“What can be happening over there?” he said. “My gosh, Elna, maybe we’re the luckiest people in the world being stuck on this island.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s true,” she said.
6
Malin paced through the vineyard rows, trying to stave off the white-hot anger burning in his belly. When he was out of sight of the guesthouse, he looked around to make sure no one had followed him. He appeared to be alone, so he started throwing punches in the air, cursing under his breath.
I never should have made Garret my best man. He weaseled his way into my good graces by playing nice, but now he shows his real face. Friends since college. Yeah, right. Fair-weather friend is more like it. He was always rude to me anyway. I just put up with it.
He refused to believe what Garret had said about Claire. No, Malin wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. If she’d had second thoughts about the wedding, she would have said something. Garret was just going for the chink in his armor.
Well, he’s not going to succeed, Malin said. Garret is just bitter. All of his relationships have failed, and he wants mine to fail.
A rumble of thunder cut through his thoughts. Dark clouds had gathered above the western horizon, and they seemed to be moving fast, carried on a swift ocean wind. As he watched them, Malin saw flashes of light moving deep within the storm. This was no autumn shower. This looked like a major storm.
Was it related to the EMP somehow? Or just nature’s way of rubbing it in? He didn’t know, but suddenly his anger at his best man seemed a little less important. Malin turned and started back through the vineyard rows, heading for the back door to the tasting room.
When he stepped inside, he found that all the guests had relocated there. Joe and Rita Dulles sat together at the bar, quietly chatting. Norman, seated in the corner, idly flipped through a Pasqualee Vineyard brochure. Garret was scowling at a glass of wine from the bar. Selene and her dog paced in front of the westward window, the dog whimpering and barking from time to time. Elna and her father were behind the bar organizing some of the canned food, as if preparing to cook a meal.
“You guys hear that thunder?” he said. He felt something tickling his temple, and when he reached up to brush it aside he realized it was his hair. I must look like a mess, he thought.
“Big storm coming,” George Pasqualee said. The old man was still trying to smile, but Malin could see the anxiety in his eyes.
Elna moved out from behind the bar. “We should gather wood for the fireplace in the lobby. It might get cold.”
She didn’t wait for anyone to volunteer, moving toward the back door herself. Malin found the woman a little hard to know. She’d proved friendly during their long walk to the drawbridge, but she wasn’t generous with words. Often, her eyes would squinch up, her lips press together, as if she were deep in thought, but she didn’t often share them.
Still, he felt more comfortable with her than with any of the other people on the island right now, so when she opened the back door, he followed.
“I’ll help,” he said, stepping outside.
Just before he shut the door behind them, Garret made some little sound, half-laugh and half-bark, and Malin had to bite his lip to keep from turning back and confronting him. Instead, he made sure the door shut a little louder than necessary.
“We should bring in enough to last a couple of days,” Elna said. “Never know how long the storm will last.”
“Agreed,” Malin replied, following her around the corner.
A wrought-iron firewood rack was set against the wall beside an old shed almost entirely full of split logs. Elna began gathering them up in her arms. As she did, Malin heard another rumble of thunder that seemed to go on for almost a full minute. He looked to the approaching storm, the dark clouds, roiling along the edges, swiftly consuming the sky. He could see a haze of rainfall on the ocean. As he watched, it swept up onto shore, darkening the rocks down by the lighthouse.
“We’re in for it,” he said.
As he said it, he caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye, a fleeting glimpse of something—of someone—moving through the heavy underbrush just down the slope from the guesthouse.
“Is that a person?” he wondered aloud. “Surely not. Tell me you saw that, Elna.”
Elna stepped up beside him, a stack of firewood in her arms. “I saw it, yeah,” she replied. “Couldn’t have been a person, though. Every guest is accounted for.”
“What’s the biggest kind of animal on this island?” he asked.
“Island foxes, I suppose,” she said, “but they’re pretty rare.”
