Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  It was Selene who helped her begin to see the island’s true potential. They had many hours to kill, so they sat in a circle, nibbled at their rations to make them last, and talked. Elna gave them the full story of her walk through the camp, describing everything she’d seen, but then they began to talk about the island. Selene, no doubt oppressed by the threat of Dominic, had been quiet for the last few days, but now she opened up. Elna found that she was actually quite chatty and could ramble at length about various esoteric subjects, but there was one subject in particular that seemed to dominate her thoughts.

  The catalyst was a comment from Elna. “I just wish we had a reliable source of food on the island, instead of trying to compete with sharks and sea lions for fish or trapping shrikes in cracker boxes.”

  At this Selene perked up and said, with more enthusiasm than she’d said just about anything since the EMP, “Elna, are you serious? That island is overflowing with food. It’s all over the place. The few times I walked around, I saw edible plants everywhere. It’s a paradise.”

  Elna almost thought she was joking. “If you love shrike meat, yes,” she replied, “and grapes, when they’re in season, but we’re going to have to work hard to expand the garden. It’ll need to be much larger to sustain even a tiny population. I already had some plans—”

  “No, no,” Selene said, cutting her off. “Forget the garden. We don’t have to grow a thing to have enough to eat. The island is already a garden. Don’t you remember when I brought those fruits in the other day? I found a ton of chicory, wild cherries, elderberries, mayapples, and wild herbs. There’s so much of it, it’d take weeks to catalog it all. It’s not the kind of stuff people are used to eating, so you might not recognize it. Who grows mayapples in their garden? Most people wouldn’t even identify it as food, but I do.”

  “Is any of that stuff edible?” Malin asked. “I mean, actually edible, not like Survivorman scraping something off the underside of a rotting log and suppressing his gag reflex long enough to swallow it. Can you make mayapple jelly, for example, or wild cherries jubilee.”

  Selene smiled and said, “Oh, Malin, you silly city boy. It’s all real food, common fruits and berries and herbs that just don’t happen to be commonly cultivated on a large scale.”

  “I’ve had chicory coffee before,” Norman said. “They drink it all the time in New Orleans, where my cousins live. To be honest, I find it a little bitter, but it’s not bad. Lots of people love it.”

  “Exactly,” Selene said. “I thrive in the outdoors. It’s where I feel at home. People eat such a homogenized and processed diet, they often don’t even know there are local fruits and vegetables growing all around them. They’re all eating the same cloned Cavendish bananas and mass-produced wax-covered apples, but the native tribes used to eat all of the local stuff: the wild herbs and roots and berries. It’s all still there. We can live off the land, Elna. Your island has everything you need. It’ll take a little bit of work to harvest, but it’s all there in super abundance.”

  As Selene’s words sank in, Elna felt mounting embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Selene. I remember when you brought those things into the guesthouse the other day, but somehow, I missed the significance. I guess I was too busy thinking about my projects.”

  She paused, hearing voices outside of the tent. Shadows moved back and forth along the bottom of the tent flap. One of the voices was definitely Rod, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. He sounded angry, but he was speaking quietly, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. She signaled the others to silence and rose, moving toward the tent flap, straining to make out his words.

  “Double up. Double up,” he said. “Around the clock. Make sure they have food and water. I don’t want any more complaints. Is that clear?” One of the soldiers said something that she didn’t catch, and he added, “Not here. Come with me. We need to discuss the matter privately.”

  Discuss what privately? The tone of his voice was troubling. This was a more severe Rod Smith—the dark side of Rod, as she thought of it.

  As they walked away, their shadows disappeared. Elna was still standing there when the tent flap opened, and a soldier stuck his head in. Suddenly, their faces were mere inches away from each other. She reared back.

  “Did you need something?” the soldier asked. He was young but had a hardness in his eyes. It was a different guard than before.

  “Yeah, bathroom,” she said. “Right away. Something I ate didn’t agree with me.”

  He hesitated a moment before pulling the tent flap aside. “Yeah, of course. I’ll accompany you.”

  Even as he was still speaking, she pushed past him, said, “It’s an emergency,” and hurried off. She looked about, spotted Rod and two soldiers moving through the camp. She didn’t want to look like she was following them, so she moved to cut them off.

  “Wait, ma’am,” the soldier said. “You’re supposed to wait.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “Diarrhea waits for no one! Don’t you get it?”

  She heard the soldier following after her, but she ducked behind a tent, took off running, turned behind another tent, and quickly lost him.

  “Ma’am,” he called again, his voice fading into the distance. “Please.”

  People were everywhere in the camp, but she tried not to draw attention to herself.

  Act like you belong here, she told herself. Act like you’re just going about your business.

  It was easier said than done, especially when she was specifically trying to follow someone without being spotted. She got a few hard stares along the way, but she managed to circle around and close in on Rod and his men. As they walked through the camp, they talked, and Elna attempted to get close enough to hear them.

  “He has wine-making abilities,” Rod said. “Do you know how important that will be in a world with no reliable refrigeration? Fermentation is one of the keys to survival. In a world with no power grid, most people are useless, so when you find someone who still knows how to make something, you hold on tight. I don’t care what we have to do to convince the guy to stay. I’d rather not use outright force—we want him to do his best work—but we need him here.”

