“Is Norman with you?” Elna asked.
“He’s coming,” Dr. Ruzka replied, stumbling to a stop as she struggled to catch her breath. “I got here as fast as I could. Someone got shot? That’s what I was told.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure…”
Elna trailed off as the grinding of the drawbridge motor gave way to a faint high-pitched squeal. She turned back around and looked through the telescope. The drawbridge was no longer moving. It had lowered to perhaps a thirty-degree angle and stopped—not low enough for the people on the other side to get across.
“Something must have broken or gotten stuck in the manual controls,” Elna said. “The bridge stopped moving.”
“Maybe the screwdriver you jammed into the winch?” Malin said.
“Did I jam a screwdriver into the second drawbridge or the first?” Elna replied. “That was too many horrible weeks ago.”
She heard a series of gunshots then, followed by a jumble of shouting and screaming, possibly a child wailing in pain or terror. Dr. Ruzka gasped loudly and rushed onto the causeway, as if she intended to run straight to the drawbridge and leap into the middle of the fight. Malin held up a hand, as if to restrain her, but she had already moved around it.
“He said there were families,” the doctor said. “I thought they’d already crossed the bridge. Why did you tell me to come down here if we can’t get to them?”
Why did I summon her? Elna wondered. And she knew the answer, of course.
“Because we can’t let Rod Smith and his freaks shoot families,” Elna said. “As much of a big, stupid mess as this is going to be, we have to help these people. Come on.”
She returned her gaze to the distant drawbridge and was shocked to see that one of the soldiers had begun to climb the partially raised bridge. As she watched, he scrambled desperately with his hands against the concrete edge, finally found purchase, then pulled himself over the top. Immediately, he began sliding down, headed toward a gap between the edge of the bridge and the causeway road. Elna fully expected him to slip through and tumble out of sight, but he twisted his body around and grabbed the edge of the causeway.
“Well, one of them made it over,” she said. “He seems really athletic. I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so worried.”
A second soldier followed him. Then two more. Now there were two men and one woman sliding down the slope toward the gap. The man who’d already made it onto the causeway reached for them. He managed to grab the woman’s hand, arresting her fall, but the other two slid through the gap. Elna thought she heard them cry out as they fell out of sight.
Right into the water, she thought.
“It’s not smart to dive and splash around in the Red Triangle,” she said aloud. Then, to Malin, she said, “We’d better go see what we can do for the others. This is already turning into a big mess. Remember that old TV show Lost? I wished we lived on an island that moved around like that.”
“I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you could come up with a way to make the island move around,” Malin said.
Elna closed the telescope and stuck it under a loop of her belt as she climbed down off the rock onto the shoulder of the causeway.
“You think just a little too highly of me, Malin,” she said. “My batting average is not nearly as high as it should be.”
2
Elna had lost sight of the Army men, thanks to the slight arch of the causeway, but she thought she heard another gunshot. Approaching the drawbridge was not safe, that was clear.
“Looks like everyone wanted in on the fun,” Malin said, gesturing at something over Elna’s shoulder.
She glanced back in the direction of the Pasqualee Vineyard sign and saw four figures approaching from the guesthouse road. Norman, Raymond, George, and Selene had all come down together, leaving only Daniel and the Dulleses at the guesthouse. Elna groaned. This wasn’t going to make the situation any safer, especially with bullets flying around. Selene had brought her satchel of herbal remedies, and she patted it gently, almost affectionately, as she approached. Her little white dog, Sniffy, padded along at her side.
“Pop, you didn’t have to come all the way down here,” Elna called to her father.
George Pasqualee had grown a wild white beard that made him look like an emaciated Santa Claus. As he shuffled along, he seemed to be grimacing slightly, which worried Elna. He depended on his store of midodrine to fend off the effects of hypotension. A long walk was not good for him.
“Now, hey, this is my island, as I recall,” he said, wagging a finger at his daughter. “If it’s being invaded by mainlanders, I want to see it with my own eyes.”
“We’re going out there to meet them,” Elna said. “People have been hurt.”
Her father spread his hands out. “Fine. Let’s go. I want on the welcome wagon.”
“No, you’re staying behind,” she said, stepping in front of him as he tried to walk onto the causeway. “We might have to flee suddenly if things go badly, and you’re not able to run in your condition. Raymond, you should be with your son. The rest of you, if you’re willing, come on.”
Before her father could argue with her, she turned and started walking down at a brisk pace, wishing she had some kind of weapon with her other than a folding pocketknife. Malin and Dr. Ruzka caught up to her first, Selene and Norman bringing up the rear.
“Malin, keep that gun ready,” Elna said, “but don’t draw unless you have to.”
He patted his hip, where the handgun hung from his belt, glinting in the bright, late-morning sun. “I’m fast on the draw. Don’t worry.”
“Sorry,
