Repairing the holes in the water storage tank proved to be a much bigger task than Malin anticipated. It took up most of the morning. The water had drained down below the holes, so the plastic around it was dry. First, they drilled holes at either end of the long cracks to prevent them from spreading. Then they cut two big strips of plastic from an old shipping crate and softened the edges over a fire they built in the clearing. They put a generous amount of epoxy on the undersides of the strips, placed them over the holes, then used a putty knife to press down the softened edges. Finally, to further strengthen the patches, they braced them with wood beams that were impaled into the ground and angled inward.
The end result wasn’t pretty, and Malin wasn’t even sure it would work. Judging by the look on Elna’s face—her lips pressed tightly together and twisted to one side—she wasn’t sure either.
“We’ll have to test it when it dries,” she said. “I’m afraid it won’t hold the weight of a full tank, so we’ll just keep it filled about a third to halfway.”
Malin, Elna, Norman, and Selene stood together at the edge of the clearing, admiring their work. It was a beautiful morning with no memory of the previous night’s violence. Malin was enjoying the warm breeze on his face. The pain in his right arm had diminished to a dull ache.
The humidity’s not so bad when I’m not wearing a suit jacket, he thought.
After a moment, he heard people approaching through the vineyard, and he glanced over his shoulder. To his amazement, he realized it was Joe and Rita Dulles. They held hands as they walked, Rita with a slight stoop, Joe shuffling along as if his knees barely worked. They looked ancient in the bright sunlight, white-haired and bent.
“Hey, what do you know?” he said. “Look who it is!”
The others turned then and saw the Dulleses.
“Sorry, we don’t mean to intrude,” Joe said. “We just wanted to take a look around and see how things are going.”
Malin stepped aside and made room for them, and they shuffled up to the edge of the clearing.
“We’re working on water storage,” Elna explained. “That’s just one of many tasks that need to get done right away.”
“I wish we could help,” Joe said. “Seeing as how we’re all permanent residents now and not guests, Rita and I discussed it, and we’ve decided to come out of our shells. What I mean is, we want to contribute.”
“We could cook meals,” Rita said, and then, with an ornery wink at Joe, added, “Well, I could help cook meals, anyway, as long as my arthritis isn’t acting up. I don’t know about you, Joe.”
“I could set the table,” Joe said. “You know how I fold the napkins. Fancy, just the way you like.”
“Joe and Rita,” Elna said. “I don’t want you to push yourselves, but I welcome any help you can give.”
Joe stretched out his hand toward her. Elna hesitated, as if unsure of what he wanted, but then she shook hands with him.
“It’s a deal then,” he said. “Maybe we’ll go work on putting a nice lunch together. Is your father in the kitchen?”
“He headed there a few minutes ago,” Elna said.
Joe nodded, and then he and his wife turned and shuffled back toward the guesthouse. Malin watched them go, two wizened forms moving through the vineyard—Joe in a gray cardigan and Rita in a faded purple housedress.
“Will wonders never cease?” Malin muttered.
“Did y’all know Rita used to work in a restaurant?” Norman said. “That’s what she told me. She was a cook at a Howard Johnson’s in Lake George, New York, for thirty years. I think we just hit the jackpot. If anyone can make mayapples and wild cherries taste like real food, it’s Rita Dulles.”
“Things are looking up,” Malin said, patting his stomach.
“Okay, but we have to eat fast,” Elna said. “There’s a lot more work to get done today. A lot more.”
Malin soon learned that a lot more work was an understatement. After lunch, Elna coordinated two teams. Norman, Pop, and Selene began the process of clearing more land to expand the garden while she and Malin cobbled together some shrimp and crab traps. Empty wooden crates from the cellar served as the basic framework for the traps, with mesh screens stripped off windows in the winery covering the sides.
“Is it safe to sit out here?” Malin asked.
