Why didn’t we just keep running out of the camp? he wondered. But, of course, he knew the answer already. Their pursuers were so close they would have been spotted.
Malin moved to the back of the tent and bent down, trying to lift the canvas along the ground, but it was staked tightly on the other side. Even if he could squeeze himself through, he didn’t see how they would get the large, full packs through—not without making a bunch of noise.
Spence stepped up beside him, drawing the large knife from a sheath at his belt. He held up the blade.
“You’re on the right track,” he said to Malin. “Let’s cut through and make a run for it.”
He flipped the knife around and held it out, handle first, to Malin. Malin took it, and Spence grabbed a support rod in a corner of the tent and pinched the canvas between his fingers, pulling it taut.
“They’re somewhere in this vicinity,” a voice bellowed from outside the tent. “Search every tent, every crevice, every barrel and box. Kill them on sight.”
A dozen or so voices responded with, “Yes, sir.”
Too close. Malin stood before the back wall of the tent, the grooves of the knife handle slippery in his sweating hands. Slowly, he pushed the tip of the knife forward until it was touching the canvas.
Cut through and run for it, he thought. Hurry up.
And with that, clenching his teeth so tightly they hurt, he thrust the blade into the canvas.
17
By the time they reached the edge of camp, all of the noise and chaos had moved far away from them. Indeed, the whole area around them had gone utterly quiet and still. Elna found it rather eerie. Beyond the last tents, she saw vast open ground before them with low hills and sparse grass.
Prig was still carrying Golf in the crook of his arm, but he stopped at the edge of the camp and hunkered down behind a large wooden crate. Elna was amazed at just how many boxes, barrels, and crates filled the camp. She wondered how many of them were filled with supplies looted from nearby towns.
“They’re still shouting and screaming,” Elna said, as the echo of many voices moved through the camp. “That’s a good sign, right? It means our people haven’t been killed.”
Before Prig could answer, Elna heard the distinct crack of a gunshot, and the shouting voices got even more intense. Prig glanced at her, one eyebrow going up.
Us or them? That was the question that hovered in the air between them.
He motioned at her, tightened his grip on Golf, and rose. Elna leaned past the box, looking in both directions along the edge of camp. She didn’t see any guards, and most of the civilians seemed to have gone into hiding. In fact, if not for the distant sound of angry voices, she might have thought the camp had been abandoned.
“All clear,” she said.
Prig and Golf moved out, keeping low as they headed toward the nearest low hill. As Elna ran across the open ground, she felt a terrible, skin-crawling sense of exposure, as if countless snipers might be tracking her. She glanced back at the camp and saw the great sprawl and squalor of it. A small child with a filthy face and big eyes was staring at her from a shadowy spot beside a tent, his arms wrapped around his head.
“Faster, faster,” Prig said.
Elna realized she had slowed down, so she turned away from the kid and picked up the pace. They reached the far side of the first hill. Elna expected Prig to stop, to maybe assess their surroundings and make sure they were clear, but he kept going. Turning to the left, he began to carve a wide circle around the camp in a counterclockwise direction. Poor Golf was just along for the ride, occasionally grunting in pain, but mostly just dragging the toes of his boots through the dirt.
“Is this the way, sir?” he asked, at one point. “Where are we going?”
“Taking you to a beautiful island paradise,” Prig replied.
Far to the north, Elna saw a glint of water and realized it was the pond they’d seen before. A guard was racing back to the camp from the pond. Some civilians slunk along behind him, dragging fishing poles and wicker baskets. Apparently, the day’s fishing trip had come to an abrupt end.
Elna heard another series of gunshots from somewhere in the camp. It seemed really far away.
Malin, just get out of there, she thought. Whatever it takes, get out of that camp and meet us on the beach.
She did her best to avoid looking in the direction of camp, afraid making eye contact with someone would draw attention. Prig seemed to know where he was going, following a broad, circuitous path, keeping mostly on the backsides of the small hills. It felt like it was taking forever, and all the while, the shouting and chaos in camp never stopped.
