Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  We really have become desperate primitives, she thought.

  “I’d do something with the hide if I had the means to cure it,” Malin said. “It would make a nice jacket, or maybe a pair of shoes.”

  “All you need to cure a hide are the brains of the animal and some water,” Elna said. “I’ve read about it. I’ve never done it. Apparently, it’s hard work.”

  “I think I’ll pass, if you guys don’t mind,” Malin said, taking a final big bite of gristly meat before rising to his feet. “In fact, I’ll go drag the rest of the carcass somewhere for the critters to enjoy.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Elna said.

  But Malin didn’t move. When Elna looked at him, she realized he was scowling at something on top of the slope to the west. She followed his gaze and saw a line of people standing there. Since the sun was setting, they were cast in silhouette, but even their silhouettes looked wretched and ragged. Hunched shoulders, lowered faces, hands raised. There were five of them, all thin and desperate.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Malin said, his right hand reaching for the bow. “Can we help you?” And then, a bit less friendly, he added, “We’re not looking for company tonight.”

  The man in the middle had an enormous white beard, and when he started down the slope, moving out of direct sunlight, Elna recognized him. He wore the filthiest button-up dress shirt Elna had ever seen, and he was so dirty, he looked like an ancient statue dug up from an archeological site.

  “Grover,” she muttered.

  “You know this old guy?” Mark said, rising to stand beside Malin.

  “He’s the one who told us about you. You don’t recognize him?” Malin asked.

  Mark stared hard at the man and then shook his head. “Sorry, don’t know the face or the name.”

  Speaking louder to Grover, Malin called out, “What do you want? We don’t have enough food to share. Sorry, friend. Stew’s all gone. If you want to pick over the carcass, I dumped it in a ditch about thirty yards that way.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Help yourselves.”

  Grover kept coming down the slope, and the others followed him, fanning out as they came. Raymond rose then, wincing from the effort, and picked up his walking stick. He thrust it out in front of him like a weapon. Mark stooped down to the fire and grabbed the hammer that they’d used as part of the cooking framework. When he pulled it loose, the stewpot fell to one side, dumping the last liquid onto the ground. Elna rose last, brandishing her pocket knife. She turned the blade, trying to catch the sunlight along the edge so they’d see it.

  “Now, look, good people,” Grover said, coming to a stop just out of Mark’s reach. “We did you a favor before, didn’t we? We led you to the friendly, neighborhood doctor here. It seems like maybe you can do a favor for us in return.”

  He pointed at their stacked supplies, which Mark had set beside the cart on the south side of the camp.

  “Listen,” Elna said, trying to stave off any further discussion, “we brought just enough supplies to get where we’re going, and then return home. I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to give anything away.”

  But Grover’s men continued spreading out, moving to encircle the camp. Finally, Mark turned and gave Malin a meaningful look, his eyebrows climbing his lined forehead.

  “They’re calling our bluff,” he said. “What’re you going to do now?”

  Malin sighed, nodded, and pulled an arrow from the quiver. As he fit it to the bowstring, Mark bounced the hammer in his hand a couple of times and raised it.

  “You don’t seem to be armed, Grover,” Malin said. “I’m not sure what your game is here, but if you guys don’t stop trying to surround us, I’m going to put this arrow right in the middle of your unibrow.”

  Grover’s men stopped moving, turning to look at him, as if waiting for instructions. Some were clearly anxious, others angry, at the sight of the bow.

  “We don’t want much,” Grover said, holding up both of his hands in a gesture of pleading. He gave Malin a big, gap-toothed grin. “How about those wine bottles you’ve got there? I count twelve in that crate. You don’t need wine to get where you’re going. Can’t you spare us two or three? We’d get some use out of them. They’ll bring a good price, that’s for sure. Heck, they’ve got gold foil on the labels, so they must be fancy.”

  Malin took a deep breath and held it for a second, as if steeling himself for what he had to do. “Okay, I’m going to say it one more time. You don’t get anything. Turn and walk away right now, or I’m firing this bow. That’s it, Grover.” As if to prove he meant business, he pulled the bowstring back about halfway.

