Island Refuge EMP | Book 3 | Escaping Capture

  Island Refuge EMP

  Escaping Conflict

  Escaping Chaos

  Escaping Capture

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, OCTOBER 2020

  Copyright © 2020 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Grace Hamilton is a pen name created by Relay Publishing for co-authored Post-Apocalyptic projects. Relay Publishing works with incredible teams of writers and editors to collaboratively create the very best stories for our readers.

  www.relaypub.com

  Blurb

  Expect edge-of-your-seat dystopian drama in book 3 of Grace Hamilton’s post-apocalyptic series.

  The time has come to pick a side and choose between bad or worse.

  Gathered on the shores of the Pasqualee vineyard island, Elna and a small group of EMP-attack survivors are anticipating a military ambush. From a distance, armed soldiers are attempting to cross the drawbridges that connect their safe retreat to the grim horrors of the new world on the mainland.

  What they don’t yet realize is that this uninvited group of fighters is under attack themselves – from the dangerous paramilitary unit led by Elna’s rogue ex-boyfriend. When the battle-worn Marines finally make the crossing, they ask more questions than they’re willing to answer, leaving the island inhabitants questioning whether they can trust the unwelcome visitors.

  Until their true purpose is uncovered… and Elna and her father discover that their island is hiding more secrets than they could ever have imagined.

  As they come to terms with the revelations about their home, a new band of mercenaries descends upon them with the sole purpose of destroying their vineyard’s secret, so that chaos can rein free.

  Now the fight is no longer about the endurance of just the Pasqualee group. Elna, along with faithful Malin and the original survivors, must protect the island. The future of America depends on it.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Epilogue

  End of Escaping Capture

  Thank you!

  About Grace Hamilton

  Also By Grace Hamilton

  1

  A strong wind was blowing in from the west, sweeping over the island, across the fishing dock, and out into the bay. It pushed Elna’s shoulder-length black hair into her eyes, and she tucked it behind her ears. Then she opened the legs of the telescope, set it on the dock, and pointed it in the direction of the drawbridge.

  “Can you see it now?” Malin asked.

  Something was happening out around the second drawbridge. She’d first seen it through the binoculars—people brawling with fists and tools—but Malin had gone to the storage shed halfway up the hill and brought back the telescope. Now, she could see it clearly.

  The second drawbridge was four miles out into the bay, and there was frantic movement happening around it. Two groups of people had squared off against each other on the causeway. The brawling seemed to have ceased, and they were drawn up in in what appeared to be battle lines. The more distant group wore the camouflage uniforms of Rod Smith’s militia. The group closer to the drop-off appeared to be wearing US military uniforms of some kind, though Elna couldn’t tell which branch from this distance.

  Rod’s men were shouting and pointing. The other group was spread across all four lanes, their backs to the drawbridge. Among them, she saw at least one small child wailing in terror and clutching her forehead. Some of them seemed to be injured.

  “Rod Smith’s boys are facing off against another group,” Elna said, stepping to one side and gesturing at the telescope. “There’s a kid over there.”

  Raymond Cabello and his son, Daniel, were standing at the end of the fishing dock, gazing off into the distance, though the second drawbridge was little more than a vague blue-gray shape with the naked eye. Suddenly, Daniel’s knees wobbled, and he caught himself against the handrail. His father reached over and put an arm around his shoulders. The boy was doing better these days, thanks to the experimental medication they’d brought back from Manchester, but he was still very sick.

  “Could it be a mutiny?” Malin said, peering through the telescope. “A few families from the militia camp trying to break free and escape?”

  Norman took a look next, scanning back and forth with the telescope.

  “No, I don’t think they’re from Rod’s camp,” Elna said. “They seem to be dressed in actual military uniforms. These people came from somewhere else.”

  Norman gasped. “My God, there’s someone in the water.”

  “He must have been pushed in,” Elna said. “They’re standing awfully close to the edge.”

  “This guy’s swimming around,” Norman said. “It looks like he’s headed for the other side of the drawbridge. Can he climb up there?”

  Elna looked through the telescope again. It didn’t take long to spot the swimmer. This was no desperate man trying not to drown. He was speeding with purpose across the gap toward the far side of the drawbridge. As she watched, she realized he was cutting across to the northeast corner, where the mechanism for the drawbridge hung out of the bottom of the service building like the guts of an eviscerated carcass.

  “The bay is crawling with sharks,” she said. “He’s lucky they’re not swarming.”

  As she looked carefully, the swimmer’s clothing seemed to shift and change. She couldn’t make sense of it. It almost appeared as if the striped pattern was animated.

