As she approached the back door, it swung open, and she saw Norman standing there, arms crossed. His beloved dress shirts and khaki pants were hanging a little looser on him these days, despite the best efforts of Selene and the Dulleses to provide a healthy diet. His broad, handsome face had become a little less handsome, a bit too thin.
“I can tell by the look on your face that you didn’t see anything,” Norman said, stepping aside to let her through the door.
“No, nothing,” she replied. She just didn’t want to talk about it. Why had Elna left her in charge? Why? Didn’t she realize how stressful it was?
As Selene passed through the door, her hand brushed the cold, heavy metal of the Ruger in her dress pocket. She hated the feel of the gun. She’d never been comfortable around firearms, but she was afraid not to keep it with her at all times.
Moving past Norman, she started across the tasting room. Sniffy must have sensed her coming. She heard his feet padding down the hall, his claws clacking on the wood floor. Her dog had become so restless that she didn’t always want to take him outside with her. Maybe he was picking up on her anxiety. As he came racing to meet her, she stooped down and briefly patted his fluffy white head. He barked at her, as if asking for something, but she kept going down the hall toward the lobby.
As she moved past the kitchen doorway, she heard the clank of pots and pans. Joe and Rita Dulles were in there, as usual. If they weren’t holding hands on the couch, they were in the kitchen. Sometimes, they were preparing meals. Other times, they just seemed to be killing time by moving silverware and dishes around.
“The kid doesn’t want to leave his room,” Norman said, coming up behind her, “and the old man is on the couch. Neither one is doing so good.”
She shushed him, reaching into her satchel and rooting around for her herbal pouch. In a rare fit of boldness, Sniffy got between her feet and almost tripped her. Selene caught herself against the smooth, shiny wall. This place was all dark oak. Sometimes, she found it a bit disconcerting. Selene much preferred open, airy spaces.
As she passed into the lobby, she heard the crackle of a fire in the fireplace. The place was becoming a bit of a wreck, with blankets and dirty clothes in the corners, a few plates and cups on the hearth. She couldn’t bring herself to care.
George Pasqualee was sitting on the end of the couch, wrapped in a woolen blanket and slumped forward. An empty cup that had once contained Selene’s high-caffeine natural tea was sideways on the couch, a trail of tea running across the faux-leather cushion. George didn’t seem to notice or mind, but when Selene entered the room, he struggled to sit up straight.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “I said I would help in the garden. I lost track of time. Think I dozed off. I’ll just be coming right now.”
“That was hours ago, George,” Selene said.
She started to squat down in front of him, intending to look in his eyes, but her vision went blurry for a second. Rubbing her eyes, she diverted to the couch, making sure to avoid the spilled tea. She dropped down with a sigh, setting the satchel in her lap, as Sniffy hopped up onto the cushion beside her.
“Are you okay?” Norman asked.
“Is everything okay, Selene?” George asked, at the same time.
She didn’t want to answer, so she let the silence linger for a few seconds. Honesty wouldn’t help the situation, and she couldn’t stand the thought of putting everyone in a worse mood.
“I’m just tired,” she said, finally. “And a little bit worried.” An understatement so vast, it embarrassed her.
“Do you want me to brew some of your herbal tea?” Norman said. “You said it’s high in caffeine. That’ll give you a little boost, don’t you think?”
“If you don’t mind, Norman. I’d love that. Thanks.”
He seemed overjoyed that she had accepted help, gave a little clap, and headed off to the kitchen. Selene would have waited for the tea, but just sitting still for a few seconds, she felt herself sinking into an unhappy sleep.
Where are you, Elna? she thought. I don’t want to do this any longer. How did you handle all the responsibility? Please, come back.
She forced herself to stand up.
“Actually, I got distracted in the garden earlier,” she said. “I’m going to pick some herbs before I lose the light. You need more ginger, and I’ll pick a few more things that should help.”
“I’ll come. Give me a second.”
