Yet the way is treacherous by both land and sea. When the sailors are forced to abandon the boat far from their destination, their travels inland are impeded by injury—until a Good Samaritan volunteers to help protect and guide them safely to the clinic.
But safety is out of the question when the valuable goods they hoped to trade for medicines are discovered, and it becomes a deadly fight to claim them. Now it’s a race to reach the facility before more lives are threatened. And time runs out.
1
Elna Pasqualee’s attention was drawn to the dark clouds gathering along the western horizon, so she didn’t realize she’d taken a bad step until Malin called her name. Her right foot hit the edge of one of the trellis support posts, and she stumbled. As she fell to her knees, she cast the pruning shears aside, tossing them a bit harder than necessary. They flew up and over the trellis, banged off the side of the aqueduct half-pipe, and landed in the dirt.
“Whoa, who are you trying to attack with those things?” Malin asked, coming up beside her. “Or is that just a new pruning technique?”
On this particular chilly October day, Malin Weber wore a blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’d chucked the suit jackets that had once been his trademark and while his clothes looked a bit the worse for wear, he still managed to look put together. Malin’s normally bright blue eyes showed a mix of mirth with worry. Meeting his gaze had her feeling guilty that she’d put that concern there.
“Sorry,” Elna replied. “I didn’t want to land on the pointy end.”
Malin offered his hand. She grabbed it, and he pulled her to her feet.
“Is that a common on-the-job injury in the wine-making industry?” he asked.
Elna reached up and ran her fingers along the right side of her forehead. When her fingertips found the small, jagged scar there, she felt a tingling discomfort.
“Let’s just say, I learned the hard way not to fall with the shears in my hand,” she said.
“Ah, I see,” Malin said. “I’ve wondered about that little scar. It seemed rude to ask. I guess the first time you trip and land on pruning shears is kind of memorable.”
“Exactly.” The pruning shears had landed, point down, in the hard-packed dirt between the rows of vines. Elna walked over and retrieved them. “By the way, it’s not rude to ask. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a self-conscious person. Asking questions is always a good thing in my book.”
“I have noticed,” he replied. The strong breeze blowing across the vineyard caught his loose, blondish hair and swept it back from his forehead. “But sometimes scars have stories that people don’t like to tell.” As he said it, he held up his right arm, where a long, fairly recent scar ran from his wrist almost all the way to his elbow.
“My worst story is not a scar,” Elna said. “My worst story is a person, and you know that story well by now. You lived it.”
“The only part of the Rod Smith story I liked was the part where we ran across the ocean to get away from him,” Malin said with a laugh. “Oh, and the part where we dropped a couple of his goons in the water by raising a drawbridge. That was fun.”
“Fun? I don’t know if I’d use that word.”
Elna started to return to her work of snipping off the dead vines so the growing grapes would flourish, but her gaze returned to the clouds. They’d clustered above the distant ocean like gray fists. Not so big yet, but the wind was already picking up. She saw streaks of white on the water, signs of turmoil as the waves intensified.
“Looks like the stormy season is here,” she said. “We’d better batten down the hatches. I don’t want to lose the aqueduct to an errant crosswind.”
She turned to head for the storage shed in the middle of the vineyard. As she did, she brushed against Malin and felt a cold metal edge against her side. He had Dominic’s pistol—a compact Ruger—holstered at his hip. Sadly, they couldn’t work openly on the island, even now, not with a few hundred enemies camped just ten miles across the bay. If not for the little reminders, it might have seemed they were living on a quaint island paradise.
They had reinforced the aluminum shed using salvaged steel bars from the abandoned military base. It could handle the storms. As Elna set the pruning shears on a shelf just inside the door, she heard footsteps coming up the path that led down the slope away from the vineyard. She turned to see Norman and Selene approaching from the tree line, the little white Bichon Frise, Sniffy, padding along at their heels.
“That wind’s got a bite to it, don’t you think?” Norman said, wrapping his arms around his chest.
Norman Davis wore his usual long-sleeve shirt and khaki pants, but today he’d pulled on some gloves as well. Though he’d mostly accompanied Selene to keep her safe, the dirt on his gloves suggested he’d helped with her foraging.
“Yep, we’re in for it,” Elna said. “I’m going to make some preparations in case it’s bad tonight. You guys can head to the guesthouse.”
With her loose floral-print dress and Birkenstocks, her free-flowing hair dotted with bits of leaves, and her dirty hands, Selene Bondere seemed more at home on the island than anyone else. Her cheeks were sun-touched, and she was smiling. Yes, Selene was in her natural environment. Currently, she had a large burlap sack tossed over her shoulder.
“What did you find today?” Malin asked her, gesturing at the sack.
“Oh, my gosh, you’ll never believe it,” Selene said, pulling the sack off her shoulder with genuine excitement. She opened it up and rooted around inside. “I found a whole bunch of manzanita berries. I didn’t know they grew on this island! There’s so much more here than I ever realized.”
“Manzanita berries?” Malin replied. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of them.”
She pulled out a fistful of shriveled red-orange berries. “I recognized the tree because it’s got red bark. Want to try one?” She thrust one of the berries at Malin.
