10 Jan The Isle of Bobs

I woke on sand, the sound of crashing waves in my ears and the powerful sun shining down upon me, its rays burning my skin. My whole body ached, and it was a struggle to even open my eyes, let alone lift my head to observe my surroundings.

Nevertheless, I fought through the pain and slowly rose from the hot sands, my eyes adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings. I was indeed lying on a beach of white, pristine sands–a beautiful shoreline that ran for hundreds of yards in both directions.

The blue sea was behind me, with mighty waves breaking against the shoreline, the wash ending just inches from where I lay. I scanned the ocean horizon but saw nothing but water, with no other land or ships to be seen.

In front of me, thick tree trunks stood adorned with large green canopies. It was hot and humid, the sweat leaking from my pores as I wiped my brow. I felt a sharp pain in my neck when I turned my head, and raised my hand to touch what appeared to be a puncture wound at the top of my spine.

I didn’t know how I’d obtained this injury or why I felt a dull, throbbing pain throughout my body. I also didn’t know where I was or how I’d ended up there. In fact, I could recall very little…not even my own name. How was this possible? In a moment such as this, it would be easy to succumb to blind panic, and so I fought this instinct and tried to think logically.

For the first time, I examined the clothes I was wearing: a green camouflage suit and pair of heavy army boots on my feet. What did it mean? Why was I dressed in combat fatigues? Was I in the army? I had no memory of serving in the military.

There was something else, a name tag stitched to my shirt consisting of just one word and a number: Bob 23. Another clue, and this time it prompted a memory. Bob, Bobby, Robert—my name and identity. It wasn’t much–but it was a start.

My brain continued processing the new information, but it proved nearly impossible to summon any further memories from the recesses of my mind. I was Bob, that was for certain. But what did the number 23 signify? At the moment, I decided not to worry about it.

My priority was to determine my whereabouts and search for someone who could help, and that’s exactly what I set out to do. Rising, I struggled across the white sands on shaking feet, and scanned the beach and treeline but couldn’t see another living soul, or any man-made structures.

It seemed I was stranded upon a deserted tropical island. Had I been marooned, or involved in a shipwreck? I considered these possibilities as I continued along the hot sands towards the treeline.

My heart jumped once I saw the first signs of life.

There, in the sand before me, were a set of tracks, footsteps leading up the beach towards the jungle. I examined them closely and realized they were the imprints of heavy, military-style boots, similar to those I was wearing.

For the first time since I’d awoken, I felt a surge of hope, believing there could be another survivor or castaway who just might have some answers for me. I took a deep breath and proceeded briskly in the direction of the the trees, listening intently and keeping my eyes peeled.

I heard birds chirping and insects buzzing, but it was only when I got within spitting distance of the forest that a figure emerged from behind the foliage, fighting through heavy vegetation and stumbling out onto the sand. At first I was startled, but when I looked at the newcomer’s face, I almost keeled over in shock.

The man who confronted me on the sands was my height, my build, and dressed in identical combat fatigues. But this wasn’t what I found most unsettling. Rather, it was the fact that he was my exact double, staring back at me with the same eyes, nose, and mouth. All a perfect match. The man who’d emerged from the jungle was my doppelganger, and the name tag affixed to his shirt read, “Bob 24.”

My jaw dropped. I stood there, frozen, staring at him for a long moment. My exhausted brain tried to make sense of this madness, to no avail. The wide-eyed look on my double’s face told me he was, unsurprisingly, just as bewildered as I was. But, Bob 24 recovered from his shock more quickly than I did, and, a moment later, he opened his mouth and shouted.

“Hey!” he yelled. “What the hell is this? Who are you?”

I shrugged my shoulders, not quite sure how to respond to his demands.

“I’m Bob,” I replied with a shrug. “Same as you, I guess.”

I hoped my double would be reasonable, that we could talk this over and work together–but that didn’t happen. Instead, I saw Bob 24’s expression change suddenly, confusion turning to fear, and then to anger. He glared at me–and lunged without hesitation. I tried to run, but my double was on top of me in an instant, striking me hard and sending me barreling, head over heels, into the sand. I tried to recover and defend myself, but the other Bob placed his boot on my chest, pinning me to the ground.

“You did this to me!” he screamed. “I know you did! I don’t know how, but I expect some goddamned answers!”

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but it proved challenging with a boot crushing my ribs. As it turned out, however, words weren’t necessary, because a moment later Bob 24’s head exploded. A bullet tore through his skull, reducing my double’s brain to a shower of bloody viscera, and with a dull thud, his body crumpled to the ground.

I crawled away, in shock, both horrified and baffled by what I’d witnessed. I hadn’t heard the first shot; I’d only seen the bloody consequences–but I’d heard the second, a sharp crack as a bullet whizzed mere inches over my head and struck the beach.