George Pasqualee pushed on the armrest of the couch, the faux-leather creaking as he rose on shaky legs. Suddenly, his head flopped back, and his mouth dropped open. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed onto the couch. Selene rushed to his side as Sniffy gave a few plaintive barks.
“George!” She pressed fingers against his neck and felt his slow, weak pulse. “Take a deep breath. Come on, George.”
He moaned and shut his eyes.
“Take a deep breath,” Selene repeated. “You can do it.”
He twitched, as if rousing himself, and began to take deep breaths through his mouth. After a few of these, she felt his pulse get stronger.
“There you go,” she said. “It’s all about maintaining control of your own body.”
He’s getting worse, she thought, and deteriorating fast. Elna, what’s the holdup?
“I’m better,” George said. “Maybe I should just stay here and let you do the gardening.”
“Probably for the best,” she said. “I’ll have Norman bring you some tea.”
She fixed the blanket around George as he leaned back into the deep cushions. Then she turned and crossed the room. She had to check on the kid before she went outside.
They’d put him in the first and largest guest room, the one that had previously been occupied by Garrett, Malin’s surly best man. Opening the door to his room, she was assailed by a smell of sickness and unwashed kid. The shade was pulled on the window, so the room was dark. However, she could just make out the shape of him curled under is blanket.
“Danny,” she said softly. “Are you awake?”
After a second, he replied, “Kind of.”
“Do you want to come outside with me?” she asked. “Fresh air might do you some good.”
“No, thanks,” Danny said. “Is my dad back yet?”
“No, not yet, but I’ll keep an eye out for him,” she said.
“Okay. I wish he’d hurry.”
“Me, too. I’m sure he’ll be back any day now.”
Selene backed out of the room, closing his door as gently as she could. Then she turned and headed back through the lobby, Sniffy trotting at her heels. When Norman came out of the kitchen with a cup of tea, she waved him toward the lobby.
“Give it to George,” she said. “He needs it more than me.”
Norman held up the steaming, enamelware cup of herbal tea. “Are you sure?”
She nodded and kept going through the tasting room and back outside into the deepening evening gloom. The garden was to the right of the back door. They’d doubled the size of it in the last few weeks, building a sturdy new fence around it. Selene had found many wild herbs around the island and relocated them to the garden, where they seemed to be thriving.
Of course, she didn’t have what she really needed to treat George’s condition, but anything that boosted energy was good for him. As she knelt before the rows of wild herbs, pulling a small cloth bag out of her satchel, she gazed off into the darkening western sky.
Come back, Elna. Come back now. Your dad’s doing worse, and the kid…I don’t know how long he’ll last. He won’t even get out of bed. Hurry!
She tried to cast her thoughts, her vibes, her sheer force of will, into the distance. With her strongest and clearest thoughts, she reached out to Elna and Malin. She tried to will safety and gentle water, a stiff breeze at their backs, and good fortune along the way.
Feel our desperation. Sense our need. Hurry back!
She couldn’t tell if it did any good. Finally, when it
got too dark to see, she took the herbs she’d picked and went back inside. By the time she reached the lobby, she saw that George was asleep, curled on his side beneath his wool blanket and snoring softly. Norman was stoking the fire in the fireplace.
“I’ve traced their route on a map, calculated the distance and travel time,” Norman said. “They should be back by now, even if they didn’t have good winds.”
“Let’s think positive thoughts,” she said. “Positive thoughts create positive energy.”
“And what does positive energy do?” Norman asked, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. He was too nice to mock her openly, she knew that.
“Norman, you should be open to anything—absolutely anything—that has even a slight chance of helping us,” she said, trying to keep the sharpness out of her voice.
All traces of smile left Norman’s face, and he ducked his head. “I know. You’re right. Positive energy. Maybe we’ll see them sailing ashore bright and early tomorrow.”
“There you go,” she said. “Think like that.”
