Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  Mac whipped around and gave the staff sergeant a wounded expression. Mac seemed so young, even with his football player’s build. If not for the uniform, Elna would have thought him a high schooler.

  “Are you sure I have to stay?” he said. “I think I’d rather go with you.”

  “Fish will be resting. Cat and Ant are healing. We need one able-bodied Marine to keep an eye on the island while we’re gone, just in case the enemy shows up.”

  “Okay,” Mac said, frowning.

  “Will you know what medical supplies to get?” Dr. Ruzka asked. She was standing in the corner near the doorway, her hands on her hips. “I’d really like to see what’s available. Maybe I should go.”

  “Absolutely not,” Elna said forcefully.

  “You are way too important, Doc,” Malin added. “George and Daniel need you, absolutely need you. You’ve taken enough risks. For their sakes, please stay.” The doctor was just a bit too reckless with herself. It had been to their advantage, since that recklessness had brought her to the island in the first place, but they couldn’t let her crawl around the militia camp shopping for medical supplies.

  This seemed to work, and the doctor pursed her lips and leaned back against the wall.

  Raymond Cabello was seated beside her, his head on his hands. He’d taken his son to one of the guest rooms to rest. He perked up now. “I’m going. Someone has to go who can pilot the boat.”

  “Daniel needs you,” Elna said.

  “No, he needs Selene and the doctor,” Raymond added. “I’m going.”

  “Is your shoulder healed up enough?”

  He reached up and grabbed his left shoulder. He’d dislocated it on the long, miserable trip to Manchester and only very recently felt good enough to remove the sling. “It hurts a little,” he said, “but I’ll take it easy. Trust me. You need your old ship captain. I can stay on the boat while you go ashore.”

  Elna met his gaze, stared at him hard for a second, and finally replied, “Okay, fine, but don’t take any risks, okay? The staff sergeant is in charge. You do what he says at all times so you come back in one piece to your son.”

  Raymond gave them both a curt nod. “Got it.”

  “Fine, that’ll work,” Prig said. “So there’ll be six of us. Spence, Archer, me, Elna, Malin, and the pilot. We’ll travel light, sail across the bay under cover of night, and sneak into the camp to find Golf. Our goal is to get in and out with minimal interaction, folks. You two.” He pointed at Elna and Malin in turn. “You stay with us at all times. Is that clear?”

  “Aye-aye, cap’n,” Malin said.

  It was going to be a cloudy night, that was clear. No moon or stars—practically no light at all. That made Elna nervous about sailing. The water in the bay would be choppy. She stood on the veranda with Malin, emptying their packs. They, too, were traveling lightly and needed plenty of space for medical supplies. Malin brought the firearm that had formerly belonged to Selene’s ex-boyfriend. Elna brought one of the small first aid kits from the guesthouse bathroom and a couple of LED flashlights.

  As she prepared the gear, Raymond went on ahead to the sailboat to make sure it was ready to go. Elna had not witnessed his farewell conversation with Daniel, but she couldn’t imagine the boy was excited about his father joining the mission.

  When they were done, they stood together for a moment, gazing off to the distant, darkening bay. Elna felt a deep, trembling fear, not just about the mission but about the future beyond it. Malin wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

  “I’m nervous about the Marines being here,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’m nervous about what’ll happen to my island, even with that silly contract, but…Prig said there’s a worse enemy coming. Maybe we’ll be damn glad the Marines are here by the end.”

  “Maybe,” he replied, kissing her on top of the head, “but let’s get through this mission before we worry about that.”

  7

  Anger was a dangerous thing when it lingered because it started to fester, turning into something far uglier and more insufferable. Rod Smith had paced from corner to corner in his tent for roughly half an hour, trying to exhaust himself before he went back to the interrogation tent. It didn’t seem to be working, so finally he gave up, walked over to the desk in the corner, and picked up his sidearm. He slid it into the holster, then grabbed an auto-baton from the top drawer and tucked that under a loop of his belt. The auto-baton was good for intimidating prisoners because the loud snap when he extended it was like a gunshot—a threat of violence that didn’t waste a bullet.

