He looked at her, but his eyes seemed unfocused, and he only gave her a confused frown. When she tried to give him a painkiller, he resisted her putting it in his mouth. Finally, she lifted his head, popped it between his teeth, and helped him down it with a cup of water.
Next, they checked on Cat, the other injured Marine. She was alert, her hands tucked behind her head, and her wound wasn’t nearly as bad. The bullet had sliced across her hip, but it seemed to be healing. When Dr. Ruzka asked how she was doing, she replied, “I’m feeling a lot better, Doc. When are the boys getting back?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Ruzka said. “By morning, hopefully.”
“Those morons,” Cat said. “They should’ve waited until I got better. They can’t do this without me, and anyway, I owe Golf a good smack in the head for getting caught like that.”
“I’ll be sure to pass the word along, if I get the chance,” the doctor said with a smile.
“You do that, Doc.”
Selene was constantly impressed with the doctor’s bedside manner. She was always engaging patients in conversation, keeping things light and hopeful, joking around when appropriate. By comparison, Selene felt weird and shy, never quite knew what to say, and was usually too focused on treatment to pay attention to what the patient was saying.
I need to learn some things from her, Selene thought.
“I’ll bring you something to eat,” Selene told Cat.
“I’ll take a chili dog and some Takis,” Cat said. “Fuego, preferably. Thanks, girl.”
Selene tried to laugh in response, but it just felt awkward.
Through all of this, Sniffy lay in the corner. His response to having so many strangers on the island had been to withdraw. He didn’t bark or threaten, as he had done with Garret. When Selene excused herself and hurried out of the room, heading through the guesthouse toward the lobby, Sniffy rose and padded after her.
These Marines intimidate me too, Sniffy, she thought. That’s why I’m even more awkward than usual. These are not my kind of people. Still, Elna left me in charge. I have to get over it.
The Marine with the impressive swimmer’s build, the one they called Fish, was sitting on the couch in the lobby, gazing into a crackling fire in the hearth. Selene forced herself to start a conversation with him.
“Hello, sir,” she said. “And how are you feeling this evening?”
“Better,” he replied. What a deep voice. Like the bellowing of a contrabassoon. “Wish I was with Prig and the others across the bay, but it is what it is.”
“Well, be sure and get plenty of rest,” Selene said. “We have fresh water in a pitcher in the dining room. Help yourself. It’s important to stay hydrated.”
“Hydrated,” Fish said, shaking his head. “More water is the last thing I want right now.”
Selene didn’t know how to respond to this comment. How did one joke around with such massive, scary people? After a couple of awkward seconds, she just nodded at him and headed outside to the veranda. She found Dr. Ruzka already there, seated at a table near the handrail with Norman and the Dulleses. They were all sipping tea and nibbling from a bowl of mixed berries—Selene was glad to see that they were eating some of the wild, indigenous fruit.
“I’m not a trauma surgeon,” Dr. Ruzka was saying to Norman. “There’s only so much I can do.”
“If you can help their man recover from his wound, it’d buy us a whole lot of goodwill with the Marines,” Norman said, taking a sip of tea. “That’s all I’m saying, Doc. They’re moving into the neighborhood, you know?”
“Well, we sent two of our most important people on their combat mission,” Dr. Ruzka muttered. “If that doesn’t buy us goodwill, nothing will.”
The Dulleses were sitting close, holding hands, and gazing off across the dark parking lot. A nearby oil lamp made the crags of their faces seem like canyons to Selene. She thought they looked sad, so she went and sat down next to them. Sniffy hopped up in her lap.
“Hey there, folks,” she said. “Are you doing okay this evening? Anything I can do for you?”
Joe Dulles seemed oblivious at first, as if he had no idea she was talking to him, but his wife slowly turned to look at Selene.
“We were just hoping things were going to be quiet on the island now,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Selene, but we’re just not cut out for all of this violent business. After Elna came back from the clinic and brought the doctor, we thought we were finally going to be okay, but now…” She shrugged sadly. “The fighting has come to us, and there’s nowhere else to go.”
