“Where can you get tulsi leaves?” Elna asked.
“The Indian subcontinent, mostly,” Selene said, “or an Asian supermarket. It’s also called holy basil. I’m afraid our only option is to treat his condition with diet. Small meals throughout the day, nice and salty, with plenty of fluids. Got that, George?”
“Got it,” he replied.
Elna rose, forcing Malin’s hand back, and stepped away from the couch. She walked over to the fireplace, where the last embers of a fire still glowed.
“Principessa, I’m sorry,” her father said.
“A change in diet is not a permanent solution,” she said, waving off the apology. Sorry didn’t fix anything. Only solutions mattered. “If your blood pressure drops too low, you’re in big trouble. Besides the risk of passing out and falling, you could do damage to your heart or brain. Anyway, we’ll do what we can. I’ve been rationing water, so we’ll double your ration.”
“I will be very careful not to fall,” he said.
“Good.”
She turned to face the room. Selene knelt beside George’s head, Sniffy curled on the floor next to her. Malin and Norman sat near his feet. The Dulleses stood behind the couch, holding each other. Raymond and Daniel stood to one side.
“Well, I’m not going to let my father die from a perfectly treatable condition,” she said, hands on her hips. “One of us will have to go with Raymond and try to find more midodrine.”
The whole room seemed to gasp at once, except for Raymond and Daniel. Malin rose from the couch and took a step toward her.
“Malin, you know I’m right,” she said. “What’s the point of acting shocked? We’re not going to wait until it’s too late. Anyway, I was considering asking Raymond to get us some medicine when he reached the clinic, so I’ve been thinking about this.” She turned to Raymond. “Mr. Cabello, will you let me come with you?”
Raymond nodded immediately, as if the thought of being accompanied actually made him feel better. “Yes, if we get the boat fixed, I believe we could sail there and back in…a week, at most. It might help to bring another person. We could use the help. That’s one of the reasons Danny and I got in trouble. I couldn’t handle the sails alone.”
“I’ll go,” Malin said. “Elna, you should stay here.”
Elna felt a moment of paralyzing conflict. Was she really going to leave her father on the island and sail off to Manchester? What if she never came back? Would the islanders survive without her? She’d set up a pretty good system for collecting and desalinating water, growing food, hunting, and fishing. As long as the islanders kept doing their daily tasks, they would be fine, but still, Elna felt an obligation to keep an eye on things.
Maybe Malin should be the one to go, she thought. But how could she ask that of him?
“Damn,” Elna muttered.
“Elna, I’m sorry,” her father said.
She shook her head. “Nope, no need to apologize. It is what it is, Pop. I’m going. Malin…you stay on the island and keep everyone safe.”
Malin shook his head. “I’m going with you. You’ll need my help. We’ll be Raymond’s crew. Norman and Selene can hold down the fort while we’re gone. Right, guys?”
Norman and Selene traded a look.
“If we have to,” Norman said. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Malin approached Elna. For a moment, she had the strange thought that he was going to grab her and try to restrain her. Instead, he unclipped the holster for the Ruger and brought it to Selene.
“I’m entrusting this to you,” he said. “You might need it.”
She seemed reluctant to take it. “We haven’t had any trouble from the mainlanders in weeks. Not a peep since we fled their camp and raised the drawbridges.”
“Take the gun,” Elna said. “Please. We need to be prepared for anything.”
Finally, Selene reached up and grabbed the holster, drawing it into her lap.
“Okay, let’s get the boat patched up,” Elna said. “Malin, do you think you can work on the hull? I have something else I need to attend to.”
“Sure,” he replied. “Raymond, let’s go.”
He left the room. Raymond gave his son a brief hug and went after him. When they were gone, Elna beckoned to Selene.
“Selene,” she said. “Come with me. There’s something you and I need to work on while they’re repairing the boat.”
Elna started down the hallway as Selene hurried after her.
“Where are we going?”
Elna hurried through the tasting room and stepped outside into the rain-soaked vineyard. Then she turned to face Selene.
