Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3

by Hamilton, Grace

  I do? she wondered.

  “We’re here to rescue you,” she said.

  He just stared at her as if she were mad, but then Prig appeared at her side.

  “Hey there, buddy,” he said. “Remember me?”

  “Sarge,” Golf replied. He struggled to rise and managed to get to his knees.

  “Hey, Golf, tell me straight,” Prig said. “You didn’t give them any classified information, did you? Sorry, I gotta ask.”

  “Hell no, Sarge,” Golf replied. “Look at my friggin’ face. Does it look like I gave them what they wanted?”

  Prig beamed at him, then turned and beamed at Elna for good measure. She felt a strange moment of kinship with the Marines. They’d pulled it off. They were all one big happy team now.

  “No more interrogations and beatings,” Elna said. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard in a while,” Golf said. She could tell he was trying to smile, but his busted lips prevented it.

  “Here, got this off the guard,” Prig said. “Let’s hope it works.”

  He handed Elna a large iron key and signaled for her to unlock the cell. As she took it, he pulled the small, plastic-wrapped two-way radio out of his pocket.

  “I’ll give the all clear to the others,” he said.

  She inserted the key into the large, crude padlock that held the cage door shut. It slid right in.

  “This is it,” she said.

  Golf grabbed the bars of his cage and, achingly, pulled himself to his feet. Elna unlocked the door, removed the padlock, and tossed it into the dark space between the tent and cage. Prig had just lifted the radio to his mouth and pressed the talk button when a strange noise blared out across the camp. It sounded like bugles or trumpets, all playing different notes and all being played as loudly as possible. There was immediate panic throughout the camp. Elna heard people shouting and dashing about.

  “Someone’s raised the alarm” Prig said. “The other team must have run into trouble. We have to get out of here now.”

  “Maybe someone found Natasha,” Elna said.

  “Doesn’t matter now,” Prig said. “Time to go.”

  He reached inside the cage and grabbed Golf with his free hand. Before the injured man could react, he yanked him forward, wrapped an arm around his torso, and hurried away from the cage. Elna started after them, and she was passing another iron cage when a coarse voice suddenly called her name.

  “Elna Pasqualee.”

  She turned to the voice and saw an emaciated figure sitting in the cage. His hair had grown long and wild, and he had grown an ugly beard on his cheeks and chin. He wore the camouflage uniform of a camp guard, but his rough skin and perpetually red face were familiar to her.

  “Garret,” she said.

  Malin’s former best man. He’d turned against the islanders during their imprisonment in the camp. Elna was so startled to see him in a cage that she stumbled to a stop.

  “What are you doing in there?” she asked.

  “Got in a bit of trouble with the boss,” he replied. “Flirted with one of his many…uh, girlfriends. No big deal.”

  “You want out of that cage?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nah, I’ll make do. Once I’m back on the commander’s good side, he’ll put me to work again.”

  Prig hissed at Elna to hurry, and she turned and nodded.

  “You made the wrong choice,” she said to Garret. “For your sake. Not for ours. Good luck in life.”

  He gave her a contemptuous smile. “You’re the one who needs good luck. You’ll never make it out of the camp alive. They have a whole trench full of the bones of invaders and rebels. You’ll be there too, soon enough.”

  “You’re as pleasant a human as ever,” Elna replied. “Enjoy your cage, Garret. It suits you.”

  As she left the tent, she heard the hideous alarm sound coming from somewhere to the northwest. It wasn’t as close as she’d first thought. Had the other group failed in their mission? The possibility made her want to turn back, to rush toward them, to find Malin before they gunned him down. But she wouldn’t find him now with the camp in chaos. She heard guards dashing about, the clank of rifles, shouted orders, civilians scrambling out of the way.

  Prig ducked into an open tent. Though Golf was on his feet, Prig was practically carrying him, bearing his entire weight with one bulging arm. Elna stepped in behind them and found herself in some kind of storage tent with shelves set up along the outer edge. Folded cloth of various kinds was stacked on the shelves.

