Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“What kind of military experiment?” Though her head is tipped to the side and her brows drawn together curiously, making her look adorable and fetching, I can see her journalist mind beginning to work. Noting details, possibilities, forming hypotheses.
I shake my head. “No idea. But it’s not outside of the realm of possibility. I mean, six of the men brought here were military. We had that common thread. What if the government wanted to do some sort of experiment?”
“Ha,” she says mirthlessly, a cynical note coloring her tone I haven’t heard before. Maybe she’s more affected by being here than I thought. “Experiment indeed. What kind of experiment?”
My own voice grows harsh at the thought of what could be. “How do men survive on a desert island against all odds?”
She grows quiet and contemplative, not responding at first. She picks thoughtfully at the empty coconut shell that served as a bowl for her soup.
“Programmed,” she says. “Talk to me about the programming.”
I shrug. “Before you got here, we’d become savage.”
She grins. “You, sir, still are.”
I crack a smile. I love that even in the midst of all this we can still laugh with each other. God, I love this woman. “Yeah. But worse. They tore at each other, killing for a simple taste of food. And you remember how you were treated when you got here.”
She shudders. One of our company had grown so feral, he couldn’t speak anymore, and was reduced to little more than growls. And within the first day of her arriving here, he tried to rape her.
“I remember.”
“Some of our behavior was modified because of how we lived,” I tell her. “But the many methods we have at our disposal for programming human reactions run the gamut.”
“From what?” she asks, looking dutifully terrified.
“Drugs. Subliminal messaging. Hypnosis, to name a few.”
“My God,” she says, shaking her head. “You wouldn’t even need a radioactive spider to become Spiderman, would you?”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. “The human body has its limitations, of course. I don’t know if we’ve found a scientific way of giving any human spider-like webbing, or the ability to truly fly, or to see through buildings.”
“No,” she says thoughtfully. “But we can do things like use tools, fly in airplanes, and have night vision, no? I mean, if someone from a hundred years ago came here in modern-day, the capabilities we do have would seem… almost superhuman. Right?”
I nod slowly. “Absolutely.”
We sit in silence, both mulling over the possibilities in front of us.
“What else?” she asks, biting her lip and staring off into space.
“Private experiment,” I say. “Not military related at all, nothing to do with our government. Someone with a private agenda.”
She nods. “Similar methods but different motives.”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“Again, what else?” I tease her, reaching over and tugging one of her locks of hair.
She nods soberly, refusing to cave and flirt back. “What else,” she says. “Purpose. Reason. I could name some reasons off the top of my head as to how people get stranded on remote islands, but many of those have supernatural links. I don’t believe in things like that. Superstition. Ghosts. Things you can’t explain.”
I nod. “Agreed.” Our mutual level-headedness both fuels us and tears us apart. Neither is one who naturally concedes to the other. God, I love her for it, though.
“I had a professor in college who always said to ask again,” she says. “You think you have the answers? Probe deeper. Ask harder questions. Ask more.”
I nod. “Sounds like good advice. Ok, then. Entertainment.”
She raises a brow at me questioningly. “Entertainment? What do you mean?”
I shrug. “We’ve been put on this island to serve an entertainment purpose. Like some fucked up version of The Bachelor meets Lost.”
Her eyes widen, then her mouth rounds into an “O” and her brows rise heavenward.
“Oh. Ohhh,” she says. “Without our consent, it’s illegal…”
“But that wouldn’t stop everyone,” I finish. “If you think about it, how many people are exploited across the world without legal consent?”
“Too many,” she says with a sigh. “So, if that were true… they’ve been watching us. Watching you. Kill the others. Nearly bury Derek alive.”
“Not nearly. We did. He just happened to somehow miraculously survive.” That is, until he sliced his own throat, but neither of us reminds the other of that turn of events.
“They’ve watched you… us…” looking away, she colors a deeper shade of red, likely thinking of every which way we’ve fucked each other when we thought we were all alone, and no one was watching. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” she whispers. “That’s so fucking creepy.”
“Think of what, baby?” I don’t like the way she’s looking right now, as if she wants to crawl into bed and pull the covers up over her head and sob as if her heart is broken.