Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  Prig briefly, very briefly, made a sour face before replying. “That’s correct. We gave them a little food. They inhaled it. When all hell broke loose with that paramilitary group, we couldn’t see no other choice but to scoop them up and bring them with us. They’re a bit shy around men, so you ladies might have to look after them, if you don’t mind. I can’t get a word out of either of them.”

  “I’ll feed them,” George Pasqualee said, scratching furiously at his wild white beard. “Actually, I’ll just feed all of you. I’m sure we can scrounge something up. What do you say?”

  He looked past Prig at Elna. Malin could tell by the tension in Elna’s body posture that she wanted to argue with him. Instead, she blew her breath out and shrugged.

  “Whatever you think, Pop,” she replied.

  “Excellent,” George said, with a big smile, as if he’d just planned a party. “It’s settled then. Lunch is on!”

  With the newcomers, there wasn’t enough room around the dining table—not even close—so they all wound up on the veranda. The Dulleses fixed a salad and some sandwiches, and George even produced a couple bottles of wine—he always seemed to have more hidden throughout the guesthouse. To Malin, it all seemed a bit excessive. Why wine and dine a group whose true purpose was still a mystery? Prig, for all his folksy charm, was closed up tighter than a steel drum about anything beyond the finding of the woman and child—who, Malin had learned, were named Miriam and Chloe.

  “Interesting how everyone chose to sit,” Elna noted, holding her sandwich but not eating it.

  The bread was cut from a crusty loaf that Rita Dulles had baked herself. Tomatoes gushed out of the sides. It looked good, but Malin, like Elna, didn’t have much appetite. It was a bright, crisp, cloudless day, still not quite afternoon. Miriam and Chloe were wolfing down their food at the table in the furthest, shadiest corner. Malin was pretty sure the woman had actually slid the other chairs away from her table to discourage anyone from sitting with them. Joe and Rita Dulles sat together, and they seemed quite intimidated by the presence of the Marines. Malin, Elna, and Norman sat at a table together. Only Norman seemed to have any appetite, though he kept casting furtive glances at their guests.

  The Marines proceeded to empty the bottles of wine in record time. At first, they were fairly quiet, offering the occasional polite comment, complimenting the food, the guesthouse, the island, but saying little of substance. However, by the time the bottles were almost empty, they’d started to open up a bit more.

  Staff Sergeant Prig and Mentos Boy Spence were seated closest to Elna and Malin. Eventually, Prig backed his chair up so that he was right in between Malin and Elna, and he began to engage in conversation with them as much as with his Marine buddies. The man never tired of bragging about Fish outswimming the shark.

  I get it, Malin thought. You admire the guy.

  Finally, Malin decided to divert the conversation in a more meaningful direction. The Marines were getting louder and more talkative. Maybe they were also more open to sharing.

  “So, you’re really part of the military?” Malin asked, as Prig leaned back in his chair, which practically put him on top of Malin’s plate. “Not a militia.”

  “We’re real United States Marines, son,” Prig said. “Can’t you tell real Devil Dogs when you see them?”

  “Does that mean there’s still a functioning US government?” Malin asked.

  “They’re working on it,” Prig replied, a little more subdued. “Everything’s still kind of messy and disorganized, including the Corps.”

  “And were you sent to this island specifically, or did you wind up here inadvertently?” Elna asked.

  “Do you have business here, in other words?” Malin added. “It’s a pretty small island. I can’t imagine what the military would be doing here. We don’t have much to offer.”

  Prig turned to them then, stone-faced, and said, “That right there is classified, so don’t bother asking.”

  He then laughed awkwardly and scooted closer to his own table again, but the Marine named Archer, the woman with a shaved head and dark eyes, mumbled something. Malin didn’t catch most of it, except for the words: “…getting in that bunker.”

  Malin glanced at Elna.

  What the hell are these people after?

  He was utterly baffled.

  4

  Now that the Marines had dangled a bit of information out in the open, Elna wasn’t about to let it go without taking a big bite. The idea that they’d come to the island intentionally, that they might actually be after something on the island, bothered her so much that she was now determined to get to the bottom of it even if it led to a fight.

  She shifted her chair in the direction of Prig’s table.

  “Excuse me. You said something about a bunker,” she said, trying to make it sound like a friendly question, just more lunchtime banter. “To my knowledge, there aren’t any bunkers on this island. I’m not trying to pry, but I know every square inch of this island. I grew up here. You can’t possibly be referring to the old Army base out by the lighthouse. It’s just a bunch of rusted-out buildings from the Korean War era.”

  Prig gave Archer a long unhappy look, and the woman, despite her severe features and tough demeanor, seemed to wilt. Finally, she dropped her gaze to the tabletop. A tense second of silence passed, but suddenly Prig nodded, as if to himself, and plastered a big, goofy grin on his face. He turned to Elna.

  “Ma’am, like I said before, I’m not supposed to tell you,” he said, “but maybe since you live here, it’s only fair to give you a little bit of info. I guess it can’t hurt. Here’s the thing. It turns out you maybe don’t know this island as well as you think, because there is a bunker on this island, and it’s why we’re here.”