They were somewhere on the north side of camp, due south of the pond, when Prig stopped suddenly, pointed at Elna, and pointed toward the camp. Then he started moving in that direction. He had the rifle in his left hand, but Elna wondered if he would be able to fire it in time if they ran into a hostile guard.
Ahead, just behind a tent, she saw the gear they’d left behind. It was the place where they’d changed clothes and dumped some of their packs. Elna stooped down and grabbed her pack, slinging it over her shoulder. Prig dragged their uniform shirts out of the dirt and flicked them over his shoulder. Then he cut back toward the beach.
The shouting from within the camp seemed more desperate, so Elna dared a glance as they passed between two hills. She saw guards moving just inside the camp, swinging their rifles back and forth as they went, as if looking for someone. After a second, she saw two more guards deeper in the camp checking each tent one by one.
If they’re searching the camp, that means they haven’t found Malin, she thought. She dared to hope.
Prig moved farther from the camp as he headed west. Off to the left, Elna saw the dirt bikes in their little fenced area. A couple of guards stood between the bikes and the camp, as if they thought someone might come out and try to steal them.
“Don’t look back,” Prig said. “Keep your eyes straight ahead. Don’t want to trip and fall and draw attention.”
When she turned back around, she saw the slope just ahead of them, the sandy drop down toward the beach. In the distance, the beautiful blue-green water of the bay beckoned them, and she saw the Betty Lynn anchored out in the water. The rush of relief made her breathless. They’d done it. Somehow, by God, they’d done it!
As she eased down the slippery slope, she spotted figures on the beach. Prig took off at a brisk pace, dragging Golf alongside him, as the distant figures turned toward them. Malin, Archer, and Spence. They were just standing there on the beach, as if they’d come to enjoy the surf and sun. Only the large packs on the ground behind them gave away their purpose.
“Elna, guys, you made it,” Malin said, running toward them.
She ran to meet him, and they embraced. She wanted to cling to him, to hold tight, as elation swept over her, but they weren’t out of it yet.
“Let’s go home,” she said, pulling out of his arms.
“Man, it was crazy,” he said. “We were running and shooting. I can’t believe we got out of there alive.”
“Tell me about it on the boat,” she said.
Archer and Spence rushed to their rescued friend, Golf, patting him, shaking his hand, even as he winced and tried to wave them off.
“Man, we should burn this camp down for what they did to you,” Spence said. “Look at your face!”
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Golf replied. “Is that our boat?”
As Elna and Malin joined the Marines at the water’s edge, Prig pulled out his radio. Elna could see Raymond on deck, and he seemed to be gesturing with his hands, as if trying to communicate something.
“Hey there, Cap’n Crunch,” Prig said into the radio. “Want to come in a little closer? We’ve got an injured man here.”
The radio squawked, and Raymond replied through static. “Can’t come closer. Tide’s lower now, and we’ll run aground. You’ll just have to wade out here.”
Prig grumbled
under his breath then said, “Okay, got it. We’re on our way.” He stuffed the radio back into his pocket and stooped down to pick up Golf. “You heard him, folks. We’re wading out there.”
As he hoisted Golf up by his side, he stepped into the water, headed for the boat. Spence followed. Archer paused and hoisted her full pack above her head.
“Keep your pack out of the water,” she said to Malin. “Some of the medical stuff ain’t waterproof.”
Malin picked up his own pack and tried to raise it over his head. He was in good shape, with a muscular build and strong arms, but he was either tired, worn out, or possibly recovering from the stress of fleeing the camp. He grunted and strained to get the pack up. Elna tried to help, but there wasn’t much she could do.
“I don’t know about you, Elna, but I’m ready for a nap when we get back,” he said, stepping into the water.
“Not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again,” she replied.
