Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  Her face felt like it was on fire. She wasn’t sure what her expression looked like, but he grimaced at her.

  “Okay, look,” he said. “If you want to sneak up into your house from the back corridor and try to rescue your people, I won’t stop you. We’re setting charges in that tunnel. It needs to come down. Its very existence is too much of a risk. There’s no code on the door, just a latch. No, it all has to come down, but it’ll take us a little while to set the charges. Long enough for you and your friends to go into the wine cellar, and if you move fast, you can find your people and get back through before we’re ready to bring it down. Now, that’s the best I can do.”

  Spence and Cat were both looking at him with sour expressions on their faces. Clearly, Prig’s team members didn’t entirely agree with his decision. Prig noticed them looking and waved them off like they were bothersome gnats.

  “If that’s the best you can do, then so be it,” Elna said, speaking before the anger choked off the words. “We’ll rescue our own people and get back before you’re ready to bring the tunnel down.”

  “Elna, are you sure you want to do that?” Norman said.

  “I’m going with her,” Malin said. “We’ll get it done.”

  “I’m going, too,” Raymond said. “Miriam can watch Daniel for me. If we get in and out really fast, maybe they won’t even know we were there.”

  “Well, heck, I guess I have to go too then,” Norman said. “We might as well make this a team effort. We island people gotta stick together.”

  “No, that’s too many people,” Elna said. “A large group is more likely to be spotted. Norman, Raymond, thanks for the offer, but I’d rather you guys stayed here. Let Malin and me handle this. Two people can get in a lot easier.”

  “If you get caught by the mercenaries, you’ll be outnumbered,” Norman said.

  “Then we won’t get caught,” she replied. “I know my own house better than they do. Pop does too, and he’ll know the best places to hide.”

  Norman and Raymond looked like they wanted to argue with her more, but they didn’t.

  “Great,” Prig said. “It’s settled. Just don’t do anything crazy, Elna. Find your people ASAP and get out. The mercs probably won’t expect anyone to come from the wine cellar, so you’ve got that advantage. I’ll make sure you’re armed, and I’ll give you as much time as I can, but that tunnel’s coming down. Securing the bunker is priority one. Whatever you do, don’t let them get through the bunker door.”

  “I understand,” Elna said.

  “The backup generators running the lights don’t produce enough power to operate the comm system,” Prig said. “This is need to know information, but you need to know. We’re going to get the big generator up and running so we can power up and reboot the computer. We have to keep all enemies out of here until that happens, and it’s going to take time. I probably shouldn’t let you mount a rescue. I’m being too nice, but I figure I owe you one for your help in the camp. Please, Elna, please, don’t make me regret it.”

  “Nobody’s getting into this bunker,” she replied. “I’ll kill every merc on the island if I have to, but no one is getting in here. I promise.”

  He stared at her, as if judging her commitment, then nodded and said, “I believe you.”

  22

  Selene felt a weird skin-crawling sensation all the way up the back road, as if the impending danger was like a low current vibrating in the air around her. Her loose, flower-print skirt made it hard to run, so she finally gathered up the flowing cloth and lifted it above her knees. It was a stupid thing, volunteering to run back to the house, but she’d done it to keep Elna from doing it. She had people depending on her. Selene did too, but not in the same way.

  Plus, she had a pretty good idea what old George Pasqualee was doing. He’d been getting sentimental of late, digging old photo albums out of drawers and wandering from room to room. She thought perhaps it was his poor health that had put him in this mood. She assumed he’d wanted to take a few things with him before they left for the bunker and simply lost track of time.

  When she reached the top of the hill, she rushed past the water tank and the shed, headed for the back door. She’d tried to listen carefully all the way. Would she hear the militiamen when they landed on shore? Would she even know they were coming?

  Don’t think about it, she told herself. Just get George and hurry to the bunker.

