Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  “Come with me,” she said. “I need your help.”

  “What are we doing?”

  “Raising the drawbridge before they get here,” she said, heading to the service building beside the road.

  “We’ll have to do it fast.”

  “Yeah, I think we can,” she said.

  Rod must have realized what she was doing because she heard rifles firing in the distance. Some of the bullets ricocheted off the service building, sizzling off into the night. She ducked down and dashed behind the building.

  “He’s insane,” she said. “One minute, he says I won’t be harmed, and the next minute, his men are taking potshots at me in the dark with AR-15s.”

  “I’m starting to think your boy Rod deserves to get drop-kicked,” Malin said. He’d walked the bike behind the service building, and he turned it so the headlight was shining on the door.

  “He hasn’t been my boy in a heck of a long time.”

  She slipped into the service building. The motorcycle headlight cast her shadow across the room and up the far wall as she made her way to the control panel and levers in the corner.

  “You have any idea how to get the bridge up?” Malin asked, stepping into the building behind her.

  “Well, it’s a bascule bridge,” she said, “which means it has a counterweight hanging beneath the motor under the floor here. Up is the default position, which means we should be able to raise it just by disengaging the winch for the manual controls.”

  “And you know how to do that?” he asked.

  “I’m hoping one of these levers will do it,” she said. “Specifically, the one lever we haven’t tried yet.”

  As she grabbed the small lever which seemed the likeliest candidate, she heard the whine of small motorcycles coming from outside.

  “Great. More of them,” she muttered.

  “A couple more Hondas on the way,” Malin said. “We’d better get this done fast.”

  She grabbed the lever and pulled, but it didn’t budge. She moved around to the other side, put her shoulder against the lever, and pushed again, but it still wouldn’t budge.

  “Not promising,” she muttered.

  She planted her feet against the wall to give herself more leverage, then Malin came over and grabbed the lever from the other side. As she pushed off the wall, he leaned back, adding his full body weight to the effort. The motorcycle engines were getting loud now.

  It might already be too late, she thought. They might be across the drawbridge.

  “We got this,” Malin cried. “We got it, Elna. You and me together! Come on!”

  She unleashed a throaty cry and pushed as hard as she could. Somewhere beneath her, she heard a grinding of metal. Suddenly, the lever shifted position, and she was thrown forward, slamming into Malin and knocking him down. They landed together in a heap, as gears groaned under the floor. This was followed by a sudden shriek from outside. The sound of the motorcycles seemed to change direction, dropping away and then, a second later, disappearing beneath the roar of the waves.

  “That’s it,” she said, her cheek pressed against his chest. “That’s the bridge.”

  “Sounds like we dropped a couple of guys into the drink,” Malin said.

  She was lying in his lap, his arms around her. As she lay there, she heard a rising tide of voices coming from beyond the bridge. Clearly, the men were irate. Rod was shouting into the megaphone, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  As the seconds passed, she kept expecting Malin to disentangle himself and stand up, but he didn’t move. She found she wasn’t in in any particular hurry either. She felt his heartbeat against her cheek, and she quite liked it.

  “Can they get across some other way, even with the bridge up?” Malin asked, finally.

  “They did it before somehow,” she reminded him, “when they lowered the drawbridge to meet us. The water is rough in the bay, but the bridges aren’t that long. Somehow, he must have gotten one of his men across the gap to the service building. I’m sure Rod is willing to risk his men in order to get his way.”

  “Well, in that case, shouldn’t we sabotage the controls somehow? Anything to slow them down. Getting one guy across the gap is a whole lot easier than getting a whole army across.”

  It was a brilliant thought, and Elna suddenly remembered the long screwdriver that she’d tucked under her belt. She drew it out then and held it up.

  “I think you’re right,” she replied, “and I know just how to do it.”

  But even then, they didn’t move. Elna waited for him to make the first move, but he just stayed where he was. If anything, his arms drew her a little closer.