  “What in the heck is going on?” she muttered. She picked up the telescope by its three-legged stand and moved closer to the end of the fishing dock, as if that might give her a clearer view. “What is he wearing? Some kind of weird pattern.”

  It’s a wetsuit, she decided. The chaotic pattern seemed deliberate. Was it just a design? It seemed too eye-straining to be a simple decoration.

  “Malin, you were a surfer in your former life, right?” she said. “Take a look at the guy in the water and tell me what the weird wetsuit is all about? Something strange is going on here. I don’t think this is just some random encounter on the road.”

  Malin looked through the telescope again. “You’re talking about the stripes? Yeah, I’ve seen them before. As I recall, the pattern is supposed to ward off shark attacks. I met a guy with a similar wetsuit design on the Gold Coast of Australia once. I don’t know if the pattern works or not.”

  “So clearly t
his guy came here intending to swim the bay,” Elna said, worried now. “He knows the area. He knows the water is shark infested, and he planned accordingly. Malin, who are these people?”

  “Former guests of Pasqualee Vineyard,” Malin suggested, “looking to take a break and get away from all the roaming gangs and horror?”

  “I’m being serious,” Elna said.

  “If they’re in uniforms,” Norman said, “these are military people. Probably on a mission.”

  “Not just any military people,” Malin said. “They’re also pretty skilled. The swimmer made it. He’s reached the other side, and he’s climbing up into the drawbridge mechanism.”

  Elna grabbed the telescope again and took a look, but the swimmer was already gone. Apparently, he’d crawled up into the underbelly of the service building, where the drawbridge motor was mounted. Meanwhile, across the gap, the two groups were still squaring off against each other, as if waiting for someone to make a move.

  “Is there any chance they can actually get the drawbridge down?” Norman asked.

  “I highly doubt it,” Elna said. “Malin and I jammed the motor during our escape from Rod’s camp.”

  But then, as if to defy her words, she saw the drawbridge shudder and begin to drop.

  This whole thing seems coordinated, she thought. This group came here intending to reach the island, and Rod’s men tried to stop them. But what could they possibly want that would be worth the risk to their lives?

  The only thing she could think of that might be of military interest was the old abandoned base on the southwest corner of the island, but that place was little more than a dusty lighthouse and a bunch of crumbling, empty buildings. Surely there was nothing of interest there.

  Elna felt a crawling unease as the bridge descended, as if she were being slowly, unavoidably exposed. There was still another drawbridge, but what would stop them from lowering that one as well?

  “We can’t handle all of these people coming onto the island,” she said.

  “I’m not sure we can stop them,” Malin replied. “A coordinated military operation? What are we going to do about it?”

  “We’d better figure it out. They’re on their way,” she said, still peering through the telescope.

  The drawbridge settled into place, and the Army group turned suddenly and fled west. One of the women scooped up the small child in passing. Others aimed handguns back in the direction of Rod’s men and fired off a few shots. The man in the striped wetsuit emerged from the belly of the drawbridge like an ejected parasite and dropped into the water. As soon as he surfaced, he began swimming fast along the base of the causeway in the direction of the next drawbridge.

  “This swimmer is like an Olympian,” she said. “He’s incredibly fast in the water.”

  “What do we do?” Norman said. “Should we help them? They’re being attacked. You know those folks from the militia camp are bad news.”

  Elna didn’t have an answer, so she said nothing. Movement farther to the east caught her eye, and she tracked in that direction with the telescope. Just beyond the range of seeing, where the causeway disappeared into the mist, she spotted bodies moving through the haze. Soon, they emerged, and she realized it was a much bigger group of men from Rod’s camp. Many of them had rifles slung over their shoulders.

  I’m not going to let Rod bring his fight to my island, Elna thought.

  One of the militiamen from the new group raised a gun and pointed it at the fleeing military group. Elna saw a brief flash as he fired a shot. The sound came a split-second later, echoing out over the water.

  “Are they going to come over here shooting?” Raymond Cabello said, approaching them from the end of the fishing dock. He had been quiet thus far, but when he finally spoke, Elna heard the tremor in his voice. She understood his concern. His son, Daniel, had a rare genetic disorder. The last thing the poor kid needed was a bunch of gun-wielding lunatics flooding the island.

  Elna finally rose from the telescope and turned to Malin and Norman. They were staring at her fixedly, eyebrows raised.

  Waiting for me to tell them what to do, she thought. Like usual. Guys, this is a little out of my depth here. I don’t have an easy answer.