  As he turned toward the tent flap, he saw one of his lieutenants standing there. Craig Thornton was a tough little guy with an ugly scar on his forehead and about four missing teeth from a fistfight with a biker gang near Redding. As he approached, Rod could make out the vast number of scars on his knuckles.

  “Take me back to the prisoner,” Rod said. “The Marine. I’m going to try questioning him again. Maybe we softened him up last time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Craig replied. The man’s only flaw was his high, nasally voice, which was about as intimidating as a wet fart on a warm night. “We put him back in his cage.”

  “Move him to the interrogation tent,” Rod said. “Take at least three men with you. Go.”

  He brushed his hands at Craig, and the little man dashed out of the tent as fast as his stumpy legs would take him. Rod followed him at a leisurely pace. As soon as he stepped out of the tent, all of the guards and workers in the immediate vicinity turned to note his presence. The guards nodded, and the civilians shuffled frantically out of his way.

  Good, he thought. Let them see the rage in my eyes and break way before me. Failures, all of them. Absolute failures.

  As he strode through the camp, two of his guards fell in beside him. He scarcely knew their names, but then he spotted someone whose name he knew all too well. It was lodged in his brain forever. Nathan Spitler, big as an ox and dumb as dirt.

  Nathan was doing his rounds, walking through camp with his rifle in his hands. When he made brief eye contact with Rod, he quickly turned away, pretending he hadn’t noticed him.

  “Nathan, get over here,” Rod said. “Right now.”

  Though he was nearly the same size as Rod, over six feet tall, with a muscular build that strained his uniform, Nathan came to his commander like a whipped dog, lowering the rifle and staring at his own feet.

  “I don’t know if you heard the good news,” Rod said, signaling for Nathan to follow him. “Two of our guys that were injured on the bridge yesterday have died.”

  “I…I heard,” Nathan replied, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry, sir. You said you wanted the Marines alive so you could question them. Otherwise, we would have just shot them all right there in front of the bridge. We tried to knock them out, tie them up, throw them in the water—they were just too much for us.”

  “Soldiers die in battle,” Rod said. “I’m less concerned about the casualties than I am about the Marines getting away from us. They’re all on the island now, planning who knows what? The blame is entirely yours. Entirely yours. You were in charge of that squad.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  When Nathan’s simpering didn’t quite satisfy, Rod reached over and smacked him hard on the back of the head. He stumbled forward, grabbing the back of his head with his free hand.

  “I had that coming, sir,” he said.

  “And worse, if you don’t shape up,” Rod said.

  Nearby, an older man and woman, gray-haired civilians dressed in filthy rags, were working on repairing an old camp stove. Rod recognized them as well. They’d been working on the motorcycles at the edge of camp the day before, and the Marines had slipped right past them. Indeed, the old man had confessed to seeing the group, but instead of calling out an immediate alarm, he’d simply gone looking for someone. Consequently, by the time the guards found out about the infiltration, the Marines had already gone h
alfway down the slope to the causeway.

  Rod diverted toward them. The woman glanced up but resumed working. Trying to keep her head down, mind her own business, the way all good civilians did.

  “From now on, keep your eyes open,” Rod barked at them. As he said it, he kicked the shell of the camp stove out of the old man’s hands and sent it tumbling.

  Without bothering to see their reaction, he marched past them and headed for the interrogation tent. It was a small, sturdy tent, double-layered canvas with an iron framework underneath and a heavy door.

  Craig Thornton was already there, standing in the open flap, saluting as the commander approached.

  “He’s inside, Commander,” he said. “Secured and ready for questioning.”

  Rod brushed him aside and stepped through the door. The Marine, who claimed to go by the name “Golf,” was seated on a metal chair, his wrists and ankles bound to the frame. The chair, in turn, was bolted to the tent’s sturdy framework. He was young, Latino, slender, but his face was lumped and misshapen from the beatings, none of which had produced a single useful answer. They’d removed his uniform and replaced it with a striped prisoner’s shirt and pants. If he managed to get loose, Rod wanted him to be highly visible to all of his half-witted guards.