They were perched together on the fishing dock, all of their supplies in a big box between them. Being exposed to the mainland still made him nervous, but at least they were down low, partially hidden by the railing and some nearby tall rocks.
“I think this might be a good place to trap,” Elna explained. “The reason why the sea lions come here is because there’s a ton of small sea life. They scare away the bigger fish when they’re in the water, but we should be able to gather plenty of shrimp, and maybe crabs, if we leave the traps.”
She took one of the mesh screens and made a funnel out of it, the narrow end pointed inside the trap.
“See,” she said. “The shrimp go in here, but they don’t come out. Or, to put it another way, they go in as live shrimp, and they come out as shrimp scampi swimming in garlic sauce.”
“Wow, that’s an impressive trap,” Malin said, bumping her affectionately with his shoulder. “It catches, cleans, peels, and cooks them, adds the sauce and plates them. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Don’t tease,” she replied, tying a nylon rope to the top corner of the trap. “Rita Dulles is the one who does the peeling, cooking, and saucing, remember?”
“And Joe can do the plating.”
“That’s right.”
She rose, lifting one of the traps. Malin grabbed the other one and followed her to the end of the dock. He could see some large animals splashing out in the deep water. Sharks or sea lions, he assumed. He couldn’t help letting his gaze drift toward the mainland, but instead of the wistful regret of previous days, he felt only a crawling unease now.
“I don’t like standing out in the open on this side of the island,” he said. “I feel watched.”
“Yeah, but we can’t help it.” Holding the rope, Elna tossed the trap over the railing into the water. It splashed, floated there for a second, then slowly sank into the murky depths. “We need the east side of the island. We’re not going to concede it to Rod. We can set up regular patrols and check on the mainland periodically with our telescope. If he tries to do something, we’ll know about it.”
Malin stepped up beside her and tossed the second trap into the water. It followed Elna’s beneath the surface, sinking out of sight.
“Feed us well, little traps,” he said.
“It’s all coming together,” Elna said. “We can survive here, Malin. Not just survive. We can thrive. The island will take care of us.”
“The island will take care of us,” he echoed.
And for the first time since the EMP, he believed it.
33
A clear blue sky and moderate late-autumn temperatures made for one of the pleasantest afternoons Elna could recall on the island. A gentle breeze swept up the western slope and stirred the vines in their trellises. From her place on the back porch, she heard the trickle of water as it poured from the aqueduct into the storage tank. The hand pump and desalinator down on the shore worked like a charm. It would take the rest of the afternoon to drain into the tank, but that was just fine with her. She loved the sound. It was the sound of long-term survival.
She had pulled a chair out of the tasting room—which was now more of a storage room since all the wine was gone. The chair was a bit crooked on the hard-packed dirt, but she enjoyed the little moments when she could sit and enjoy their hard work. She was proud of what the islanders had achieved. With just a few, they had created a sustainable community—and far more peacefully than Rod. No military here. No need for tyrants or cages.
Sniffy’s sniffing alerted her to Selene’s approach. Elna turned in her seat and saw her favorite hippie coming from the far side of the garden, the little white Bichon Frise padding along at the
end of his leash. The garden had been doubled in size, and the new plants were coming in nicely.
“I love it here,” Selene said, stopping beside Elna’s chair. Selene had made a new dress for herself out of an old leaf-print blanket. It looked only slightly odd, but she seemed to enjoy it. She wore it often. “It’s so nice. I’m glad we decided to come back.”
“Good,” Elna said. “You’re a tremendous help on the island. Thanks to you, we can rest easy about our food supply. More than that, you’re pleasant company.”
An embarrassed Selene dug the toe of her sandal into the dirt. “Aw, thanks, Elna.”
“I just don’t understand how anyone could be mean to you,” Elna added. “You’re so nice and helpful.”
“Well…” She seemed at a loss for words, but finally she said, “I’m getting used to the idea of being alone. I mean, I know I’m not literally alone here, but…you know what I mean. I think I’m going to be okay, even if it’s just me and Sniffy.”