  She opened the back door and stepped into the tasting room. It was quieter than usual in here—too quiet. All of the ordinary sounds that she’d gotten used to were gone. No crackling fire, no pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, no clicking of Sniffy’s claws on the wood floor, no quiet conversations.

  “George?” Her voice echoed down the hall.

  There was no immediate reply, but as she crossed the room, she heard a kind of jingling sound coming from somewhere around the kitchen. She followed the sound. It led her down the hall, through the kitchen, and to an open door beside the pantry. This, in turn, led into the family hallway, where George and Elna’s bedrooms were located, as well as one other unused room and a door into the makeshift hospital room.

  “George?” she called out again.

  “I’m coming,” he said. “Give me a minute here.”

  She followed his voice down the hallway and through a door. It was his bedroom, a quaint little space with a four-poster bed, an antique armoire, and a bunch of old paintings and faded photos hanging from the walls. George was standing in front of a small dresser near the foot of the bed, a cloth bag dangling from his right hand. He had the drawer open, and it appeared to be full of jewelry. By the looks of it, none of the jewelry was particularly valuable—lots of gold-plating, colored glass, and so on—but it all looked really old.

  “I just can’t make up my mind what to bring,” George said, picking up a copper-colored bracelet and stuffing into the bag. Mr. Pasqualee had gotten too thin, his vest hanging just a bit loosely from his shoulders. Selene had done her best to treat his condition, and he was taking midodrine, but he still seemed to be diminishing.

  “George, everyone left the guesthouse a long time ago,” Selene said. “They’re all inside the bunker by now. Didn’t you realize that?”

  He gave her a confused look, his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle. “I haven’t been looking around that long, have I? Just a few minutes. I figured someone would come and get me. I’m pretty sure I told Elna I wanted to grab a few things. Maybe she was distracted and didn’t hear me. She has so much to worry about all the time.” He grabbed a pair of silver earrings, wrapped them in a ribbon, and put them in the bag. “I want Elna to have some of these things. She didn’t really know her mother. It’s a shame. They’re so much alike.”

  “That’s nice, George, but we’d better go now.”

  She took his wrist and gently guided him away from the dresser. He came without resistance, shuffling toward the bedroom door. Selene reached back and shut the dresser door before walking out into the hallway.

  “I have a few pictures in here,” George said, holding up the bag. “There are a few more things I’d like to bring along, just in case we don’t make it back, but I guess we’re out of time.”

  “That’s right,” Selene replied. “We need to meet the others down at the bunker. Don’t worry. All of your stuff will be here when you come back.”

  They were moving down the family hall when she heard it—a sudden loud bang coming from elsewhere in the house. She heard it a second time, louder and more forceful. This time, she realized what it was—a door being forced open. Judging by the sound and distance, it was the back door to the tasting room.

  “Oh no, we’re too late,” she said, feeling a sudden choking terror. “George, they’re here! The enemies are here!”

  George thrust an arm out in front of her, as if to shield her. “I’m sorry. I wasted too much time. I didn’t mean to.”

  With the third bang, she heard the door crack and break. This was followed
immediately by harsh voices, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  “We have to hide,” Selene said. “What do we do?”

  George turn and pointed down the hall past his bedroom door where a small hatch was just visible in the floor against the wall.

  “The wine cellar,” he said. “It’s our best bet.”

  Selene could hear footsteps in the front hall, more voices, the clank of what she assumed were rifles.

  “Check every room.” A rough voice, loud and forceful.

  She rushed to the hatch, grabbed the little loop that served as a handle, and pulled it open. It swung up, revealing stone steps leading down into an utterly dark cellar. She waved George ahead of her, and he started down the stairs, though he had to move slowly to navigate them.

  “Don’t fall,” she said, as he wobbled on a step. “Careful now.”

  Slowly, he descended into the shadows and disappeared. Selene could hear footsteps moving all through the guesthouse above them, but she couldn’t tell where they were. Suddenly, she heard the rattle of a kitchen drawer being pulled open, the thump of someone knocking something over on the granite countertop.

