Sara stepped in front of Cindy, tugging her own shirt up over her head, swatting at Georgia. But that only fanned the flames, making them bigger.
Georgia may have tried to scream, but she’d apparently inhaled some of that powder, because the only thing that came out of her mouth was flames.
Cindy turned away, saw two cannibals dead on the grass—the ones that Sara had shot—and then Tyrone was holding her and patting her back and Cindy wondered if this nightmare would ever be over, if they’d ever be safe.
That’s when she saw Lester walking toward them.
Every nerve ending in Georgia’s body was firing at once. All she cared about, her entire world, was centered on when the pain would end.
She remembered, inexorably, an old saying—a star that shines twice as bright burns half as long—and hoped it was true, hoped this would be over soon.
It wasn’t.
Georgia burned bright, that was for sure. But she also burned for a very long time.
Lester Paks watched the Sara woman standing over Georgia girl. First the Joe pet. Now this.
Lester was so angry his teeth were clenched, something he tried to avoid because their sharp points made his gums bleed. His gums were bleeding so badly his cheeks began to bulge.
The Sara woman needed to die. And the boy and the girl with the Sara woman needed to die.
He walked after them, barely glancing at the still burning, still twitching Georgia girl. When the three began to run, Lester ran too. He had long legs, and strong muscles. He would catch them.
They went into the area where the helicopter landed. The helicopter wasn’t there anymore. But the man, Kong, was still there.
At least, most of him was..
The feral people were squatting around his body. The Sara woman and the children jogged past, but the boy broke away, heading for something; the metal suitcase Kong had been carrying. The boy picked it up and rejoined the two women.
The ferals paid the boy no attention. But when they saw Lester, they scattered. The ferals were scared of Lester. They had reason to be. Usually, Martin would bring Lester playmates. Sometimes boats would come to the island, and Lester could get his own playmates. But if Lester didn’t have any playmates, Lester would take a feral person. They were smelly and dirty, but they screamed as well as anyone else.
The three people ran north, probably not knowing why. This pleased Lester. The lake was very close to the north. Close and high up, more than thirty feet above the water. When they reached the ledge, there would be no place left to go.
Lester ran faster, closing the distance between them.
The clearing ended, and the forest began. The woods were thick here, blocking out most of the sun. Sometimes Lester lost sight of them. But they were easy to hear, clomping through the woods, breathing heavy, yelling encouraging words at each other. Lester spit out a stream of blood, and his cheeks began to fill again.
“There’s nowhere to go,” said the Sara woman. “We’re trapped.”
That made Lester smile. He had many items on his tool belt. He decided to use the mallet first. He would break all of their knees, so they couldn’t run away. Then he could take his time.
The trees thinned, and Lester saw Lake Huron, spreading out into the distance. He stopped several yards before the edge. It was a long drop down, and there were sharp rocks among the waves.
Lester looked left, and then right. He saw the girl on the ground next to a big tree, holding her leg. She must have hurt herself. Lester took out the mallet, happy to make it hurt even worse.
“Lester needs a new girlfriend,” he said, raising the weapon.
But something went wrong. Lester’s head jerked back, and he stumbled sideways. He reached up and touched his face.
Six of Lester’s teeth fell into his large palm.
My teeth. My teeth. My beautiful teeth.
He looked up in time to see the boy swing the metal suitcase a second time. The boy had been hiding behind the tree. He and the girl had tricked Lester.
Lester backed up, staying of range. He had dropped the mallet when the boy hit him, so he reached for his tool belt, seeking out the hatchet. The boy swung again, but this time he let go of the suitcase. It hit Lester in the chin. More of Lester’s beautiful teeth left his mouth, arcing through the air, going over the edge of the cliff.
That’s when he saw the Sara woman, already running at him, leaping in a flying kick.
She connected with Lester’s chest. He’d been bracing himself, but it still made him stagger backward two steps.
Unfortunately, the second step was a long one.
One moment Lester was on land. The next moment he wasn’t.
He managed to twist around as he fell, so he could see the rocks coming up at him at a blinding speed.
Maybe I will see Georgia girl in hel—
The thought ended with an abrupt crunch.
Dr. Plincer had to give Subject 33 credit. The man could inflict pain like a maestro conducted an orchestra. He’d even managed to top Plincer’s time with Lester so long ago.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in Subject 33’s box, but it seemed like hours. Plincer could understand why so many people screamed for so long. He would have as well, if it hadn’t been for the skewers in his tongue.
At least Plincer’s curiosity had been satisfied. He’d always wondered about the machine Subject 33 had built. Really an ingenious device. Plincer just wished he wasn’t forced to have firsthand knowledge.
A tiny, still coherent part of him wondered why he hadn’t passed out yet. After all, it couldn’t possibly get worse.
Then Subject 33 hooked up the car battery, and it got worse.
Sara looked over the edge. Lester was gone, though she could make out the blood stain where he’d hit the rock.
“I thought the plan was to lead him north to the ledge and then shoot his ass, not go all Jackie Chan,” Tyrone said.
Sara shrugged. “No bullets left.”
Cindy walked over, holding Sara’s wrist as she peeked downward. “Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“You sure he’s not going to come back, try to kill us again?”
Sara pointed at the body floating out into the big water. “I’m sure.”
They watched him for a while, bobbing in the waves. Sara tried to figure out how many men she’d killed this camping trip, and realized she’d lost count.
There’ll be time for therapy later. Now we need to find Captain Prendick’s boat.
She checked the compass, fount east.
“Come on, guys. Let’s go.”
“Hold on first. Let’s see what’s in this briefcase. Gotta be somethin’ valuable.”
Tyrone set it on the ground, and they all gathered to look when he opened the lid.
“Great,” he said. “Some ugly ho.”
Actually, it was a painting of an ugly ho. In three-quarter profile, sandwiched between two thick pieces of Plexiglas. She had bulgy eyes and a gold cross around her neck and a blue dress, and the style was oddly familiar.
“Think it’s worth somethin’?” Tyrone asked.
Sara lifted the painting. Under it was a bill of sale, from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, for just under 20 million Euro. Sara shook her head, amazed.
“It’s Vincent Van Gogh’s Portrait of Woman in Blue, and the bill of sale looks real.”
“Twenty million Euro?” Cindy said. “Is that like yen, meaning it’s only worth a few hundred bucks?”
“The Euro is stronger than the dollar, Cindy.” Sara said, suddenly nervous to be holding it. “This painting is worth about 25 million dollars.”