“One plate or two?”
Subject 33 held out two fingers.
“Excellent.”
Doctor Plincer filled two plates with French toast, and set them on the floor of the antechamber, along with two glasses of OJ, forks, and syrup. After locking up, he pushed the cart down the hall to Martin’s room.
Neither Martin, nor his guest, was in. Scratch that—Plincer heard someone whimpering inside the chest. A part of him wanted to open the chest, because he so rarely prepared meals for guests and a small part of him wanted to hear a bit of praise for his cooking. But whatever Martin was doing to her was Martin’s business, and the doctor wasn’t going to interfere.
Subject 33 was enhanced to the point where he was impossible to control. Plincer was able to control Lester somewhat since his enhancement, but the alterations he’d made to his teeth, along with his freakish height, made it difficult for him to blend in to the general populace. But Martin; Martin was the embodiment of everything Plincer was trying to do.
The doctor had taken a normal man and made him into a Level 6. Martin was truly evil, but also able to keep his tastes hidden and function within society. Function at a very high level. He’d been successful in maintaining both a job and a marriage, while keeping his killing secret.
Plincer didn’t want to do anything to annoy Martin, so he moved along.
Next it was on to Lester’s room. The tall man was sleeping, as was his pet.
“Lester, my friend. It’s time to start your day. We’ve got a big one ahead of us.”
In one fluid motion Lester levered himself out of bed and picked up the box of dog biscuits. He threw two into the pet crate, and popped one into his own mouth.
“Lester, I made French toast. I wish you wouldn’t ruin your appetite with those things.”
“The biscuits help support healthy teeth and bones,” Lester said, quoting the line on the box. “Lester likes healthy teeth.”
“Do you have any idea where Martin is?”
Lester shook his head.
“After breakfast, meet me in the lab. We have to go over a few last minute things. And perhaps it’s time to change your pet’s hay. I believe it’s getting a bit stinky in here.”
Doctor Plincer rolled the cart further down the hallway, to Georgia’s room. He paused, fearful that he’d set his hopes too high. If the procedure had been successful, Plincer could tout that he’d finally perfected the formula. If not, the meeting with Kong would require a bit more finesse.
Time to find out.
He placed his ear to the door, and heard a high-pitched screeching. A good sign, or perhaps not. If Georgia was tormenting the rat Lester had given her, she’d been properly enhanced. If, however, she was eating the rat, she would have to be tranked and left out with the feral people.
Plincer didn’t knock. He unlocked the metal security door and pushed it open with one hand, aiming the gun with the other.
Georgia was naked. The squirming, duct-taped rat in one hand. The scissors in the other. Blood was spattered on her bare breasts.
The procedure had been a success.
He pocketed the key and pulled the cart inside, the door closing behind him and locking automatically.
“Good morning. I made French toast.”
Georgia stared at him, neither hostile nor fearful.
“Thank you. And thanks for what you’ve done to me.”
If Plincer could still blush, he might have. “Yes, well, you were a perfect candidate for it, and an excellent subject. What you’re doing right now, with the rodent there, do you think you might enjoy doing that same thing to a person?”
Georgia’s eyes lit up. “When?”
“Sometime after breakfast. I’ll come to collect you. I’m assuming it doesn’t matter that you’d be doing it to one of your friends that you came to the island with.”
“Those aren’t my friends.”
“Yes, excellent, it’s a date then. Might I ask, do you like orange juice?”
“Sure.”
Georgia moved slowly toward him, swaying her hips. Rather than be embarrassed by her nudity, she seemed to flaunt it. One of the added benefits of the procedure. Grandiose narcissism.
“I must ask you, tell you, to stay back. We need to establish some mutual trust first. You understand.”
She nodded, running her tongue across her upper lip. “My eyes itch.”
“There is a bottle of artificial tears in the bathroom, above the sink. That should relieve the redness. Let me set down your food.”
He quickly made a plate for her, placing everything on the dresser.
“The door is locked,” Georgia said. “Am I a prisoner?”
“It’s for your own protection,” Plincer said, adding and mine too in his head. “Once we’re sure you’ve been successfully enhanced, you’ll be able to roam freely.”
Georgia made an exaggerated pout. “Don’t you trust me, Dr. Plincer?”
Plincer didn’t go there. “Enjoy the meal. I’ll be back later.”
He fumbled to put the key in the lock, glancing back at Georgia several times to make sure she wasn’t sneaking up. When he finally got the door open, the girl was standing right next to him.
The doctor yelped, surprised, raising up the dart gun. But Georgia had already caught his wrist, and she was strong for her size.
“Relax, Doctor. I was just going to hold open the door while you pushed out the cart.”
She stood next to him, her palm on the door. Plincer thanked her and quickly hustled out of there, the door closing and locking behind him.
Doctor Plincer again faced the staircase, but going down was always easier, and the cart was considerable lighter. Then it was back to the kitchen. There were many pieces of French toast left, but no one on hand to eat them. He didn’t care for the dish himself. He supposed he could toss them out a window, let the ferals find them. Or maybe give them to the children in the cells downstairs.
No. Bad idea. He didn’t want them throwing up in front of the company.
In Dr. Plincer’s experience, people in terrible pain sometimes threw up.
Since French toast didn’t reheat well, he went with the simplest solution and tossed the leftovers into the garbage.
Such a shame, such a waste.
When the last slice hit the can, he changed his mind and fished out all the food he’d thrown away. Piling it onto a paper plate, he went to the front door, checked the peephole for ferals, and then it opened up and left the plate on the ground.
Throwing perfectly good food away was wrong, and Plincer didn’t want that on his conscience.
Captain Prendick opened his eyes. For a moment he thought he was asleep on his boat, but then the headache hit, followed swiftly by the memory of how he received it.
He’d just locked up the Randhurst woman and the two kids in Doc Plincer’s prison; something he would be getting a large bonus for. Martin had asked him to stay close and ready, just in case. Prendick understood why. He hated coming to the island. When he did his monthly supply drop-off, it was during the day. Being here at night really upped the danger quotient.
He hadn’t seen a single feral on his walk back to the beach. He’d heard things, but figured they feared him too much to try anything.
Then, when he was reaching into the bushes to drag out his dinghy, he got whacked from behind.
Now he was naked, lying on his back and locked in some kind of strange cage. It was in a clearing, and to his right was a bed of coals, glowing orange. Prendick had no illusions what those coals were for. He checked the other side, and could see his clothes in a pile just a few feet away on his left.