Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

Derek said, “Fuckin’ Wade’s crazy. He killed this one too.”

The guards cackled.

One of them said, “That ain’t no surprise.”

The other one said, “You takin’ her to the grill pit?”

Derek had no idea where the grill pit was but said, “Yeah, the grill pit.”

“Ain’t much to her,” the guard said, looking her over. “Skin and fuckin’ bones.”

“Could you open the door?” Derek asked. “She may be thin, but she’s gettin’ heavy.”

The guard opened the door that led through the wall and to the street. Derek walked through, his heart beating like a drum. Once the door shut behind him, he picked up the pace, hustling down the narrow alley and through the wreckage of urban neighborhoods. He kept up the charade for a few blocks, then he set her down against a dark wall. Derek removed her clothes from his pockets and dressed her, but she was still in a haze.

He shook her and said, “You have to wake up now. I’m takin’ you back to your people.”

With his help, she staggered to her feet, her legs wobbly.

“I’m Derek,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Eliza,” she replied, barely audible.

The morning sun heated the tarmac. Jacob and Rebecca climbed the steps into the private plane. Jacob’s younger brother, Eric, was kind enough to lend his plane for a future favor. He’d also recommended a ship. The plane would take them to Jamaica, and the ship would take them to the Virgin Islands and the Project Freedom base. Inside, the plane had eight luxurious leather seats, each with their own retractable tables, and OLED screens.

Two well-built men stood from their seats and approached. They looked to be in their mid-thirties. “Mr. and Mrs. Roth,” one of the men said, holding out his hand. “I’m Rob. We spoke on the phone.”

Jacob shook his hand. “Nice to meet you in person.”

Rob came highly recommended by Eric. Jacob had hired him and the other man to provide protection while they were in the Virgin Islands with the drug smugglers. They weren’t cheap, but Eric had said that the former Navy Seals were the best. Rob was tall, maybe six two, with blond hair and a bushy blond beard. He wore cargo pants and a T-shirt that accentuated his muscular build.

Rob gestured to his partner. “This is Billy.”

Billy raised his hand and said, “Nice to meet y’all.” Billy was a redhead, his short hair slicked back. He had a prominent forehead, beady blue eyes, and a reddish mustache and sideburns. He wore a handgun on his hip.

After the introductions, they settled into their seats. Jacob and Rebecca sat in the front, the men two rows back. Rebecca occasionally glanced back, obviously intrigued. Jacob gritted his teeth but didn’t verbalize his jealousy, refusing to show weakness.

The pilot stepped aboard, accompanied by a beautiful stewardess. Jacob followed the stewardess with his eyes, intrigued by her realistic beauty. They’d met the pilot earlier on the tarmac. He’d admitted that he’d never flown a plane outside of flight school. Computers flew most planes flawlessly, the pilot merely a front-seat passenger, there to program trips, to check gauges, but only flying during the unlikely malfunction.

The pilot said, “We’ll take off in about ten minutes.” He disappeared into the cockpit.

The stewardess approached Jacob and Rebecca. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I’ll have a Bloody Mary,” Rebecca said.

The blonde smiled at Rebecca, then turned to Jacob. “And for you, sir?”

“Coffee with cream and sugar.”

She took drink orders from Rob and Billy, then strutted for the galley. Jacob watched her perfect backside sway as she walked.

Rebecca noticed him noticing her. “I didn’t think you were attracted to sex bots.”

Jacob turned to his wife. “She’s not a sex bot. She’s a stewardess.”

“Right. And I’m the Queen of England.” Rebecca pursed her lips. “Your brother probably has sex with her.”

“You sound jealous.” Jacob cracked a small smile.

Rebecca mock-frowned at her husband. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“She is beautiful.” Jacob grabbed Rebecca’s hand and squeezed. “Not as beautiful as you, of course.”

“You better say that.”

Jacob chuckled. “The technology is amazing though. She’s almost indistinguishable from a real woman. I can see why more and more men are marrying bots.”

Connor was on his knees, his hands up in surrender. She begged Derek not to do it, but he laughed and cut Connor’s throat from ear to ear, arterial blood spraying Summer’s face. She thrashed and woke in her makeshift bed. She’d slept on top of her sleeping bag, the old sleeping bag softened by the straw underneath. She looked around the stone room, beams of sunlight coming from the gun ports.

Three other makeshift beds were in the room. Two of the beds were empty, the women up already, probably working on the day’s chores. Summer sat up and rubbed her eyes. A lump resided in Eliza’s sleeping bag. She had been kidnapped last night. That’s bullshit. Someone already took her bed.

“Are you decent?” Javier asked, just outside the arched doorway. The room had no door, but the men were careful not to invade their privacy.

Summer stood from her bed, slipped on the water shoes she’d been given, and padded to Javier. Most of the group wore prison-issued boots, but they’d scavenged old water shoes, saving usable pairs for the scavenger crews. The grippy shoes were made to get wet. They were perfect for rainy conditions and canoeing, decent for running, and great for silent steps. Summer scowled at Eliza’s bed on the way, trying to figure out who was in her sleeping bag. Whoever it was, they were wrapped like a cocoon.

“I need to talk to you,” Javier said, his voice low.

“Okay,” Summer replied.

They walked a few steps down the hall, so they didn’t disturb the sleeper.

“Someone’s already using Eliza’s sleeping bag,” Summer said, her arms crossed over her chest.

“That’s Eliza,” Javier replied.

Summer dropped her arms. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone brought her back early this morning.”

“That’s great.”

But Javier didn’t look happy. “She’s pretty messed up. The fuckin’ Aryans gang-raped her again.”

Summer covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes like saucers. “My God. Is there anything I can do?”

“I hope it’s okay, but I told Roger that you’re a nurse. He wants you to examine her when she gets up.”

“Of course. Anything.”

Javier pursed his lips.

“Is there something else?”

“The guy who brought Eliza back is the same guy who killed Connor.”

Summer’s mouth hung open for a moment. She balled her hands into fists. “Is he here?”

Javier didn’t respond.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Javier nodded.

“Where?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Maybe now’s not the best time—”

“Where is he?”

“He’s in the common area.”

Summer ran down the stone hallway toward the common area, which was just a large open room near the front entrance of the fort. Three men sat at the far end of the room, but, other than that, it was empty, everyone probably eating breakfast outside in the courtyard. Summer ran toward the men. They sat at a table playing cards. Against the wall, maybe fifteen feet away, Derek slept on a bed of straw. One of the men said hello to Summer, but she was unresponsive.

She ran to Derek and kicked him in the stomach. Derek woke, disoriented, and Summer kicked him again. Javier arrived on the scene, restraining Summer, the card-playing men now on their feet.