“Elna, what is it?” Selene asked.
When Elna went into a fighting stance, Selene flinched, and Sniffy barked.
“I took self-defense and judo courses in college,” Elna said. “We don’t have much time, but I want to teach you a few things before we leave. It might come in handy.”
“Is all of this necessary?” Selene said, laughing uncomfortably. “We haven’t heard a peep out of Dominic. I think the mainlanders are settled in and satisfied over in their camp.”
“You’re probably right,” Elna replied, “but on the off chance that Dominic decides to show up while I’m gone, I want you to be ready to kick his ass. Got it?”
This made her smile. She set Sniffy down at her feet and tried to adopt Elna’s fighting stance. It didn’t look quite right. A karate hippie with a sisal scrunchie in her hair made for an amusing picture, but Elna beckoned her.
“Let’s get started,” she said. “Come at me.”
6
Malin stood with Raymond on the rocky ledge, gazing down at the boat. It was still firmly stuck in the sand, the stern raised to the sky as if the Betty Lynn were humbly bowing to the island.
Well, this has taken a turn for the worse, Malin thought, furiously chewing on his lower lip. Were they really going to take a boat to the mainland? It seemed incredibly foolish, especially after their experience at Rod Smith’s camp. But what could they do? Elna would never forgive herself if she let her father die from a treatable medical condition, and Malin knew he would never talk her out of it. Still, he was tempted to convince her to let him go alone. I should go. She should stay here. The islanders need her more than they need me.
“I am sorry about your father-in-law,” Raymond said, clapping him on the back.
Malin shook his head, flustered. “Oh, no, no, he’s not my father-in-law. He’s the owner of the vineyard. That’s all.”
Raymond gave him a surprised look, his green eyes probing Malin’s face. “Really? I thought you and that lady…you seem like you’re…”
“Yeah, I get it,” Malin said. “We’re friends. Or maybe a little more than friends. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what we are. She’s so busy these days.” He grew silent. He didn’t need to discuss his relationship with Elna with a stranger.
Raymond’s look of surprise became a sad little smile of compassion—or pity. Malin turned quickly and went to their supplies, emptying the sacks and backpacks on the ground. He was impressed with the wide array of things Elna had shoved into her backpack. Included among the items were dual tubes of epoxy and a hand drill. He set them to one side.
“These will fix the crack in the hull,” he said. “I think if we drill holes on either end, it’ll keep the crack from spreading, and then we just fill it all in with epoxy. Easy peasy.”
In another sack he found some industrial thread—no doubt used to repair the tarps that covered the vines in bad weather—and a few large sewing needles in a small plastic pouch. He set these aside as well.
“Well, there you go, Raymond,” he said. “We have everything we need. Now, if we can just get the boat out of the sand…but let’s worry about that later. Repairs first.”
Raymond reached out and grabbed his arm, a serious look on his face. “Sir, I am truly grateful. I have not met so many friendly people since we fled Sacramento. I wish I could repay you somehow. I will repay you, if I can
figure out a way to do so.”
“No need,” Malin replied. “If you’ll let me tag along to the clinic, we’ll consider it repayment enough.”
Malin put their chosen tools in an empty bag and led the way down, using the rope he’d tied off earlier as a guide. He hopped the gunwale and slid down the deck toward the bow of the ship. Grabbing a nearby rope, he leaned over the starboard side, looking for the damage.
“We’ve got a problem here, Raymond,” he called over his shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Come and see.” When Raymond approached, Malin showed him the crack in the hull. The space between the starboard hull and the rock wall was only about four inches wide, not nearly enough room to repair the damage. Malin didn’t see any way to get the hand drill in there.
“So, we have to move the boat?” Raymond said.
“I’m afraid so. Somehow, we have to free it from the sand and push it away from the rocks.”
“How will we do that?”
With a groan, Malin sat down. “I’d say let’s get out and push, but somehow, I doubt that’ll work. I don’t suppose we can wait for high tide.”