Malin was tempted to call out to whoever it was, but the wall of rain was moving toward them. He turned and started picking up firewood as Elna headed back into the tasting room. By the time Malin stepped away from the firewood rack, the rain swept over him, cold and fierce. Shivering, he rushed to the back door. Elna held it open for him. He stepped inside, rain chasing him and puddling on the wood floor before Elna could get the door shut.
The howl of wind and rain against the building was so loud that he could barely hear himself think. He followed Elna across the room and down the short hallway to the rustic lobby, where a long, faux-leather couch was set in front of an enormous rock fireplace. They set the firewood on the hearth.
“Want to help me get the fire started?” Elna asked.
“Certainly,” he replied. Anything to avoid being in the same room as Garret.
They began stacking wood in the firebox. Elna reached in and opened the flue then began carefully arranging the wood with the help of a poker. She apparently had a very specific design in mind, so Malin moved back and sat on the edge of the rock hearth.
“Did we see someone running around outside or what?” he said.
“Unlikely,” she said, “but…maybe. Maybe the storm will drive them inside, and we’ll find out who it is. We do employ part-time seasonal workers, but none of them would be on the island at the moment…why would they be on the island?”
The rain was getting stronger—its loud roar echoed down the hall. Selene rushed into the lobby, wide-eyed and grimacing. She carried Sniffy in her arms, and both of them were freaking out. The dog was barking, and all the petting in the world didn’t help.
“You okay?” Malin asked, as she passed by.
“No, I’m not,” she replied, in a tone that made it clear she didn’t want to discuss it. She moved to one of the small windows beside the front door, peering out at the gray sheet of rain obscuring the veranda and parking lot.
Elna, apparently satisfied with the careful pyramid of split logs that she’d arranged, grabbed a box of fire starter sticks and a plastic lighter off the mantle. Malin, having nothing else to contribute, went to the couch and sat down, sinking into the deep cushions. The soft couch, combined with the white noise of rain, made him sleepy.
The other guests soon followed. Elna’s father led a procession comprised of Norman, the Dulleses, and Garret. Norman and the Dulleses sat with Malin on the couch, but Garret found a spot on the hearth. Malin glanced at him briefly, but his friend was busy glaring at the wood floor.
That’s how it’s going to be, I guess, Malin thought. Fine with me.
“Well…” George Pasqualee said, standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. “At least we don’t have to worry about the storm knocking out the power.”
Absolutely no one responded to this. Malin had to struggle not to groan. George Pasqualee tried a little too hard to keep things light and happy sometimes. In the background, Sniffy continued his incessant, muffled barking.
“That damn noisy dog,” Garret grumbled. “Where’s the duct tape?”
Malin ignored him, leaning back on the couch. A thought occurred to him. “You know, maybe we should try to collect some of this rainwater. We might need it for drinking later. You’ve got those barrels in the tasting room.”
“They’re just decorations,” Elna said. She’d lit th
e fire, and the flames were beginning to slowly spread. “They aren’t waterproof. Tomorrow, after the storm, we can walk to the winery next door and get some of the big barrels, but for now, why don’t we use a few big pots from the kitchen?” She pulled the fireplace screen shut and rose, turning to Malin. “Want to help?”
“Sure,” he said, though he was reluctant to leave the wonderful embrace of the thick couch cushions.
As they headed for the kitchen and dining room, Malin was pretty sure he heard his good buddy, Garret, make another little sound. He almost said something in response this time—Dude, keep your weird noises to yourself—but Elna was moving too fast.
They got some enormous pots from the kitchen cabinet and carried them to the front door. As soon as Elna opened the door, wind and rain blasted into the lobby. Selene whimpered and turned, moving into the corner as if to shield Sniffy.
They placed the pots on the walkway just beyond the cloth covering of the veranda.
“It’s not going to take long for these to fill up,” Elna said, shouting over her shoulder to be heard.
“Let’s hope they don’t float away in the flooding,” Malin replied.
