“We won’t make it,” Malin replied.
“Maybe not.” She glanced at him. “What’s the alternative?”
He hesitated, then said, “I trust your judgment.”
Not quite what I wanted to hear right now, she thought, but I should have expected it.
She wasn’t really conflicted about what to do. It was crystal clear, but she was scared. More scared than she’d ever been. Still, she resumed moving down the corridor, this time at a slow jog.
“I don’t know where you think you’re going,” one of the soldiers said. She recognized the slurring voice. It was the same drunk who had confronted them at the cellar door. Apparently, he hadn’t been fatally wounded, if he’d been wounded at all. “There’s no escape that way. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, so why don’t you put your hands up and live a little bit longer. Just tell us what you know about the bunker, and we’ll let you live. We can see you’re desperate civilians. Come on, now.”
Have they noticed the explosive charges? Elna wondered. Do they know the danger we’re all in?
If so, they hadn’t given any indication. Still, Elna wanted to buy Selene and Pop just a little more time so they could get as far as possible from the explosion. She slowed to a walk, raising her hands above her head. Malin did the same. As she raised her right hand, she closed her fist around the small detonator, hoping the soldiers wouldn’t notice.
“Get ready to drop to the floor,” she said quietly, as she came to a stop.
Malin nodded.
“We…may not survive this,” she added, choking suddenly on the words.
“It’s okay,” Malin replied. He smiled at her and nodded. “Hey, you’ve been a great leader for these islanders. If we go out, we go out trying to save them, right?”
“That’s right,” she said.
He started to say something, seemed to struggle for a second, then blurted it out all at once. “I love you, Elna Pasqualee.”
It shocked her and brought tears to her eyes—the last thing she needed right now—and she fought them back with all her might. “I love you, too,” she replied.
They were separated from the soldiers by about thirty yards. The final charge was now right above the group, and as far as Elna could tell, they hadn’t noticed it. Maybe they were too fixated on their prey. Maybe it hadn’t occurred to them that the Marines would risk destroying the bunker to keep them out. Maybe they were just too drunk.
“We surrender,” Elna said. “Don’t shoot.”
“Good,” the cinder-block soldier in the front said. “Put your guns down slowly. Very slowly. No sudden moves. We just want to ask you a few questions. None of this concerns you people anyway.”
“Okay, we’re out of ammo anyway,” Elna said, slowly removing the handgun from its holster. “Look, I’m dropping.”
“Slowly,” the soldier replied. “Very slowly.”
She bent over and tossed the Beretta on the floor.
“Okay, Malin,” she said. “Now.”
As soon as she said it, she hit the detonator button with her thumb and dropped flat onto the floor. There was one horrible second where nothing happened. Just stillness and confusion.
Fish wired them wrong, she thought. Or maybe we don’t have a signal for the detonator down here for some reason.
Then the first explosion went off, and it felt like the whole world shook with the force of it. The charges started at the far end of the corridor, down by the stairs, but quickly came toward them, each one going off a fraction of a second after the other. Elna didn’t dare look. She wrapped her arms over her head and covered her ears. However, she heard the soldiers shrieking and cursing in those last terrible moments.
The ground beneath her bounced like a drum, and impact of the explosions became a violent force moving through her body. Pain, so much pain. Was she being hit? Was she dying? She couldn’t tell. It was all just noise, pain, shock, and the dreamlike realization that she was probably about to be crushed to death or blown to bits.
And then she heard the roof panels give way above her and felt a massive amount of dirt crashing down on top of her. It seemed to fill every space, forcing its way under her arms, against her face, into her mouth. She pressed her nose against the floor, clamped her eyes shut, and pressed her lips together. Still, she tasted dirt on her tongue. More than that, pressure was building against her back. It became harder to breath, harder to move.
And then, in a moment, everything went still. All noise ceased. The whole world seemed to come to a sudden stop. No shouts or screaming. No running or cursing. Nothing. Just absolute stillness, and Elna entombed in the bottom of the world.