I screamed, desperately scrambling to my feet as I took off racing across the white sands. Bang! A third shot rang out, another near miss. Clearly, whoever shot Bob 24 was trying to take me out, too. I couldn’t see the shooter and had no time to locate him. I was in a fight for survival, my adrenaline carrying me as I sprinted for the treeline, and I needed for move–fast.

Bang! A fourth shot whizzed by. I knew I only had seconds before the sniper found his mark. Just then, the bushes ahead of me rustled, and yet another figure emerged from the jungle whilst shouting my name.

“Bob!” he cried. “Over here, Bob!”

I recognized the voice–my voice. Another double?

I didn’t have time to think about it as I dove for cover in the undergrowth, my body dragged to safety by unseen hands as the fifth shot rang out.

My savior pulled me up onto my feet and shouted in my ear. “This way!” he ordered. “Follow me!”

I obeyed without question, leaving the beach behind and chasing the man in camouflage fatigues as he made his way deeper into the jungle.

I don’t know how long we ran for, dodging roots and vines, but I was breathless by the time we finally stopped in a clearing, close to a stream of clear, flowing water. I took a moment to compose myself, resting upon a rock, and glanced back along the forest path. At first I feared the sniper had followed us from the beach, but the coast seemed clear.

“Don’t worry,” the other Bob said. “We’re safe here…for the time being, at least.”

I turned to face my savior and was only mildly surprised to discover he shared my face, eyes, and other features. Like the others, his uniform was also similar to mine, except the name tag on his shirt read, “Bob 7.”

“Drink,” said my latest double. “You need to stay well-hydrated in this climate.”

I nodded, getting up and walking towards the spring before cupping water in my hands, eagerly slurping as I quenched my thirst.

“Here,” he said. “Have something to eat.”

I turned in time to see my double toss me a small, unidentifiable red fruit. Nevertheless, I bit into the mystery food and savored its sweet taste. Once I’d finished, I smiled at my doppelganger and thanked him for his hospitality.

“You’re a lot nicer than the last guy I ran into,” I quipped.

Bob 7 laughed softly before replying.

“Yeah, well, we all have basically the same personality and temperament. But some react with hostility when they first arrive on the island. As for me, I’ve been here a while now–seven days and nights, to be precise.”

I raised an eyebrow in surprise, hardly believing this man had survived for so long.

“So, do you know what’s going on here?” I asked hopefully.

Bob 7’s smile disappeared. His expression darkened as he delivered his answer.

“We are the same,” he explained. “That is to say, we’re copies–clones. There’s an original Bob out there, and she has control over him. The rest of us are…prey.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said.

“It’s no joke,” Bob 7 continued. “They drop us here in batches. You and your friend on the beach–Bobs 23 and 24–you were the latest batch. You survived, and he didn’t. But the hunt never stops, and nowhere is entirely safe.”

My head spun, anxiety coursing through my frozen body. Surely it must be a lie? I was a real person…a human being and an individual, not a mere copy. How could that even be possible? My brain struggled to process what I’d been told.

But how could I deny what was right in front of my eyes? I’d already encountered two doubles, and our assigned numbers implied there were others–multiple “Bobs” that appeared virtually identical to one another. It would certainly explain why I had no prior memories.

Still, it made no sense. Was cloning humans even scientifically possible? Perhaps, but surely it was prohibitively expensive–and besides, why would anyone go to such lengths? And who was the original Bob–and why was he important enough to duplicate? These questions and more swirled in my head–but my priority was survival.

“We’re being hunted?” I asked nervously in little more than a whisper.

My double sighed, breaking eye contact as he sat on a nearby rock, staring at his mud-caked boots.

“Yeah,” Bob 7 replied. “Like animals. That’s the fate of the copies. I’ve survived thus far, but I’ve seen a dozen clones murdered since I arrived. She is determined and shows no mercy.”

“You keep mentioning a woman,” I said. “Who is she?”

“A sniper,” he confirmed. “A beautiful young woman with death in her eyes. I saw her once through the undergrowth, hiding and watching, whilst she finished off another Bob with her hunting knife. I don’t know her name, but I recognize her face. I dare say you will, too. A memory passed on from our original, perhaps.”

“But why?” I demanded angrily. “Why would she do this? How can she do this?”

“‘How’ is an interesting question,” Bob 7 answered with a snort. “This woman is clearly wealthy, and has access to considerable resources.”

He paused, motioning to the jungle around us. “As for ‘where,’ this island appears largely uninhabited. Judging by the position of the sun and stars, it appears to be somewhere in the South Pacific–and my guess is that it’s privately owned.

I stared, taking it all in.