  I guess I have to be the one to make this awkward, she thought. I wish I didn’t have to. This could go on and on.

  She hesitated a couple more seconds before saying, “Okay, I guess we’d better get it done.”

  And, indeed, it was quite awkward pulling out of his embrace and standing up. She stayed to one side, so the motorcycle headlight wasn’t revealing the embarrassment on her face. Malin brushed off the seat of his pants and rose as Elna made her way to the gap at the edge of the raised metal floor.

  In the end, she jammed a long screwdriver into a gap beneath the gear cover beside the winch drum, working it in as far as it would go.

  “That might make it harder to lower the bridge,” she said, tucking the screwdriver back under her belt. “If I positioned it right, the screwdriver will get caught between the gear teeth.”

  “You are most definitely a genius,” Malin said.

  He stepped outside, and Elna followed. They stood beside the bike, listening to Rod Smith ranting in the distance. Malin was close, and Elna realized it would be a simple thing to simply return to their embrace. A few inches to her left, and her cheek would find his shoulder, and she didn’t doubt that his arms would find their way around her waist again.

  Another time, she told herself, though the moment of possibility was strong, almost magnetic.

  “That Rod guy might just be a nut job,” Malin noted, as the emotionless voice continued to boom out over the bay.

  “I knew he was a jerk,” she replied, “but I didn’t think he was dangerous. I’m sorry I ever agreed to leave the island.”

  “Not your fault,” Malin said. “As it turns out, the Dulleses had the right idea.”

  He climbed on the Honda, sliding as far forward on the tiny seat as he possibly could. This left a few inches of space behind him, and he gestured for Elna to sit down.

  “You sure we can make this work?” she asked.

  He gave her a big smile. “We won’t know unless we try.”

  She climbed onto the seat. The natural angle of the seat pressed her tightly up against Malin, and she slipped her arms around him to hold on. Her butt was uncomfortable, but otherwise, she didn’t mind it at all. Malin turned the bike, hit the throttle, and they puttered away from the service building, the engine straining.

  As they headed west toward the island, she looked back. The drawbridge rose into the sky like a great tower, blocking a direct view of Rod and his men, but she saw lights playing around the edges, creating a red nimbus that was somehow disconcerting. Rod’s ceaseless voice was just a weird rhythmic sound now, like a one-note song with no intelligible words. Haunting.

  I’ll hear that in my dreams, she thought.

  They caught up to Pop, Norman, and Selene a few yards in front of the final drawbridge. Pop and Norman, though both loudly struggling for breath, were pedaling for all they were worth. Selene spotted the approaching motorcycle, and Elna saw her sit up straight, reaching for the toolbox, as if seeking a weapon. Finally, Malin waved a hand over his head, and she seemed to realize who it was.

  The little dirt bike was struggling, but he managed to bring it alongside the handcart.

  “Pop, we’re good,” Elna said. “You can take a break. The first two drawbridges are up, and the manual controls are disabled.” She patted her pocket, where two larg
e metal screws bulged against the denim of her pants.

  Pop’s sound of exhaustion was like the freedom cry of a wounded soldier. He flapped a hand at Norman as he took his feet off the pedals, and their handmade cart came to a shuddering stop beside the service building for the final drawbridge.

  “You did it,” Pop said, gasping for breath. “I was afraid I might never see you again.”

  He climbed off the bike and moved to hug her, but he was so drenched with sweat that she grabbed his shoulders and held him at arm’s length. He settled for patting her on the head instead.

  “We’ll be safe on the island,” Pop said. He gestured toward the service building. “Let’s get the final bridge up and make our way home. I never should’ve left the place my grandfather built.”

  “You think those solders will be able to snipe us from the mainland?” Norman asked. “I know it’s a long way, but could they stand on the bridge or something and shoot at us?”

  “What’s the maximum effective distance of an AR-15?” Elna said. When no one answered, she said, “If I had to guess, I’d say maybe seven or eight hundred yards, but I don’t really know. Beyond that, even a great shooter would have to be very lucky. I’m not an expert, though.”