In the lobby, the welcome mat was already soaked. Elna’s father was lighting candles in brass sconces on the walls, though the fire in the fireplace produced plenty of warm, flickering light.
This would all look and feel folksy, if we didn’t know the whole country is burning down, Malin thought.
“This isn’t so bad,” Norman said, pulling a small couch pillow into his lap and wrapping his arms around it. “It’s real nice in here. I could stand this for a while, you know? Sort of cozy.”
“I’m afraid I don’t agree,” Joe Dulles said, in his pinched, nasally voice. “It all feels quite ominous to me, knowing there’s darkness all around us and a howling wind beating against the roof. The fire in the fireplace is like the last light left in the whole world, and I can’t help but think about all the miles and miles and miles of cities gone dark.”
“Don’t even describe it, Joe,” Rita said. “I’m trying very hard not to think about our condition.”
Their conversation was rudely interrupted by a violent crash. Malin had stumbled forward, catching himself against a small table bearing a decorative vase of milk glass. The vase wobbled, but he managed to put an arm around it to keep it from falling. Selene shrieked like she’d been stabbed and frantically backed away from the front door, her dog scrambling to climb her shoulder. Shards of glass glittered on the floor.
“What was that?” he said.
It took a moment to notice the enormous tree branch lying at an angle across the jagged remains of the window. The branch was wrapped in blue cloth, and he realized it was the cloth cover from the veranda’s roof.
“Get away from the window, folks,” George Pasqualee said, shouting over the wind.
Selene clearly didn’t have to be told twice. She fled toward the hallway and huddled in the shadows there.
“Pop, we can’t leave it broken like that,” Elna said, wind blowing rain and hair into her face. “This is the only room with a fireplace.”
“Malin, Garret, there’s a storage shed out back,” George said. “I’ve got some plywood sheets in there. Bring a couple, and we’ll cover up the window. The door is outside, around the corner from the guesthouse. Hurry. Elna and I will clean up the broken glass.”
Old man, have you not been paying attention? Malin thought. Malin and Garret aren’t exactly getting along.
But he decided not to argue the point. The storm was forcing its way into the lobby with relentless fury, blasting rain all the way to the couch, and he really didn’t want that nice couch to get ruined. Without looking at his friend, he rushed through the lobby and down the hall to the tasting room.
“The supply closet is outside?” Garret said, coming up behind him.
“I’m afraid so,” Malin said.
When he opened the back door, cold rain immediately hit him in the face. He pushed outside, fighting through the bitter wind, and made his way to the shed he’d seen beside the firewood rack. When he looked back, he realized Garret was waiting at the back door, hiding behind the frame and shielding his face with one meaty hand.
Yeah, take care of yourself there, buddy, Malin thought, bitterly.
He rounded the corner, fighting all the way—the ground beneath his feet had turned to mush. Much of the island was obscured now behind sheets of rain and mist, but he glanced at the place where he’d seen movement earlier. If anyone was there now, they were getting drenched.
Opening the supply shed, he spotted the sheets of plywood stacked against the wall between two large metal shelves. He grabbed four of them, dragging them out of the shed and back toward the tasting room. Only when he got inside did Garret help, picking up one of the sheets, hoisting it above his head, and hurrying back to the lobby.
“Thanks, pal,” Malin muttered. “You’re a big help.”
If Garret heard, he didn’t react. In the lobby, Elna and George had swept away the glass, but they were working so close to the broken window that they’d gotten utterly drenched. Elna’s short-sleeve denim shirt was soaked, her dark hair plastered against her skull, but she didn’t complain. She just kept working. An admirable quality.
Garret set his sheet of plywood on the floor, but Malin leaned the rest of the stack against the broken window, blocking some of the rain. As he was doing that, George retrieved a hammer, nails, and a battery-operated drill. Elna retrieved a bunch of towels and began laying them out on the puddled floor.
“Here, I’ll take care of that part,” Garret said to George, plucking the drill out of his hand.