  They stopped and entered a tent. This tent was larger than the others, constructed of heavy green canvas, and it had a large four-pointed gold star made of some kind of shiny material stitched above the tent flap. Though a group of soldiers were standing nearby, Elna slowed down and fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, as if trying to work out a loose thread. She could still hear Rod through a crack in the tent flap.

  “I’m saying I have no intention of letting them go,” he said. “Any of them. They are all able-bodied. Elna is fairly intelligent—not as smart as she thinks, of course. The men can do manual labor, and we’ll find a use for the hippie girl. Maybe she can help in the medical tent. She might know about herbal medicines or something. You men know me. I don’t let go of useful people. What do I keep saying? ‘Resources. It’s all about resources.’”

  A cold knot formed in Elna’s belly, and she had to bite her lip to keep from gasping.

  “Yes, I have plenty of use for each of them,” he continued. “Let me worry about how we keep them in the camp. Don’t jump the gun. I don’t want to hear about some hothead muttering threats. I’ll say the right thing at the right time, got it?”

  Elna realized the nearby soldiers were looking at her, so she picked up her pace and moved past the tent. She’d heard enough to make her sick, so she made her way back to her tent. When she got there, she spotted the soldier who had attempted to follow her. He pointed at her.

  “You there,” he said. “Where did you go? I told you I was going to escort you.”

  “Sometimes you just can’t wait,” she replied, patting her belly. “I feel a lot better now.” Before he could say anything else, she went inside the tent and pulled the tent flap shut.

  Malin, Selene, and Norman were staring at her, but she made her way across the tent and sat down on her
cot. Balling up her fist, she punched her own thigh hard enough to bruise.

  “Damn it,” she said.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “We have to leave. We have to get back to the island now. Right now.”

  “Why?” Selene asked. “What happened?”

  “It’s not about what happened,” Elna said. “It’s about what I heard.”

  Before Malin could react to this, sunlight spread across the room as the tent flap pulled back. A broad shadow moved into the light as an enormous figure shambled into the room. Elna recognized the silhouette.

  “Garret,” she said.

  He stumbled to the middle of the room and caught himself against a tent pole. His right arm was bandaged, wrapped, and splinted, and the glassy look in his eyes suggested he’d been given something for the pain.

  “Are you okay?” Selene asked.

  “I’ve been better,” he said. “I’ve been worse. But they gave me a pill. It helps with the pain.” He sounded a little like a bear making its first sounds after a season of hibernation.

  “You’re just in time,” Malin said. “We were about to discuss how we’re escaping this place and heading back to the island.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Garret said. “I’m gone for one day and you people turn into idiots.” He pushed off the tent pole with his shoulder and moved to the nearest cot. “You’re fools to leave this place. We’re safer here, and we have guaranteed food and water. Why live like primitives when you don’t have to?” He sat down on the cot. “I’m not leaving. Hell, no.”

  “You don’t think it’s a little…militaristic here?” Malin asked.

  “Who cares? Put me in a uniform, hand me a gun, and make me march. It’s worth it for food, water, and medicine. You’re all morons if you try to go back to the island.” He lay down on the cot. “But I guess that wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Malin asked.

  “It means here we’re surrounded by skilled craftsmen, and there’s law and order,” he said. “It means we don’t have to build a stupid aqueduct out of scraps and garbage just to get a drink of water. It means we’re not eating soup made of boiled sparrows and weeds. The only reason to go back to that stupid island is because of some misguided sentimentality. Let’s stay here, make ourselves useful, and survive.”

  Elna felt conflicted. Garret was right, after all. It was safer here. Was she going back to the island just to resist Rod’s authoritarian personality? If so, wasn’t that illogical?

  “No,” she said, after a moment. “The island is covered in food. Selene is right. Plus, we can trap shrimp and crabs just like the camp dwellers. I was working on the desalination process before we left the island. I think I’ve got it worked out. We’re safer over there, where we don’t have the first stirrings of some kind of tyrannical government forming around us.”

  “I’m not surprised that’s your response,” Garret said. “Pasqualee Vineyard is your family legacy. I’m sure it’s hard to let go. Plus, to be quite honest, you like making things more complicated than they need to be. I guess you enjoy the challenge. Who the hell knows? Personally, I prefer access to medical care and clean water.”

  Elna decided not to let his comment insult her. “Here’s the thing, Garret. If you knew for sure that you would have everything you need on the island—if you knew there would be plenty of food and clean water, maybe even medical supplies—wouldn’t you rather live independently over there than under the thumb of these paramilitary weirdos? I’ve only known you for a few days, but you don’t seem like the kind of man who enjoys being bossed around by self-appointed commanders like Rod Smith.”

  Garret was quiet a moment before answering. “If I knew for a fact? Maybe. But I don’t. And neither do you.”

  “But that’s just it,” she said. “I think I do. I think I’ve got it all figured out. With reliable sources of food and water, we can thrive on the island without the oppression of the camp.”