  The old man laughed and waved him off, as if he were convinced Malin didn’t mean it. “Now, that’s not neighborly at all. Forget the wine. We’ll just be heading our own way.” He offered them a deep bow. “Have a nice evening. May we never cross paths again.”

  And with that, he beckoned his men and turned. As he walked away, his men followed, soon disappearing beyond the hilltop. Malin and Elna went after them, topping the rise to watch them walk away. Malin kept the bow aimed at their retreating backs. Fortunately, Grover kept going, leading his men through the high grass to the road and turning back to the north. By the time they disappearing, evening had settled in, casting everything in a purplish gloom.

  “So it looks like we’ve got a whole crowd following us,” Elna said, folding her pocket knife and stuffing it into her pants pocket. “Grover’s got a sharp eye spotting the wine bottles amidst all of our supplies, and he seems to know their value. That’s too bad. I expect we’ll see him again.”

  “I’m just going to have to shoot him,” Malin said. “That’s all there is to it. I’m not a pacifist, Elna. You know that. I will shoot Grover if I have to.”

  “I know,” she replied. He was just so earnest. Clearly, he wanted her to have confidence in his willingness to protect them. She found it touching, and she reached over and briefly squeezed his hand. “I trust you to deal with the problem.”

  She turned and headed back down to the camp. Mark and Raymond were standing side by side, weapon in hands. The glowing embers of the fire cast them in a dim red glow and made them seem far more dangerous, even with Raymond’s arm in a sling.

  “Well, that’s it,” Elna said, feeling sick with dread. This’ll get worse, she thought. The crazies have spotted their prey. “Time to pack up and move on. People know we’re camped here, and they’ve got their eyes on the gold label.”

  She stooped and began dismantling the cooking framework.

  “The sun is going down,” Raymond said. He had such a plaintive sound in his voice, she hated what they had to do next.

  “Yesterday, it was one meth head,” she said, carrying the warm crowbar back to their box of tools. “I wasn’t so worried about him. Now, we’ve got a whole band of crusty freaks who have their sights set on our most valuable supplies. We don’t dare camp here tonight. We’ll load up and head out, take to the wilderness.” She saw Mark start to say something, so she held up a hand. “I know it’s not going to be any fun pushing that damn cart through the woods, but I think we have to. If you’d rather not do it, I will.”

  But Mark just shrugged.

  In the end, Mark salted the leftover meat, wrapped it in some towels, and put it in one of the supply boxes. It would keep for a while. Elna thought it would make a welcome break from dried meat, berries, and freeze-dried vegetables. They stacked the rest of the supplies on the cart, placing the crate of wine bottles in the center where they weren’t readily visible. Elna didn’t want any other wayward weirdos spotting them.

  Malin picked up his compound bow. Elna noticed that he hadn’t replaced one of the arrows in the side quiver. When she asked about it, he gave her a sad shake of his head.

  “Arrowhead broke in the deer’s skull,” he said. “Well, to be honest, it broke when I tried to pull it out. I should have cracked the skull open first, but…” He shrugged. “Down to three shots.”

 
He tucked the bow into the narrow space between the toolbox and the handle of the cart, taking a few seconds to make sure it wouldn’t tip over.

  “You only need one good shot anyway,” Elna said. “You proved that tonight.”

  It was dark. Too dark, but the cloudless sky meant they at least had some moonlight to guide them. Although making their way into the woods seemed reckless, Elna didn’t see any alternative. Mark led the way, pushing the handcart through the field and aiming for a gap in the trees. Fortunately, there wasn’t much undergrowth here. They had enough room to move between the tall trees, though the cart bounced over rocks and roots. Elna positioned herself on one side, Malin on the other, to catch any items that toppled off. Raymond brought up the rear, and he seemed to be leaning heavier than usual on his walking stick.

  The air between the trees was unusually still, the spaces close and stifling. Elna didn’t care for it.

  We should’ve stayed on the boat, she thought, not for the first time. Why did this seem like the most reasonable option to me? Have I lost my touch?