I can’t move anything, she realized. I can’t breathe. Oh, God, I can’t breathe!
27
The dirt was pressing against her on all sides so strongly that she felt like she’d been encased in concrete. When she tried to thrash, the only part of her body that seemed to move were the lower halves of her legs. She could feel her heels moving up and down, but the rest of her had been entombed. This induced a terrible panic, even as she squeezed her eyes and mouth shut in an attempt to keep the dirt out.
Why can’t I move? Why can’t I get out of this? her panicked mind screamed. Did the whole island fall on top of me?
The irony that this should be the manner of her death did not escape her. She felt a kind of buzzing in her head. Her hands had wound up folded beneath her, but she began moving her fingers back and forth. She could only move them half an inch or so, but it created a little bit of clear space around her chin. She tried to tilt her head down to reach the gap, but couldn’t move enough to get there.
It can’t end like this, she thought, feeling the panic surging through her body. Every muscle twitched, trying to move something, anything, but she was stuck fast, sealed in. No, this is worse than drowning. Worse than anything. Oh God, no!
Her mind was screaming. In her desperation, it seemed that she was able to move her legs a bit more. She thought maybe she was free up to her knees now, so she tried to push herself backward. Maybe she could eject herself from the crushing dirt and debris like a botfly from a carcass. It was futile. Her arms were in the wrong position. She had no leverage.
As the buzzing began to fill every thought, she felt a strange sensation scraping against her skin, against her whole body. Suddenly, she sensed the dirt shifting around her face, as if it were loosening. Still, she didn’t dare take a breath. Everything seemed to be collapsing around her yet again, as if the hallway were crumbling into some deeper chasm.
Just give me a breath, she thought. Just one breath.
As if in answer to this request, the pressure eased, the dirt continued to spill away in front of her. And then she realized someone was pulling her—dragging her—backward. She managed to get her hands up in front of her face, cupping them around her nose and mouth so she could take a breath. Instantly, the terrible buzzing sensation in her head evaporated, and the whole-body panic subsided.
“I’ve got you. Hang on. I’ve got you.” Malin’s voice. He was hoarse, gasping for breath as he spoke.
Finally, she slid out of dirt, felt it drop away and Malin pulling her upright. It was still utterly dark, but his arms wrapped around her and drew her in close as she breathed deeply. Elna felt dirt in between her teeth, on her tongue, in her nostrils. It dribbled from her lips like mud.
“I’m sorry,” Malin said in her ear. “Part of the ceiling came down right on top of us. You were farther in, and I had to dig around to get you free. All I had was my bare hands.”
“It’s okay,” she said, clutching at his back. “Thank you. I couldn’t move, Malin. It was the worst feeling.”
“We made it,” he replied. “That was way too close, but we made it. Let’s try to get back into the bunker. Come on.”
He turned her toward what she assumed was the end of the hall, and she began creeping forward on her hands and knees. A smell lingered in the air. It was like gunpowder, dirt, and ol
d metal—so strong it made her sick. As she crawled, she felt sharp pain in her lower back, a slightly less severe pain in her shoulders and neck.
I guess that’s what happens when an island falls on top of you, she thought. If not for the pain, she might have laughed at the thought, but she was too uncomfortable to find anything amusing at the moment.
“Did we get them?” she asked. “The mercs, did we get them?”
“If bringing the hallway down on top of them isn’t enough,” Malin replied, “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t hear a peep from them once everything settled. They must be buried in there deep. If so, that means four of them are down.”
“Which leaves eight in the guesthouse,” she said, spitting out a big glob of mud. “Including their commander.”
As she crept forward, she felt on the ground in front of her, her fingers brushing strange debris in the utter dark. She thought of Pop and Selene. How much farther down the hall had they been? Had they made it into the bunker before the explosion? She tried to call out to them, but her dry throat hitched. She coughed, spat up more mud, and tried again.