  Both of the men were rough and rugged these days, fully bearded. Elna thought they both looked nice with facial hair, and Malin was looking particularly handsome. He’d trimmed his beard enough to avoid the mountain man look, but the sandy-colored beard complemented his blue eyes well.

  “They’re coming this way,” Malin said. “Rod’s weirdos might shoot them in the back before they reach the next drawbridge, but they’re giving it their all. It’s hard not to root for them.”

  “They’re going to kill those people,” Norman said. “Even that little kid. Can’t we help them somehow?”

  They’re not waiting for me to tell them what to do, Elna realized. They’ve already made up their minds. They’re waiting for my approval.

  She felt a sudden surge of anxiety. It went through her whole body like a trembling heat, and she pressed a hand to her belly.

  “Okay, Norman, would you go back to the guesthouse and get Dr. Ruzka?” she said, finally. “I think one of the Army guys got shot. If he reaches the island, he’ll need treatment.”

  Norman tipped her a salute and turned, headed across the road and up the hill as fast as his long legs would take him. Raymond and Daniel had come up behind her.

  “What are we doing?” Raymond said. She heard the fear in his voice. “Are we just going to let this happen?”

  “I don’t know what we’re doing,” Elna replied. “Raymond, I think you should take your son back to the guesthouse. It’s not safe out here.”

  Raymond stepped around in front of her, drawing his son along with him. Daniel’s color still wasn’t quite right. He almost seemed jaundiced, and he had dark circles around his eyes.

  “Can you stop them from raising that other bridge?” Raymond asked, leaning to one side to force eye contact with her. “There has to be something we can do, señora. They’re shooting at each other. If they get onto the island, we’re all in big trouble.”

  “It doesn’t seem like a battle to me,” Malin said. “It’s seems like a one-sided attempted slaughter. At the moment, we’re just watching it happen.”

  “I get it. I get it.” Elna waved off both of them. “Raymond, take your son back up the hill, please, where it’s safe.”

  Raymond hung his head, as if he assumed he’d lost the debate. Then he started after Norman, heading up the hill with Daniel shuffling along behind him. Elna turned back to the telescope, looking for the striped wetsuit.

  The swimmer was amazing. The dude was like a dolphin cutting through the rough water. Above him, on the causeway, the Army group continued to race west. Rod’s group, now grown to well over three dozen men, followed at a distance, but they were moving slowly, deliberately, as if they knew they had the upper hand.

  “I hate this,” Elna said. “There’s no good outcome here, Malin. Either they get the other drawbridge down and come onto the island and bring their mess and problems with them, or they get caught on the causeway and lose to Rod’s men…and maybe all get killed right before our eyes.”

  Elna picked up the telescope by its stand and stepped off the fishing dock, heading down the road toward the causeway. The road followed a gradual curve above the rocks along the eastern shore, passing the large sign that welcomed guests to Pasqualee Vineyard, before joining up with the causeway. There was a slight arch to the causeway between the shore and the first drawbridge, but she could see the top half of the bridge thrust up into the misty sky. Elna climbed up onto a rocky ledge just beyond the north parapet and set the telescope down to look through it again.

  She spotted the swimmer almost immediately. In the few minutes it had taken Elna and Malin to walk from the fishing dock to the causeway, he had covered an impressive distance. As she watched the swimmer close in on the first drawbridge, she heard the echo of an
other gunshot.

  “You’re worried about all of those people coming onto the island,” Malin said, “because you’re afraid they might decide to stick around?”

  “Of course,” she said. “We don’t have the resources to provide for them, even if they pitch in. Malin, I’m not without compassion. I’m not okay with Rod’s men gunning them down, but…”

  “Well, maybe there’s a way to help them without letting them onto the island,” Malin said.

  “What did you have in mind?” Elna asked.

  “I could climb to the top of the raised bridge and take a few shots at Rod’s men,” he said. “Maybe it would scare them off.”

  “That won’t necessarily stop the Army group from coming onto the island. We should have demolished the bridges somehow so it’s not even an option.”

  As she watched, the swimmer finally arrived at the first drawbridge. He pulled himself up onto some rocks at the base of the bridge and began climbing, spider-like, up into the guts beneath the service building. Watching him ascend, her anxiety turned into a profound, stomach-churching sense of helplessness.

  We’re debating what to do, as if we had a choice, she thought. As if these people aren’t going to decide things for us.

  She watched and waited. As she did, she dared to entertain Malin’s idea. She imagined him perched on top of the raised drawbridge, pointing the gun across the gap at Rod’s men. Even in her imagination, it seemed absurd. The militiamen had long rifles with scopes. Malin would just get himself picked off.