  She was sinking deeper into regretful thoughts when she realized she heard a strange noise growing behind them. Turning, she saw Raymond moving in the moonlight, and beyond him, gaps of purplish light between the trees. At first, she thought she was hearing an animal bounding toward them, but she quickly realized these were human footfalls. People, more than one, trampling leaves and branches as they came.

  And then she saw one of them, a lean figure closing in from the left. She could tell by the shape of him that he had an enormous beard and wild hair.

  “Attackers,” she shouting, digging into her pocket for the knife.

  Raymond spun around, lowering the walking stick. She heard Malin grab the bow. Elna just managed to get the pocket knife open when she realized that the attacker was coming a lot faster than she’d first thought. Not only so, but other attackers were closing in, each coming from a different direction.

  “Stop,” she shouted, as the wild, bearded shape fell upon her. She heard his rough breathing, the awkward, lumbering limbs. “Stop!”

  She swung the knife back and forth in front of her, hoping he would see it, but he kept coming. Behind her, others were already fighting, but she couldn’t turn to see what was going on. In the last fraction of a second, she made out the features of Grover’s face. More than that, she smelled him, a terrible human ripeness, like rotting armpits. He came in low, leading with his right shoulder, clearly intending to tackle her.

  At the moment they collided, she was bringing her knife across one last time, intending to pull it back. She felt the blade hit cloth and cut through, then sink into some soft, pliable mass. Grover let out a deep bellow. And then they crashed together and went down. Elna landed on her back, Grover slamming down on top of her so hard it knocked the wind out of her. His momentum pulled at the knife, trying to bend her wrist at a painful angle. When she resisted, she felt the knife continue cutting and a hot wetness gushing over her hand.

  She struggled beneath him, trying to wriggle free, but he flailed, thrashing. His fist clipped her in the side of the head, then his forehead slammed into her collarbone. All around her, she heard cursing and shouting. Finally, she rolled to one side, and Grover fell away. Elna struggled to get to her feet. In the process, the pocket knife slipped out of her grasp, squirting out between her fingers in a rush of blood.

  Wiping her bloody hand on her raincoat proved futile. It only smeared. When she turned around, she saw Mark hoisting someone up into the air. He unleashed a low cry and tossed the person away from them. Raymond, tangling with someone else, fell backward, hit the handles of the cart, and slid down onto the ground.

  And then she heard the distinct twang of the compound bow. A lean, wiry man stumbled backward, waving his arms in front of his face. He had a scraggly beard and a weaselly face, a dirty black t-shirt.

  “Tomek,” she shouted, though she barely heard her own voice over the ringing in her ears.

  He turned suddenly, running away from them as fast as his skinny legs would take him. She couldn’t tell if Malin had shot him, shot someone else, or just fired his arrow into the air.

  Another attacker was trying to get to the cart, and Raymond was struggling with him, grabbing at the man’s legs with his good arm. Elna rushed at the attacker. She grabbed him around the waist and tackled him. They fell, hit the ground, and rolled together in a heap. Their momentum ended when the attacker slammed into the trunk of a tree and let out a wet, expulsive breath.

  From the sound of it, Elna thought he’d cracked his head open, but the man leapt to his feet and took off running. She heard multiple people running through the forest now, their sounds getting farther away. Malin and Mark were both standing beside the cart, Raymond on the ground, moaning.

  “Raymond, are you hurt?” she asked, picking herself up.

  When he didn’t answer, she rushed to his side and bent down.

  “I injured it more,” he said, finally, speaking through clenched teeth. “Feels like I ripped the wound open.”

  Elna reached past him to the cart and fished around in the toolbox until she found a flashlight. She hadn’t wanted to use it because of limited batteries, but she clicked it on now. She shone the light on Raymond, helping him pull back the sleeve on his rain coat. The bandage above his arm was soaked with blood.

  “Let me handle it,” Mark said, squatting down beside Elna. He held up his hand, and she gave him the flashlight. “Get my medic bag, would you?”

