Leaving the island was a foolish endeavor to begin with, she told herself, but what else could I do?
The burden of responsibility lay so heavily on her shoulders that she felt like she was being crushed. Whatever happened to them, no matter how random or unpredictable, she would bear the blame. If no one else blamed her, she would blame herself, and she dreaded that more than anything.
Wrestling with these thoughts, Elna didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until some strange coldness entered her dreams. She felt it pressing against her face, and when she finally opened her eyes, she realized she’d tipped forward, leaning her cheek against the window. As she sat up, rubbing her cheeks, the lid of the wooden trunk creaked beneath her.
Morning light shone through the window, revealing the beautiful waves and the little sailboat bobbing gently. Though she was tempted to go back to sleep, though her body cried out for it, she slapped her cheeks and sat up. Her throat felt like a desert, so she took a long swig from the water bottle.
Malin and Raymond were sound asleep, little lumps curled up in their sleeping bags, the junk in the boathouse towering over them on every side. She cleared her throat, took another swig of water, and began trying to rouse them.
“Get up, folks,” she said. “Time to wake. We need to hit the road soon. Come on.”
Raymond was the first to wake up. He thrashed in his sleeping bag, whimpered, and sat up, flinging the cover back. Grimacing in agony, he grabbed his shoulder, rocking back and forth.
“It doesn’t feel better this morning?” Elna asked.
“Worse,” he replied. “It just gets worse. I don’t get it, señora. Malin fixed it, right? He put it back in place. Why does it keep hurting more and more?”
“I’m not a doctor,” Elna said, “but it’s possible that popping it back in place did more damage.”
Raymond adjusted the sling. “I need drugs or something. I can’t stand it.”
“It’s a good thing we’re heading to a place with drugs then,” Elna said.
Malin woke up silently, slowly sitting up. He clearly hadn’t slept well. His hair was all messed up, sticking out at strange angles, and his cheeks and chin were scruffy.
“Guys, I would give you an hour to relax, but I really think we need to get going,” Elna said. “We don’t want to get stuck out there on the road in the dark tonight.”
“So, we’re really going by land?” Raymond said.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Elna replied. “If we’re lucky, we’ll make good time and get to our destination faster.”
They roused themselves from the boathouse like the undead digging out of their graves. Elna finally had to take a handful of water and splash it on her face. In the cold air, it made her face sting, which helped destroy the last vestiges of sleep.
Elna and Malin repacked the handcart, then added extra food, a first aid kit, the crate of wine bottles, and some tools from the boat. They filled the rectangular container with most of the rest of their fresh water. At this point, the handcart was overloaded and a giant pain in the ass to move. As Elna pushed it past the boathouse toward the landing that led up the hill, she tried not to think about how awful the next few hours were going to be.
“I’ve got that,” Malin said, swooping in from the side.
He grabbed the handcart rails. Elna briefly considered resisting, if only because she couldn’t stand not pulling her own weight, but she was too tired to refuse the offer. She let Malin take the handcart and fell back beside Raymond. As they started up the switchbacks, she glanced back at the boat. Somehow, it seemed sad and lonely all by itself at the end of the dock.
“Will we ever see it again?” she wondered aloud.
“Well, it wasn’t mine to begin with,” Raymond reminded her. “We just borrowed it. I guess maybe we can consider it a trade for the supplies in the boathouse.”
The hike up the hill was a brutal slog. Fortunately, the path was paved with flat stones, and there were shallow steps every few feet. Still, by the time they reached the top of the hill, everyone was out of breath. The heavy handcart had a squeaky wheel, which made a loud enough noise that anyone nearby would know they were coming. Elna made a mental note to look for some WD-40 when she got a chance.
At the back of the house, a broad porch with enormous picture windows gave a broad view of the ocean. However, Elna noted immediately that the sliding glass door in the back was wide open, and the dim room beyond looked trashed. She slipped past Malin and approached the door.
“Be careful,” he said. “Looks like someone’s been here.”
She eased to one side of the open door and slid up close to the wall. The room on the other side was some sort of den or living room, but it had been thoroughly overturned. Bookshelves, tables, chairs, and a coffee table had all been tipped over. Books, broken lamps, and a thousand other things were scattered across the floor.
“Do you suppose the homeowners fled in their boat and looters came in behind them?” Malin asked, leaning on the handcart.
“Or the homeowners are in there somewhere,” Elna said. “Killed in a home invasion.”
She heard Raymond give a little intake of breath, and knew she’d said too much.
“Let’s not find out,” she added. “We’ll keep moving.”
The house was an enormous mansion with stone walls of pale gray and white. The path that led down the hill ran parallel to the broad porch and then cut across an overgrown yard toward a circular driveway in front. As they rounded the corner, Malin leading the way with the squeaky handcart, Elna saw an abandoned Chrysler Pacifica sitting in the driveway. It was pristine, a beautiful cobalt blue. Not the fanciest car, by any means, but clearly new.
She knew damn well a car that new wouldn’t run. The EMP would have fried every circuit from the headlights to the taillights, but she tried anyway. Breaking away from the others, she dashed over to the driver’s side door and attempted to open it. Locked. She briefly considered breaking a window and at least rooting around inside, but then she spotted a rather large stain on the cushion of the driver’s seat. It was brown, almost black, and while it could have been many things, she thought it was likely blood.
