Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  The lighthouse rose from the end of the rocky promontory like a dingy bone pointing skyward. As Elna made for the scrap room, Malin picked his way to the rocky ledge along the side of the lighthouse.

  The boat was close enough now to make out the terrified faces of its passengers. The man was bent over the back of the boat, gripping the tiller with both hands. He was a short, stocky gentleman, his black hair whipping wildly in the wind. He wore a battered old fisherman’s coat. The smaller figure, a boy of perhaps ten or eleven, huddled on deck, his arms wrapped in some ropes that were lashed to the safety line. Malin was pretty sure the two were related. The boy had sharp, dark features similar to the man’s. Malin guessed they were Asian or Latino.

  As the boat drew near the promontory, the boy briefly locked eyes with Malin in a look of terror. He wore a raincoat, but it was open, flapping back from his shoulders like a cape to reveal the soaked shirt beneath.

  “Hang on,” Malin shouted. “We’re going to try to help you.”

  But the wind ripped the words out of his mouth and sent them spiraling off into oblivion. The boat was approaching the rock wall at an angle, and the water along the base of the promontory was so shallow, Malin could see the sand. He was certain the small sloop would either smash into the rocks or run aground—possibly both—and then the relentless wind and waves would have their way.

  He started picking his way down to the water’s edge, when he heard Elna shout something, her words obliterated by the wind, and two large objects went sailing over the edge of the rock wall. He realized she’d tossed two large boat bumpers. They were attached to ropes, the ends of which she’d fastened to a sizable rock near the lighthouse wall.

  Her aim was impressive. The bumpers hit the rock wall, bounced, and came to rest at a spot very close to where the sloop was headed. As Malin climbed down to the water’s edge, she shouted again. This time, he barely made out the words.

  “Be careful, Malin! Don’t fall in!”

  You don’t have to tell me twice, Malin thought.

  The slick rocks were treacherous, and the path down was narrow. The soles of his shoes slid a bit with every step, so he moved low, dragging his fingers along the ground in case he had to grab hold suddenly. He watched as the boat slid up against the bumpers, grinding them against the rock wall with a bone-rattling sound. The force of the impact threw the child onto his hands and knees, and a wave shoved the stern of the boat upward, tossing the adult onto the deck.

  “Hold on tight!” Malin shouted, barely able to hear his own voice. “I’m coming.”

  As he reached the water’s edge, the water drove the bow of the boat into a sandbar. The starboard side came close enough to Malin that he could reach out and touch it. The boy looked at him, wide-eyed in fear. His mouth hung open as he gasped for breath. The poor kid seemed exhausted. How long had they been fighting the storm?

  “Don’t let go,” Malin called to him, as he started crawling across the slanted deck toward the rocks.

  Fortunately, the force of the water shoving the boat against the sand and bumpers served to pin it in place. It was wedged so firmly, Malin didn’t think even the storm would dislodge it now. As the kid clambered toward the back of the boat, Malin stepped onto the starboard gunwale, reached down, and grabbed him around the waist. He was a scrawny little guy, and a third of the weight might have been the water soaked into his clothing.

  “Get Dad,” the kid cried. “Get him! He almost went overboard a bunch of times.”

  “Okay, kid.” Malin set the boy on the rocky path behind him, gently nudging him away from the edge. “Hunker down right here, buddy, okay? I’ll help your dad.”

  The father had slid down into the cockpit. He reached up and grabbed a brass winch and tried to pull himself out. His hands slipped, and he toppled backward, just as a wave crashed over the stern of the boat. For a second, he disappeared behind a curtain of water and mist.

  Taking a moment to gather his courage, Malin leapt toward the deck. The toe of his sneaker caught the edge of a cleat, however, and he toppled forward. He landed hard on the deck, lost his breath, and slid into the growing pool of water sloshing about.

  Multiple voices were yelling at him now, the sounds fading in and out as he struggled to get to his feet. He spotted the father by the flapping plastic of his coat. He’d reached up and grabbed the winch again, and he hung there now, his whole body sagging from obvious exhaustion. Malin made his way toward the man.