As she waded into the water, she was struck again at how cold the bay was. It soaked through her clothes, and she immediately started to shiver. Spence and Golf were moving fast. She saw them in the distance, the water up to their chests. Malin was having trouble, wobbling from time to time, the pack threatening to fall into the water. Elna waded up beside him and reached up with her right hand, adding some stability to the pack.
“After all of this, if we don’t save at least one life with this stuff, I’ll be pissed,” he muttered.
As they approached the boat, she saw Raymond more clearly. He was standing at the railing, hands over his head, beckoning them. When Prig and Golf reached the port side of the boat, he tossed a small rope ladder over the side. Prig boosted his injured friend out of the water, then Raymond reached down to help him. With Prig pushing and Raymond using his good arm to pull, they managed to get him to the ladder. Even then, it took Golf a bit to grab hold of a rung, and even longer to climb up into the boat, even as Raymond continued trying to help. Finally, after almost a full minute, the injured Marine rolled onto the deck with a groan.
“We’ll be riding heavy on the way back,” Raymond said. “We need most of the weight on the upwind side of the boat or we’ll tip over.”
Prig climbed up next and, following Raymond’s instructions, moved to the starboard side of the boat, pulling Golf along with him. Spence had just started up the ladder when Elna heard some kind of commotion behind her. She looked back, but in the process, her hand moved away from Malin’s pack. He promptly dropped it in the water.
“Well, it was inevitable,” he muttered, fishing it out of the cold, salty bay water.
Elna’s gaze was drawn up the slope at the shoreline. Shapes rose from beyond the ridge: camouflage shirts and dark rifles. She caught a glint of metal on the cap of the tallest of the figures. A silver star.
“Guys, we gotta go,” Prig shouted from on deck.
Spence had just made it to the top of the ladder, and Raymond helped pull him over the gunwale. Archer came next, the pack still hoisted above her head. Spence reached down and grabbed it out of her hands, tossing it onto the seat beside the tiller.
“Hurry up, people!” Prig shouted. “Get in the boat.”
Archer had just begun to climb the ladder when gunshots rang out. It sounded like distant firecrackers, but then Elna heard sizzling in the water. She realized it was bullets hitting around her. A rush of terror flooded her body, giving her a burst of energy that caused her to surge forward. Spence and Prig still had the rifles they’d looted, and though they’d been soaked in the bay, they pulled them off their shoulders and took up positions in the middle of the deck, aiming back toward the beach.
A bullet punched a hole in the side of the cabin. Another cut a small hole in the patched mainsail. Archer was near the top of the ladder, pulling herself over. A third bullet caught her right between the shoulder blades. Elna happened to be looking directly at her when it happened. Her body lurched against the gunwale, and she gasped loudly. Then she slid off the ladder into the water, leaving bright smears of red against the gunwale and down the side of the boat.
Prig and Spence returned fire. Despite being wet, the AK-47s seemed to operate just fine, and they unleashed round after round in the direction of the slope. Raymond reached down and grabbed Archer’s wrists, trying to pull her up into the boat, but her head lolled back on her shoulders, eyes wide. She was already dead. Right through the heart. Fortunately, the militiamen had ceased to fire, and Elna could just make out their shapes ducking down beneath the slope.
“I can’t get her,” Raymond said, still trying to pull Archer into the boat.
All of his effort was causing the sailboat to tip dangerously to the port side. Prig finally backed up in an attempt to balance out the weight, but it wasn’t enough. Spence shouldered his rifle and approached Raymond.
“She’s gone. She’s gone,” he shouted, pulling Archer’s hands out of Raymond’s grasp. “Nothing we can do for her.”
“Attach a line to the body,” Spence said. “We can drag her back. She deserves a proper burial.”
“We’re under fire, Spence,” Prig said, sharply. “Let her go.”
As Raymond stumbled backward, Spence reached down under Archer’s collar and pulled something over her head. Elna heard a faint jingle and realized it was her dog tags. He pocketed them, then let her body fall back into the water.