  “I hope the other team didn’t run into trouble,” Elna said.

  “Must have,” Prig replied. “I guess they failed.” He stuffed the radio back into his pocket. “No sense trying to talk to them now. If they’re in hiding somewhere, I wouldn’t want to give them away.”

  “You think it’s possible they escaped?” she asked. She had assumed the worst, but the guards wouldn’t raise an alarm if the threat was already neutralized.

  “It’s possible,” Prig replied. “Maybe they looted the medical tent, and someone just realized it. Let’s hope they’re already out of the camp and headed down to the beach.”

  “Shouldn’t we try to help them?” Elna said, gesturing at the rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “Nope,” Prig replied sharply. “We have our mission. They have theirs. This is what my people trained for. Don’t worry, they’ll do everything they can to keep your boyfriend safe. As for us, Golf here is our priority. He has important work to do on the island.”

  Prig gingerly set the injured Marine on the ground and went to the nearest shelf, picking through the piles of folded cloth.

  “Maybe instead of hiding like rats, we should be running like heck to get out of this place,” Golf said, massaging his right shoulder.

  “I came in here for a reason, dummy,” Prig said. He picked up some folded gray cloth and flipped it open to reveal a civilian’s shirt. “Can’t have you traipsing about in prison stripes.” He found a pair of pants, then tossed the clothes at Golf. “Let’s get you all prettied up there, Golf. They treat civilians like garbage in this camp, so all your welts and bruises shouldn’t stand out.”

  As Prig helped Golf change clothes, Elna stood guard at the tent flap and listened carefully for any sounds coming toward the tent. The alarm blared out again across the camp. She found it a haunting, tooth-jarring sound. It went right down her spine.

  Malin, just get out of the camp, she thought. Do whatever you have to do, but get out of the camp. Don’t let these people take you. I don’t want you to wind up like Golf—or worse.

  16

  The man in the lab coat stood in front of the tent, gaping at them. Archer and Spence kept going, but Malin hesitated a second, wondering if he should say something to distract the man. Slowly, the man’s eyes went down to the ground, where they froze, fixed on something. The clipboard in his hand seemed to dislodge and gradually slid out of his hand.

  “We’re running an errand,” Malin said. “Hey, you know…the captain…the captain over there…he wanted to see you. Better go…” The lie wasn’t working, so he let it trail off. Finally, he looked down and realized what the man was staring at.

  Bloody footprints on the ground from Malin’s shoes. Malin quickly tried to wipe his shoes off. As he was doing that, the man took off running. He didn’t say anything—no shout, no cry for help, no scream of terror—he just ran away like he’d had a brush with the Grim Reaper. Malin watched him disappear behind a tent.

  He considered going after the man, but then he heard a sharp little hiss behind him. When he turned around, he saw Spence and Archer some distance away. Spence was beckoning him with a furious look on his face. Malin hurried after them. When he got close, Spence grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him forward.

  “What are you doing? Having a conversation? We have to get out of here,” Spence said.

  “I was trying to deal with that guy,” Malin replied.r />
  “No, there’s no more dealing,” Spence said. “Now, we leave. That’s it.”

  Ahead, beyond another row of tents, a roped-off area contained a bunch of junk that appeared to be mostly salvaged electronics and mechanical parts. There was no one in the immediate vicinity, so Spence headed in that direction, beckoning the others. Archer took a second to give Malin a withering look of disappointment before she resumed moving, pulling the shoulder straps of her backpack tight. Malin found running with the stuffed backpack rather awkward. It shifted from side to side with every step, making his gait a kind of off-balance shuffle. Spence was moving fast, though not quite running, and he found it hard to keep up.

  The barrier around the junkyard was more symbolic than functional, a single strand of nylon rope tied to wooden stakes around the edge of the area. Spence stepped over the rope, Archer behind him. Malin had just stepped over when the whole camp seemed to erupt. A strange series of discordant notes filled the air, as if a bunch of people had picked up an assortment of brass instruments and started blowing random notes on them. It was loud, ear-straining, and made his heart leap into his throat. The sound was coming from somewhere directly behind him, but daring a glance over his shoulder, he didn’t see the source. However, it was followed immediately by the sound of guards shouting at each other.