“Pop, are you there somewhere?” she called. “Selene? Where are you guys?”
A few seconds of silence followed. Elna heard only Malin’s coarse breathing beside her. Then someone cleared his throat from the darkness in front of her.
“We’re okay.” Pop, but he sounded so frail. “I think we’re okay. Almost made it to the door and then got the whole world yanked right out from under my feet.”
“He landed on top of me,” Selene said, in a pained voice. “At least I cushioned his fall.”
“Are you injured?” Malin asked.
“Definitely bruised,” Selene replied. “Doesn’t feel like any bones are broken, and I don’t feel any blood.”
Elna had gone a few yards—possibly more; she couldn’t tell—when her right hand brushed someone’s back. She felt the scratchy wool of her dad’s vest. She put an arm around him, but he grunted in discomfort.
“The door is here,” he said. “Reach past me. You’ll see. Can’t get it open.”
She reached past her father and felt the smooth metal of the door that led into the game room. She slid her hands along the door, looking for damage but didn’t feel any. Then she grabbed the big, sturdy door handle, and it seemed to turn just fine. However, when she pulled on the door, it wouldn’t budge. She leaned back, putting her weight into it, but her shoulders and back screamed in pain. Losing her grip, she fell back on her rump.
“Can’t do it,” she said, massaging her right shoulder. “It doesn’t feel damaged, but it doesn’t want to open. When the middle part of the ceiling came down, it might have pushed the doorframe just a little out of square.”
“Let me try,” Malin said. “You were just buried alive. You’re probably not at peak strength.”
“Buried alive,” Selene said with a gasp.
“Principessa, did you get hurt?” Pop said.
“Don’t worry about me, Dad,” she replied.
She felt Malin brush past her and heard the sound of the door handle. Malin grunted, then cursed under his breath. There was a loud scraping sound, metal against metal, and the door hinges shrieked. Then Malin suddenly fell backward and landed in her lap. As he did, a whoosh of cool air swept into the hallway.
“That got it,” Malin said.
A flickering orange light came through the door, but Elna realized now just how dust-choked the air was. It was like a thick, brown fog. She tried to swipe it out of her face, but there was just so much of it. Consequently, she couldn’t see the source of the flickering light. It reminded her of the warm orange glow of the fireplace in the guesthouse lobby.
I miss those quiet evenings in the lobby, she thought. I would give anything to be back there.
Malin stood from her lap and pulled himself through the open door, coughing as he went. Elna could see Selene and Pop now. They were sitting side by side against the wall on her right side, Selene nursing her right arm in the crook of her left. Pop was covered in dirt, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. When Elna looked behind herself, she saw the corridor running about ten yards behind her before the roof was folded down, and the passage was sealed by dirt. The rest of the corridor seemed to be gone, swallowed by the earth.
Elna picked herself up, wincing at the pain that simple act produced, and stepped through the open door. When she did, she realized that the dirt cloud filled the game room as well. Malin was bent over, his hands pressed to his thighs, as he was seized by a wracking cough. Voices came to them from elsewhere in the bunker. Angry, scared people speaking over each other.
It took Elna a moment to realize that the ceiling had collapsed in a corner of the game room, bringing down a couple of large metal panels and a bunch of dirt, burying some of the card tables that had been there. The lights in the room were dark, and one of the bulbs hung down at an angle. Elna approached the nearest table and leaned against the edge. She saw someone approaching from the hallway, swiping his hands in front of him as he came. Elsewhere in the bunker, Sniffy was barking like mad.
“Staff Sergeant,” she said, as the pale-haired man stepped through the door into the game room.
“You survived the blast,” he said. “I figured you all got buried in there. Damn Fish almost brought down the whole bunker. What was he thinking?”
“I don’t know,” Elna replied. “We were in a hurry. Some of the mercenaries pursued us into the passageway.”
“And Fish?” Prig peered past her.