  When he said this, some of his fellow Marines looked at him sharply. Spence crumpled his Mentos pack in his hand and scowled, and Archer shook her head.

  “If you’re talking about the big building over beside the lighthouse,” Elna said, “it’s pretty much empty. We’ve been in there, like I said. Whatever the military had stored there, it’s long gone.”

  “No, that’s not what we’re looking for,” Prig said. “The bunker we’re looking for will be sealed, with a special lock on the door. Actually, the militia nabbed one of our guys, so we’re going to have to figure out what to do about that.”

  “Where is this bunker?” Elna asked.

  Prig hesitated a moment, glanced over his shoulder at Spence, and finally said, “Somewhere under the lighthouse.”

  “Whoa, under the lighthouse,” Malin said.

  Elna felt a sudden queasiness. It was like turning over a brick and finding out there was a massive spider hiding under it.

  “What does this bunker contain?” she asked.

  “You’re not…privy to that information,” Prig said. “Suffice it to say, it is strategically very important, ma’am.”

  Norman leaned forward then, the crust of his sandwich crushed in his hand, and said, “Has the US military been hiding weapons on this island? They’re not going to send the Marines all the way here to gather up some old MREs and antique helmets.”

  “As I said, it is strategically important,” Prig said. “That’s about all I can tell you at this time.”

  Fish spoke up then. The long, lean swimmer had been leaning far back in his seat, his hands behind his head, like he wasn’t really paying attention. But he sat up suddenly and said, “What good would it do to tell them anyway? These are civilians. This has nothing to do with them.”

  “My father and I own this island,” Elna said. “It certainly has something to do with us. We’re not trying to get in the middle of your business, but I think we have the right to know if the military has some claim to this island that we don’t know about.”

  Prig looked at his fellow Marines, but no one said anything. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken debate taking place between them as they variously nodded, shrugged, frowned, or shook their h
eads.

  “Should we expect more military on the island in the near future?” Elna asked. “Surely, you can at least tell me that.”

  Prig stared hard at the short-haired woman called Archer, then blew his breath out and spun in his seat to face Elna. He hadn’t wanted to tell them anything about the mission in the beginning, but it seemed like they were slowly getting him to move the boundary line through a mix of wine and persistence.

  “Alright, I don’t see what it can hurt to tell you folks at least some of it,” he said. He lifted his cap, ran his fingers through his short white hair, and sighed. “You don’t seem to be any kind of threat.”

  A couple of his men looked at him sharply again, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Of course, we’re not a threat,” Norman said. “We’re just normal people trying to get by.”

  “I can see that,” Prig said. “Okay, fine, here’s what I can tell you, and this is all I can tell you. Anything else is beyond my authority. Got it?”

  He gave Elna a long, lingering look, and she realized he was waiting for some kind of response. She nodded and gestured for him to continue.

  “The bunker beneath the lighthouse is a communication hub,” he said. “It’s set pretty deep, and you’d never have found it on your own. Even if you found the door, you wouldn’t be able to get in.”

  “Isn’t it likely that the communication equipment would be fried?” Malin said.

  “The bunker is supposed to be shielded,” Prig said. “We’ll see about that when we get inside.”

  “How long has this equipment been down there?” Elna asked. “It must be decades old by now and way out of date.”

  “That’s not our understanding,” Prig said. “Again, you’re going above my head here, but I’m pretty sure the equipment has been maintained. I don’t know when or by whom. DOD, I assume.”

  “Why would you come all the way here and risk a confrontation with militias on a pretty sure?” Elna asked. She didn’t like this. She didn’t like any of this. The military had maintained a stake in the island all these years, despite the change in ownership, and without telling the new owners. Had they come onto the island to check the bunker over the years without announcing their presence? Had they been conducting operations right under her feet? It made her angry, made her feel violated, but she didn’t know who to direct these feelings at. It certainly wasn’t the fault of these Marines, who were just doing their part to help the country.

  “Okay, the truth is, we have good reason to suspect the communication equipment is working,” Prig said. “Command was able to get a ping on it, but they couldn’t reboot it remotely. That’s why we’re here. It’s our job to get that equipment up and running, if possible.” He held up his hands. “Okay? That’s everything I can tell you. No big secret. No secret superweapon. No spec-ops. Just trying to access some communication equipment that may or may not be salvageable.”

  Elna tried to puzzle out the situation in her mind, but something about it didn’t quite add up. “Why would they send you all the way here just to salvage some old communication equipment? Hell, why is there communication equipment on the island in the first place?”

  Prig finally seemed to have reached the limits of what his wine-softened mouth would say, and he pressed a finger to his lips, as if he were shushing himself. Instead, Norman answered.

  “Seems to me it’s the location,” Norman said. “If the equipment survived, this island is in a perfect strategic location to mount a defense of the West Coast.”

  This caused murmuring all around Elna, and she glanced around, seeing shocked expressions on the islanders’ faces. A defense of the West Coast?

  “Well, if I’m right, I say it’s about time,” Norman continued. “If someone attacked us, we gotta fight back. We’ve just been sitting here in the dark twiddling our thumbs.”

