Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  Malin cursed under his breath and turned away. “Well, there goes that idea.”

  After carrying their haul back to the tasting room, they made a second foray for supplies, this time following an old, unpaved road toward the lighthouse to the southwest. The terrain on the backside of the island heading down toward the western shore was rough and overgrown, and they had to pick their way along carefully. Selene wound up carrying Sniffy to keep the dog from rooting around constantly in the undergrowth.

  “There you go,” Norman said at one point. They were rounding a bend in the rough road, heading toward a rocky clearing when he gestured up at one of the nearby trees.

  Elna wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He was pointing at one of the coast live oaks, which were incredibly common on the island. It was a big, shrubby plant, and little gray birds were chirping in its branches.

  “What are we meant to see?” she asked.

  “Birds,” he said. “Lots of them. I wonder if they taste good?”

  Malin grimaced. “Dude, those are finches or something. They’re tiny.”

  “Not finches,” Norman said. “Loggerhead shrikes. I know my birds. They’re small, but they’ve got meat. We’d have to catch one and try it first; make sure it tastes okay.”

  Selene made a pained sound as she snorted. “God, I hope it doesn’t come to that. I have no problems eating meat that I buy in the grocery store, but I can’t imagine having to kill anything to survive.” She shivered. “There are plants on the island you can eat. I’d build a raft and try to make it to shore before I start eating wild birds.”

  “Well, you never know what you’ll do when you get hungry,” Norman said.

  Later, he pointed out a small rabbit bounding through the undergrowth.

  “There’s another thing with meat,” he said.

  “Easier than the birds,” Elna noted. “We could build rabbit traps using plastic jugs and sticks. I’ve read about it, but I never had a reason to try it.”

  “There you go,” Norman said. “Why, we could last a long time here if we had to, if we’re smart about it.”

  Selene grunted in response, clearly not okay with having to kill for her meal.

  They found another old building halfway down the slope, a rotting wooden shed on a ledge. When Elna’s father tried to open the door, the hinges pulled out of the frame.

  “My father must’ve built this,” he said. “Maybe my grandfather.”

  “How long y’all lived on this island?” Norman asked.

  “Four generations. My grandfather planted the first grapes and made the first bottles of wine.”

  Elna was amazed at how full the shed was, with crumbling old boxes stacked up everywhere. Shelves had lined the walls at one point, but they appeared to have collapsed, filling the spaces between boxes with junk. Elna and her father rooted around anyway, though Elna found the creaking of the walls disconcerting.

  “Grandpa used a lot more of the island,” she said.

  “Yeah, he had a dream to develop the whole island,” her father said. “It never quite worked out.”

  A metal box in the corner caught Elna’s eye. With its faded green color and weathered leather handle, it appeared to be a military footlocker. She unlatched it and worked the rusty lid open.

  “Jackpot,” she said.

  Inside, resting on a pile of moldering blankets were two pairs of binoculars.

  “These are in good condition,” she said, picking them up one at a time and putting the straps around her neck.

  Her father bent down beside her and reached into the trunk, folding back a blackened corner of the blanket. Underneath, he found an old brass spyglass. The leather wrapping had come undone, but the lenses seemed intact.

  “Well, look at that,” he said. “Seems like we’ve got a theme here.”

  “Maybe the shed was used, in part, to store equipment for a lookout post nearby,” Elna said, with a shrug. “I know there’s a bit of a ledge just west of the trees there. It gives a pretty clear view of the rocky shore.”

  “I think you’re onto something,” Norman said, drawing their attention back to the door. “Look what I found over here.” He gestured at a small telescope on a brass stand under an ancient, mold-spotted cloth. “This stuff would make a lot of money on eBay, you know? It’s got to be thirty, forty years old.”

  “More like fifty or sixty,” Elna noted, examining a pair of binoculars.

  “Well, at least we can stare at the distant shore and wish,” Malin grumbled.