“You will be,” Elna replied. “You’ve got friends here.”
Norman appeared then, coming from the east side of the island, following the worn path alongside the aqueduct as he approached the back of the guesthouse. He was wearing a simple white t-shirt and sweatpants, using a crude walking stick carved from a tree branch. A pair of binoculars hung by the strap from his neck, and the brass spyglass poked out of the top of his pants pocket.
“What did you see out there, Norman?” Elna asked.
“Not much,” he replied. “No boats in the bay. I saw some excitement on the mainland. Looked like soldiers running back and forth on the ridge above the shoreline. Not orderly. Sort of chaotic, like they were fighting or something.”
“As long as they aren’t on the water or on the causeway, I’m okay,” Elna said. “Still, wouldn’t it be nice if there was a coup in Rod’s camp?”
“Yeah, unless it’s Dominic leading the coup,” Norman said. “Anyway, we’re all clear. I’m going to plop myself down for a little while and take a breather.”
“Good idea,” she said.
Just then, however, they heard a crude clanging coming from inside the building. It was Rita Dulles’s way of summoning everyone to lunch.
“Just in time,” Norman said. “She must’ve heard I was coming.”
The table hadn’t been so overflowing with food since their first big meal after the EMP, when they’d foolishly consumed almost a whole freezer full of meat. This time, there was nothing foolish about it. They really did have plenty to eat. Rita and Pop had prepared a couple of large salads with some of Selene’s wild fruits and veggies. Along with that, they had a huge platter of steamed shrimp in garlic sauce, mashed potatoes, and plenty of clean, salt-free water in big, glass pitchers.
“I’ll take the afternoon patrol,” Elna said, as she scooped salad onto her plate.
Elna and Malin sat at one end of the table, Pop at the other. Joe and Rita sat on one side, Rita beaming as everyone enjoyed her food. Norman and Selene were across from them, Sniffy eating scraps on the floor.
“Why don’t we all do the patrol together again?” Malin said. “Like we did yesterday. The weather is so perfect right now, we might as well enjoy it.”
“Count me in,” Norman said.
“Me too,” Selene added.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to count me out,” Rita Dulles said. “My back is acting up again. But do tell me if you see anything interesting out there.”
“We will,” Elna said.
Ultimately, they lingered so long over lunch that it was time for the patrol once they’d finished and cleaned up the dishes. Elna, Malin, Pop, Norman, and Selene set out from the veranda, following the regular patrol route that Elna had mapped out. It led down the hill to the fishing dock, then along the road to the causeway, where they’d stashed the telescope in a sturdy box under some rocks. After that, it circled around to the lighthouse and then moved as far north as possible before the terrain became too rough. Finally, it followed the winding dirt road back up to the vineyard.
This route gave clear visibility to all approachable parts of the island. It also provided plenty of opportunity to check on their various pieces of equipment. Plus, Elna just thought it was a nice walk. She enjoyed it when she wasn’t too sore from other work.
On this particular afternoon, she appreciated the chance to walk off a big meal. As usual, Norman got ahead of them. The man couldn’t keep his long strides in check. Selene hurried after him, Sniffy racing at her heels. That left Elna to walk with Pop and Malin.
“I’m proud of what you’re done here,” Pop said, as they walked down the road toward the eastern shore. “I know everyone pitched in, but none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t dreamed it up and designed it.”
“I didn’t come up with it alone,” she replied.
“No, but you were the biggest brain.” He patted her gently on the shoulder. “I’m just trying to say, I’m proud of you, Principessa. Receive it. Don’t argue with me.”
“Fine, then. Thanks, Pop.”
“How long until the next grape harvest?” Malin asked.
“It should start about February,” Pop said. “Depending on how the grapes come in.”
“That’ll be nice. I dream of the day when I can enjoy a big glass of red wine again.”
Elna have him a stern look—only half-joking. “Why does it have to be a big glass?”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” he said, so softly she almost didn’t catch it.