“With my son’s condition, I would like to set sail as soon as possible,” Raymond said. “Sorry, my friend. I already wasted one whole night, and he is worse this morning.”
“I get it.” Malin rose with a grunt. “Okay, then we just have to figure it out.”
They clambered out of the boat and returned to their tools. Malin rooted through the tools, trying to come up with a way to move the boat without damaging it—or them.
“Maybe this?” he said, holding up a small crowbar.
“I don’t think so,” Raymond replied. “The sharp end might break something. Maybe we can tie ropes and pull it?”
Malin tried to imagine the two of them pulling the boat by ropes like a primitive portage crew.
It would almost be easier to lower the drawbridges and ride our weird little bicycle contraption down the coast, he thought. Not safer, but easier.
“I’m kind of at a loss here, Raymond,” Malin said, picking through the tools again. A hammer; a couple of screwdrivers; a crowbar; a hand drill; epoxy; a sewing kit; lots of scrap metal, wood, and plastic; and a length of nylon rope.
“One of us push, and one of us pull?” Raymond suggested, shrugging as if he knew it was a silly suggestion.
“Maybe we just have to get more people down here,” Malin replied. “If everyone pulls, we might be able to get it out. Are you sure we can’t wait for high tide?”
“Maybe it will sink if we wait,” Raymond said. “Maybe the water will flow over, you know?”
Malin hung his head. “Right, right.”
Something hard and heavy slammed into the rocks beside him. It rang out like a hammer blow, echoing off the lighthouse wall. Startled, Malin dropped onto his side and shuffled away. At first, he had the crazy thought that a stone had fallen out of the lighthouse and crashed down nearby, but when he turned to look, he saw a small, familiar object lying near the tools.
A car jack.
His gaze rose from the jack to the person who had tossed it. Elna stood nearby, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, yet another bag hanging from her hands.
“Sorry if I scared you,” she said, out of breath.
“What have you been up to?” Malin asked.
“Teaching Selene how to kick Dominic’s ass,” she replied, dabbing her forehead with the hem of her shirt. “Just in case the opportunity arises. But it occurred to me that you might need this.” She pointed at the jack. “Took it from one of the dead cars in the parking lot. We’ll need it to move the boat.”
“Will it work?” he asked.
“I’ve got it all worked out in my head,” she said.
Way ahead of me, he thought, as she stooped down and picked up the jack.
In the end, Elna pulled the anchor back into the boat, then set the jack in the narrow space between the rock wall and a forward cleat. It was an old scissor jack, and Malin had to hold it in place while she cranked the handle.
“Either it’s going to tip the boat away from the rock wall,” she said, “or it’ll break the cleat. Let’s hope for the former. I didn’t want to set it against the hull for that reason.” And then over her shoulder, she added, “Raymond, as soon as it starts to tip the other way, toss the anchor far over the port side. Maybe it’ll add a little momentum.”
As she continued to crank open the jack, the creak of metal was worrying. Malin took a step to one side, in case the cleat decided to break loose. The whole boat seemed to shudder, and then it began shifting to port, inch by inch.
“Now, Raymond,” Elna shouted. “Now.”
He did a little half-spin and flung the anchor far over the portside gunwale. It went flying out beyond the shallow sandbar and sank into deeper water. Malin wasn’t sure it made much of a difference, but it didn’t matter. The jack was doing its work. He heard sand shifting beneath the hull as the Betty Lynn tipped farther from the rock wall.
“Give it a push,” Elna said to Malin, gesturing toward the rock wall with a nod of her head.
He placed his back against the wall of the cabin, reached up to grab the grabrail, then planted both feet against the rock wall. As he pushed, the boat shuddered beneath him, and he heard the scrape of sand. Suddenly, the whole boat moved, sliding out of the sand. Malin’s legs went straight, and he dropped onto the deck.
A moment later, he heard a splash as the jack fell into the water.
“Well, I guess I should have held on to it,” Elna said. She turned to Malin and shrugged, rolling her eyes as if to say, It’s always something.
