Phoenix Island (32 page)

It wasn’t ready yet, wasn’t safe yet.

But it was getting close.

How did you think they were testing the thing?
he asked himself.
How did they know it wasn’t safe yet? How did they know they were getting closer
?

And then it all came clear to him.

Nobody ever goes home.
They made Phoenix Force and became professional killers, or they washed out, in which case, they were hunted,
murdered, and fed to the sharks, or brought here and used as lab rats. The foul doctor lifted their eyelids, jammed in the newest version of his master chip, and turned their brains into pudding just like that.

Who would miss them? They were just a bunch of throwaway orphans.

He remembered Stark patting him on the back as Carl had puked at the sight of the soldiers throwing Medicaid’s body to the sharks. “Be strong, Carl,” he’d said, and it had taken all of Carl’s strength not to attack him. “Resolute acceptance of one’s own death is not enough; one must come to accept the deaths of others, as well. Don’t saddle yourself with emotional attachments to your inferiors. The price of progress runs high at times, and you can’t afford weakness.”

Summoning every ounce of willpower, Carl had wiped his mouth and nodded, to appease the Old Man.

Now, feeling like he might puke again, he once again summoned his will. He had to get control, had to stop himself from tumbling into a complete meltdown.

Forcing himself to breathe,
he thought,
You have to be tough. You have to control yourself. If you don’t, you’ll never leave this place.

Campbell watched through blank eyes.

The price of progress runs high at times. . . .

To Stark, Campbell was just one more lost pawn.

Campbell, Campbell, Campbell! No matter what he tried to do, horror clanged in Carl like some nightmare clock—like ten clocks, a thousand, a million, all of them tolling and crashing inside his skull.

But no—he fought down his panic. He had to keep his cool. Had to focus on what he could
do
, not what he felt.

“I’m going to help you,” he said to his friend. “I’m going to get you out of here, make it better.” But even as he said these words, he felt them break in the air, felt their emptiness flutter away.

Get him out of here? Make it better? How? A brain transplant?

His mind drew back like a hand from a hot stove. It couldn’t be true.

But it was.

Couldn’t be.

Was.

And so his mind clanged, rejecting, acknowledging, rejecting, seeing . . . and shock gave way to sorrow, which gave way to rage.

Why would they do this? Campbell was so cool, so talented, had so much potential. . . .

As if in response, Campbell moaned again.

Then the music started.

Carl gritted his teeth and looked past Campbell to the low building with the thatched roof and porch, out of which spilled what sounded like opera music.
Just go on in there and kill him,
Carl thought.
Snap the torturer’s neck before he can do this to anyone else, before he can do it to Ross, to Octavia, to you. Then go straight back to the hangar and put a steak knife in Stark’s back. . . .

But he knew better. A life full of tragedy had given him the strength to see what was real, and his experiences here were teaching him a reluctant patience. Going after the doctor now would be foolish, and going after Stark would be suicidal. Neither action would do Campbell any good at all.

Still, the flash of rage had helped him, had pulled him from shock and sorrow long enough to cook up bad plans, at least. His whole life, anger had ruled him. It had canceled everything from fear to common sense, getting him into trouble again and again.

Well, now it was going to get him out of trouble. He was going to use it to keep other, paralyzing emotions in check until he got off this island. That was what he was going to do. Period. He would rather die trying than end up as a zombie.
That
fate terrified him more than anything.

The plane was due in mere days. Stark kept mentioning it.

The plane.

Yes, it was a desperate plan, but he needed to risk everything, regardless of the odds, to save Ross and Octavia and stop these madmen and do whatever he could for Campbell and the others.

“I’m going to help,” Carl said, but stopped himself from saying more, stopped himself from launching into a long good-bye. He couldn’t let sorrow freeze the flames of his anger.

So he turned away from his friend and started running again. Off in
the distance, more gunfire sounded. The fourth burst since he’d left the hangar. He hoped everything was okay back at the training base.

He had to help Ross and Octavia before it was too late, had to lock down his emotions, using anger if necessary, but never losing himself to rage. Even though every fiber in his body longed to fight, he had to smile until he found a way onto that flight.

Those tasks seemed utterly impossible. They would demand every ounce of strength, guts, and brains he could muster.

So be it,
he told himself, picturing Stark in a prison cell.
The price of progress runs high sometimes
.

And as he turned up the road toward the hangar, a flare from some training exercise or other popped in the distance. Carl thought his anger could be like that: a controlled, useful fire.

C
ARL LOOKED UP
from Musashi’s
The Book of Five Rings
when he heard a jeep pull in outside the hangar. That was fast. He hadn’t expected Stark back so soon.

Here we go,
Carl thought.
Back to the act
.

The door handle turned.

Carl forced a smile.

Only to find Parker coming through the door.

A complete surprise—and a weird moment: the last time he’d seen the man was weeks ago, when the drill sergeant had tried to lop off his head.

How things had changed. Now Carl lived here, apprenticed to Parker’s boss. Fit and clean, he wore a fresh uniform—a Phoenix Force uniform. Parker, on the other hand, was sweaty and dirty, covered in something . . . blood? That’s what it looked like, and knowing Parker, that’s probably what it was. Blood. The guy would never get past blood.

