“Alright, we’re casting off,” Elna said.
Raymond took a seat next to the tiller as Elna raised the anchor. Fortunately, a good strong wind blowing in from the west carried over the island. It would push them across the bay quickly, as long as they could keep from sinking.
The sky was overcast, which meant their visibility was close to zero. Still, the risk of running aground was better than the risk of being spotted and shot at. As soon as the anchor was raised, the wind caught the sail and began pushing them east across the water. Elna could tell they were moving fast, but she didn’t like the feel of the boat. The combination of the extra passengers, the choppy water, and the almost complete darkness made the boat rougher than usual.
“Raymond, how is she handling?” Elna asked.
“The current feels strong,” he said, “but I think the wind is on our side tonight. I’m more worried about those waves.”
“Is your shoulder causing you any problems?” she asked.
He reached up and brushed his injured shoulder lightly. “A bit, but I’ll take it easy on that side as best I can,”
Waves kept hitting them on the port and aft side, occasionally splashing over the gunwale and sloshing across the deck.
“The current in the bay can be relentless,” Elna said. “It’ll push the boat toward the causeway, so be careful.” She gazed off to the south, where the causeway was like a darker line against a dark sky.
“I’ve been in worse water than this,” Raymond said. “We’ll be fine, señora.”
It wasn’t the best time, or even a particularly good time, but Elna had let the issue go on long enough. She sat down on the other side of the tiller, chewed her thumbnail for a moment, then went for it.
“Raymond.”
“Yes?”
“I should have said something about this a long time ago,” she said, “but I’m not actually a señora. I’m not married. I guess it’s not a big deal, but…”
“Oh…wait,” Raymond said. He sounded genuinely baffled. “You and Malin? All this time, I thought…”
“No, we’re not at that stage of our relationship,” she said.
Though she had spoken quietly, and the wind and waves muffled the sound even further, she heard Malin chuckle from his place beside the jib sheet. Elna felt her cheeks burning.
Did I really just say we’re not at that stage of our relationship?
“But I can’t call you señorita,” Raymond said. “That just doesn’t sound right.”
“Call me Elna,” she said. “We must be on a first-name basis by now, after all we’ve been through.”
He mumbled something in Spanish and seemed to be debating the issue with himself, but finally he said, “Okay, Elna it is. Sorry, my mama raised me to be very polite, especially to lady bosses, you know?”
“Lady bosses.” Somehow, the term struck her as funny. “Well, we’re friends here, Raymond, and fellow islanders, so we can be informal.”
Just then, a fierce wave hit the port side of the sloop and splashed across the deck. The Marines had been dead silent since setting sail, but when the cold water crashed down upon them, they began to curse and scramble. Raymond, too, cursed under his breath, and Elna heard him straining against the tiller, trying to push it to starboard. Prig scrambled up the deck toward them.
“Remember, we have to come in from the northwest,” he said, his face a jumble of red shapes in the dim flashlight beam. “Don’t let it push us too far south.”
“I’m trying. I’m trying,” Raymond replied.
She heard Malin adjusting the sail, and she made her way toward him, stepping carefully on the dark deck. They managed to compensate for the strong current, and soon Elna saw a glint of orange light on the shore.
“Campfires,” she noted. “We’re on course.”
As she said it, as she realized how close the hazy, orange glow of Rod’s camp was, she felt a flutter in her belly. She reached out and grabbed Malin’s hand, needing some kind of comfort.
“I never thought I’d go back to this place,” she said. “Not willingly.”
“Well, let’s make this the last time,” he replied. “No holiday visits to the old family, okay?”
“Okay.”
Just then, she felt a shudder coming up through the deck beneath her. It happened so suddenly she wasn’t sure she felt it. Then it happened again. She had the wild idea that it was a shark, some massive ocean predator bumping against them in the dark water, preparing to tip the boat over and snack on the contents.
“Those were rocks,” Malin said.