  “Come on, friend,” he shouted. “Let’s get you off the boat. She’s not going anywhere.”

  “My son,” the man said over his shoulder, his face twisted in pain. “Help my son, please.”

  “Your boy’s safe.” Malin put an arm around the man’s shoulders. “It’s your turn. Come on.”

  The man let go of the winch and fell against Malin, who just managed to keep his footing. As he turned to guide the man toward the stern of the boat, another wave crashed over them. For one heart-stopping second, the whole world seemed to be made of roaring water. Then it fell upon them, driving Malin to his knees. He felt the water trying to pull the man out of his arms, and he tightened his grip.

  You can’t have him, Neptune, he thought. Stop throwing a tantrum.

  His own thought amused him, and he cackled madly as the wall of water fell away behind him. He took a deep breath while he could and lunged for the stern. The kid was huddled on the rocks there, soaked to the bone, but Elna was making her way down the path toward him, holding the dangling bumper rope for stability.

  Malin felt the father’s shallow breaths. The man was almost strengthless now, dead weight in his arms. Malin managed to lug him up to the gunwale then hoist him over onto the rocks. The man landed on his side, just as Elna reached them.

  Another wave crashed over the boat then, and Malin’s feet went out from under him. For a moment, he felt like he was being tossed in a washing machine, then he slammed into a hard surface and came to a tooth-jarring stop. He fumbled about until he felt a cold, metal surface. Grabbing on with both hands, he pulled himself close as the water surged past him.

  “Malin! Malin!”

  Elna’s voice came and went with the water. When the wave passed, he quickly swiped his face and looked toward the rocks. Salt stung his eyes and made it hard to keep them open, but he saw Elna holding the boy. The father was curled up on the rocky path near her feet. Above all, the great skeletal lighthouse rose like an ancient sentinel, watching and waiting to observe what the sea would do.

  3

  Malin spotted a loose rope roiling in the water near his feet, and he grabbed it. He couldn’t tell which bit of loose rigging it was, and he could only hope it was secured on the other end. Wrapping it firmly around his right forearm, he made his way back to the gunwale. The rope proved immediately useful as a smaller wave swept his feet out from under him again. He held the rope with both hands, and it pulled taut, the momentum swinging him against the rocks.

  It took all of his concentration just to hold on. His whole body trembled from the damp and cold.

  Okay, this sucks, he thought. I really hadn’t planned on drowning today.

  Another wave crashed over the stern. He braced himself for the impact, but suddenly, he felt hands grabbing him. He scrabbled against the rocks to try to help as he was hoisted out of the boat. He caught a brief glimpse of Elna and the boy pulling at him, then he collapsed on his stomach against the wet rocks.

  “Keep moving,” Elna said. “The waves are getting worse. We have to get above them.”

  He unwound the rope from his arm and rose, pressing himself against the rocky wall. The father was trying to stand up, and Malin stooped down to help him. As soon as he was up, Elna picked up the boy and carried him toward the lighthouse. Malin and the father started after them, each supporting the other.

  At the top of the rocky ledge, Malin sat down, sweeping his wet hair out of his face. The father collapsed beside him, shivering violently.

  “We made it,
” Malin said. “Not so sure about your boat, but the sea didn’t get us.”

  He gazed down at the boat. Actually, from this distance, the damage didn’t seem too bad. It was firmly stuck in the sand, tipped at an angle, and taking on water. Otherwise, the hull appeared to be intact. The mainsail was torn, of course, but that could be patched. Even the waves didn’t look as bad from up here.

  “Man, I thought we were in a tsunami down there,” he said.

  “Malin, let’s get inside,” Elna said.

  He groaned and picked himself up. The father had flopped onto his back, but Malin grabbed his arm and tugged him to his feet.

  “Come on, friend. Let’s get out of the wind.”

  Elna was already moving back to the guardhouse, the kid latched onto her neck like a wide-eyed barnacle. Malin started after her, one arm against the father’s back to keep him moving. The man was muttering something under his breath, and Malin finally leaned in close to make it out.