“No luck?” Malin called.
“Nope, fried,” she replied.
As she moved toward Malin, she decided not to say anything about the blood. The driveway cut through the yard toward a distant highway. Elna saw another abandoned vehicle on the shoulder of the road, a new-model pickup truck that had come to rest sideways, its tail thrust out into the southbound lane.
As they walked away from the house, she looked back. The front of the mansion was far more majestic than the back, with huge sweeping eaves, giant marble statues on either side of the porch, and big windows with fancy trim. However, she noticed that one of the upstairs windows was shattered, broken glass scattered on the wide windowsill. The corner of a cream-colored curtain swayed in the wind.
Was leaving the ocean a mistake? she wondered.
Elna knew that sometimes she got so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she lost perspective. Finishing their trek on land had made sense in her mind, but now that they were doing it, she felt a crawling unease in the pit of her stomach.
It’s too late to turn back, she told herself. Just stick to the plan and try to make good time.
As they reached the highway, she stepped aside to check on the pickup truck. Unlike the Pacifica, the driver’s door was ajar. She opened it all the way and stuck her head inside. Amazingly, the keys were still in the ignition, but when she tried to start it, she got nothing. It didn’t respond in any way. She rooted around in the various pockets and compartments, however, and found a small blister pack of ibuprofen under some trash in a cup holder. She retrieved it and brought it to Raymond.
“It’s your lucky day, Mr. Cabello,” she said.
He gaped at the medicine, like a child who’d just received the most amazing Christmas present. He pressed the blister pack to his lips, popped o
ut two pills, and swallowed them dry.
“Maybe someone is hearing my prayers,” he said, “or maybe it’s just dumb luck, but I’ll take it either way.”
The highway followed a twisting path through the hills, mostly staying in sight of the ocean. Along the way, they passed abandoned vehicles.
Maybe one of them will work, she thought. We just need one.
After a short distance, Malin paused to catch his breath. Elna saw a few houses in the distance, some large shrubs growing beside the highway in places, and even some abandoned luggage.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Malin said, as he resumed pushing the handcart.
As they trudged down the highway, Elna looked at her ragtag little group. They were a sorry lot, eyes full of anxiety and exhaustion. Poor Raymond’s whole face seemed to sag downward. They hadn’t fought her about abandoning the boat, but maybe they’d wanted to.
They trust me, she realized, and felt the weight of that realization. What if I’m wrong? Oh, God, what if I’m wrong?
She fixed her eyes on the road ahead and settled in behind Malin. Right away, she found the walk invigorating. She seemed to be using a different set of muscles than she had on the boat, and it felt good, though she couldn’t tell if the others felt the same. After a few minutes, Raymond reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He held it up.
“I brought this from the boat,” he said. “It’s a list of the cities along the coast. It also has the street address of the clinic when we get to Manchester.”
He tried to hand it to her, but she waved him off.
“You hang on to it, Raymond, if you don’t mind doing a little tracking for me. If we pass a gas station, we’ll look for a paper map. Hopefully, by then, we’ll have some sort of vehicle to travel in.”
Raymond nodded and slipped the paper back into his pocket, but in the process, his whole face twisted up in agony. He grinded his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.
“The pain is getting worse?” she asked.
He nodded. “I must’ve really torn something. I don’t know if the ibuprofen is helping or not, and I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.” He reached up to his right shoulder, as if to massage it, but even a light touch made him gasp in pain.
“We’ll have to find a doctor,” she said. “This is beyond my pay grade.”
To this, Raymond just moaned, his head rocking back on his shoulders.
“Hang in there a little longer,” Malin called over his shoulder.
“I am hanging,” Raymond grumbled. “Believe me, I am hanging.”
They were just passing some large coastal shrub that towered over the shoulder of the road.
Selene would know what that is, Elna thought, and the realization gave her a sudden pang of homesickness. She wanted desperately to be back on the island, among her people, in relative safety.
And then she saw the small white tent fixed on the dusty ground beyond the plant and the people sitting in front of it. Dressed in filthy clothes, they were a ragged crew, three men and two women of varying ages gathered around an ash-filled firepit. The men apparently hadn’t shaved since the EMP, and they’d each grown ragged beards. They also didn’t appear to have bathed, and they were as dusty as ancient statues. As soon as Malin and Elna stepped into view, they each looked up with what seemed like genuine curiosity.
The oldest man of the crew, who had a huge white beard, gave them a big toothless grin. As best Elna could tell, there was no guile in the grin. The man seemed genuine enough.
Maybe they’re just relieved we’re not an armed militia, she thought.
“Greetings, fellow travelers,” the old man said. “Just passing through?”
Malin didn’t answer, and Elna realized he was deferring to her.
“Good morning,” she replied. Her voice sounded coarse, and she wondered if she didn’t look as rough to these strangers as they looked to her. “Yes, sir, we’re just passing through.”