At the third shudder, she knew he was right. They were scraping the bottom. She cursed and made her way back to Raymond. Prig met her there.
“Are we hitting the bottom?” Prig asked.
“I’m afraid so,” Elna said. “I don’t think we can get much closer without running aground.” She leaned over the starboard side and gazed down at the dark water. They were still about twenty yards from the beach, as best she could tell in the darkness.
“We don’t want to get stuck here,” Raymond said. “We’ll never get back to the island, friends. We have to drop anchor.”
Prig grunted, as if considering their options. “Okay, get us as close as you can, drop anchor, and we’ll go ashore.”
Raymond dared to move a little closer to shore, but when they scraped bottom again, Elna called it. The risk was too great. They lowered the sails and dropped anchor. Elna saw a tiny red light winking in the darkness. When she turned the flashlight toward it, she realized it was a small two-way radio that Prig had pulled out of his pack. It was wrapped in a clear plastic bag.
“There’s still plenty of battery left,” Prig said, handing this radio to Raymond, “so keep it on. I’ll call you when we’re on our way back.”
“Yes, sir,” Raymond replied, tucking the radio into the pocket of his raincoat. “Please, please, hurry. I’ll raise anchor and move out a bit while you’re on shore, but it will just be me alone in the dark, waiting.”
“Don’t worry,” Prig said, clapping Raymond on the back. “We’re coming back, buddy. Shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
And with that, he signaled for the others, tightened the straps of his pack, and promptly leapt over the boat into the water. The other Marines followed him without hesitation. Only Malin and Elna lingered. She could see them in the dark water, shapes moving toward the beach like the vanguard on D-Day.
“Well, this is it,” she said. She passed the flashlight to Raymond to keep with him and followed the Marines overboard.
She hit the water and sank, shocked at the skin-biting cold. She was under, flailing about, for perhaps two seconds, but she realized her feet were on the ground. She pushed herself up, broke the water, and took a deep breath. Malin brushed against her, found her hand again in the water, and they moved together toward the beach.
9
Elna found the Marines gathered at the bottom of the slope just beyond the narrow strip of beach. They were unwrapping their sidearms from the clear plastic bags they’d placed them in. Prig also unwrapped the two-way radio. Instead of discarding all of the plastic wrap, however, he stuffed it all in a side pocket of his backpack. It was very dark on the beach, the only light coming from one of the taped flashlights, which produced only the faintest red glow.
The Marines spoke in hushed voices as she walked up, and Prig was drawing some kind of crude map in the sand with his finger. Elna realized she was still holding Malin’s hand in the cold night. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted the sailboat bobbing against the dark night sky, and she could tell it was moving away from them. Raymond had raised anchor, but seeing him leave, she felt a terrible sense of foreboding.
We’re stuck on the mainland now, she thought. This is enemy territory.
“Follow my lead,” Prig said. “Remember, we’re circling the camp to the north, then cutting right through on the east side. Avoid guards as best you can. Move in the shadows. We’re going to
do this as fast as possible. By the time they realize something’s up, we want to be on our way out of the camp. All it takes is a single guard raising the alarm. If we’re spotted too early, Marines, you know what to do. Elna and Malin, stick close at all times. If there’s trouble, stick even closer. We’ll try to cover you.”
He got grunts of assent from Spence and Archer, and Elna found herself grunting along with them. Then he rose and started up the slope, moving in a crouch with surprising speed, his left hand holding the flashlight, his right hand drawing the sidearm from its holster at his hip. The other Marines followed quickly, moving like a well-trained and thoroughly drilled unit. Elna and Malin brought up the rear, moving with a lot less skill. Indeed, Elna felt clumsy in the darkness, and she kept stumbling on the uneven terrain.
She was amazed at how quietly the Marines moved, like shadows gliding in the night. As she approached the top of the slope, she saw the orange glow of campfires in the distance. She wanted to reach out and grab Malin’s hand again—she needed the comfort—but she was afraid it would only make her clumsier.