  “This is definitely military gear,” Elna said, showing the others the manufacturer’s label beside the left eyepiece. It read St. Moritz Binoculars. “What do you think?”

  “Yeah, the US Army was on the island before your great-grandfather came here,” her father said, picking his way back through the shed. “They auctioned it off sometime after the Korean War. Some of these structures might have been built by them. I know they built the old stone lighthouse.”

  “Any weapons?” Malin asked.

  “Probably not,” Elna’s father said. “But let’s keep looking. What are you hoping for?”

  “Oh, you know,” Malin said, stepping aside to let him pass through the door. “An old bazooka we can fire toward the shore to signal for help. Maybe they’d send a boat.”

  Elna almost laughed as she followed her father out of the shed. “Doubt it. If the mainland lost power permanently like us, they’ll have enough problems of their own.”

  “Permanently?” Malin said. “Don’t say that. You sound like Garret.”

  Elna’s father wagged a finger at her, and she bit back an annoyed comment. How long were they going to pretend like this wasn’t a big deal? They were scouring the entire island for supplies. If it wasn’t clear to anyone that they were in this for a long, long time, then they just weren’t paying attention.

  As they resumed their march down the slope, Norman lugged the telescope over his shoulder and Pop used the telescope’s cloth covering as a makeshift bag to carry the spyglass and binoculars. They finally came within sight of the lighthouse. The dingy off-white tower rose from a rocky promontory on the southwest corner of the island. A few old military buildings were clustered around it, many of them being devoured by wildlife and slowly worn down by the salty air. Unfortunately, a high fence blocked the way. Though quite old, the fence was made of sturdy metal posts. It ran between two steep rock shelves, and the gate was held shut with a massive, rusted chain.

  “You guys ever been over there?” Norman asked, grabbing the bars of the locked gate.

  “No,” Elna replied, gazing through the bars. The fence was a good twelve feet tall or more, the bars set close enough together that there weren’t any good footholds. “I tried to climb the fence once when I was little, but I fell and skinned my knees.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Pop said, tugging at the rusty lock that held the chain shut.

  “I never told you,” Elna said. “I cleaned my own wounds and bandaged them.”

  “That sounds like you.” Pop let go of the lock and stepped back, considering it. “Well, folks, we’re not getting through here. I don’t think climbing is safe.”

  “There might be more tools and supplies in those buildings,” Norman said.

  “We’ll have to come back and cut the chain,” Pop said. “Maybe another day. I wonder if a pair of wire cutters would get through.”

  As her father was talking, Elna felt a strange shiver, like fingers dancing up her spine. It seemed to settle right between her shoulder blades, and she squirmed. The cause wasn’t her father’s words. No, this was something else, and, at first, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She turned, seeking the source, and her gaze tracked along the deep, shadowed line of trees just up the slope.

  “You feel it too?” Selene asked.

  Selene was standing to one side, hugging Sniffy tightly. The wind sweeping across the island caught her loose, flowery dress and swept it to one side.

  �
��I started feeling it as soon as we approached the fence,” Selene said.

  “Someone’s watching us,” Elna said, thinking aloud. Her father and Norman were still talking about cutting through the gate and Malin was staring off into the distance, so only Selene heard her. “That’s what it feels like.”

  She realized Sniffy was growling, squirming in Selene’s grasp. Who would be watching them? Had Garret roused from his drunken stupor and wandered after them? Possibly, but he wouldn’t stare at them from afar. What was the purpose?

  “Let’s head back,” Pop said. “We’ve found a few useful things. Let’s add them to our stockpile.”

  “None of this is going to get us off the island,” Malin said.

  “Maybe there’s a boat in there somewhere,” Norman said, gesturing through the gate. “An old Army raft or something.”

  Malin shook his head vigorously. “Can you imagine the shape an old raft would be in? Fifty years old, sitting in some building just rotting away in the salt air? No, I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Have you?” Pop asked. “About what?”