  “My friends, I’m so tired,” Raymond said. “I’m just so tired.”

  “It’s okay, Raymond,” Elna said, reaching into their supplies to grab the small canvas medic bag. “Hang in there. Mark will get you fixed up.”

  She handed the bag to the doctor then rose and backed away. As she did, her heel hit some big, soft, shape. Looking down, she saw a body sprawled on the ground. In the backwash of the flashlight, blood and filth on the man’s clothing had mingled into what looked like dark-red mud. His head was tipped back, eyes half-lidded, mouth wide open. She heard a rattling sound coming from his throat, as if he were struggling to breathe.

  “Oh, God, look what happened,” she said, shuffling over to him. “Grover, you idiot. Why did you try to rush armed people in the middle of the night?”

  She pinched a fold of his shirt and pulled it back, revealing a long, jagged slash where her blade had cut through. The wound started just above and to the left of his navel and cut at an angle up toward his chest, stopping beneath his sternum. Though it was bleeding profusely, she saw a hint of fat and meat. She realized then that Grover was no longer making the deep gurgling sounds. He’d gone utterly quiet. Elna turned away, a sudden urge to vomit washing over her.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Malin said, coming up behind her.

  Elna wiped her hand off on the ground, but there was so much blood. It had seeped between her fingers, and it turned into a slimy mess when she dragged her fingers through the dirt. She tried to knock the muck off against her hip. The stench of blood was strong in her nostrils.

  “He fell on top of me,” she said. “I wasn’t actually trying to cut him. Why would they rush us like that? How stupid!”

  “They really wanted that Pasqualee Gold Label,” Malin said, then laughed uncomfortably. When Elna didn’t respond—the last thing she felt like doing was laughing—his laugh tapered off into a sigh. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have tried to joke.”

  “Tomek was with them,” she said. “He probably led them to us. Did you shoot anyone?”

  He shook his head. “Just shot into the ground. It was all pretty confusing in the dark. I’m not sure I could have hit anyone if I’d tried.”

  “Hopefully, they got the message.”

  She rose and turned away from the body. Mark was wrapping a fresh bandage around Raymond’s arm. When he finished, he shoved his medical gear back into the medic bag with what seemed like a burst of irritation. He jammed the flap shut and rose, grabbing Ray
mond under his good arm and helping him to his feet.

  “Just ride on the cart,” he said. When he was irritated, his low voice took on a harsh quality that made it truly frightening, practically a monster voice. “You’re in no condition to walk.”

  Mark helped Raymond stumble over to the cart.

  “Do we need to do something with this dead body here?” Malin asked.

  “No,” Mark said, with surprising sharpness. “Forget about him. Just forget it. We’ll make our way back to the road and keep walking until we find a safe place to camp for the rest of the night. That’s it.” The flashlight was still on, and he turned to Elna and Malin, staring at them as if daring them to disagree.

  “Fine with me,” Elna said. The last thing they needed was for their huge, friendly doctor to become a problem.

  Mark eased Raymond down onto the cart, moving some of their supplies to make room. Then he gave a final sigh that was like a disgruntled grizzly bear and clicked off the flashlight.

  Selene Bondere had been back and forth from the door to the fence so many times that she had worn a path through the grass. It was a waste of time, and she knew it. She couldn’t see anything from the back fence. Trees on the other side blocked any view down the slope toward the west side of the island. It didn’t even help with the mounting anxiety, but she couldn’t help it. Pacing the property had become compulsive behavior.

  On that particular evening, she finally stopped at the fence, leaned against it for a minute, then climbed over. She pushed her way through the dense line of trees on the other side and made her way to the back road that led down to the lighthouse. Picking her way down, she felt the exhaustion in every limb.

  Working too hard, she scolded herself. Running on empty. You still have a little beetroot powder in your satchel.

  She had just come in sight of the old shed, saw Elna’s extensive reinforcement of the building, and came to a stop. What use was it to stare at the ocean again? With the sun setting, it was even more useless than usual. She forced herself to turn around and march back up the road. Then she walked through the trees, climbed the fence, and started back to the house.