  “There’s zero chance they could reach us,” Pop said. “But let’s avoid standing out in the open on the mainland side of the island anyway. As long as they can’t see us, we’re protected by the bay. For now.”

  “Trapped on the island, as well,” Selene pointed out. “I don’t mind. I’m just saying. We’d better plan accordingly.”

  Selene’s words tempered Elna’s excitement. Trapped was the right word for it, and their safety would only last until a persistent jerk named Rod Smith figured out some way to get the drawbridges down or to cross the bay.

  “Is there some small chance that Rod will decide we’re not worth the effort?” Norman said. “Surely, he’s got bigger fish to fry.”

  “We can only hope,” Elna said. But she knew him too well. Persistent to a fault, she’d had to break up with him four times before he’d accepted it.

  “Well, I’m not going to worry about tomorrow,” Pop said, dabbing the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt. “I’m going to get this drawbridge up, make my way back home, and take a restful night’s sleep in my own bed.”

  “You’ve got the right idea, Mr. Pasqualee,” Malin said, following him into the building.

  Elna lingered. They still had miles to go before they reached the guesthouse.

  Can we afford to spend one night sleeping in peace? Will Rod give us that? Will the drawbridges keep his army out long enough?

  For now, she dared to hope.

  32

  When Malin opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. He expected to see a canvas roof over his head, to hear the gentle flapping of heavy cloth in the morning breeze. Instead, he saw a ceiling made of polished oak and a fancy light fixture made of brass shaped into the form of twisting vines. Sunlight burning through the curtains gave the room a heavy orange glow, almost too comfortable to be real. He pushed his blanket back and sat up. He’d had a nice, long bath in very cold water the previous night, and it felt strange to wake up not covered in dust and grit. Reaching up, he felt his hair. No product, no residue, just clean, wild hair.

  Maybe I’ll leave it like this, he thought. Claire preferred it the other way, but…

  The sadness hit him like a punch in the gut. It really was over. After all of the problems they’d worked through—or attempted to work through—in their long, rollercoaster relationship, he’d finally walked away from his fiancée for good. And would she ever know he’d made the choice? Probably not. The distance between them felt infinite.

  Malin rose and crossed the room, pulling the curtains open to let the morning sun fill the room. From here, he had a broad view of the parking lot and the gentle slope of the island down toward the water’s edge. In the distance, he saw the rough waters of the bay and just a hint, merely a suggestion, of the mainland beyond.

  The old life is gone, he thought. Everything I dreamed, planned, or expected. Two weeks ago, Claire and I were talking about how many children we wanted to have. Now, I’ve let go of everything. The world has changed in the blink of an eye.

  The mix of emotions—sorrow, joy, relief, regret—was almost worse than if he’d just felt sad, but he didn’t waver in his choice. It was settled in his mind, and he knew it was right.

  As the emotions washed over him, he had a sudden, unnerving thought.

  What if the mainlanders can see me from here? What if they’ve got a sniper standing at the first drawbridge staring at the guesthouse through a high-powered scope?

  No, surely it was too far for even the best sniper in the world with the best rifle. It was beyond absurd. Still, he couldn’t shake the sudden skin-crawling anxiety, and he pulled the curtains shut again.

  I think I’ll avoid the eastern side of the island for now.

  He got dressed, forgoing his usual sport jacket and settling on a button-up dress shirt and a pair of jeans. Somehow, it seemed more appropriate now, though he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows as a final touch. His injured arm still hurt like hell—it’s not like he’d been careful with it—but he had a clean bandage. Selene had thoroughly disinfected the wound, and she’d reassured him there was no sign of infection.

  He pulled on his tennis shoes and left the room, striding down the hall toward the lobby, where the embers of a fire crackled in the fireplace. He found Elna curled up on the couch here, a thin blanket pulled up to her shoulders. At first, he thought she was asleep, and he attempted to tiptoe past her. Then he heard her laugh.