  “The medical tent,” someone said. “The medical tent!”

  Well, that’s it, Malin thought. We blew it. They’re onto us.

  He followed Spence and Archer as they ducked behind a large pile of junk. Spence hunkered down, muttering curses. As Malin drew near, he grabbed his arm and pulled him down out of sight.

  “It was the guy who got away,” Malin said. “He must have reported us.”

  “Of course, he did,” Spence said. “You just had to stand there and babble at the guy, didn’t you?”

  “He’d already seen us,” Malin said. “Our cover was blown as soon as we stepped out of the tent. We should have gone the way we went in.”

  “Would’ve been hard to get the loaded packs back under the canvas,” Spence said. He punched the ground between his feet and uttered a long, breathless string of curses. “We were so close. We had everything. All we had to do was get out of here!”

  As the strange, warbling alarm faded out, it left a ringing in the air. Malin heard guards moving back and forth, shouted commands, questions, the clank of rifles. The junkyard provided decent cover—they had piles of junk on three sides—but people were close. Getting out of the camp was going to be a problem.

  Spence was still cursing and punching the ground, but Archer grabbed him suddenly by the collar and pulled him close. Then, with her free hand, she dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a mostly empty pack of Mentos.

  “Would you eat one of your stupid mints and quit freaking out?” she said, shoving the pack at him. “Punching the earth doesn’t fix anything. We have to get out of this hellhole, and you’re the man in charge here.”

  Ducking his head, Spence grabbed the pack and worked a mint out with his thumb. He popped it in his mouth, rolled it around so that it rattled loudly against his teeth, then sighed. “Sorry. I guess we knew this was a possibility. We strolled into camp and looted their medical tent.”

  “Exactly,” Archer said. “What’s the exit plan now?”

  “All of the noise and activity will be centered around the medical tent,” he said, “so let’s try to avoid the area completely and circle around to our origination point. Maybe we’ll meet up with Prig there. If not, we head straight to the beach.”

  “We’re going to encounter people along the way,” Malin noted. The sounds of guards dashing about were only intensifying. “We can’t avoid them. Guards or civilians.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s no reason to play nice now,” Spence said. “We’re fighting our way out. Boss said if we get into trouble, run and gun.”

  If slitting throats and dumping corpses in tents was playing nice, Malin was afraid to see the alternative.

  “Archer, Malin, you two stay behind me,” Spence said. “I’ll try to avoid people, but I’m going to clear the path if I have to. Try to keep a low profile, okay? You’ve got the supplies. Even if something happens to me, maybe they won’t notice you guys, and you can sneak out of here with the stuff. But I’m sure as hell not getting captured like Golf. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Archer replied with a nod.

  Spence gave Malin a sharp look, and Malin finally nodded. Whatever you say, buddy, he thought. You’re the man with the AK.

  With a loud expulsion of breath, Spence rose, looked left and right, then headed west, circling around a junk pile and moving toward the rope in the opposite direction from the medical tent. Archer went next, leaving Malin to bring up the rear. He tried to hunch over a little as he walked to make himself seem smaller, but the enormous rattling backpack didn’t help.

  The layout of the camp seemed completely chaotic to Malin now. Just tents, firepits, trash, and junk scattered all over the place. Paths felt narrow and cluttered, claustrophobic at times, and he had to keep checking the position of the sun to avoid getting completely turned around. He didn’t see anyone in their immediate vicinity, but he heard people moving about close by.

  Spence cut a zigzag pattern, moving from row to row, turning without warning. Malin found it difficult to keep track of him. They came around a corner and saw civilians gathered around a small camp stove. At the sight of Spence, they scattered in all directions like cockroaches. Some crawled into tents, others threw themselves into shadowy places.