Prig reached the top of the slope, moving in a crouch and signaling the others to stay down. Elna and Malin crawled to the end of the line. Peering into the distance, Elna saw campfires flickering near the edge of the camp about fifty yards in front of them. It seemed like the camp had grown in size, with more of those enormous canvas tents placed along the edges and a ton of machinery filling the spaces between them. A fenced-off area containing a few restored dirt bikes was directly in front of them. This actually gave them the perfect approach, because there were no campfires and no people in the immediate vicinity of the bike lot.
How many of these people in these camps came here willingly? Elna wondered. How many are stuck here now, unable to leave, forced to serve Rod’s army?
It was an important distinction, because enslaved people might not raise the alarm if they spotted infiltrators. They might even help the Marines, if they could do so discreetly. This was a subject Elna hadn’t discussed with Prig, but now she wondered if failing to consider the possibility had been a tactical blunder. Prig had been chiefly worried about the guards, but what if the Marines presented themselves to the camp dwellers as a liberation force?
Maybe I’ll have a chance to say something in the camp, Elna thought.
Either way, it was too late now. Prig signaled for them to move forward. She didn’t see it, but she heard the swish-swish of his sleeve. And then he was up and moving along the ridge, crouching low, a handgun in his right hand. The other Marines moved with him, swift and smooth as flowing water. Prig, Spence, and Archer moved as one.
As Elna and Malin clumsily followed after them, Elna spotted a guard far off to their right weaving around the tents along the edge of the camp. He had a rifle in his hands, and he kept casting his eyes into the darkness beyond the camp, but he was moving away from them. Just beyond one of the nearby tents, a couple of civilians were boiling something in a pot over a campfire. They were slouched and miserable, dressed in matching but ill-fitting gray shirts and pants. Elna felt sorry for them. What must it be like to live under the crushing thumb of Rod Smith and his gang? She could imagine. She knew Rod Smith all too well.
Elna was feeling queasy. This place was saturated with that awful, icky feeling that she associated with her ex-boyfriend, Rod Smith. He’d been a cold, overbearing partner, and he made an even colder and more ruthless militia leader. This was the last place she wanted to be on the face of the earth, but there was no escaping it this time. The fate of her beloved island, as well as potentially the fate of the entire country, depended on the success of this mission.
Prig led them to a spot just behind the row of dirt bikes and came to a stop, dropping down low. Elna and Malin had fallen a bit behind and rushed to catch up. When she got there, Prig beckoned Elna forward. Using the taped flashlight, he drew a very crude map in the soft dirt beside the nearest bike. A big circle for the camp, an X marking the approximate location of the prison cells, another X marking their current location. He then gave Elna a questioning look.
She nodded in return. Prig then drew their path, which would take them around the northern perimeter of the camp and then straight through to the south, like a knife cutting right to the heart of the beast. He leaned back and motioned for everyone to look at it.
She glanced at Malin and saw her own anxiety mirrored in his eyes, in the way his cheeks were scrunched up, his teeth bared. He leaned over and quickly gave her a kiss on the forehead.
Let’s hope that’s not a goodbye kiss, Elna thought.
She hated that they couldn’t talk. The Marines seemed confident about their mission plans, but Elna really wanted to discuss them again to make sure everyone was on the same page. But Prig rose again and took off at an impressive clip, circling around the dirt bike area and following a broadly circular path around the perimeter of the camp. The other Marines seemed to anticipate it and moved with him. But Elna was startled, still fighting against that uneasy feeling, and by the time she got moving, they were already pulling away.
A large green tent stood at the very edge of the camp just ahead. Light flickered from a crack at the bottom, as if from a small lamp. As he reached the back of the tent, Prig stopped suddenly. It didn’t take long to realize why. Elna heard someone softly humming, a man’s voice, and the flap of canvas as he stepped out of the tent. Suddenly, a guard moved out from behind the tent and stepped directly in front of Prig.
