Zodiac crew who gunned the engine and aimed for the tarp floating atop a layer of debris. If not for the stark white tarp, he might not have recognized the shape, but it stood out as a clear silhouette in the noonday sun.

The Zodiac engine’s whine quieted as it approached the tarp. He watched through his binoculars as the three-man crew brought the basketball-size object aboard. The engine whined again as the small boat shot back to the Darwin.

Bachman’s lanky legs carried him quickly to the port rail of the lower deck, where the Zodiac crew would hand their find to waiting scientists. He rarely got to witness discoveries as they were made. Usually only heard about them over dinner. But since he’d found the object, he’d be the one to bring it aboard.