  “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it,” he said, over and over.

  “Hang in there,” Malin said, patting him on the back. “You made it. The ocean didn’t get you this time.”

  Elna led them inside the little brick building at the base of the lighthouse. Half the interior was filled with carefully stacked scraps from the military buildings. The other half was just a bare wood floor that looked about a thousand years old. A musty smell filled the dark space.

  Last through the door, Malin pushed it shut behind him and slid down onto the floor with a loud sigh.

  “That was a little more excitement than I wanted on a Tuesday afternoon,” he said.

  “Is it Tuesday?” the father replied. He had crawled into the corner, and his son curled up beside him, clutching his father’s coat with both hands.

  “Actually, I’m not sure,” Malin said.

  “It’s Wednesday,” Elna said, trying to wring water out of the bottom of her denim shirt. “But it doesn’t much matter here on the island…or, well, anywhere.”

  She rooted around in the scrap piles and found an old wool Army blanket. It was a grungy-looking thing, but the man gladly accepted it and wrapped it around himself and his son.

  “Thank you very much for helping us,” the man said. “I didn’t think we would survive.”

  “I assume you didn’t sail all the way across the Pacific,” Malin said. “What’s your story?”

  The father and son traded a look. A sadness seemed to pass over their faces before the father cleared his throat and spoke.

  “No, we didn’t come from across the Pacific,” he said. “My name is Raymond Cabello, and this is my son, Daniel. I didn’t mean to go that far out into the ocean. It felt like the current just took us, and then the storm drove us back.”

  Looking at the boy this close, without the wind and rain blasting in his face, Malin wondered if there weren’t something wrong with him. He seemed unwell. He had black hair and green eyes like his father, but he was too thin and his skin had a sickly tinge to it. Malin was tempted to ask if he was sick, but Raymond was in the middle of his story. Elna found a second Army blanket and spread it out on the floor nearby, sitting down on it.

  I guess we’re just hanging out here for a while, Malin thought, dreaming wistfully about a warm fire in the fireplace in the guesthouse lobby.

  “We flew from Los Angeles to Sacramento,” Raymond said. His voice was so scratchy, Malin desperately wanted to give the poor guy a nice hot cup of tea. Selene made a few decent teas out of leaves she foraged on the island. “This was before the power went out everywhere. Daniel has a medical condition, you see, and there’s not much they can do for him. The doctor sent us to a specialty clinic, which is in Manchester. We were supposed to take a charter flight from Sacramento, but then it happened.”

  “The EMP,” Elna said.

  Raymond nodded. “It was so bad in Sacramento. You have no idea. When people heard it was missiles from North Korea, they all went crazy, and later, when we learned the power grid was actually destroyed…well, that’s when it got bad. Really bad.” He shook his head and stared at the floor, as if remembering things too terrible to recount.

  “Dad, don’t talk about it,” the boy said.

  “I’m not,” Raymond said, patting his son on the head. “Anyway, we found an abandoned pickup truck that worked, so we drove to the coast. I would have gone all the way to Manchester, but the road wasn’t safe. Roaming gangs, militias, crazy people everywhere. They’re robbing vehicles at checkpoints on the highway. Petaluma was like a war zone. Bodies in ditches…”

  “Dad, I said don’t,” Daniel whined.

  “I’m not going into detail.” Raymond hugged his son. “But they need to understand. Finally, we made it to the coast, but by that point we were way down south by Bodega Bay, so we took a boat and tried to sail. It seemed safer being on the water, and I thought I could follow the coastline.”

  Malin almost asked where he got the boat. It seemed unlikely that he’d stashed it in Bodega Bay just in case the world ended.

  Probably best to leave it alone, he thought. People do what they have to do to survive.

  “I tried to stay in sight of land,” Raymond continued. “I’m a fisherman by trade, but I’m usually just a passenger on a company boat. Still, I know what I’m doing. Well…I thought I knew what I was doing.” He shrugged and shook his head. “The current dragged us out to sea. I couldn’t stop it. I told Daniel, ‘I guess we’re visiting Tokyo, whether we want to or not.’”