  Too close, she thought, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  She turned and backed into the cellar, looking toward the kitchen door. It was slightly ajar, but she could only see a sliver: the side of the refrigerator, some of the center island, a bit of the stove. Suddenly, a shadow moved across the gap, and Selene had to bite her tongue to keep from gasping in surprise. Ducking into the cellar, she pulled the hatch shut behind her, but it was a heavy wooden door with sturdy metal hinges. As it closed, it made a brief but noticeable grinding sound. Men were talking in the kitchen, so she didn’t know if they heard it. She also didn’t wait to find out.

  Once the hatch was closed, she continued backing down the stairs into the absolute darkness. It felt cool down here, and it had a strong smell of old wood and stone. Reaching back, she felt for a wall, but her hand only closed on air. Suddenly, something clamped down on her wrist, and this time she uttered a little squeak of surprise.

  “It’s just me,” George said softly. “I know this place like the back of my hand. Let me guide you.”

  “Okay,” she replied.

  She allowed him to guide her deeper into the cellar, moving away from the hatch, but as she moved, she stepped carefully. After about ten steps, her shoulder brushed a hard edge, and she reached up to feel it. A wooden rack of some kind with many empty spaces. Another few steps, and she bumped against a stone wall, but George continued drawing her deeper. Eventually, he put his hand against her shoulder and gently pushed her into what seemed like a narrow alcove. Selene felt another wooden rack, then stone walls on three sides.

  “Duck down,” he said, close to her ear. “They won’t be able to see us in here unless they decide to step past the rack.”

  “What is this space?” she asked.

  “Just a little storage area in the back corner,” he replied. “I have a lot of nooks and crannies down here. I keep a lot of stuff in out of the way places. Rod Smith didn’t get all of my wine. Ha!”

  “Surely, they won’t—”

  She choked on her words as a loud rattling sound filled the cellar. She realized it was the hatch. Someone had grabbed it violently and opened it, causing it to bang against the wall. Then a light shone into the darkness, revealing the vast cellar before her. As George had said, they were in a small space behind one of the wooden racks, with only a few gaps to see through. The cellar itself was roughly rectangular with stone walls on four sides, various alcoves here and there, and a series of stone pillars running down the middle. Wine racks lined all of the walls. Most of them were empty, but she spied a few bottles here and there.

  The light came from a small LED flashlight shining along the floor beyond the pillars. As Selene pressed herself against the wall, George huddled behind her. She felt her heartbeat throbbing in her neck as she heard the sound of boots on the dusty stone floor—first one pair, then a second. Their breathing was deep and harsh.

  “Ah, man, it’s empty,” one of them said. “Look at all those wine racks, and nothing! What a waste. I thought this was a winery.”

  The sound of his voice sent a shiver down Selene’s spine. A violent man. A thug. Yes, she knew their type all too well. The tightness in every word that promised brutality. Selene felt old fears smothering her, pressing in on every side, and she reached back, fumbling around in the dark until George grabbed her hand. She clamped down tight, needing the human contact, needing the reassurance that she wasn’t alone.

  She saw the first man now as he passed between two of the pillars. He was huge, dressed all in black, with thick-soled boots and a rifle in his hands. He had a small LED flashlight stuck between the fingers of his left hand, and he shone it ahead of him as he crossed the room.

  “No, it’s not all empty,” said a second man. A reedy voice, thin and breathless, but still filled with the promise of violence. “Right there, look. There’s a bottle toward the back.”

  The first soldier rushed forward, the light wobbling back and forth. As it did, for one second, it shone through the rack directly in front of Selene, flooding their tiny alcove with light. She realized they weren’t as well hidden as she’d thought. The rack in front of them was full of holes, and the alcove wasn’t that deep. She tried to make herself even smaller, curling into a tight little ball, still clutching George’s hand for dear life.

