She was amazed at how quietly the Marines moved, like shadows gliding in the night. As she approached the top of the slope, she saw the orange glow of campfires in the distance. She wanted to reach out and grab Malin’s hand again—she needed the comfort—but she was afraid it would only make her clumsier.
Prig reached the top of the slope, moving in a crouch and signaling the others to stay down. Elna and Malin crawled to the end of the line. Peering into the distance, Elna saw campfires flickering near the edge of the camp about fifty yards in front of them. It seemed like the camp had grown in size, with more of those enormous canvas tents placed along the edges and a ton of machinery filling the spaces between them. A fenced-off area containing a few restored dirt bikes was directly in front of them. This actually gave them the perfect approach, because there were no campfires and no people in the immediate vicinity of the bike lot.
How many of these people in these camps came here willingly? Elna wondered. How many are stuck here now, unable to leave, forced to serve Rod’s army?
It was an important distinction, because enslaved people might not raise the alarm if they spotted infiltrators. They might even help the Marines, if they could do so discreetly. This was a subject Elna hadn’t discussed with Prig, but now she wondered if failing to consider the possibility had been a tactical blunder. Prig had been chiefly worried about the guards, but what if the Marines presented themselves to the camp dwellers as a liberation force?
Maybe I’ll have a chance to say something in the camp, Elna thought.
Either way, it was too late now. Prig signaled for them to move forward. She didn’t see it, but she heard the swish-swish of his sleeve. And then he was up and moving along the ridge, crouching low, a handgun in his right hand. The other Marines moved with him, swift and smooth as flowing water. Prig, Spence, and Archer moved as one.
As Elna and Malin clumsily followed after them, Elna spotted a guard far off to their right weaving around the tents along the edge of the camp. He had a rifle in his hands, and he kept casting his eyes into the darkness beyond the camp, but he was moving away from them. Just beyond one of the nearby tents, a couple of civilians were boiling something in a pot over a campfire. They were slouched and miserable, dressed in matching but ill-fitting gray shirts and pants. Elna felt sorry for them. What must it be like to live under the crushing thumb of Rod Smith and his gang? She could imagine. She knew Rod Smith all too well.
Elna was feeling queasy. This place was saturated with that awful, icky feeling that she associated with her ex-boyfriend, Rod Smith. He’d been a cold, overbearing partner, and he made an even colder and more ruthless militia leader. This was the last place she wanted to be on the face of the earth, but there was no escaping it this time. The fate of her beloved island, as well as potentially the fate of the entire country, depended on the success of this mission.
Prig led them to a spot just behind the row of dirt bikes and came to a stop, dropping down low. Elna and Malin had fallen a bit behind and rushed to catch up. When she got there, Prig beckoned Elna forward. Using the taped flashlight, he drew a very crude map in the soft dirt beside the nearest bike. A big circle for the camp, an X marking the approximate location of the prison cells, another X marking their current location. He then gave Elna a questioning look.
She nodded in return. Prig then drew their path, which would take them around the northern perimeter of the camp and then straight through to the south, like a knife cutting right to the heart of the beast. He leaned back and motioned for everyone to look at it.
She glanced at Malin and saw her own anxiety mirrored in his eyes, in the way his cheeks were scrunched up, his teeth bared. He leaned over and quickly gave her a kiss on the forehead.
Let’s hope that’s not a goodbye kiss, Elna thought.
She hated that they couldn’t talk. The Marines seemed confident about their mission plans, but Elna really wanted to discuss them again to make sure everyone was on the same page. But Prig rose again and took off at an impressive clip, circling around the dirt bike area and following a broadly circular path around the perimeter of the camp. The other Marines seemed to anticipate it and moved with him. But Elna was startled, still fighting against that uneasy feeling, and by the time she got moving, they were already pulling away.
A large green tent stood at the very edge of the camp just ahead. Light flickered from a crack at the bottom, as if from a small lamp. As he reached the back of the tent, Prig stopped suddenly. It didn’t take long to realize why. Elna heard someone softly humming, a man’s voice, and the flap of canvas as he stepped out of the tent. Suddenly, a guard moved out from behind the tent and stepped directly in front of Prig.
He was short and stocky, his black hair combed back from a greasy forehead. He seemed like he was just heading out for a stroll, possibly to use the bathroom outside the camp, but he still had a rifle in his hands. At his sudden appearance, Elna bit her lip to stop herself from crying out in surprise.
It took less than a second for the guard to notice Prig—he gasped