  “Tomorrow, I’m setting out across the causeway,” he said. “You guys are invited to come with me. We’ll take some food and water with us and hike the two miles to the nearest drawbridge. There might be a way to lower it manually. It’s worth a try. I need to try.”

  Everyone stared at him for a few seconds. Elna, still distracted by the weird feeling of being watched, nevertheless thought Malin’s idea was a good one.

  “And if we can reach the mainland, then what?” Pop asked.

  “If I can get to Claire, that’s where I’m going,” Malin said. “Otherwise, some of you could come with me, load up on supplies and return to the island…or just stay on the mainland. It’s up to you.”

  “It’s ten miles to the mainland,” Pop said.

  “Ten miles is nothing,” Malin said. “There’s got to be a way to get the drawbridges down. It’d be a stupid engineer who’d design a bridge that can’t be lowered manually when the power goes out.”

  “There are some stupid engineers in the world,” Norman said.

  “I’m going,” Malin said. “First thing in the morning, and whoever wants to come with me can come.”

  At first, nobody responded. Elna’s father was frowning, as Norman idly scratched the side of his head. Finally, Elna stepped forward.

  “I agree,” she said. “It’s worth a try. I’ll go.”

  4

  “Get it through your thick skull, bro. Reaching the mainland won’t solve anything,” Garret said, red-faced. “They’ve got the same problems there as we do here, multiplied by over 300 million people. You’ll never get to your fiancée, dude. It’s a waste of time, energy, and resources. The whole continent got fried like an egg. It’ll be a lawless wasteland in a matter of days.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Malin said, flapping a hand in his friend’s face. He hated when Garret got in one of these obnoxious moods. They usually wore off after a few hours, but this one seemed to have settled in for the long haul. “You’re trying to be funny, but nobody’s laughing. I have to at least try to get to my fiancée.”

  “She was waiting for you in Las Vegas. Do you have any idea what that place must be like right now? If there aren’t cannibal gangs roaming Fremont Street and blood-drinking cults claiming floors in the resort hotels by now, there soon will be.”

  “If you understood committed relationships, you’d agree with me.”

  “I understand a futile romantic gesture,” Garret said. “One that could get you killed. That’s what I understand. Is she really worth it?”

  Malin clenched his fists. “Did you just say that? Is she worth it?”

  “Yeah, it’s a fair question. Is she worth risking your life?”

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” Malin said, flipping off his friend with both hands. “That’s for you, Garret. That’s for you too.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow delusional,” Garret muttered.

  And this guy is supposed to be my best man, Malin thought bitterly.

  Elna Pasqualee was leaning against the handrail at the edge of the veranda, watching their exchange with what seemed like complete puzzlement. It made Garret’s belligerence all the more embarrassing. Most of the time, she seemed lost in thought, and even now, Malin could tell she was impatient, ready to get going. As the argument continued, she began rooting through her backpack, counting the water bottles and canned goods inside. She pulled out a small first aid kit, sifting through some tools, then slung the backpack over her shoulder. Malin couldn’t stand it any longer. He rose and walked away from Garret.

  “Let’s go,” he said, scowling. “There’s no reasoning with this guy.”

  Garret slunk down in a seat behind one of the tables. As he did, Sniffy began to bark incessantly from Selene’s lap.

  “You’ve got to stop that mutt from barking all the time,” he said. “It is driving me crazy. If he can’t be quiet, we’re going to have to deal with him, okay?”

  “You’re not doing anything to my dog,” Selene said, her voice managing to rise above a whisper. “He’s barking because you’re loud and rude. Sniffy doesn’t like men who…” Instead of finishing her thought, Selene rose from her seat and walked back into the building. “Forget it. Don’t threaten my dog.”

  George Pasqualee, watching the uncomfortable exchange from his place beside the door, looked like he was about to say something to Garret. Malin silently cheered him on. People rarely stood up to Garret when he was being boorish, which was a shame. But George’s smile faltered, then he shook his head and looked at Elna and Malin in turn.

  “We’ve never had to lower the bridges when the power went out,” he said. “I doubt it’ll be easy.”