Joe only shook his head. Whatever he was feeling, he seemed unwilling to share it.
“I know what you mean,” Selene said. “I’m sorry I can’t make it better.”
“Oh, honey, I don’t expect you to,” Rita said. “We’ll cope. Joe and I just find our own little quiet corner and mind our own business.”
And then, as if to prove her point, she turned and gazed off again into the darkness. Selene knew it wasn’t her fault, but somehow she felt responsible. She sat there in awkward silence for a few seconds, trying to find some comforting words that would make it all better.
“This too shall pass,” she said finally, though it felt kind of lame.
“Let’s hope,” Rita replied.
Norman pushed his chair back then and rose, finishing the last sip of tea and setting the cup down as he backed away. Selene assumed he was going to head inside, but he headed down to the parking lot instead.
“Where are you going?” she asked. “It’s dark out there.”
“I’m going to check on that boy down there,” he said over his shoulder. “Mac. He said he was going to head down and patrol the island in case any boats approached. I think he felt bad being left behind. Poor kid reminds me of my nephew—I haven’t seen him in so long. Anyway, Mac is all alone. Maybe he could use some company. Don’t worry. I know the way, even in the dark. I’ll let him know I’m coming so he doesn’t get startled.”
The last time Selene had seen Mac, the young Marine had been setting up some kind of defense on the causeway, stacking wood and rocks to form a makeshift wall. She briefly considered joining Norman, but as he disappeared into the darkening distance, she realized she didn’t like the idea of roaming the island at night, especially when a military operation was taking place just across the bay. Too creepy.
Instead, she picked up Sniffy and headed back inside, thinking she might check on the wounded again. In the lobby, she saw that Fish was gone, and Miriam and Chloe had taken his place on the couch. Miriam was quietly talking to the child as Selene stepped through the door, but as soon as they noticed her, they stopped speaking and turned away from her.
I’ll drag them out of their shells kicking and screaming, Selene thought. She felt an affinity for Miriam. It seemed like they had similar trauma, but if Miriam felt the same way, she hadn’t shown it.
Selene moved to the fireplace and sat down on the edge of the brick hearth. “Hello, friends. I’m making my rounds, checking on people. Is there anything I can do to help you this evening?”
At first, neither of them would look at her. Chloe buried her face against Miriam’s side, but then she peeked out with one eye and said, “Do you have any candy on this island?”
“We have lots and lots of fruit,” Selene said. “That’s nature’s candy.”
“Oh.” Chloe seemed deflated. “I wanted real candy.”
Selene decided not to give the little girl a speech about the importance of eating natural foods. It didn’t seem like the right time. Miriam met her gaze for a second then looked away, and an awkward silence descended on the room. Miriam was a lovely young woman, with long, wavy black hair and striking brown eyes, but Selene could read the trauma in her expression. She’d been through something awful.
She’ll never warm up to me, Selene thought. I don’t know these people, and I’m not sure how to talk to them. They certainly aren’t trying to help.
Salvation
came from an unusual source. A soft, hoarse voice speaking from the hallway.
“You can make a kind of candy out of fruit.” It was Daniel Cabello, shuffling down the hall with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
“You can?” Chloe said, looking at him with hopeful eyes.
“Sure,” he replied. “You make a fruit puree and spread it on a baking sheet, then you bake it, and it becomes like a fruit rollup.”
“Fruit leather,” Selene said. “That’s what it’s called.”
Chloe looked from Daniel to Selene. “Can we make some right now?”
“How about tomorrow?” Selene said. “You can help me pick out the berries and mash them up. It’ll be a lot of fun.”
“I’ll help too,” Daniel said.
Daniel’s involvement sealed the deal, and Chloe nodded her head. “For breakfast?” she asked.
“Sure, why not?” Selene replied.
She set Sniffy down and was surprised when the girl beckoned the dog with both hands. The little Bichon Frise ran to her like they were old friends, jumped up on the couch, and curled up on her lap.
