Free JACK KILBORN ~ TRAPPED by J.A. Konrath, Jack Kilborn Page A

was, but he knew he needed his Risperdol. When he missed a dose he just got more and more agitated until he wound up in big trouble. He was already close to freaking out, and without his meds he might wind up running off into the woods, which would be big trouble for sure.
    Tom walked toward Sara and Martin’s tent.
    “ You’re not allowed in there.”
    “ Mind your own frickin’ business, Cindy.”
    Tom knew he wasn’t supposed to go in the tent. He also knew he was supposed to treat everyone with respect. But Sara and Martin weren’t there, and he needed his meds, and they were probably in Sara’s backpack because she was the one who gave Tom his pills. How else was he supposed to frickin’ get them?
    He ducked through the entry flap, using a Velcro strap to hold it open so the fire from behind lit up the enclosed space. On the left were a sleeping bag, a small cooler, and a stack of canned goods. That would teach Tyrone to mind his own business—bouncing a can of creamed corn off his dome. On the opposite side of the tent were two backpacks. One was already open, some things lying beside it.
    Tom knelt next to the open pack. It was dark, but he noticed a walkie-talkie, a first aid box, and a prescription bottle. He picked up the bottle, but it was Martin’s, not his. He tossed it aside and began to paw through the bag, finding clothing and some papers and nothing else.
    Getting even more annoyed, Tom unzipped the second pack. Sara better not have forgotten his meds. If she did, whatever happened was her fault, and Tom couldn’t be blamed for acting—
    “ Holy shit.”
    A big smile crossed Tom’s face, and without even thinking he picked up what he was staring at, holding it and extending his arm. It was heavy, heavier than he would have guessed.
    But that was because the only guns Tom had ever held before were toys. This was a real one, big and black wicked-looking. He fussed with the switches on the side, finding the button for the clip and the safety next to the trigger. Tom pulled the top part back—the slide—like he saw on TV, jacking a round into the chamber. Immediately, he felt alive. Even more alive than when he was joy-riding.
    Tom cocked the hammer back.
    Who’s the frickin’ man now, Tyrone?
     
    They watched as the woman and the girl found the bait. But they didn’t attack yet.
    Lester was too close.
    They feared Lester, almost as much as they feared The Doctor. So they left the woman and the girl and the man they’d hung up.
    Their stomachs growled, but it was okay. They had found a boy. He would be enough for the moment. They could come back for the others when Lester was gone.
    There was no rush. No hurry. They had time. Days, if they needed it.
    No one who came to the island ever left. Ever.
    There was a flash of light in the trees.
    Lester.
    They began to back up, but they didn’t have to.
    Lester was leaving.
    They waited. As soon as Lester was gone, they would attack.
     
    Sara reached her hands up over her head and touched Martin’s shoes, making him twist slowly.
    “ We’ll get you down. Just hold on.”
    Sara knew that was redundant—bordering on moronic—thing to say, but she didn’t stop to dwell on it, already shining the weakening Maglite up past her husband’s bound wrists. She followed the rope to where it looped over a high bough and stretched taut on an angle through the branches, all the way down to its end, tied around the base of a tree trunk a few meters to their right. Sara hurried over, sticking the flashlight in her mouth, attacking the knot with her fingers.
    The rope was thin, nylon, the knots small and hard as acorns. She tried to pry at it with her fingernails, wincing as she bent one backward. The Center didn’t allow weapons or anything that could be used as a weapon. Matches, lighters, aerosol sprays, tools, and even the plastic cutlery they used for eating; all was kept under lock and key. This rule was retained for the camping trip; the sharpest