  “At least they have power in Tokyo,” Daniel muttered, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Elna said.

  “And anime,” Daniel added. “Naruto.”

  “Anyway, we drifted out of sight of the land, and I couldn’t do nothing about it,” Raymond said. “Then the storm came up, and it started shoving us right back to the coast, and here we are.”

  Elna and Malin traded a look. He could read the concern in her gaze. She wasn’t without compassion, but she was worried about having more mouths to feed. She was also worried about something else, as her next question made clear.

  “Pardon me for asking, Raymond, but what sort of medical condition does your son have?”

  It seemed too forward to Malin, and he repressed an urge to wince.

  I guess the HIPAA law went right out the window with the EMP, he thought, sarcastically.

  “It’s in my blood,” Daniel said. “Doctor Haws says it’s really rare.”

  “Paroxysmal Nocturnal Hemoglobinuria,” Raymond said, carefully pronouncing each word as if he’d memorized them. “That’s what it’s called. At the Manchester clinic, they were going to try an experimental drug—something called Formula 7351—but I don’t know if that’s an option now. We were hoping for a bone marrow transplant. His mother’s side of the family would make the best match, but I’m not in touch with any of them. I don’t know what we do now.”

  Elna glanced at Malin, bit her lip, and said, “Is it contagious?”

  Raymond shook his head. “Oh, no, no, certainly not. It is a genetic condition.”

  “Is it…?” Elna left her second question hanging, but Malin had a pretty good idea of what she meant to ask. Is it life-threatening?

  “We have to leave as soon as we can,” Raymond said. “We have to see if the clinic is still open. Maybe not, but we have to know for sure, or at least get to the mainland to a hospital. Daniel is already due at the clinic for his first round of treatment. If you can help me patch up the boat…”

  “You can’t go out in the storm,” Malin said. “You barely made it ashore.”

  “We’ll figure out what to do about your boat later,” Elna said. “Let’s get you two to the guesthouse. We have food and water there.”

  Raymond heaved a massive sigh. “Can we just rest here for a bit. An hour or so? I’ve never felt so tired in my whole life. I don’t think I can walk much farther.”

  Elna hesitated a moment before she said
, “I guess that’s fine. Maybe it’s better to wait for a lull in the storm anyway. At least I patched the holes in the guardhouse roof a few days ago. We’ll be nice and dry in here.”

  And with that, she got up and pretended to rummage through the scrap pile, muttering under her breath.

  The guardhouse roof had a drip edge that was just wide enough to allow Malin and Elna to stand outside without getting drenched. It helped that the wind was blowing the rain at an angle away from the door. Inside, Raymond and Daniel were sound asleep under the two old Army blankets. Because of the biting cold, Malin moved in close to Elna and finally put an arm around her, which she accepted with a brief but troubled smile.

  The rain came in off the ocean in great sheets that swept over the island as the clouds blotted out the sun and turned the whole world gray. Malin watched the trees swaying in rhythmic patterns along the gradual slope that led up to the vineyard.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, after a minute or two of silence had passed between them.

  “Oh?” Elna replied, looking at him with one eyebrow going up. “Do tell.”

  “You’re worried about having more mouths to feed,” he said, “and you’re worried about that kid’s medical condition.”

  “Yes, and yes.” She swept her wet hair back from her forehead, her lips momentarily pursed in thought. “Food and water are scarce enough as it is. I don’t know about Hemoglobi-whatever-it’s-called, but if the kid is headed for a medical emergency, we may not be able to help him. Selene’s herbal remedies can only do so much.”

  “So when the storm passes, we patch up the boat and send them on their way,” Malin said. “Point them in the general direction of Manchester and wish them well. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  She dragged her fingers through her hair and made a soft, wordless sound of frustration. “How can I do that and feel good about it? The poor boy can’t be more than ten years old, and the mainland is crawling with hostile militia. Who knows what the hell’s going on in Manchester? Oh, gosh, Malin, more people and more problems.”