He’s a good judge of character, Selene thought.
The little girl was petting the dog and smiling when she said, in that peculiar context-free way of young children, “You know, they won’t ever come back from the camp.”
Miriam jerked upright, clearly startled by the comment, and shushed her. “Don’t say such things. It’s not true. We made it out of there, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” Chloe said, “but they’re real mean to other soldiers. They tied that gang up and whipped them until they died. Remember?”
Miriam covered her face with her hands and said, “I’m sorry. I tell Chloe not to speak of these things anymore, but she doesn’t listen to me.”
“It’s okay,” Selene said. “Maybe it helps to talk about it.”
But Chloe shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. It feels really bad.”
11
The smallest of the gray shirts was still too big for Elna. These were clearly the clothes of a rather large man. The pants were worse, but they had a kind of string belt that could be cinched up tight. It looked ridiculous. She was like an overgrown waif, but it would have to do. Archer’s clothes fit snugly only because she left her Marine field uniform on underneath, though it made her seem bulky and weirdly shaped. Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t particularly fond of the new attire.
Only Malin fit in the clothes, though it wasn’t a particularly good look for him. The drab, ill-made clothes didn’t particularly look good on anyone, and Elna wondered if that wasn’t intentional, a way of making lowly people feel even lower. It seemed like the kind of thing Rod Smith would do.
As they were getting dressed, Prig and Spence stripped off the outer shirts of the uniforms, folded them inside-out to hide the patches, and buried them in the dirt behind a tent. Underneath, both men wore faded green t-shirts in a shade not all that different from the militia guards’ camo. From a distance, they might not draw a lot of attention. At least, Elna could hope.
Elna considered Malin and Archer. Something still wasn’t quite right, even with the camp clothes. They would stand out. At first, she couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Then it came to her. She reached out and dug her hands into the dirt, then ran her fingers through her hair. After that, she took additional dirt and smeared it all over her face and arms.
“People here sit around campfires constantly doing manual labor of one kind or another,” she said. “They’re dirty.”
“Good thinking,” Archer said, as she scooped up a handful of dirt and rubbed it into her face.
Malin followed suit, giving his beard a generous dusting of dirt and rocks, dragging his fingers through his sandy hair.
“To make this work, we have to walk like normal,” Prig said. “Just stroll along like the camp folk. Act like you belong here.”
“Yes,” Elna replied, “but remember the difference. Guards march around like they own the place, but civilians are traumatized.”
“Got it,” Prig said, then to Spence, he added, “I hope to God you left those damned mints behind. If you’ve got a pack stashed on you somewhere, leave them in your pocket. They’ll draw attention.”
Spence gave him a gape-mouthed look of mock offense. “I might’ve brought half a pack, and I might have wrapped it in plastic to keep it dry. Is that so bad, sergeant?”
“Not if you don’t pull it out. Get going.” Prig signaled the others to follow him.
“This is it,” he said. “Elna, keep me moving in the right direction.”
As a final touch to her costume, Elna dragged a lock of dusty hair forward to obscure much of her face. The camp was big enough now that running into Rod Smith would be an unusual stroke of bad luck, but she didn’t want to risk being recognized.
“Okay,” she said. “Act like you’re guarding us, maybe marching us somewhere to work. Try to avoid the campfires, stick to the shadowy places. That’s my suggestion. If you see the main guy—he has a silver star on his cap—try to keep your distance. Maybe he’ll be too busy to notice. As for the other guards, I think there are enough people here now that guards won’t know everyone, so they might not assume we’re strangers. Might not.”
“Smart thinking,” Prig said, holding his pistol at his side. “Let’s do this, folks.”
Elna took the lead, but she tried to walk in a slouch so it wouldn’t appear like she was leading. The camp dwellers were a dour, unhappy lot, so she fixed a miserable expression on her face, slumped her shoulders, and dragged her feet a bit as she walked. Beside her, Malin walked in a slight stoop, as if cowed by the guards behind him. She was impressed at his performance. He looked half his normal size just from the timid expression on his face.