“Once you consider the logistics and expense of making copies and transporting them here,” Bob 7 carried on, “the only logical conclusion is that the hunter is either very rich or comes from a wealthy family. As for ‘why,’ well, that’s more… complicated. Given all I’ve seen and learned, I believe this is very personal for her. I can only speculate, but perhaps the original Bob did something terrible to her–a great betrayal, perhaps. She must be unable to kill him directly, and so she takes out her anger on us…the copies.”

I felt faint all of a sudden. I leaned against a tree trunk as I struggled to stay on my feet. After a moment, I shook my head, muttering in disbelief as I stared up at the thick jungle canopy.

“This is madness,” I mumbled. “Absolute madness.”

“It certainly is, my brother,” answered Bob 7, “but I’m afraid this is our reality.”

He looked over his shoulder and carefully scanned the perimeter before continuing.

“Now, Bob, we really need to get moving,” he advised. “It’s not safe to stay in the same place for too long.”

I didn’t sense any immediate danger in our sanctuary by the stream, but I decided to follow Bob 7’s advice, because he knew the island better than I did.

“We’ll take another drink before we leave,” my double said.

I watched as he walked towards the stream, kneeling down as he splashed water on his face. I went to follow him but froze in the clearing when I heard a loud rustling in the bushes to our right.

A new figure emerged from the undergrowth–yet another Bob. I watched, nervously, as he scanned the clearing with a wild, half-crazed look in his bloodshot eyes. This one was dressed differently, clad in what appeared to be a ripped, soiled dinner suit, and there was no name or number displayed on his clothing. There was, however, a shock collar secured around his neck.

I imagined this was the original Bob, or Bob 1, as he should technically be known. But I didn’t dare speak his name aloud, nor did I want to do anything else to draw his attention.

Sensing the danger I was in, I retreated behind the nearby foliage and hid from sight, just in the nick of time.

Bob 7 wasn’t so lucky. He was caught out in the open, still standing at the edge of the stream when Bob 1 spotted him. The original Bob’s eyes lit up when he found his quarry, and I expected violence to ensue. But instead of attacking his clone, Bob 1 shouted out to a yet unseen companion.

“Mistress!” he cried. “I’ve found him, mistress! Come quickly!”

Bob 7 looked up, his eyes wide with terror, and prepared to run–but it was already too late. A stunning young woman emerged from the forest–simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. Her form was decidedly feminine, the natural curves of her body visible under her tight pant suit and knee-length boots.

Her long blonde hair was tied back in a bun, and there was a wicked smile on her ruby red lips, not to mention a predator’s gaze in her dark blue eyes. Bob 7 was right. The mysterious woman looked eerily familiar to me. I felt a longing for her, a memory from another life. But whatever residual feelings of affection I may have had were offset by my terror once I saw the deadly, scoped hunting rifle in her hands, and the razor-sharp bowie knife hanging from her utility belt.

But I wasn’t her current target–Bob 7 was. He tried to flee, but the huntress raised her rifle and fired, striking him in the back. The clone screamed and collapsed into the mud. He was badly hurt but still alive, attempting to crawl to safety.

To my shame, I made no attempt to save my companion, instead choosing to remain hidden in the bushes, watching the violence play out. I remained frozen in place as the huntress pinned her victim down, placed her boot on his back, and pressed down with all her weight. Bob 7 squealed in agony; I cringed at the sound.

Next, she shouldered her rifle and withdrew the knife. Reaching down, she grabbed her victim roughly his hair. Pulling his head up, she whispered soft words into his ear–and slit his throat. As Bob 7 lay there gasping, drawing his final, dying breaths, she stepped back–deriving a perverse satisfaction from his demise–and admired her handiwork.

I covered my mouth with my hand in an attempt to prevent myself from screaming, but it seems I made a sound, because the hunters noticed my presence.

“Mistress!” Bob 1 called, pointing directly at me. “There’s another one!”

The huntress didn’t miss a beat, raising her rifle and aiming it directly at my chest. Meanwhile, I was frozen in abject terror, unable to move or speak. I knew there was no point in running, and so did the only thing I could–I braced for the worst.

But the huntress didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, she smiled cruelly, opened her mouth, and spoke.

“Run.”

I did as I was told. I knew she was toying with me, allowing me a head start to make the hunt more interesting. She knew this island better than I ever could and so would surely catch me in the end. Nevertheless, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, darting through the jungle and doing my best not to trip over roots and vines as I heard her hateful cackling behind me.

I realized my chances of survival and escape were slim to nil, but I had to try. Even if I was a clone, I didn’t want to die there.

I ran until I reached the edge of the jungle, emerging onto another beach of pure white sands. Immediately, I realized this wasn’t the same beach I’d come from. Before me, the deep blue sea stressed on endlessly in all directions; escape was futile.

I fell to my knees, looking up at the blue sky and the fierce sun above, and let out a wail of sheer desperation. This was a mistake, of course, as my scream alerted my pursuers to my location.