  It was impossible to tell how close they were to the edge of camp. The place seemed so big that it just consumed everything around them. At the moment, Malin had the strange sense that the tents, fires, junk, and gray civilians went on in all directions forever.

  “You there!” someone shouted from the right. Malin saw a guard rushing toward them, snapping his fingers at Spence. He was a small guy, wiry, with a blunt face, the brim of his camouflage cap pulled low. Little tufts of brown hair stuck out on either side. He had a rifle in his hands, a make and model Malin didn’t know, but he was pointing it at the ground.

  “Commander says spread out,” the guard shouted at Spence. “Head for the perimeter. Make sure no one enters or leaves the camp. No one.”

  “Oh, didn’t realize that,” Spence said. “I’ll do it right now.”

  And then, even as he was still speaking, Spence raised the AK-47—so fast the guard didn’t have time to react—and shot him in the throat. There was a small puff of red just beneath his Adam’s apple, a kind of red cloud behind him, then he grabbed his throat, made a low gurgling sound, and fell. This time, Spence didn’t bother dragging the body into a tent. He just resumed running.

  Unfortunately, the sound of the rifle was quite loud. Malin could hear it rolling over the camp like thunder. Spence picked up speed, even as he continued to dodge and weave through the camp. Malin followed him past some barrels and saw a group of civilians huddled on the ground between the barrels. They were clutching at each other and crying.

  Malin made eye contact with one of them, a woman holding a small child in her arms. They both looked dirty and emaciated. He wished then, though he knew it was foolish, that he could somehow free them all. As he looked up again, he saw another guard stepping out of a tent. A big, bearded gentleman with his cap set at an angle, he turned toward Spence, giving him a quizzical look.

  “Well, don’t you look guilty,” the man said, reaching for the rifle slung over his shoulder.

  As the last word fell from the guard’s mouth, Spence aimed and fired, shot him in the chest—once, twice. Malin saw little puffs as his camouflage shirt popped, right around his heart. He stumbled backward, managed a single short cry, then fell back inside the tent. A kind of terrible quaking had filled Malin’s whole body, a brightness at the edges of his vision. The whole situation seemed unreal, as if he were running in a dream.

  They turned another corner, slipping betwe
en two stacks of old appliances. More civilians scattered before them, but Malin also thought he saw open ground in the distance. Between two large tents, it looked like a field with sparse grass, a glint of water from a pond far beyond it.

  “We’re close,” he said, but Archer pressed a finger to her lips and scowled at him.

  Through all of this, the sound of people moving throughout the camp had persisted—shouting, trampling boots, the clank of carried rifles—but Malin became aware now that the great cacophony had changed. It had narrowed to a smaller space somewhere directly behind him, as if all of the militiamen were converging, moving together in a specific direction.

  Chasing the sound of gunshots, he realized.

  Spence stopped in front of one of the tents, planted a hand against Archer’s back, and shoved her inside. As he did, Malin heard the rising tide of voices behind him.

  “This way,” a deep voice bellowed. “They saw the man go this way.”

  It was so close, he feared if he looked back, he would see their pursuers. Spence grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him forward, flinging him inside the tent. Malin stumbled, swinging his arms to try to keep his feet, but he fell onto the floor. The inside of the tent was large but mostly empty, and the ground was covered in an old, tattered rug.

  Spence entered last and pulled the tent flap shut behind him. Then he backed up a couple of steps and aimed his rifle at it. Malin started to rise, but Archer came up beside him, put her arm under his back, and hoisted him to his feet. She gave him a thumbs-up and a questioning look, as if to say, “Are you okay?” Malin nodded.

  “They’re close,” Spence whispered over his shoulder. “Stupid civilians probably gave us away.”

  “Or perhaps the really loud shooting,” Malin suggested.

  “No choice,” Spence replied. “Run and gun.”

  The voices were getting louder outside, as was the tramp of boots. Malin looked about, but, of course, there was nothing in the tent to help them.