The Daughter of Doctor Moreau(90)

He found Aj Kaab’s corpse in the middle of the path with the knife sticking out of his belly. He pulled the weapon out and wiped it against his trousers. He began dragging the corpse to the side of the road. Lupe, seeing what he was doing, also dismounted and helped him. They left the corpse at enough of a distance from the path that it wouldn’t be spotted easily if anyone went by. They repeated the procedure when they stumbled upon áayin, who was facedown by a dead horse. Later they’d have to give them a proper burial, but they had no tools now.

Montgomery shook his head and looked among the corpses of the men, grabbing a couple of pouches that contained bullets. He also found a holster and a pistol. While he searched he looked for Eduardo and Hernando among the fallen, but could not find them.

Lupe watched him, impassive. When he was done, they guided their horse across the white road, which had been painted red with blood.

“There’s still time to turn around, Lupe,” he said. “There’s nothing but more death ahead.”

“It doesn’t frighten me.”

“Frightens me plenty.”

“She’s my kin, Montgomery.”

“Does she know that?”

Lupe looked at him in the eye, her face serious. “We are sisters and I love her. It doesn’t mean I have to say it every morning and every night.”

“It might be good if you said it once in a while.”

“It might be good if you minded your own business. I don’t tell you what to say to her. Besides, if anyone has an obligation to Carlota, it’s me, not you. You are no proper nothing of hers,” Lupe declared.

“Well, then I guess we’ll have to fetch her together,” he muttered.

Montgomery drank from the gourd at his saddle. His wrists were raw and red, his back ached, and they were going back for Dr. Moreau’s daughter.





Chapter 29


    Carlota


She’d spent the day at her father’s bedside, under the watchful eye of either Isidro or one of his men. Late in the evening Dr. Moreau awoke, and she gave him a little food and water. He looked at Isidro curiously.

“They came back today,” Carlota explained.

“Where is Hernando? I must have a word with him,” her father said.

“He’s not here.”

“He’s chasing after the hybrids your daughter let loose,” Isidro interjected.

“Is that true? You’ve set them free? They are my life’s work.”

“It had to be done.”

“Carlota, these experiments are my great accomplishment, my legacy. I didn’t mean for you to rid yourself of them.” Her father’s voice was growing rough and pained. “This is sacred knowledge that must be preserved.”

Your legacy is misery and pain, she thought and turned her head. “I have your notes, but I could not have kept the hybrids here. To do so would have been cruel.”

Isidro smirked. “Yes, well, since it’s not your money. Let us toss a fortune to the wind.”

“You have no compassion, do you, sir,” she said flatly.

“Compassion? For a pack of animals? The reason for their existence, their function, is to serve us, and yet you thought you might meddle with that. What do you imagine you will achieve? How will they feed themselves or brave the jungle?”

“At least they have a chance.”

“Do you think if they come in contact with people they will survive? They’ll be shot and skinned.”

“I’ll have my tea now, if I may,” Moreau said, raising his voice above theirs.

Isidro blinked and looked at the doctor. “I can get it,” Carlota said.

“No,” Isidro muttered. “Stay here. I’ll have it brought over.”

He opened the door and yelled for someone. Isidro truly was not taking any chances, never letting her out of his sight. Not that she would have gone far. Carlota had counted four other men in the house who could make quick work of finding her, should she step out of the room.

“Are they all truly gone?” her father asked, his voice low.

“Yes.”

“Where is Laughton?”

“Hernando Lizalde took Lupe and Montgomery with him while they search for the others.”

“Then you are alone. In that drawer, Carlota, by the bed, there is my Bible and next to it the box with the pistol. Fetch it and go.”

“Father—”

“Fetch it and go,” he demanded, his hands grasping the covers tight. “Go out through the courtyard.”

She pulled open the drawer and saw the Bible and the wooden box inside. She breathed in, her eyes wide, considering the implications of such a choice, and stared at the French doors that led to the courtyard with their white curtains .

Slowly she stepped toward the doors. She thought of running out, fleeing into the night. She thought of running until she was out of breath, until the stars burned out. Then she looked at her father on the bed, frail and broken. And she couldn’t leave him, despite everything, even though the price might be high.

Shadows moved in the courtyard, behind the curtains, and she heard voices. She moved back quickly and sat back in her chair.

“I can’t,” she whispered and pressed her hands against her face, a sob lodging in her throat.