“You did it, though,” Malin said, as the boat began to bob in the waves. “We’re free.”
Raymond gave a little whoop and clapped his hands. “It worked. It worked! We can go now. Thank you. Thank you.”
“No, we can’t go yet,” Elna said. “There’s a lot more work to be done.”
Malin repaired the crack in the hull by drilling holes on either end, then filling it in with a generous amount of epoxy. He would have added a few layers of fiberglass cloth, if he’d had any, but it would have to do. As he did that, Elna and Raymond dragged the torn sail up on the ledge. Repairing the sail by hand-stitching proved to be an act of sheer tedium. Malin offered to help, but there wasn’t much he could do. He felt bad for Elna. The islanders depended on her for too much already, and now these outsiders had come and demanded even more. He wished he knew how to alleviate her burden.
Finally, apparently sick of Malin and Raymond just standing around and watching her, she sent them back to the guesthouse.
“Round up some food and water,” she said. “Bring food that won’t spoil, like the cured meat and dried fruit. One gallon of water per person per day. That’s the rule. We can use a big plastic barrel from the winery to store it. Use the bicycle-cart if you need to. It’s parked under the veranda. I should be done by the time you get back.”
“Are you sure?” Malin asked.
She scowled. “What do you mean, am I sure? Of course.” Then she seemed to regret her tone of voice. Looking up at Malin, she attempted a smile that didn’t quite work. “Just hurry back, okay?”
“Got it,” he said, tipping her a salute. Judging by the look on her face, she didn’t care for it.
He turned and hurried away. As Raymond caught up to him, the castaway had a bounce in his step. He was wearing the same clothes as he’d worn when they’d washed up on the island. They were wrinkled, still muddy despite his attempt to clean them, and ill-fitting, and his mop of black hair was wild, framing his small, angular face. The sudden excitement only added to his overall unusual appearance.
“We’re going to make it,” Raymond said. “My friend, I thought my son and I would drown in the sea, but we’re going to make it. We’ll get medicine for him, medicine for your father-in-law, maybe all sorts of medicine that you can store here on the island for your people. It’s going to work out
!”
“Let’s hope the clinic is still standing,” Malin said.
“It will be,” Raymond said. “I can feel it. We’re lucky. Of all the places we could have washed ashore, we came here to find you nice people. There aren’t so many nice people left in the world. They’ve all been killed, haven’t they? But we found some. The storm brought us to you. That’s good fortune. Yes, it is. Everything will work out for us. You wait and see.”
7
When they got back to the guesthouse, they found George sitting on the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He had a big plastic jug of water in one hand. Joe and Rita were in the kitchen, and Malin went to them for supplies. Raymond was pacing in and out of the door. Finally, to give the man something to do, Malin said, “Hey, Raymond, buddy, could you maybe put together a list of anything else we might need on our trip? As Elna likes to say, let’s plan for the worst and hope for the best. Got it?”
“Yes, I can do that,” Raymond said.
Malin found him a pencil and a scrap of paper and set him down at a stool in the tasting room. Then he returned to the kitchen. Joe and Rita gave him wary looks as he entered. They were in the middle of chopping garlic, and the pungent smell filled the kitchen. As Malin began rounding up food for the trip, they watched him. He laid out a large amount of dried meat—most of it from small game—and dried fruit. Elna hadn’t told him exactly how much food to bring, so he erred on the side of too much, stacking up bowls and boxes on the counter near the sink.
Finally, Joe Dulles cleared his throat and said, “Are you sure about this, Malin?”
“What’s that, Mr. Dulles?”
“Are you sure about leaving the island?”
“Well, we don’t have much choice, do we?” Malin said. “George is sick. He needs medicine.”
Joe made a sour face and dumped a bunch of chopped garlic into a bowl. “The world has changed. Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t we have to adjust to the new reality? I used to love having a space heater beside my bed at night, but in the new reality, I have to do without it. Rita used to take medicine for her hot flashes, but now she has to eat herbs. They don’t work, not at all, but we have to make do. This is the world now.”
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 29