Bob 1 was the first to emerge from the forest, sprinting onto the sands and pointing excitedly in my direction. It appeared that the original Bob served in the capacity of a hunting dog, seeking out prey for his master. And, upon finding it–me–he shouted enthusiastically to alert her to my presence.

“Mistress!” he shouted. “I’ve found him! He’s here for the taking!”

I’m not sure what exactly came over me in that moment, but my fear transitioned into murderous rage in seconds. I surprised the original Bob by launching myself across the sands towards him, screaming bloody murder.

The child-like enthusiasm in Bob 1’s eyes disappeared in an instant, replaced by a look of sheer terror as he attempted to flee. But I got the drop on my original, knocking him down and placing my heavy boot on his chest.

Bob 1 squealed like a pig, his eyes wide as he pled for mercy.

“Please!” he cried. “Please, Bob! Don’t hurt me! I’m just like you!”

I didn’t buy it. It didn’t matter that he had my face, my body, and my voice…he was the enemy. I hesitated for just a moment before launching my brutal attack, lifting my boot and stomping on his face as hard as I could.

I heard a muffled scream and the sound of bones breaking, but I didn’t stop, instead stomping down again and again with all the strength and fury I could muster. By the time I was done, Bob 1’s skull had been crushed, and he’d been reduced to a lifeless, bloody mess.

I took in the gory results of my murderous assault and was disgusted by what I’d just done to another human being. But I didn’t have long to dwell on my actions, as a moment later the huntress emerged from behind the treeline, mad as hell.

She saw Bob 1’s mangled corpse beneath my feet and cried out with a combination of raw grief and pure outrage.

“What have you done?!” she screamed.

I saw the rifle she carried and felt certain she would shoot me without hesitation, and raised my hands in submission. There was no controlling her.

“Get on your knees!” she ordered.

I did as I was told, hoping against hope that she would show me mercy. And the huntress did surprise me, because instead of summarily executing me, she turned her rifle around and struck me with the butt. The attack was so quick that I couldn’t dodge it. A sudden, sharp pain flared in my skull, and everything went dark.

* * * * * *

I awoke sometime later with a splitting headache, struggling to open my eyes. My whole body was cold and I realized I’d been stripped down to my underwear. The sun wasn’t shining down upon me, not any longer. I was someplace dark, the dim glow of artificial lights flickering in the distance.

I tried to move but found I’d been restrained. My wrists and ankles had been attached to some sort of gurney, and there was a collar tightly wrapped around my neck. Unable to sit up, I stared at the rocky ceiling of the chamber.

Was I still on the island? If so, where? I felt like I was underground, perhaps in a cave or bunker. I didn’t have time to ponder, however, as the huntress soon entered the room.

Her blonde hair was down now, long, flowing, and indescribably beautiful. Her eyes were red and puffy, and I guessed she’d been crying, but there was also a thin smile on her pale face.

“Awake at last, Robert?” she said softly.

It was only then that I noticed the shining bowie knife in her hand, a sharp blade which she held menacingly over my bare chest.

“I could have killed you, you know,” she added calmly. “Part of me wanted to. You took my Bob from me, after all. My beloved, my original.”

The huntress laughed bitterly, her intense blue eyes glaring down at me as she spoke.

“But I’ve cried my tears, and now I know the truth. My Bob was a weak man. That’s why he betrayed me, why he hurt me. He deserved to die, but I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. Instead, I hunted all of you to channel my rage. But you…Number 23. You are the new and improved version. A stronger and more impressive Bob, in all respects.”

Her smile widened as she replaced her knife on her utility belt and pulled a small remote control from her pocket.

“You will be my new Bob–my companion, my hunting dog,” she said. “We will continue the games, as I rule over this island, and I seek vengeance.”

Despite my immense fear, I defiantly cried out in opposition to my captor.

“No!” I exclaimed. “I won’t do it! I won’t do your bidding! Let me go!”

Her eyes narrowed in anger as she pressed the red button on her handheld remote. A second later, I felt a surge of electricity coursing through my body, causing a short but very intense pain, which made me scream out in agony.

After the initial shock, I realized the electric current had come from the collar secured to my neck, and that the huntress held the controller.

“You will become my loyal dog,” she said through clenched teeth. “All you need is a little training.”

I’d like to say I didn’t break, that I resisted the torture.

I didn’t.

I was able to hold out for a time, but, in the end, my only real alternative was death.

I now serve the huntress, chasing down prey for her to shoot and butcher.

Once a week, a chopper from the mainland delivers a batch of fresh meat for the grinder.

How long will this living hell go on? How long can her murderous rage continue?

I’m afraid I cannot say.

One day I hope to end this senseless slaughter–but today is not that day.

Until the moment is right, I must remain compliant.

My survival depends upon it.