  “You’ve got it all figured out,” he muttered, sourly. “I guess the rest of you are going along with her?”

  “Well, if I had to choose, I’d rather have the option of strolling around the vineyard,” Norman said, “than sitting in this tent like a captive. They throw a big fit every time someone goes to the bathroom. Who wants to live like that?”

  As he was speaking, Elna became aware of a commotion outside. A kind of rumble was moving through the camp. Malin and Elna traded a look as she rose and went to the tent flap.

  What now? she wondered.

  She poked her head through the flap. In the distance, but moving closer, people seemed to be gathering around something. Elna realized it was the bicycle cart being pulled by two soldiers. A large wagon was being pulled by two more soldiers behind it. Both vehicles were piled high with wooden shipping crates, the kind the winery used to transport bottles of wine. The company logo—a stylized P with vines wrapped around it—was prominent.

  Pop practically emptied the cellar, she thought. That’s a lot more than just the Gold Label.

  She began anxiously wringing her hands, trying to drive away the anger that was building inside of her. This amount of wine was worth far more than the food and medicine the camp had provided. This wasn’t an exchange. This was looting.

  Pop appeared then, pushing through the crowd, looking sweaty and tired. He spotted Elna and made his way toward her as the big cache of Pasqualee Wine went in a different direction. Elna hugged her father briefly before ushering him into the tent.

  “They wanted it all,” he said, fanning his face with his hands. “Every bottle. I wasn’t going to argue with them.”

  “Of course, they did,” Elna said. “I think they want everything they can get their hands on.”

  Pop gave her a guilty look. She could see the silver rim of a small whiskey flask poking out of his shirt pocket. Did he intend to drink away his regret? “Principessa, did I make a mistake? I was just trying to help.”

  “You did what you had to,” she said. “They took advantage of you.”

  “Something tells me that’s what they do around here,” Malin said.

  Pop held up his hands—a gesture of defeat—so Elna hugged him again. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. We can make more wine next season, even without the seasonal workers.”

  “What do we do?” he said.

  “For now? Just rest, Pop. Come on.” She guided him to a nearby cot.

  We leave, she thought. We get back to the island, raise the drawbridges, and go on about our business out from under the “care” of my dim, dumb ex-boyfriend.

  She glanced at Garret and caught him looking at her with a rather unfriendly expression on his face.

  If we sneak out of here, will he report us?

  She didn’t know, but she had no choice.

  “I’m leaving the camp,” she announced to everyone. “As soon as I can figure out the best way to do it. I invite all of you to come with me, but you do what you think is best.”

  “I’m going,” Selene said instantly. “I hate this place. I want trees and hills and water. This camp atmosphere makes me sick.”

  “Good,” Elna said. She glanced at Garret. “No one has to leave. If you want to stay here, please stay. Just let everyone make their own decisions.”

  Garret scowled, but surprisingly, he said, “Let me think about it. Don’t rush me. It’s a big decision.”

  “I know, but we have to decide while we still can. Rod has plans for us all.”

  She gave a meaningful look to each person in the room. Norman and Selene nodded at her. Pop shook his head sadly, still clearly blaming himself. Malin had an anxious look on his face, as he bit his lower lip.

  “I’ll let you know when I’ve made up my mind,” Garret said, tucking his left hand behind his head and shutting his eyes. “Don’t rush me. This is my life. Going back to the island is stupid, no question about it, but I don’t know anyone in this camp. I’d hate to deprive you
people of my company.”

  There was a lot she wanted to say to that, but she let it go. For now.

  27

  Soldiers eventually wheeled the bicycles back into the tent. That made things a little easier. At least they had some form of transportation, but Elna kept thinking about the motorcycles. Those would be a lot faster than the bikes. They could cross the causeway in minutes instead of hours. While the tent flap was still open, Elna stepped in the way to prevent it from being closed, testing to see how the soldiers would react.

  There were two of them now guarding the tent, each positioned at a corner. Elna stood there in the afternoon sunlight, staring off across the camp, the tent flap leaning on her shoulder.

  “Can we help you?” one of the soldiers finally asked.

  “Sorry, I just wanted to get a little sun, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere. Is that okay?”

  She gave the young soldier a stern look, trying to seem commanding, but he only stared back blankly. After a moment he said, “It’s fine. Let us know if you need anything.”

  Malin moved up beside her. Yes, he clearly knew what she was up to. She didn’t have to say anything. Elna studied as much of the camp as she could see. In particular, she tried to see if she could chart a quick path to the motorcycles, but they were at the edge of the camp, well out of sight. Unfortunately, the tent they’d been assigned to was near the center of camp, and while there wasn’t a lot of activity in their immediate vicinity, the way out of camp led past a lot of people. More problematic, however, were the two guards standing immediately outside. How would they get everyone plus the bikes past them?

  “Okay, I’m good, thanks,” Elna said to the nearest guard.

  She stepped back into the tent and let the flap swing shut in front of her. When she turned, she found her father standing in front of her, digging into his shirt pocket.

  “I’m not just an old fool,” he said. “Nor am I merely a puppet who does what he’s told. I’m your father, and as your father I like to think through options and possibilities.”