Jake Morrison's Arc

Chapter 18 of 54

The door kept swinging. Jake motioned Marisol, Sofia, and behind them to stay back. Only Marcus followed. They crossed the sand low and quiet, rifles up. Jake couldn't tell what waited inside. A survivor might raise a hand. A wretch would only lunge. Guess wrong and he'd bring his tired group into a mouth full of teeth. "On three," Jake whispered. Marcus nodded, wrench looped on his belt, rifle steady. They'd fought side by side through the whole strip mall, and now Marcus read him without words. Jake counted down with his fingers. On three, he kicked the door wide. A man stood inside, gray at the temples, a fire axe raised over his head. He froze. His arms shook. Jake's finger sat on the trigger. "Don't shoot!" The man dropped the axe and threw both hands up. "I'm not one of them. Please. I've got kids." Jake studied his eyes. Clear. Scared, but clear. No blood at the mouth, no gray in the skin. A person, not a monster. He lowered the rifle. Marcus watched him do it, then lowered his own. "We're not here to hurt anybody," Jake said. "Our boat sank. We waded in." The man let out a long breath. "Frank," he said. "I look after this place. My wife and kids are in the back." He nodded toward a stairwell. Two young faces peered down, one maybe thirteen, one older. A woman stood behind them with a kitchen knife she clearly didn't want to use. Sofia and Marisol came in from the sand. Sofia's shoulders dropped when she saw the children. Frank's family was safe. Whole. It was the first family any of them had seen alive in weeks. "You called anyone?" Jake asked. "Other survivors?" Frank shook his head. "Storm took our radio antenna clean off. We've been blind out here." Marisol was already moving toward the shelf where a radio sat dead. She pulled the back panel and peered in. "I can fix this," she said. "I built one from worse." Jake turned to Frank and Marcus. "How big is this island?" "Two miles across, maybe," Frank said. "Cabins, docks, a few boats." "Then we wall it," Jake said. "The wretches came through ducts, through water. We seal the shore they can climb. We build for people, not just to hide." Marcus was nodding before Jake finished, already looking at the timber stacked by the far wall. "There's lumber in the boat shed," Frank said slowly. "Fencing. Tools." Hope crept into his voice. Jake looked at the family on the stairs, at Marisol bent over the radio, at Marcus measuring the room. The swinging door had meant survivors, not a trap. He'd guessed right. For the first time the island felt like a place he could hold. Then Frank said the thing that changed it. "You should know. We're not the only ones who came ashore this month."