“I’ll kill everyone in the camp for this, I swear to God,” he muttered. He pulled the rifle off his shoulder and took another shot at the beach. “Her life is worth a hundred of theirs.”
Archer was floating facedown, only her shoulders and the back of her head visible above the water. Malin had to push past the body to get up the ladder. He climbed on deck. Elna came last. As she did, her fingers brushed through the blood on the side of the boat.
“Die, scumbags, die,” Spence yelled, unloading the rest of the magazine.
More bullets came from the beach. Elna heard them sizzling in the air, hitting the water. One shot ricocheted off the water with a splash. She heard a bullet ring off the metal boom, another shattered the tiny porthole on the side of the cabin. As she pulled herself up the ladder, she saw Archer sink into the murky depths beside her. This seemed to produce another angry outburst from Spence, who was kneeling on the deck. He fired until the magazine was empty, then he slammed the AK-47 on the deck and drew his service revolver.
Elna pulled herself into the boat, even as bullets continued to sizzle in the air. She dragged herself over the gunwale and flopped onto the deck. She heard the sound of the anchor chain, the flap of the mast. As she crawled toward the cabin, the whole boat continued to tilt dangerously to port.
“Starboard side, guys,” Raymond shouted. “We’re tipping!”
Elna lifted her head, saw water sloshing about just in front of her. Suddenly, one of the deck planks cracked as a bullet hit it. She was sliding to port as the whole boat continued to tilt ever farther, so she reached out, trying to grab something, anything. Finally, her hand clamped down on Prig’s boot. Prig reached down, grabbed her under the arm, and dragged her to the starboard side of the deck.
The boat was unsteady now. She could feel its movement in the whipping wind. Water sloshed back in the other direction, splashing against her. She finally rose to her knees and reached back toward the bench beside the tiller. Malin sitting on the bench across from Raymond, both of the full packs in his lap.
Spence took a final shot, unleashed a wordless cry at the shore, and jammed the gun into his holster. As the echo of the scream faded, a tense quiet descended. No more shooting from the shore, scarcely a sound from those on the boat. Elna dared to raise her head and look back to the beach. Three bodies were sprawled out on the slope. One of them was Rod Smith. She knew the shape of the man, the build. The other guards had apparently retreated.
That Rod should come to such an ignominious end was strange to her. Tipped forward like a domino after his many guards had failed to stop three Marines and two civilians
from infiltrating his camp.
“My God,” Malin whispered, like a prayer. It was all he said—all he needed to say.
Elna took a seat at his feet, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. Spence had slumped down on the deck. He had a fierce look on his face, teeth bared, head down, eyes gazing coldly from the deep well beneath his brow. Prig was still, silent, a calm expression on his face, as if he’d seen this kind of thing many times before. He leaned back against the starboard gunwale, set his pack and rifle beside him, and crossed his arms over his chest.
They were well on their way across the bay, the causeway just visible as a purple ghost-shape off to their left, before anyone spoke. It was Raymond, who had been quietly operating the tiller.
“We took damage,” he said to no one in particular. “Better check the hull when we get back. It got hit at least a few times. And we’ll need to repair the sail.”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Elna replied. The stress of the day had settled like a hard knot low in her belly. She felt all kinds of awful, actually, strange physical discomforts in every part of her body, as if she’d somehow fried her nervous system. “If we can just get back to the island, we’ll deal with all of that later.”
“Yes, yes, of course, señora…I mean, Elna,” he said.
She glanced at the hole in the deck, the cracked wood around it. Had it gone all the way through? Was the boat taking on water? It seemed possible.
Just get us home, she thought. Just get us home.
18
Malin was done. Absolutely done. He didn’t want to see that stupid, squalid militia camp ever again. He didn’t want to step foot on the mainland, trade shots with bad guys, or run any missions. He’d had his fill for one lifetime, and his whole body tingled from the aftermath of their latest harrowing escapade. The image of Archer floating on the water with a bullet wound in her back would intrude into his thoughts and bad dreams for a long time, he knew.
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 62