  “I hope you slept well last night, friend,” Rod said, approaching the prisoner. The other guards, including Nathan and Craig, took up positions on either side.

  “Not especially,” Golf replied, slurring his words thanks to a fat upper lip bisected by a scab. “Your accommodations suck, man. It’s like the back end of a third-world country here.”

  “Sorry, the hospitality room is for people who don’t try to invade our territory and steal our people,” Rod said. “You should thank me. I gave you a bigger cage. You could almost lie down in there.”

  “Almost,” Golf agreed. “Thanks, Lord Supreme High Potentate.”

  Rod found his attempt at sarcasm more than pathetic.

  “Enough of the pleasantries,” Rod said, squatting in front of the man. “You’ve had a night to consider your priorities. Hopefully, you’ve come to your senses and we can talk like friends now. What do you say?”

  Golf might have been trying to smile, but it was hard to tell. Besides the fat lip, he had a swollen right cheek, a welt on his jawline, and a black eye.

  “What would you like to know, God Emperor?” he replied.

  “I want to know what the Marines are doing in our territory,” Rod replied. The anger felt like it was eating through his stomach, making it harder to keep his questions calm. “I know they didn’t come all the way here to steal one of my comfort women, so what’s the mission? What are they looking for?”

  “One of your comfort women?” Golf said with a laugh. “You mean, the poor sex slave we found fleeing your camp with her kid?”

  “That’s such a crass way to say it,” Rod said. “What’s your mission, Marine? Why are you here?”

  Golf stared at him for a second, mouth hanging open, and finally said, “I just plain forgot. Sorry. It was on the tip of my tongue, but it’s gone.”

  Nodding, Rod rose. His fists were clenching and unclenching, almost against his will. “Well, I guess you’re no use to me then,” he said. Seething, he drew his sidearm, flicked off the safety, and racked the slide. It was already loaded, so he sent a bullet flying across the tent. He could scarcely think, seeing through a red haze as he pressed the barrel of the Glock between the prisoner’s eyes. To his credit, Golf merely closed his eyes. He didn’t protest or beg for his life.

  “Sir, don’t do it!” Big, dumb Nathan rushed forward and thrust an arm out—a bold move, but it broke through the haze. “We need him alive. Once he’s gone, he’s gone.”

  Rod jammed the gun back in the holster and batted Nathan’s arm aside. Then, for good measure, he punched Golf in the mouth, splitting the scab so that blood spurted down his chin.

  “Just remember, I didn’t start this, Marine,” Rod said, wiping the man’s blood off his knuckles on the prisoner’s shirt. “I didn’t come onto your base and start harassing you. You came here. Got that?”

  Golf had no sarcastic response this time. His head lolled on his neck, his eyes shifting back and forth, glassy.

  Rod backed away from the chair, lest his anger get the better of him. Nathan was right, of course. There was no useful reason to kill the man, but at some point they were wasting their time trying to get anything out of him. As far as his buddies, Rod fully expected them to mount a rescue mission at some point, but the camp was crawling with armed guards. The militia could handle a few Marines.

  “I won’t be made a fool,” Rod said. “We’ll give you one more day, and if you don’t prove useful by then, I’m done with you, no matter what this soft-hearted idiot here says.” He smacked Nathan on the chest with his forearm.

  “I’m just trying to help, sir,” Nathan said.

  “He gets one more day,” Rod replied, jabbing a finger in the guard’s face. “If he doesn’t share something useful by tomorrow, he dies. Now, do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, sir, not at all,” Nathan replied, saluting.

  “Good.”

  Rod headed toward the tent flap. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Craig grinning like an idiot in the corner. He was tempted to go over and smack him too, but he decided not to. Craig, at least, had the hard edge necessary to do what needed to be done.