  “Exactly,” Prig said, jabbing a finger in Norman’s direction. It was as close to confirmation of Norman’s guess as they needed. “This guy gets it.”

  “Would you mind if some of us went with you to the lighthouse?” Norman asked. “I’m not trying to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I’d like to see the bunker, if that’s okay.”

  “I’d like to go too,” Malin said.

  Prig was nodding and seemed on the verge of saying something, but Spence cleared his throat and spoke instead.

  “There’s just one problem, folks. An integral member of our team was captured by that militia group back on the mainland, and we need to get him back.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Prig said with a sigh. “That has to be priority one, and we’ll need to move fast. There’s at least one other group that knows about the existence of the bunker, and they might also be coming to the island. It’s a matter of national security. But we don’t leave a man behind. We rescue him first.”

  Prig could look like a goofy hick, but at that moment, Elna saw a hardness in his eyes, something cold and determined behind the thick, syrupy accent. The situation was worse than she’d feared.

  My poor island, she thought. I guess it’s no longer mine, though, is it?

  5

  “We’re very familiar with that militia group on the mainland,” Elna said.

  “How familiar?” Prig asked, studying her face, as if he suddenly suspected she might be in cahoots with them.

  Elna hesitated a moment but decided it could only help to tell the truth. “The leader of that group, a man named Rod Smith, is my ex-boyfriend. We had some trouble with them at one time and were briefly held prisoner in their camp before we broke out. Rod is familiar with our island. He knows we’re here.”

  “Why were you held prisoner?” Prig asked.

  “My father…” She glanced at George. He was sitting in the corner near Joe and Rita, watching this conversation unfold with a sad look on his face. “He wanted to trade some of our wine for food and other supplies. They took the wine, but then they also detained us. At first, it just seemed like strange hospitality, but I overheard Rod telling one of his men that they did not intend to let us go. That’s when we made our break. They chased us across the causeway, but we raised the drawbridges to block them.”

  The staff sergeant watched her tell the story with an intense look on his face. “Wow, so you’ve been in the camp,” he said, when she finished. “You’ve actually been in there.”

  “For a short time, yes,” she said.

  “What can you tell me about it?” he asked. “Any details you can remember would sure help us out. I’d be grateful.”

  It seemed like a smart course of action to help the Marines if only to keep them friendly, but Elna was conflicted. She didn’t fully trust them. Nevertheless, she tried to think back to her time in the camp.

  “As best I could tell, there are a few hundred people over there,” she said. “The guards are armed, constantly patrolling, and ready for a fight.”

  “Some of the people are there against their will,” Malin added. “They have iron cages, like prison cells, but we were held inside a tent. They wanted to make us slaves, basically, and that’s probably happened to others as well.”

  “Yeah, but you can tell the soldiers from the civilians easily,” Elna said. “Rod’s men all wear that same stupid uniform with the camouflage t-shirt and cargo pants. Plus, the soldiers tend to walk around the camp boldly, while the civilians keep their heads down.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Elna saw the woman and young child, Miriam and Chloe. The woman had visibly reacted to Elna’s story, flinching as if the words had wounded her, and the little girl in turn hugged her tightly, burying her head in the folds of Miriam’s shirt.

  Selene also noticed this response, and she rose, grabbed the backrest of her chair, and dragged it over to the corner. Though Miriam and Chloe had intentionally tried to sit by themselves, they seemed to tolerate Selene’s presence when she sat down with them. After a moment, Selene leaned in and started talking to Miriam, though she was too quiet for Elna
to overhear.

  If anyone can comfort those two, it’ll be Selene, Elna thought. The woman had a gentle, wounded soul. Maybe Miriam would feel a kinship with her.

  “Where is the leader located within the camp?” Prig asked, drawing Elna’s attention back.

  “Rod Smith has a command tent near the center of camp,” Elna said. “It’s easy to spot. It’s bigger than the surrounding tents and has a big silver star fastened above the flap. His guards patrol the area around it.”

  Prig nodded, as if considering her words. He traded a look with Spence, Archer, and Fish, each in turn. “The layout of the camp seems fairly chaotic,” he said, turning back to Elna.

  “Yeah, it’s messy,” she said. “Maybe that’s intentional, to make it harder for people to escape.”

  “And you know where they keep prisoners?”

  “We saw some iron cages,” she said. “I’m not sure if that’s where they keep all of their prisoners. We didn’t see the whole camp. I was mostly just trying to get out of there.”

  Selene stood up then and cleared her throat, drawing all eyes to her. She seemed to wither under the gaze of the Marines, and she grimaced briefly, as if she were having second thoughts. But then she drew herself up tall, grasped the strap of her herb bag, and spoke.

  “Miriam here knows more about the camp than any of us,” she said. “She says she’s willing to talk about it, if you’ll be patient with her.”

  “I couldn’t get anything out of her,” Prig said. “Believe me, I tried.”

  “Well, maybe you have to be nice about it,” Selene said, though she wouldn’t look directly at him. “She has been through a lot. Miriam…” She looked down at the woman, laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Can you tell us what you know?” And then, more quietly, “Don’t look at them. Just look at me. You can do it.”