So in a way, it was a rush, seeing him step through the door.

But Carl didn’t like the look on his face.

He expected anger, maybe shock.

Instead, Parker just grinned.

“He’s not here,” Carl said.

“I know where he is, Hollywood.”

Hearing that name—Hollywood—lit a fire in Carl. “Why don’t you go there and see him, then, Parker? I’m studying.”

“Ooh la la,” Parker said. “Studying. What a brownnoser. I didn’t come to see Stark. I came to see you.”

Decker, Funk, and Chilson stepped in behind him. They had nightsticks.

“Nice armbands,” Carl said. “What are you guys, trick-or-treating as Nazis?”

They said nothing. Funk and Chilson glared. Decker looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Parker took another step inside. “Study break, Hollywood. I got something for you to see.”

“Not interested,” Carl said. “I follow you out the door, then the four of you jump me, right?”

“Never,” Parker said. “Stark wouldn’t want his precious baby getting hurt.”

“You mean the baby that almost killed you,” Carl said.

Parker scowled, then recovered his smirk. “Ross is out there.”

“Ross?” He stood. “Where?”

Parker gestured outside. “Right over here in the jeep. Come on out and say hi.”

Carl started toward him. “What are you up to, Parker?”

“Just taking your friend for a little swim.” He disappeared out the door.

Carl followed, squinting as he stepped into the sunlight.

Decker and his buddies stood at the back of the jeep. Funk and Chilson grinned. Decker just stared, looking amused, interested.

For a second, no one said anything. Carl heard the jeep’s radiator clicking.

Then Parker drew his pistol.

“Don’t be stupid, Parker,” Carl said. “You shoot me, Stark will kill you.”

“Pipe down, Hollywood. I’m not going to shoot you. Not unless you make me. You do anything stupid, I’ll put a bullet right through your belt line. Spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair, carrying a colostomy bag. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like I’m out of here. You want to talk to me, come back when Stark’s around.” He turned and started back inside.

“What about your little buddy?” Parker said.

“What about him? You lied. He’s not here.”

“Sure he is.” Parker motioned toward the back of the jeep. “He’s taking a nap. Poor kid’s all tuckered out from running through the woods.”

Funk laughed.

Apprehension sizzled through Carl. “What did you do?” He ran to the back of the jeep.

The others backed away, raising their weapons.

Ross lay there, covered in blood, staring out of sightless eyes grayed with a cloudy film.

“Ross!” Carl plunged forward, prodding his friend, pulling at him, trying to do something . . . anything . . .

Ross!

But the boy’s body was stiff and cold and—

“I’ll kill you!” Carl roared, and he started around the jeep.

“Stop!” Parker waved the pistol. “I’ll drop you in your tracks. Self-defense.”

Carl took a step forward. “You think I care if you kill me?”

“You’ll care if I kill your girlfriend.”

New panic.

“What did you do?”

“Oh, it’s not what I did,” Parker said. “It’s what she did. She killed Carrottop. You know, Mediqueer?”

“Liar,” Carl said.

“I speak the gospel truth,” Parker said, “as these fine young men are my witnesses.”

“Where is she?”

“Sweatbox.”

Carl pointed at him and spoke slowly. “You let her out of there, and you leave her alone. You got a problem with me, let’s do it. Just the two of us. Leave her out of it.”

“Just what I had in mind,” Parker said.

“All right, then,” Carl said, and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s get down to it.”

“I’m not going to fight you here. Stark would throw a hissy fit. The man’s got a teacup for a temper, he really does. No, you want me? Challenge me to a duel.”

There it was. Now Carl understood. “Yeah, right . . . so you can call terms.”

Parker grinned. “Pretty much. Dawn tomorrow, in front of everybody, my terms. Agree to that, and I won’t do to her what I did to Ross.”

“Forget it. Let’s just wait for Stark.”

Parker got into the jeep. “Nope. Too busy. Gotta feed the sharks and get home in time to start the next hunt. It’s open season on white-haired girls.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh no? Explain that to your little buddy. Now give him a kiss bye-bye and get out of my way, Hollywood. I got forty orphans dying to stick their spears in your girl, see how she bleeds.”

The engine roared to life. The others got in.

Carl glanced at his dead friend’s empty eyes and knew it was true, all of it. . . .

Parker started backing up.

“Wait!” Carl shouted.

Parker stopped and looked at him with one brow cocked.

“Okay—I challenge you to a duel. Me and you, tomorrow at dawn, whatever you want. Just leave her alone. No hunt.”

Parker threw his head back and laughed. “You’re on, Hollywood. I accept. Tomorrow at dawn, out on the beach beside the lot where we first met. Pistols at ten paces!”

D
RAW!” STARK SHOUTED.

Carl drew the pistol as fast as he could, stepped to the side, and knelt. He aimed center mass and squeezed the trigger. The gun barked loudly and bucked in his hand. He squeezed the trigger again and again until he’d burned through the clip, and the slide locked to the rear.

“You fight like that, you’re dead!” Stark came across the sand, scowling. “Get it together, son. What’s wrong with you?”

What’s wrong with me?
Carl thought.
My best friend’s dead, my other friend is a zombie, I’m fighting to the death tomorrow morning, and if I lose, the person I care most about in the whole world is going to die, too
.