Instead of waiting for an answer, the doctor kept walked toward the Marines. Finally, the man who had drawn his sidearm holstered it and waved her over. As Elna hurried to catch up to them, she heard their conversation.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “We never know who to trust. What about those other people behind you?”
“They’re here to help, too,” she said. “We’re not a militia, gang, or criminal enterprise. This island is little more than a bed-and-breakfast, a resort. It’s, honestly, not a big deal. You’re safe on this side of the bridge.”
Would you please shut up about the island? Elna thought, but she bit her tongue. Better to put on a united front. The doctor had taken the initiative, and that was that. No sense trying to rewind the tape.
“Malin, put the gun away,” Elna said, as she started after the doctor. “What’s done is done.”
She heard him slide the gun into the holster, but she was walking fast trying to catch up to the doctor. Selene rushed up beside her, Sniffy tucked under her arm. The dog was sniffing frantically at the air and whimpering softly.
“He seems nervous,” Selene said, nodding at her dog, “but not aggressive. That’s a good sign.”
“I suppose,” Elna replied. “Is he a good judge of character?”
“Well, he always hated Dominic,” she noted.
The Marine who had spoken stepped forward, moving toward Dr. Ruzka. His “high and tight” hair was so blond it was almost white, and his neck was almost wider than his head. When he spoke, Elna noted that he had a rather thick Southern accent—as well as a dramatic gap between his incisors.
“Doctor Ruzka, we would appreciate your help,” he said. His voice was rough, scratchy, as if he’d done quite a bit of shouting at the top of his lungs in the last few hours or days. “We’ve got a couple of injured people over here. One of them is hurt real bad.”
Elna disliked the precedent being established here. The doctor’s boldness had made her appear to be the leader of the islanders. While she wasn’t power hungry by any means, Elna knew it might cause problems going forward, so she cleared her throat loudly and stepped up beside Dr. Ruzka.
“Folks, my name is Elna Pasqualee,” she said, extending her hand to the young soldier with the white hair. “My father and I own this island.”
“Staff Sergeant Damien Pridgen,” the man said, accepting her handshake. He had big hands, his palm so sweaty it felt like it was melting in her grip. “But you can call me Prig.”
Dr. Ruzka rushed to the side of the wounded man, kneeling down beside him. Selene set Sniffy down, then shuffled toward the doctor, reaching into her herb bag as she went.
“Uh…Prig.” Elna had to force herself to say the nickname. Is that really what the man wanted to be called? “What about your other people?”
“A few went in the water,” he said, moving toward the north shoulder of the road.
Elna followed him and leaned over the concrete parapet, gazing down into the rough waters of the bay. It didn’t take long to spot the others. Three people who’d gone in the water had managed to pull themselves onto the rocks at the base of the drawbridge support.
“They can climb up the same way Fish did,” Prig said, waving his hands over his head to draw their attention. “Speaking of which…” He shaded his eyes and gazed out across the water.
Elna followed his gaze and spotted the strange stripes of the wetsuit far out in the bay, but the swimmer was headed east, back toward the mainland.
“I take it that’s Fish,” Elna said. “Where the heck is he going?”
Despite everything, Prig laughed at this and clapped. “He’s swimming back to the other drawbridge, ma’am. The militia retreated when we crossed over. We’re going to raise the bridges again to keep them off the island.”
“You know the bay is infested with sharks, right?” Elna asked. “We’re on the northern end of the Red Triangle. It’s not safe, even with that weird design on his suit.”
“He’s a wild one, that Fish. Oh man. He’s not afraid of anything.” He turned to Elna and gave her a big gap-toothed grin.
“But, seriously, there are a lot of sharks in the bay,” she said again. “I don’t recommend what he’s doing.”
“Sharks should be afraid of Fish,” the Marine said. “Not the other way around. Don’t you worry. He’ll meet us on land later. Don’t worry about him. Come on. We’d better go.”
And with that, he turned and walked back toward the others who had gathered around the injured man.
What have we gotten ourselves into here? Elna wondered, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
The injured man’s name, Elna learned, was Specialist Antonio Flores, though Prig insisted on calling him Ant. He’d been shot low in his shoulder, and Dr. Ruzka seemed to think it was serious. She cleaned and dressed the wound as best she could, while Selene gave the Marine an herbal pill that was supposed to help with healing. Ant looked very young to Elna: thin and wiry, with a long face and big ears.
The injured woman was Specialist Katrina Meadows, but she apparently went by the nickname Cat. In fact, they all seemed to have little nicknames. A beast of a woman, she was all grit and muscle, even with a bullet wound in her hip. The doctor cleaned and bandaged her wound as well.
Prig and another Marine went into the service building, looking for a way to help the ones who had fallen into the water. The injured and others, including the child, started back down the causeway. Norman helped to support Ant, who seemed only