She didn’t want to say it, so she bent over, wincing at the pain in her back, waiting for someone else to tell him. She heard Malin helping Selene and Pop through the door and realized it was up to her.
“He didn’t make it,” she said finally. “They wounded him, so he stayed behind and held them off while we fled. I took the detonator and set off the charges.”
Prig dragged his hands through his short hair, then smacked the doorframe with an open hand. “Another one of my people gone,” he said, quietly, a hiss full of anger, “but they’ll pay for it. They’ll all pay. You wait and see.” He turned back to Elna, his expression hovering somewhere between a crazed smile and a furious scowl. “This isn’t over. Come on. Let the doctor check you out. You look pretty banged up. We’re all down the hall.”
And with that, he put the cap back on and swept out of the room.
Commander Tucker filled the back door of the kitchen, a cold determination keeping him steady. He heard his men scrambling at the end of the hall, saw shadows moving back and forth beneath the open hatch.
The damned Chinese Communists didn’t pay us nearly enough for this job, he thought. Did they know an ambush was being set for us here?
He tried to regulate his breathing, disconnecting from any emotion. He’d run hundreds of dangerous missions for a variety of clients, so he had plenty of practice at this. The mission was quickly going south, but he would turn it around. He always turned it around. Hell, he’d been in worse situations than this. It was why he got paid for these kinds of black ops missions.
The men were still scrambling about, shouting at each other, so Tucker strode down the hall. The ammunition in his vest pockets rattled as he walked. Tucker liked to keep all of his tools handy, even though it made his vest quite heavy. He had a Glock 19 in a holster on the right side, a KA-BAR knife in a sheath on the left, plenty of spare loaded magazines in the small pockets along the front of the vest, a Springfield Hellcat in a shoulder holster, and a smaller knife in a sheath strapped to his left forearm. He was an enormous man—there was plenty of room for all of these weapons and more. There was always something to choose from in any situation.
He descended the stone steps into the wine cellar. Three of his men were moving about on the far side of the room. One of them held a bright LED flashlight, and it cast their shadows in long nightmare patterns across the floor. Tucker could see immediately that the entryway into the secret passage had collapsed. A large pil
e of bricks and dirt had gushed into the cellar. The men were currently digging at it with their bare hands, as if they thought they might tunnel through to the other side.
“How many were down there when it collapsed?” Tucker said. He resisted the urge to shout, but his men lurched and spun to face him.
“Four went after them,” the soldier with the flashlight—Connor—said. “Ardmore, Thanh, Rousseau, and Koike. We’re trying to get to them, sir.”
Four. Tucker wanted to strangle someone.
“And how many enemies were there?” he asked. “Did anyone get a good look at them?”
“No, sir,” Connor replied. “We didn’t get down here before the doorway collapsed. Sorry, sir.”
He waved off the apology. “Get shovels. There’s a tool shed out back. Keep digging.”
And with that, he turned and ascended the steps. He wanted to stand there and see if they could find a way through, but he knew his presence might distract them.
Ardmore and Thanh, he thought. Getting drunk on wine, losing sight of the mission. They were highly recommended on the mercenary market, but they weren’t worth the price. The other guys better pick up the slack. Our reputations are on the line here.
He realized he’d reached down and grabbed the handle of the KA-BAR knife.
Maybe I shouldn’t hold back, he thought. Maybe the lack of fear has produced this subpar performance.
He heard boots in the kitchen. When he reached the door, he saw the youngest soldier—a South African merc named Burgers—rounding the center island. He wore his black cap cocked at an angle. Tucker was often tempted to smack it off his head. The young merc had a thin face, a prominent nose, traces of acne on his cheeks and forehead, and at the moment, his face was twisted up in terror.
“Sir, sir, part of the building came down,” he said. “There’s a fire. There’s all kinds of problems!”
“Calm down,” Tucker snapped, partially drawing the knife from its sheath. Burgers noticed this and flinched. “Lead me there.”
Island Refuge EMP Box Set | Books 1-3 Page 69