At that moment, she heard the gentle ringing of a bell. Rita Dulles had found a small glass bell in a cabinet in one of the guest rooms. It was a piece of tourist kitsch, with a cartoon map of California on the side. Rita had appropriated it as their dinner bell. Selene had very little appetite at the moment. Her stomach was all knots and acid, but she would force herself to eat every bite of whatever the Dulleses served.
“Eat well,” she said, wagging a finger at Norman. “You hear me?”
“I hear you, ma’am,” he said, giving her a friendly, if mocking, deep bow. “I don’t always eat so good when I’m nervous, but I’ll choke it all down, and I won’t throw it back up.”
“That’s what I want to hear.”
She turned and headed for the kitchen.
15
The little bike trail was a godsend, weaving a beautiful path through the deep woods that kept them out of sight of the road. Still, Elna was concerned about their doctor’s deteriorating mood. Every time she looked in his direction, he had a nasty scowl on his face. He didn’t seem to be having any trouble pushing the cart on the dirt path, even with Raymond’s additional weight, but something about the previous night’s attack had gotten to him.
Maybe it was the persistence of their pursuers, or maybe it was the unfortunate violence. As a doctor, seeing a man cut down might have angered him on a professional level. Elna wasn’t sure, and she didn’t want to bring it up. Better to let the anger settle while they tried to make good time. It didn’t help that they were all sleep-deprived. Elna hadn’t been able to relax since the attack. She kept seeing Grover sprawled on the ground, all blood and meat.
Stop thinking about it, she chided herself. Just let it go. It wasn’t your fault. He did it to himself when he tackled you.
Unfortunately, the bike trail was scenic, and it took long, winding loops, aiming for ledges and creeks, meandering like it never wanted to end. However, Mark insisted that they were still headed in the right direction, and as best Elna could tell from the position of the sun, he was right.
They finally stopped for some lunch in a small picnic area beside the path sometime around noon. The area was so secluded, with tall trees rising up on all sides, the trail practically swallowed by the wilderness. Elna couldn’t settle her mind.
“Are we sure we weren’t followed?” she asked, as she sat down on the end of a picnic table bench.
Mark worked the flatbed cart into a space beside the table and stepped back. Raymond was seated there, holding the walking stick across his legs.
“We can take turns circling the area to make sure no one tries to sneak up on us,” Malin suggested.
He gave Mark a questioning look, but it took him a couple of seconds to respond. When he did, he scowled.
“Fine. That’s fine,” he said, swiping a hand in the air.
Did we violate his Hippocratic oath or something when we killed Grover? Elna wondered. What’s his problem?
When Mark didn’t volunteer to scout the area, Malin nodded and headed across the clearing. He slipped through the trees and disappeared in the undergrowth, but Elna heard him moving around just out of sight. Raymond rose from the cart and hobbled over to the picnic table bench, dropping down with a huff.
“I’ll walk a little while after lunch,” he said. “Sorry, guys. I don’t mean to be a burden. Are we lost?”
“No,” Mark replied gruffly, picking up his medic bag. “I know the area. Trust me. We’re still headed south, right toward Manchester. I’m just keeping us off the roads for a while and hopefully away from any more riffraff.”
“I trust you,” Raymond said.
Mark glanced at him briefly, as if he thought maybe Raymond was being sarcastic. Then he shook his head and approached him. Pulling a stethoscope out of his bag, he set the earpieces in his ears and rolled a finger at Raymond.
“Pull up your shirt,” he said. “I want to listen to your heart.”
Raymond slipped off his raincoat and pulled up the filthy knit shirt he’d been wearing every day since Elna met him. When Mark pressed the chest-piece to his skin, he gasped.
“Cold,” he said.
Mark ignored this comment as he listened for a few seconds. Then he grunted and said, “Elevated heart rate. Pull the shirt up in the back.”
When Raymond obliged, Mark placed the chest-piece against his back. “Take a deep breath. Really deep. Now hold it.” He slid the chest-piece around. “Now, let your breath out slowly. Slowly.”