  “That looks silly,” she said. “Like a cartoon character.”

  “I was just trying to be quiet,” he replied. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  Elna sat up, carefully folding the blanket and laying it on the arm of the couch. Malin sat down beside her, sinking into the deep faux-leather cushions.

  Oh man, I forgot how comfortable this thing is.

  “I may never sleep again,” she said. “I lay here most of the night, drifting in and out of a mental fog, listening for the sounds of Rod’s men marching across the parking lot. I was afraid if I fell asleep I’d wake up to the door being kicked down.”

  “You really think he’ll be that persistent?” Malin asked.

  “Well, let’s see.” She leaned back on the couch, crossing her arms so that one hand was on each opposing shoulder. “He lost four of his precious motorcycles. Trust me, he was really excited about those Hondas. Two of his men are trapped on a section of the causeway between drawbridges, either dead or very close to it. Two more of his men went flying into the sea, screaming all the way. Who knows what happened to them? It’s about a thirty-foot drop into rough water. So…yeah, I’d say there’s a good chance Rod Smith will at least consider the possibility of getting revenge.”

  Malin grunted. Suddenly, he found himself wishing the island was even further from the mainland, adrift somewhere in the middle of the Pacific like Pitcairn. For days, he’d desperately dreamed of getting to the mainland. Now, he dreamed of being as far from the continental landmass as possible.

  “On the other hand,” Elna continued, “Rod may count the cost and decide we’re not worth the effort. He got all of our wine. He believes it will be more valuable than gold. Not sure I agree with him. Our Gold Label is only about $60 a bottle. Still, the perceived value of the wine he stole should be worth more to him than the bikes or his men. Maybe he’ll knock the proverbial dust off his feet and move on. Time will tell.” She looked at Malin and gave him a sad shrug.

  “Time will tell,” he echoed. “If he decides to come across, we’ll deal with it. He’ll get a Home Alone-style welcome, I promise you that.” Elna really did have a lovely face. He loved her odd, pensive facial expressions. She always seemed to be lost in thought, even when she was in direct conversation with someone.

  Unexpectedly, she reached over,
as if to lay her hand on his arm, but then her hand hovered there uncertainly. Malin, without really thinking about it, reached up and grabbed her hand. Her hand was warm, small, but strong, the hands of someone who had done her fair share of hard work. Smiling broadly, she looked away.

  This is nice, he thought. Is it too much?

  The sound of footsteps in the hall caused her to let go, and he felt a moment of regret. Slowly, he crossed his arms as George Pasqualee walked into the lobby. He gave Malin and Elna a funny look, one eyebrow going up, his mustache twitching as if his lips were working from side to side.

  “Just because we got back across the bridge doesn’t mean the hard work is done,” he said. “No time for…well, playing around. What needs to be done today, Principessa?”

  “I’ve had the whole night to think about it,” she said. “We need to repair and finish the water system and get it working. Duct tape alone isn’t enough for the storage tank, so I’ve worked up a sturdier solution. After we have water, we’re going to create some traps for shrimp and crabs. We’ll try setting them on the east side of the island for now and see how it goes. After that, we’ll work on expanding the garden and also hunting for wild fruit and herbs. Selene will take the lead on those last two.”

  “Do you have any idea how to build a shrimp trap?” Mr. Pasqualee asked.

  Of course, she does, Malin thought. How can you doubt your daughter’s overactive mind?

  “I got a good look at the traps the camp dwellers were using,” she said. “Well, I stared at them for about ten seconds anyway. It’s enough. I think I got the basic idea.”

  Someone new entered the lobby then. “My goodness, if we have steamed shrimp or crab legs for dinner tonight, I might just explode.” It was Norman, still wearing a nightshirt and slippers. “That’s the taste of civilization right there.”

  “Let’s get to it, folks,” Mr. Pasqualee said, clapping his hands and heading for the tasting room. “We won’t have nothing to eat if we keep talking and don’t start doing.”