  “Sir, should I attend to this man’s wounds?” Nathan asked.

  Rod looked back at the prisoner. He was slumped forward, straining at his wrist bindings. Blood ran from his busted lip and dripped off his chin.

  “I’ll run to the medical tent and at least get some bandages,” Nathan said. “You need him in good enough shape to be able to talk, right?”

  “No,” Rod replied. “I’m not going to waste bandages on a man who’s going to die soon. He’ll be in the back trench with the rest of the bones. What’s the point?”

  And with that, he strode out of the interrogation tent and started back across the camp. Soon he heard booted feet scurrying after him as his guards followed. Nathan stayed behind, but Craig was quick to catch up to him.

  “If I find out Nathan bandaged that prisoner behind my back, I’ll strangle him,” Rod said, staring daggers at Craig.

  “He wouldn’t go behind your back like that, sir,” Craig said.

  “I don’t know what he would do,” Rod replied. “The man is close to worthless. One more blunder and I’m done with him. Got me?”

  “Oh yeah,” Craig replied, baring his teeth. “I get you, sir. Trust me.”

  “Good.”

  He saw the old man and woman working on the camp stove. His kick had left a big dent in the metal, and the old man was trying to hammer it out. When they saw him coming, however, they scurried off like cockroaches. Rod found this amusing, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Too much had pissed him off lately.

  “Sir,” Craig said after a moment.

  “What do you want? Can’t you leave me to think for a minute?”

  “Well, it’s just that…” Craig hesitated, as if he were about to deliver bad news. “You said the Marines will probably try to come back here and rescue the prisoner.

  “They will certainly come back here and try to rescue the prisoner,” Rod said, “but they’re not getting in this camp. I made sure of that. We have so many armed guards on the western perimeter of the camp that a flea couldn’t jump into the camp without getting blown away. In fact, go join them for the time being. Make yourself useful.”

  “Yes, sir,” Craig said.

  “Keep an eye on the water, too,” Rod added. “They’ve got some kind of Olympic swimmer with them, from what Nathan said. I don’t know how he kept the sharks from eating him.”

  “Shark repellant?” Craig said.

  “Never heard of such a thing.” He was so sick and tired of talking that he finally grabbed Craig by the upper arm and propelled him forward. “Go. I have to thin
k.”

  Craig stumbled forward, caught himself against the corner of a large wooden handcart, then scurried off just like the old couple.

  Nobody’s getting in here, Rod thought. I don’t care who they are. I’ll kill anyone and everyone who threatens what I’ve built, I swear to God.

  8

  Elna gazed over the starboard side of the boat. They were riding low, and it made her nervous. It was full-on dark, and she’d put red electrical tape over the flashlight to dampen it. Still, by the dim, red glow, she could see the choppy water of the bay licking the gunwale. They were anchored just beyond the fishing dock. Malin and the Marines had spent a few minutes offloading supplies from the cabin to lighten the weight, but Elna wasn’t sure it did much good.

  Selene, Norman, and George were standing at the end of the dock. Dr. Ruzka was back tending to the wounded in the storage room, and the Dulleses had stayed at the guesthouse with Daniel. Indeed, Joe and Rita had been largely absent since the Marines had arrived. Elna assumed they were nervous and just trying to be as invisible as possible. It was a shame because it had taken them weeks to come out of their shells after the EMP.

  “Now, y’all be careful over there,” Norman said. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

  “Elna, please keep everyone in line,” her father said. “Stick to the mission. Don’t get sidetracked.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Elna said, waving to those on the dock. “And we’ll be fine. Still, whatever happens, listen to Selene. She’s in charge in my absence. Dad, that means you, too. I know it’s your island, but she’s the boss.”

  She didn’t wait for anyone to protest but turned and crossed the deck to the anchor winch, as Malin grabbed the boom and guided himself toward the mainsail. The Marines planted themselves on the deck, squatting low, where they were barely visible in the dim light. The one they’d left behind, Mac, stood behind the islanders on the dock, a mere shape in the darkness.