  “It’s an old vintage,” the first soldier said. The bottle made a soft sighing sound as he pulled it off the rack. Selene saw him hold it up and shine the flashlight at it, revealing dark glass and darker wine inside. The soldier put his rifle over his shoulder and tucked the bottle in the crook of his arm. She saw his face clearly now. He had a head like an anvil, a face that looked like it had been smashed flat with a sledgehammer.

  “There are more of them,” the second soldier said. She only saw an arm and leg as he gestured through pillars, pointing across the room. “Look over there.”

  Selene realized he was pointing at the wine rack in front of the alcove, and she held her breath, ducking her head and narrowing her eyes.

  “Let’s get them all,” the first soldier said. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve had wine, real wine? It’s like finding a cache of diamonds, except who wants a cache of diamonds these days?”

  “Hey, that kind of stuff still has value,” the second soldier said. “I’d take a cache of diamonds.”

  Through the lowest gap in the wine rack, Selene saw the boots of the first soldier approaching. The LED light shone brightly, shifting back and forth through the gaps. Suddenly, he was there, right there, less than two feet away, separated from George and Selene only by the old wine rack. She heard the sound of a bottle being picked up, glass against wood, heard his fingers moving position as he turned it back and forth.

  “This is good stuff,” he said.

  The second soldier joined him. She saw two pairs of boots now directly in front of her. The men grew quiet, too quiet, all sounds ceasing except their deep breathing. The light was shining down through the gaps right into the alcove.

  Do they see us? Selene wondered, her heart pounding so fiercely now that she felt light-headed. They must see us. What do we do? What do we say to keep from being shot?

  She couldn’t let them kill Elna’s father. The guilt would chase her into her next life. No, somehow she had to save him. It seemed the only possible option was to surrender. If they were taken prisoner, at least there was a chance the Marines might rescue them later.

  Do it now, she told herself. Before it’s too late. If they find you first, they might shoot instinctively.

  Selene use a meditation technique to calm herself, narrowing her thoughts inwardly, focusing on her breathing, becoming aware of her own body. As she did, she felt her racing heart settle, felt the fear diminishing like dampened flames. Gradually, she got a hold of herself.

  Ok
ay, do it now, she told herself. Calmly announce your presence and surrender.

  But then she heard boots moving back across the room, the light turning away from her, shining along the walls and back toward the hatch. The two soldiers were laughing, wine bottles rattling in their arms. Then they were going up the stairs, and the deep darkness returned to the cellar. The hatch swung shut with a bang and a whoosh of air that she felt all the way across the room. A profound stillness and quiet gradually filled the cellar.

  Selene’s tenuous calm passed like a fleeting thought, and she felt utterly weak. She leaned against the wall beside her and took deep breaths.

  Did I almost just surrender? Was I out of my mind?

  “I guess they’re gone,” George said quietly.

  “Oh, gosh, Pop, they were right in front of us,” Selene said. She could barely get the words out. “I could have reached out and grabbed their boots. How did they not see us?”

  “I guess the wine got all their attention,” George replied. She felt him crawl past her, heard him bump against the wine rack. “It’s a darn good thing I had a few bottles left, but I hate that they took ’em.”

  “What do we do?” Selene said. “They’re searching the guesthouse. We can’t stay here, Pop. Eventually, they’ll come back down to look for more wine.”

  She heard a sudden loud crash from the kitchen, as if someone had just taken a whole drawer full of silverware and dumped it on the ground. This was followed by the muffled sound of raised voices. Strangely, the sound didn’t seem to be coming from the direction of the hatch but somewhere off to the right along the wall. Selene dared to crawl out of the alcove and move toward it.

  “What are they arguing about, I wonder,” she said.

  When she reached what seemed to be the source of the sound, she reached out and felt cold metal between two wine racks. After feeling around, she realized it was some kind of air vent set low on the stone wall. The vent was like the tinny speaker of an old phonograph, giving the voices upstairs a surreal quality. Selene made out one voice above all, a booming voice sharp as the blade of a filleting knife.