When Raymond did as he was told, Elna knew, even without the stethoscope, that his breathing wasn’t right. Too shallow.
“Have you been experiencing shortness of breath?” Mark asked.
“Yes, I have, doc,” Raymond replied.
Frowning, Mark put the stethoscope back in his bag and gestured for Raymond to pull his shirt down. “It’s not easy wheeling you around with all the gear, to be honest, but we may not have much choice. See how you feel after you’ve had something to eat and an hour or so to rest.”
Malin returned a few minutes later, and they all sat down to lunch. With no campfire, they ate a bit of the leftover cooked meat.
“No sign of followers, at least,” Malin said. “Maybe I’ll do a bit of hunting while you guys take a break.”
“Is there such a thing as wild cows?” Raymond asked. “I wouldn’t mind a nice, juicy hamburger.”
“Just for you, my friend, I’ll look for wild cows,” Malin said with a smile.
After he finished eating, Malin picked up his bow and headed back into the forest. Elna considered going with him, if only to have something to do, but she decided it was best to stay with Raymond. Once he was gone, she began rooting through their food and water supplies to see how they were doing. They still had enough food for a few days, but they were getting low on water. She pointed this out to Mark as he was pacing.
“There are fresh water supplies not far from here,” he said. He walked over and picked up the almost-empty plastic jug. “Why don’t I go fill this up? It shouldn’t take too long. You watch our patient. To be honest, I need a few moments alone.”
Before Elna could respond, he marched off in the opposite direction of Malin and disappeared into the trees. Elna sighed and sat down with Raymond on the bench. She didn’t feel entirely safe, so she avoided striking up a conversation and strained to hear the sounds around them. Raymond seemed sleepy anyway, staring with half-lidded eyes at the tabletop. Elna flung her hood back to give herself full peripheral vision and kept casting her gaze in different direction, looking for anything strange.
Nope, I don’t like this, she thought, tightening her grip on the pocket knife. She had tried all night and all morning to drive the stomach-churning image of Grover out of her mind, but it came back now with a vengeance.
She heard something crashing through the underbrush behind her, and she spun round on the bench, pulling the knife open. She saw a body slipping between trees, and
she brought the knife up. A fraction of a second later, she realized it was Malin, a single sycamore leaf caught in his hair. His beard was getting full these days, but it looked good on him somehow, softening the sharp angles of his jawline. By the unhappy scowl on his face, she could tell his hunt had been unsuccessful.
“Nothing but a few birds flitting about,” he said, as he entered the clearing. He looked at Elna, looked past her at Raymond, then looked around the whole clearing. “Where’s Mark?”
“He went off to find water,” Elna said.
“He just left you two sitting here?” Malin’s voice rose.
Before Elna could respond to this, or even really understand the sudden heat in Malin’s voice, Mark’s deep voice boomed out over the clearing. “I prioritized our immediate need. Do you have a problem with that?”
Elna glanced over her shoulder to see Mark entering the clearing, the plastic jug filled with slightly murky water. He shambled a bit as he came, the water jug swaying from side to side. With his curly hair and thick beard, he looked like a Sasquatch lumbering out of the Northern California wildlands.
“Water could’ve waited until I got back,” Malin said, tossing his nice, new compound bow onto the grass beside the picnic table. “What if someone had snuck up on them? If you were going to head off, you should’ve told me that first. I would have stayed here. We’re literally being pursued by hostile freaks!”
Mark glared at him for a few seconds as he lugged the water jug over to the flatbed cart. He set the jug down roughly and kicked the side of the cart for no good reason.
“I will not be scolded by you,” he said, in a low voice. He said the word you like it was a profanity. “I did what seemed best, and that’s it. That’s final.”
“We just have to coordinate these kinds of things, okay?” Malin said. Elna could tell he was struggling not to yell. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“You want to push this cart?” Mark said. “Keep being a punk. I’ll head back the way I came, and you can find your own way. Say another word. Say it!” He shouted this last, and it was like a thunderclap.
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 40