  “There have to be manual controls,” Elna said. “Whoever designed the bridges must have known a scenario like this might arise. Not the EMP, of course, but people needing to leave the island during a long-term power loss.”

  He nodded. “There are controls inside the service buildings on the island side. Maybe you’ll figure something out. I don’t know. Either way, be careful out there.”

  “I will, Pop,” Elna said. “If we make it across, I’ll bring you something from the mainland. What would you like? What do you miss the most?”

  “A pizza,” he said. “From a local place, preferably family owned. Not some national chain. And I like it plain, none of those silly toppings like pepperoni or avocado.”

  “You got it,” she said. “Plain pizza from a local joint.”

  “No deep dish. Just normal pizza.”

  “Got it.”

  Elna returned his smile briefly and started down the path toward the parking lot. Still disgusted at Garret’s embarrassing behavior, Malin made a final grunt of disapproval—just loud enough that he knew the guy would hear it—and hurried to catch up to Elna. As he did, Garret gave a loud, strange sound. Malin glanced over her shoulder and saw his friend get up from his chair and start after them.

  “Oh, fine,” he said, loudly. “I’ll come with you. We might as well see what we can see.”

  Malin resisted the urge to shake his head as Garret’s clomping footfalls approached. It was better if Garret had something productive to do, but he saw a brief frown on Elna’s face as he fell in beside her. She turned her head slightly, and her long, jet-black hair quickly hid her frown.

  “I thought you said it was a dumb waste of time,” Malin said to Garret.

  “It is,” Garret replied, moving up beside him. “But maybe you’ll need my help. What else am I going to do? Sit up there on the veranda and sip tea with that old, white-haired couple? They don’t hardly talk to anybody but each other.”

  “Awful neighborly of you,” Malin said.

  The dead vehicles in the parking lot seemed to be taunting them. They’d attempted to start every vehicle, even the little ATV that was used for putting around the property. Nothing worked. Interior vehicle light
s wouldn’t come on. Garret, despite his grating personality, seemed to be right.

  “So…any idea when the causeway and bridges were built?” Malin asked Elna once they’d started down the winding road beyond the parking lot.

  Elna hesitated a moment before answering. “Well, it was here when my grandfather bought the island, so sometime around, or just after, the Korean War. I know they repaved the roads when I was a kid, but the bridges haven’t changed.”

  “Damn,” Malin muttered, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. The constant need to get off the island, to get to Vegas, burned in his guts as he was sick with worry. Every passing hour was another hour of no communication with Claire. He hated not knowing how she was doing. “Still, there’s got to be some way to lower the drawbridges.”

  “We’ve never had a reason to find out,” Elna said. “We’ve lost power before, but never for more than a day or so.”

  As they followed the winding path toward the rocky shore where the causeway began, Elna dug the spyglass out of her backpack and opened it. She wiped an oily smudge off the lens and put it to her eye, gazing across the water toward the shore. It was such a small spyglass Malin doubted she could see anything, but he was tempted to borrow it from her anyway. Maybe somehow, if he strained hard enough, if he wanted it badly enough, he would see the land and the world beyond.

  “Can’t see far enough,” Elna said, after a moment. “The Northern California coast is over there somewhere, but it’s too far, even with the spyglass. Plus, the water is rough, so there’s a bunch of mist in the way.”

  “Too bad,” Malin replied. They were just passing the storage shed near the bottom of the slope, and he started drifted into memory. He saw Claire’s art studio, a little concrete loft with her sculptures covering a dozen shelves. The room always had a distinct smell, a mix of paint and clay and canvas.

  I wish our last conversation had been more amicable, he thought, but we were both stressed out by the wedding plans.

  “I wish you could meet Claire, Elna,” he said. “She’s a high school art teacher, and she’s so talented. She makes these sculptures—man, I don’t know how it’s even possible—birds, mythological creatures, weird organic shapes made of wood or clay. Just looking at the raw materials, she can see what it’s going to become.”