He lifted one of the boards and set the bottom edge on the window ledge. He pressed the drill tip against the edge of the plywood sheet and pulled the trigger. It gave a soft click, but the drill didn’t turn on. He shook it, as if that would help, and tried again.
“Damn thing got fried like everything else,” he shouted, flinging the drill onto the floor.
It hit one of the towels, and the plastic handle broke.
“Whoa, watch out,” George said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Garret said, stepping back. “The insides are all burned up anyway. It’s junk, just like every other electronic device. Might as well toss it all.”
As he backed away, Malin took his place. Taking the hammer from George, he went to work nailing the first plywood sheet in place. It covered the bottom half of the window, which was where the break had occurred, but rain was still ricocheting up over the top edge into the room. As he lifted a second sheet to cover the rest of the window, he happened to look out the window. The veranda was gray with wind and rain, but he saw movement just beyond the handrail. A distinct shadow dashed across the narrow strip of grass between the veranda and the parking lot. Malin leaned closer to the glass to try to make out what it was, but it was already gone.
Definitely not an island fox, he thought. But who would be crazy enough to run around the island in the howling rain?
Others came forward then to help him nail the second plywood sheet in place. Elna held the bottom corner, Norman held the top right, and George grabbed the top left. Selene even came out of the hallway, still clutching Sniffy tight, and pressed her fingertips against the edge.
“Thanks, guys,” he said, driving in the first nail. “Things go a lot smoother when we work together.”
After he secured the sheet, he realized the room had become quite dark. Faint light flickered on the walls, and he saw that the fire in the fireplace had gone out, blown to smithereens by the cold wind. Only a few candles in wall sconces continued to burn.
Too bad we’re in Northern California, he thought, feeling the cold damp bite through his jacket and shirt. I should’ve had my bachelor party on Catalina Island instead.
7
Elna’s right arm, still sore from her futile efforts at the drawbridge, had just began to tremble from the effort of pressing the plywood sheet
in place when Malin finished driving in the last nail. She was impressed with how helpful he was. He’d jumped up to do what needed to be done without a complaint or even an unhappy look.
“That should hold,” Elna said, stepping back and letting her arm fall. She massaged her shoulder.
As they stood admiring their handiwork, Elna heard a loud thud, as if another tree branch had come through the broken window and hit the plywood. She heard more of the window shatter behind the plywood.
“Are you kidding me?” Malin said. “Is every tree going to fall down?”
“Maybe we should add a second layer,” Elna said. “Just in case there—”
Before she could finish, there was a second, louder thud, and the bottom sheet of plywood pulled away from the window frame. Some of the nails ripped from the wall, others broke through the edge of the plywood. As Elna rushed forward and grabbed the sheet of wood, she squinted, expecting to get a faceful of rainwater. However, something seemed to be filling the broken window, some gray shape.
She started to push at the large piece of cloth that seemed to have broken loose from somewhere and gotten blown into the window. Then it moved, and she realized it was a person. He wore a gray hooded sweatshirt, which was utterly drenched from the rain. As he pushed through the broken window, the hood slid back to reveal a long, lean face. His face was scruffy, with a few days’ growth of whiskers on his cheeks and chin, and a long goatee hung from his pointed chin like an overgrown weed. A spiderweb tattoo went from the corner of his right eye to his sideburn.
“No, not you,” he said, locking eyes with Elna. “I’m not here for you.”
Before she could make sense of the situation, he put his left hand against her left shoulder and shoved her aside. She immediately lost her balance, falling onto her side.
“Dominic!” Selene shouted the name so intensely that her voice broke. Sniffy began to bark like mad. “What are you doing here?”
He rose to his hands and knees, peering about the room, seeking something. He had the hard eyes of bad experiences, dead as black rocks. The others watched him rise with varying degrees of confusion. Malin was closest to him, and he started to reach down, as if to help the man to his feet. Then he caught himself and stepped back.
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 6