“Does it taste good?”
“Raw?” Selene shrugged. “I guess it depends on your tolerance for tannins.”
Norman shook his head vigorously. “Trust me, man. It’ll pucker your whole mouth.”
Malin waved off the berry, and Selene, laughing, shoved it back in the sack. “They’ll make a decent cider, though. Believe me.”
“We believe you,” Elna said. “Why don’t you take them to the kitchen?” The ongoing conversation was making her nervous. The storm clouds were rising fast. They could chat about Selene’s latest haul once the equipment was secure and all the islanders were safely inside. She considered the group all islanders now, after all they’d been through together.
“I’ll need to cook them on low heat for a long time,” Selene said, slinging the sack back over her shoulder. “That might be tomorrow’s project.”
With a bounce in her step, she headed toward the vineyard and the back of the guesthouse. Norman lingered.
“What needs to be done before the storm hits?” he asked.
“You want to check the traps at the fishing dock?” Elna asked. “Malin, how about you check the small game traps beyond the fence? Anything worth bringing back, you can take it to the kitchen. I’m going to gather some materials to shore up any weak spots on the aqueduct. I think that’s the best we can do.”
Malin tipped her a salute. “You got it, boss.”
He was clearly being lighthearted when he did it, but it still caught Elna off guard. She’d become more confident in her leadership, but his response left her wondering if she was being too bossy. She mentally shrugged it off after another peek at the darkening sky. That was something to think about another time.
“I hope we caught a few crabs this time,” Norman said. “I’m about filled up on shrimp.”
“Let’s work fast, guys,” Elna said. “Get back to the house as soon as you can.”
Malin started to head out, but he caught himself, snapped his fingers, and turned to Elna.
“If you plan on rooting around the island, you’ll
need this more than me,” he said, unclipping the holster from his belt and handing it to her. “I’m not going far.”
“Thanks,” Elna said, taking the holster. She fumbled with it for a moment, trying to get it clipped to her belt. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with the gun—with any guns—though she fully accepted the necessity of being armed at all times.
“Keep an eye out,” Malin said, wagging a finger at her. “I know you get all wrapped up in your own thoughts sometimes. For all we know, Dominic swam back to the island.”
“Now would be an incredibly dumb time to attempt crossing the bay,” she said.
“He’s a dumb guy.”
“Fair enough,” she said, patting the handle of the gun. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
He gave her a thumbs-up, then he headed into the high grass west of the vineyard. Elna turned back to the shed, opened the door, and leaned inside. She didn’t really expect to run into Dominic. The last time she’d seen the man, he’d seemed pretty content serving in Rod Smith’s glorious militia. Still, Malin’s concern made her anxious.
From inside the shed, she grabbed a backpack, a pair of binoculars, and a small crowbar. She slung the backpack over her shoulders, then headed down the slope, following the now-familiar trail that led through the overgrown parts of the island toward the old lighthouse.
The rising wind began to sound much more violent in the trees as it whipped the branches and sent anxious animals scurrying. She spotted a small island fox racing through the underbrush, as if seeking a hiding spot. The ubiquitous loggerhead shrikes, on the other hand, had gone silent, bracing themselves deep within the branches. Bad storms were not uncommon on the island. In fact, Elna was pretty sure the occasional strong wind was one of the reasons the US Government had auctioned off the island in the drawdown after the Korean War and, how her grandfather had apparently bought the place at a steal.
The trail that led down the southwest side of the island was an old, pitted dirt road that she’d never seen prior to the EMP. Now, it felt like her own garden path, and she rather enjoyed it. Life wasn’t easy, by any means. Every day was a struggle to ensure they had enough clean desalinated water to drink and enough food to eat, but it kept her mind constantly working. Always a problem to solve. Always a better solution to pursue.
It’s not so bad, she thought, as long as I can keep everyone alive.
She passed the old battered shed that was halfway down the slope. She’d replaced the door, strengthened the latch, and scoured away the rust, but the shed still needed work. Elna made a mental note to do some more extensive structural improvements at a later date.
When she reached the bottom of the slope, stepping out of the trees into the open rocky ground on the southwest corner of the island, a blast of damp, cold air nearly knocked her off her feet. She stumbled to one side but managed to keep her balance. The high military fence was straight ahead. They’d broken through some of the rusted posts to gain access, and while they’d made a few trips into the old buildings to scavenge, quite a bit of scrap remained that was either too large or too heavy to transport back to the guesthouse. They’d gathered up most of it into the guardhouse at the base of the lighthouse to come back for as needed. In particular, Elna wanted to strengthen the joints and bracings for the aqueduct in the spots where it would be exposed to the worst winds.
As she approached the fence, however, she turned her gaze to the ocean, to the dark wall of clouds climbing into the sky, the choppy waters roiling in the distance. Something caught her eye, some dark thing riding the waves. At first, she thought it was an animal, one of the many area sharks caught in the current. Then it turned, and she caught a hint of a pale shape atop it.
Dominic. It was the first thought that crossed her mind, but, of course, Dominic wouldn’t be approaching from the Pacific side.
