The raised drawbridge blocked their view of the eastern causeway, so Elna couldn’t tell what Rod’s men were doing. What if they decided to swim across the gap? Surely, they’d seen the Marine in the wetsuit do it. They knew it was possible.
“I was afraid this was going to happen sooner or later,” she said, thinking out loud.
“What’s that?” Malin replied.
“Some kind of invasion of the island by mainlanders. Can’t undo it, but somehow, I just have to keep things from spiraling out of control.”
She would have said more, but Prig stepped out of the service building then, leading three soaking-wet Marines. They’d all made it up from the water.
“That’s everyone accounted for,” Prig said, flashing his toothy grin at Elna. “They came at us with guns, hammers, fists, everything they had, and no one died. I call that success. Lead the way, please, ma’am.”
Elna had rarely felt so intimidated by a group of people, but she was determined to figure out what was going on. She had to get a handle on the situation, no matter how she felt. Steeling herself, she moved closer to Prig as they walked and finally cleared her throat.
“Sergeant, if you don’t mind my asking,” she said, “how did you wind up on the causeway in a fight with that militia?”
Prig made a little shake of his head, as if she’d opened a can of worms, then he gestured at the woman walking on his left side. She had black hair shaved close to her head, dark eyes, and a tense, unfriendly face.
“Specialist Alice Bowman, ma’am,” she said, as if making a formal introduction. “We’re United States Marines.”
“We gathered as much,” Malin said. “Mostly from the, uh, tags on your uniforms that say U.S. Marines. That was one clue.”
He started to chuckle, so Elna elbowed him in the ribs. Specialist Alice Bowman didn’t seem to take offense.
“What brought you to this island?” Elna asked. “This isn’t exactly the best place for a bunch of Marines to hunker down. We’re not rich in resources here.”
“We won’t be a problem,” Staff Sergeant Prig said. “Let’s get back to the island so we can strategize a bit. Don’t worry, ma’am. You won’t regret helping us.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Elna said.
During the long walk back, she tried to probe them for a little more information, but they only gave her terse answers. Prig kept saying they would sit down and talk about it when they got to the island. If they were trying to put her at ease, it wasn’t working.
They finally caught up with the others just before reaching the end of the causeway. The Marines seemed to have inexhaustible energy. Even after fighting and fleeing from Rod’s men, falling in the water, climbing the drawbridge, and whatever else they’d gone through, not a single one of them seemed tired or worn out.
They all gathered in the street beside the Pasqualee Vineyard sign. The injured man, Antonio “Ant” Flores, hung limply now in the grip of Norman and a couple of Marines. Dr. Ruzka took the opportunity to adjust his bandages and tape them a little better. The other injured Marine, Katrina “Cat” Meadows, despite her massive muscularity, had her arm around the shoulder of another Marine now. Her hobbling had gotten considerably worse.
Let’s get these folks healed up, maybe give them the few supplies we can spare, and send them on their way, Elna thought.
“We can wait for Fish right here,” Prig said. “He’ll be along soon enough, once he gets the bridge up.”
“These injured people do not need to be standing around,” Dr. Ruzka said, turning to Prig with fire in her eyes. Of all the islanders, she seemed the least intimidated by them, though she was barely half the size of the largest Marine. “Selene and I should accompany them back to the guesthouse immediately, where we can treat their wounds properly.”
A third woman in the group had accompanied the wounded, but she stood off to one side now, holding the hand of the little girl. Elna judged the child to be not much older than three or four, and she was wide-eyed and seemed horrified by everything. She was also wearing a filthy shirt and tattered pajama bottoms that looked like they’d been scavenged from a dumpster. As for the woman holding her hand, though she was dressed in a Marine uniform, Elna thought it looked at least two sizes too big for her—as if it wasn’t hers.
“Ma’am, you ladies take the injured to your building,” Sergeant Prig said to Dr. Ruzka. “That’s a good idea. Archer and Mac here will go with you.”
“Archer” turned out to be Alice Bowman, the woman with the unfriendly face and black hair. “Mac” was one of the Marines who had fallen in the water, a young African-American man with a football player’s build. They stepped forward at Prig’s command.
“There’s a storage room we can use as a kind of field hospital, if need be,” Elna said, but her words scarcely mattered.
Dr. Ruzka and Selene were already walking away, leading the group toward the winding path that went up the hill. Norman and two of the Marines helped the injured as they followed after. Elna felt her words just sort of hover in the air for a few seconds before fading away. No one responded.
When the wounded were gone, that left the others standing together on the road. Prig strode past the sign toward the rocky shoreline. Another Marine moved up beside him, a muscly young man with a pockmarked face and greasy hair. As he stood there, he reached into a pocket and pulled out, of all things, a