“The name’s Grover,” he said, patting his chest. He was wearing the filthiest button-up dress shirt Elna had ever seen. It might have been white at one point, but it was now a dingy gray with about a thousand unidentifiable stains. “We’re headed the opposite way. Any dangers on the road up north?”
She didn’t want to tell them too much about their travels, so she decided to remain vague. “Same as the dangers down south, I assume. Gangs and militias here and there.” And then, to change the subject, she said, “Would you folks happen to know if there’s a doctor or kind of clinic nearby? We have an injured man here.”
“I can see that,” Grover said. “You’re in luck. There’s a reasonable little settlement a couple of miles down the road. A friendly chap named Dr. Mark holds sway there. He’s a real MD. Or used to be, you know. Anyway, he offers medical care and treatment if you’ve got something to barter with.” He gestured at Malin with a hand so filthy Elna couldn’t tell what his natural skin color was. “Looks like you might have some nice things on your cart. Just make a good offer.”
“Thanks,” Elna replied. Grover was friendly, maybe too friendly. The others were smiling to varying degrees, but she didn’t quite trust them. Maybe I’m judging them too harshly because of their filthiness, she thought. Still, she picked up her pace a little, hoping Raymond could keep up. “Safe travels, folks.”
“You, too,” Grover said, giving her a last gummy smile. He had a single visible tooth, and it was black with rot.
Elna and her crew hurried past the dirty travelers, and she held her tongue until they were a safe distance away. Then she traded a look with Malin.
“Yikes,” he said with a disgusted frown. “We don’t look like that, do we?”
“I don’t think so,” Elna replied. “I hope not.”
“Lots of people like that in the world,” Raymond said. “It’s like they forgot how to take care of themselves. With no electricity and no running water, some people can’t figure out how to bathe, brush their teeth, or wash their clothes.”
“Well, let’s try to get the image of our pal Grover out of our minds,” Elna said, “and see if we can’t find this Dr. Mark.”
They’d been walking for at least an hour when Raymond began unwinding the bandage around his arm. Elna heard him making little pained noises, so she dropped back beside him.
“We should disinfect the wound and put a clean bandage on it,” Elna said.
“Just let me look,” he said. “It feels bad. Really warm.”
As they came to a stop, Raymond unwound the sailcloth and cast it aside, revealing the ugly scab-filled gash above his elbow. The flesh around the wound was bright red.
“That can’t be good,” he said.
Elna dug the first aid kit out from under the tarp.
I should have done this sooner, she thought. I was too distracted with other problems.
When she cleaned the wound with disinfectant, Raymond shouted curses in Spanish and English so loud, they echoed out over the sea. Still, he didn’t resist, and she got him cleaned and bandaged.
“We have to clean it regularly,” she said, as they resumed walking down the highway. “It’d be really unfortunate if you got an infection.”
“If you insist,” Raymond said, cradling his wounded arm in the crook of his other arm as he stumbled along.
Shortly thereafter, they finally topped a hill and came in sight of a town. Actually, it was little more than a dozen buildings gathered around a three-way intersection. Trees rose up tall on either side of the road here, but in a break, she saw sand dunes leading down a slope on the right. At one point, they passed a single support post that was bent out of shape. Whatever road sign had once been attached to it, perhaps the name of the town, was gone. Stolen for scraps, perhaps?
A single house stood out prominently from the others. It was clean, the small yard somehow well-kept, and a man sat on a rocking chair on the porch. He was broad-shouldered, with a puff of wavy black hair and a thin, trimmed beard. As they approa
ched, he was packing a pipe, but he paused and gave them a long, appraising stare.
“Just passing through?” he asked, in a remarkably deep voice. His face was all sharp angles, his forehead prominent, but his teeth were clean, and he’d definitely bathed recently.
“Looking for a doctor, actually,” Elna replied. “We heard there’s someone named Dr. Mark here in town.”
“There is, indeed,” he replied, setting the pipe on a small table beside his rocking chair. “He just so happens to look exactly like me.” He smiled and spread his hands. “I’m Dr. Mark Baker, but you can call me Dr. Mark. Everyone around here does. Come on up. Let’s see what you’re dealing with.”
Elna glanced at Malin, who shrugged.
Dr. Mark rose from the rocking chair, and she realized he was monstrously tall. At least six and a half feet. He came down the porch steps to meet them, and when she offered her hand, he crushed it in his huge paw.
“I run a little clinic in my parlor,” he bellowed. “Come on in.”
He turned and strode back into the house, beckoning them to follow. For a second, Raymond hung back. Elna gave him a questioning look. If he chose not to go, would she force the matter?
He needs medical treatment, she thought. What alternative is there?
Then again, they only had Grover’s word to go on. As they climbed the steps onto the porch, she caught Malin’s eye and tried to give him a warning sign.
Be ready for anything. Just in case.
His slight nod indicated that he seemed to pick up on it.
To Dr. Mark’s credit, the inside of the house was pristine. He’d placed a row of folding chairs along the far wall in the foyer and even stacked some magazines on a small table at one end. The foyer opened into a broad hallway, but he’d placed a curtain halfway down the hall to block the rest of the house. Malin pushed the handcart into the foyer and parked it against the wall.
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 35