She continued to skirt the edge of the camp, looking for an unlit and relatively empty path in. However, the camp had grown so much that it took a long time to move around the edge, and she couldn’t find exactly what she was looking for. Too many campfires, too many civilians up and about despite the hour, and she had to avoid the guards without looking like she was avoiding them.
Finally, as the night sky took on the very first hint of early morning light, she realized it was time to move. She stopped, intending to head straight into the heart of the camp, when she heard footsteps coming from beyond the next tent. Before she could react, a line of civilians appeared, moving with purpose out of the camp and into the open field to the north, toward a large pond on the other side of it. Some carried fishing poles, others carried wicker baskets. None bothered to look in Elna’s direction. Finally, a single guard appeared, rifle pointed at the civilian in the back of the line. He glanced briefly in their direction, and to Elna’s great relief, he didn’t react.
A bit of early morning fishing at gunpoint, Elna thought.
The guard’s casual reaction was promising, so she turned and headed directly into the camp. A few sleepy people were up and about, working on various tasks, but the camp was still mostly empty. The whole place had a dusty, dirty, bedraggled sadness hanging over it, and her skin crawled with every step, knowing that Rod Smith was somewhere on the grounds.
As they approached a campfire, she diverted to the left away from the light, taking a darker path. Suddenly, Malin clamped down on her arm and pulled her to a stop, then pointed at something on the ground near her feet. She had almost walked into a large bucket of water. Actually, there were a few buckets set here beside some machine parts. Breathing a sigh of relief, she started to move around it, but she caught herself. The buckets gave her an idea, something that would complete the costume.
She bent down and picked up the nearest bucket, handing it to Malin.
“Look like you’re delivering water at gunpoint,” she whispered. Then she grabbed a second bucket and handed it to Archer. The Marine nodded and wrapped her arms around the bucket, pressing it against her belly. Elna took a third bucket. “Now we fit right in.”
Prig leaned
in close to whisper. “We’ve been moving too slowly. The sun’ll be up in half an hour or so. We need to be out of this camp and on the beach by then. Let’s split up, so we can get this done faster. Elna, you come with me. We’re going after Golf. Malin will take Spence and Archer to the medical tent. Are you comfortable with that plan?”
In truth, Elna hated being separated from Malin, but standing in the middle of camp was not exactly the best time to discuss a change of plans. She looked at the lightening sky far to the east. The thought of being here when the sun rose made her heart race.
“Okay, let’s do it,” she said. “We need to move fast.”
Malin nodded, reached out, and briefly squeezed her hand.
“You heard her. Move fast,” Prig said to Spence. “Get it done. We’re running out of time. As soon as you get what you need, head back to the motorcycles. We’ll rendezvous there, just outside of the camp, but if you’re being chased, keep going, run and gun all the way to the beach.”
Spence and Archer nodded in agreement, then they set off, Malin keeping pace with them to point them in the direction of the medical tent. They quickly disappeared deeper into the camp. Just before Malin moved out of sight, Elna felt a twinge of fear. The absolute folly of this whole stupid mission was so clear to her in that moment that she felt profoundly stupid for going along with it.
Why did I let them put Malin back in danger? she wondered. What the heck was I thinking?
Prig tapped her on the shoulder and said, “We have to go. Any idea where we might find our prisoner?”
“I think so,” she replied. “Follow me.”
And despite the regret, the tingling fear, the twist in her stomach, she headed in a different direction than Malin, moving as fast as she dared while still trying to seem like a dour, defeated camp dweller.
12
Malin took a small bit of comfort in the fact that Elna was with Prig. The staff sergeant seemed competent and determined. Still, he hated to be parted from her. It was on him now to take the lead, which he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Elna had done such a good job of blending in, adopting the sad slouch of the camp dwellers. Malin tried, but he didn’t think he quite pulled it off.
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 58