He was short and stocky, his black hair combed back from a greasy forehead. He seemed like he was just heading out for a stroll, possibly to use the bathroom outside the camp, but he still had a rifle in his hands. At his sudden appearance, Elna bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in surprise.
It took less than a second for the guard to notice Prig—he gasped and took a step backward. He started to make a weird sound, something like “Buh-buh” as if working himself up to scream, and he swung the rifle around to aim it at Prig. The staff sergeant just crouched there, calmly looking up at the man as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
Just before the scream broke out of the guard’s throat, a shadow slipped up behind him. It was Spence, the mint-loving Marine, and he struck like a viper. Somehow, he’d circled around the tent, as if anticipating the guard’s appearance. His right arm wrapped around the man’s face, pressing his sleeve against his mouth. The other hand came up in a flash, driving a long blade into the side of the guard’s throat.
In the flickering lamplight, Elna watched as Spence nearly severed the man’s head in a single fluid motion. The blade sank all the way to the hilt then swung outward, cutting through carotid and jugular and trachea so that a rush of blood and breath gushed out at Prig’s feet like water from a burst pipe.
She scarcely had time to react to this before he dragged the body backward into the tent, and soon the flickering lamplight went dark. When Spence reappeared, he was holding the man’s AK-47. He raised it over his head like a trophy.
“It was necessary,” he said in a whisper.
“Big risk. Let’s try to avoid guards from now on,” Prig replied, so quiet Elna barely made out the words.
Prig stepped over the large puddle of blood and kept going. Spence shrugged, fell in with the other Marines, and followed. They kicked dirt over the blood in passing.
“That was…intense,” Malin said in her ear.
Elna tried not to think about it, tried not to look at the big muddy patch, as she hurried after the Marines. As she passed the tent, she happened to glance to her right. The dying embers of a campfire illuminated a few smaller tents set in a circle nearby. Elna made eye contact with an old man who’d stuck his head out of the tent flap. Like the people she’d seen earlier, he wore a gray long-sleeve shirt and pants. She froze, anticipating his yelp, but instead, he just slipped quietly back into his tent.
Closer at hand, near the muddy drag trails where the guard had been pulled back inside, she saw a clothesline strung bet
ween two poles. Gray shirts and pants hung from two dozen clothespins, flapping gently in the night air. She dared to divert toward the clothesline, quickly grabbing a few shirts and pairs of pants, not bothering to check the sizes. Then she rushed to catch up to Prig and the Marines.
“Smart thinking,” Malin said.
The Marines had stopped behind another tent a few yards ahead. As Elna approached, she made a soft hissing sound, which caused Prig to look back at her. She held up the clothes. Judging by the grin on his face, he immediately understood. Most, if not all, of the civilians wore the same gray clothing now, some kind of makeshift uniform Rod must have recently implemented.
Elna dumped the clothes near Prig, and the Marines went through them. As it turned out, she’d managed to grab three shirts and three pairs of pants that were all fairly big. Prig handed one set to Elna, another set to Malin, and the final set to Archer.
“Suit up,” he mouthed, motioning for them to get dressed. And then he added, just barely audible, “Time for a bit of espionage.”
10
Selene peeled back the edge of the bandage as Dr. Ruzka checked the Marine’s blood pressure and temperature. The wounded man—Ant, they called him—was delirious, his eyes roaming around as if he were tracing lines on the featureless white ceiling overhead. He was flushed and sweaty, his hands grasping and twisting at the edges of the cot. Selene had done her best to cover the wound, but it was ugly and oozing, and any time she put pressure on it, he groaned in pain. Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, she slathered on some antibiotic ointment and applied a fresh bandage.
“I wish I had the means to do blood tests,” Dr. Ruzka said. “I’m worried he’s septic. Heck, I’d take him to my clinic if there was some way to get there.”
“We’re doing all we can,” Selene said.
The doctor bent down and gently patted the soldier on the chest. “Young man, you just keep fighting. We’re going to give you something for the pain, but you hang in there.”
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 57