Elna pulled the binoculars off her neck and raised them to her eyes. It took a moment to get the focus right—they were an ancient pair of Army binoculars. But when she did, she spotted the tall white sail. It was ripped and flapping like a broken wing. The ship itself was a small, compact sloop. Too far away to tell the make or model, but she estimated that it was no more than twenty feet from stem to stern. The storm had already given it hell.
She could make out two people on deck. A larger figure had an arm wrapped around the mast, the other swinging wildly in the air, as if he were trying to catch a loose object. She thought maybe it was the jib sheet, which seemed to have broken loose. The second figure was much smaller, most likely a child or small teenager. He stood on deck, clinging to ropes with both hands. The rough waters and fierce wind were driving the boat hard.
“Now, where did you come from?” Elna muttered.
The larger man kept flailing at the whipping jib sheet, as the small person behind him held on for dear life. Elna forgot all about scavenging for scraps as she climbed a low mount of stones to get a better view. They were moving fast toward the rocky western shore.
When Elna heard footsteps on the rocks behind her, she was so caught up in the unfolding drama out at sea that she barely registered it. The approaching figure cleared his throat, and it startled her. She swung around, fumbling for the pistol, as the crowbar slipped out from under her belt and clattered loudly on the ground.
“Traps were empty,” Malin said, arms crossed over his chest. “You need to work on your reaction time, Elna. If I’d been some creep from the mainland, I could’ve got the drop on you.”
“If I’d reacted any faster, you might’ve gotten shot,” she replied.
She pointed out to sea. The clouds were now like a great, gray curtain rising ever faster, and the little boat was dwarfed beneath it.
“Is that a boat?” Malin asked. “Where did they come from?”
“Drifted in on the storm,” she replied. “I don’t think the captain knows how to pilot his vessel. Looks like there might be a kid on board with him.”
She handed him the binoculars, and he gazed at the boat. With a gasp, he lowered the binoculars. “They’re going to run aground on the rocks. We have to do something.”
“Do we?” The words came out before she could think about them. When Malin turned and gave her a troubled look, she winced. “I know. I shouldn’t have said that. Of course, we should help if we can.”
“You think they came from the mainland?” Malin said. “From the camp?”
“I doubt it, but you never know.”
Malin tapped a finger against his forehead, as if considering the possibilities.
“I can’t just stand here and watch,” he said finally.
He turned and headed for the shore, moving fast on the uneven terrain. Elna bent down to retrieve the crowbar and hurried after him. The boat was coming fast, as if the pilot thought he could build up enough speed to clear the shallows. Elna saw the man and child huddled together now, clinging to ropes. They’d given up fighting the wind and waves and resigned themselves to their fate.
Elna caught up to Malin and went ahead, leading them along the best path to the shore. It was all rocks and jagged angles in that direction, but she knew a way that cut close to the trees. As they raced along, the wind grew ever fiercer, whipping Elna’s hair in her face, the blast of salt-damp air stinging her eyes.
“There’s nothing we can do for them,” Elna said. “The mainsail’s torn. They couldn’t turn the boat in time to avoid the rocks, even if they tried.”
At that moment, Malin stumbled, his foot coming down on a loose rock. Elna grabbed his arm, but that only twisted him around. They both went down together. Elna and Malin were all tangled up together in a narrow gap between two large black rocks. The whole landscape on this side of the island was ancient volcanic rock not yet ground to powder. Malin extracted himself from her grasp and rose, stepping on top of the nearest big rock.
“If the ship runs aground, they’ll have to swim,” he said. “Maybe we can pull them from the water.”
He offered her his
hand, helping her to her feet again. She rose up beside him and turned to watch the inevitable crash.
“Okay, fine,” she said, after a moment. “We’ll help them. But there might be a better option.”
2
When Malin climbed further up on the rock, he was amazed to see that the pilot of the small sloop hadn’t actually given up. He’d only been lashing the child more securely to the deck. Now, he had climbed back to the rudder and was leaning over the stern. After a moment, he managed to turn the boat a little. Instead of heading straight for shore, the sloop was moving in a more southeasterly direction. This would take it right into the big finger of rock on which the lighthouse stood. Not a better option. The rock wall rose a good ten feet there, an unyielding surface just waiting to smash the boat to pieces.
“Unless you can walk on water, I don’t see any better options,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”
He turned to her.
“I’ll bet we can find something in the lighthouse,” she said, after a moment. “Remnants of bumpers or buoys from our scrap room. If we dropped them over the side of the ledge there, they might act as buffers when the boat makes impact. Then we could lift the people out of the water with ropes.”
“It’s worth a try,” he said.
“Let’s go,” Elna said, beckoning him as she headed back toward the rusty fence and the rotting buildings beyond. “The boat is only a couple hundred yards out. We’ve got a few minutes at most.”
They moved as fast as they could back through the field of rocks and headed for the fence. By the time they passed through the gap and entered the abandoned military base, the wind was howling across the island. It brought with it a bone-chilling cold, and Malin rolled his sleeves back down as he ran.
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 25