“Ah, so you do remember saying that!” She gave him a playful smack on the arm.
“Just barely,” he replied.
They caught up to Norman and Selene at the fishing dock. He was checking the shrimp traps when they arrived.
“Not ready,” he said over his shoulder. “Check again in the morning.”
“We’ll need to rotate them to another spot soon,” Elna said.
They all stood together at the end of the dock, gazing off across the bay at the rough gray water. Elna spotted a pair of sea lions circling each other in the distance.
“So…what’s the next step?” Pop asked.
“What do you mean?” Elna replied.
“We’ve got food, clean water, and shelter. What do we need to work toward next? It’s starting to feel complete here. What do we lack?”
“Power,” Malin said. “We should find a way to generate power. Elna and I have been talking about it.”
“Of course, you have,” Norman said.
Actually, it was a frequent topic of conversation between the two of them. They had sketched out ideas for generating wind power or hooking up the bicycles to the old diesel generator. Elna kept thinking about the crude solar panels she’d seen in Rod’s camp. Still, the perfect answer hadn’t presented itself yet.
It will, she thought. A few more days of mulling it over, and I’ll work out the specifics in my head.
She was staring off at the misty mainland when she heard a new sound. It was like something out of the ancient past, an auditory relic so strange in this new world that, at first, she assumed she was imagining it. Only when the others began looking around did she realize it was real.
“You guys hear that?” Selene said.
“That’s weird,” Malin added.
It rose from the west as a faint roar. As it grew, it increased in pitch, becoming some hybrid of a roar and a whistle. Elna gazed into the western sky and finally spotted something high above the island. Two little dots in the afternoon sky, they seemed to hover there.
“What are we looking at?” Pop asked, shading his eyes with his hands.
After a few seconds, Elna realized they weren’t hovering. They were closing in, and as they got closer, the roar grew loud and more intense until she felt it deep in her chest.
“Oh my God,” Norman said. “Those are fighter jets.”
As soon as he said it, Elna realized he was right. The jets passed over the island with a bone-jarring howl. Tho
ugh they were high in the sky, she felt their passing on her face. They left long white contrails in their wake as they flew over the bay toward the mainland.
“Anyone recognize them?” she asked. “What kind of planes are they?”
“Not American,” Pop said. “That’s for sure.”
“Sukhoi, maybe,” Norman said. “Can’t quite tell.”
As they flew out over the mainland, Elna briefly saw something streak away from one of the jets. A moment later, she saw a flash of fire and smoke far in the eastern distance. The boom followed a few seconds later. As the smoke rose up, Elna turned and met Malin’s wide-eyed gaze.
“Uh…let’s head back to the guesthouse and pretend we didn’t see that,” he said.
She nodded and started back down the fishing dock, beckoning the others to follow. A second boom chased her as she made for the road. Then a third.
“Oh my God,” Norman said again. “Who’s doing this?”
But no one had an answer. Elna just wanted to get back home, go inside, and shut the door.
They’re not coming for us, she told herself. They’re not coming for the island.
And she almost believed it.
End of Escaping Conflict
Island Refuge EMP Book One
Blurb
When the lines between friend and foe are blurred, life and death hang in the balance.
Life at the Pasqualee island vineyard has settled into a new normal after the EMP attack. Cut off from the dangerous mainland, Elna has succeeded in securing the small group’s basic necessities in their new post-apocalyptic world. The island’s become, if not exactly a paradise, at least a safe and secure shelter where they can ride out the devastation for the foreseeable future.
Until a vicious fall storm sends newcomers careening onto their shores.
The sailor and his young son were on their way north to an experimental clinic for vital medication when the storm blew their sailboat off course. They need to make repairs and try again to reach it or the gravely ill boy will die. When Elna discovers her father has run out of heart medication, she volunteers to join the small group and set sail with the frantic sailor in his weakened son’s stead.
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 24