Empty Is the Grave Page 9

“We leave no survivors.”

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  A ball of fire rocketed skyward as the sound of an explosion registered in Zander’s brain.

  The captain eased back on the throttle.

  Black smoke billowed from the remains of a boat.

  What had happened?

  Elly’s warning rang in his ears.

  But… she was worried about spiritual forces. Spiritual forces couldn’t blow up a boat. Could they?

  Zander jerked open the storage compartment below the bench on which he sat and dug out a set of binoculars. He focused in on the smoldering remains, which were already sinking into the sea.

  Someone would have been on that boat.

  It likely would have been the base of operations for the work detail on the island.

  It also likely would have been their primary means of sending a distress signal.

  He moved from the fiery wreckage to the dock, then followed the dock to the land.

  Two figures, dressed in camo gear and armed with assault rifles, jogged away from the dock.

  Who were they? And why had they blown up the prison transport?

  It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that there were hostiles on the island. Armed hostiles, with a bunch of inmates and a few guards.

  And Josiah.

  Ice crept into his core.

  Josiah was out there. Somewhere.

  Unarmed and completely unprepared to deal with an armed, human threat. Demons apparently Josiah could handle. But could he stand against armed militants?

  God. Please protect him. Protect them all.

  He didn’t want to have to tell Elly that her brother had been shot.

  He sensed Morgan stop beside him. “I see two hostiles. Armed with assault rifles.”

  Morgan swore and spun toward the captain. “Call it in. We’re gonna need backup.”

  Likely lots of it. They had no idea how many guns they’d be up against, but they had to assume the worst.

  Getting on the island without being seen was going to be tricky.

  And one wrong move could prove fatal.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  Rush’s curse echoed in the confined space.

  Sweat beaded his forehead and his squinty eyes glared at nothing in particular.

  Rafe stared at Rush. The guy was a Christian. And one of the most level-headed guards at the prison. He’d never seen him get so worked up. Or heard him curse.

  His gut knotted. This was bad. Really bad.

  “No service.” Rush’s words dropped like a grenade.

  If Cortez’s face got any redder, his head might explode. “Can’t believe Waterson would send us to a place where we can’t call for help.”

  “He didn’t.” Rush rubbed his shiny, shaved head. “We had service earlier. This is new. I’m gonna guess these guys brought jammers on the island.”

  The two teens dug out their phones and messed with the screens for a second.

  A choked sob broke from the girl. The skinny kid looked like he might be sick.

  The truth was clear. They were completely isolated.

  And the guys who were after them were well-prepared.

  So far, Rush hadn’t moved them from their position right inside the main doors. No sounds came from outside, but that didn’t mean no one was out there.

  Rafe fought to clear his thoughts. “Hey, you got radios, right? Can you use them to call for help?”

  Rush shook his head. “Short wave and they might not even be operational. Jammers can mess with those signals, too.”

  They were all gonna die.

  But why? Why would anyone go to this much trouble over a group of minimum-security convicts? Was there someone in their group who knew something worth this amount of trouble?

  For that matter, how would anyone even know they were out here?

  It wasn’t like the details of a prison work group were advertised.

  None of it made any sense.

  Not that it mattered. The only thing that mattered at the moment was that there was an unknown number of armed people trying to kill them.

  Rush pulled back his shoulders and assessed each of them. “We need to regroup with the others. Stay together. Find a secure place until help arrives.”

  “We can’t call for help. When is anyone gonna come after us, huh?” The skinny boy sounded near hysterics.

  Rush stared at the boy with enough intensity to make him squirm. “There are protocols in place. When I don’t check in as scheduled, they’ll try the ship’s radio. When the captain…” Rush’s pause drove home that the captain was likely dead. “… doesn’t respond, they’ll send a team to check it out.”

  How long would that take?

  Rafe swallowed the question. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  Besides, the two kids were already panicky. The last thing he needed was to fuel that.

  Hey God, could you help us here?

  A flicker of peace lit inside. He could almost hear Josiah telling him that God was bigger than those guys with guns.

  Rush got on his radio and called to one of the guards. “Hurricane. Advise on your location.”

  Hurricane?

  After listening for a moment, Rush replied, “Hold your position. We’re coming to you.”

  “Good news. Our radios still work. And we’re close to the rest of the group.” Rush jerked his head toward the doorway leading deeper into the prison. “Let’s move.”

  Rush led them through the doorway and into what had probably once been a reception area. Hallways stretched on either side and a series of doorways waited in front of them.

  With his weapon primed, Rush surveyed the area.

  No sounds except their ragged breathing and the girl’s sniffling.

  Rush headed straight through the first doorway while Cortez took position at the rear of the group. The skinny kid seemed to be doing okay with the girl, so Rafe caught up to Rush. “What’s hurricane?”

  Never breaking stride, Rush studied him for a second. “It’s one of several code words we have in place. It lets the team know that they’re hearing from me and I’m not under duress.”

  Made sense. They’d need a way to communicate with each other if things went wrong.

  And today, things had gone very wrong.

  He dropped his voice. “So, truth. How long’s it gonna take for them to know we got problems?”

  Rush’s hesitation was longer this time. “Know? Not long. Doing something about it is another story.”

  After a brief glance behind him, Rush continued, “We check in every half hour. When we miss a check-in, they’ll try to contact our base of operations, which was the boat. When they can’t reach us, they’ll likely send a chopper to scope things out, but that’ll take a little time to organize. We’re pretty remote out here. Conservative estimate, we’re looking at several hours to really get the reinforcements we need.”

  Could they survive that long?

  “What about that lighthouse? Could we get above the jammers? Maybe get a signal up there?”

  “Jammers don’t work on a linear field. It’ll be the same up there.”

  Naturally. He was grasping at straws. They both knew it.

  Rush paused between the sets of doors. “But you might be onto something there.”

  He whipped his head around at Rush’s words. “Oh yeah?”

  “The lighthouse. I don’t know if the signal is still functional, but if it is, maybe we could send an SOS.”

  Seemed like a long shot, but they weren’t exactly drowning with other options.

  Rafe glanced behind him.

  A sheen of sweat coated Cortez’s face. He looked like he was wound tight enough to snap at the smallest thing.

  Which could prove deadly for the rest of them.

  Tears streaked the girl’s face, leaving black trails from smeared eye makeup. The skinny kid puffed for air as the girl leaned heavily on him.

  He should help them. Maybe try to calm them down or
something.

  Going to the girl’s other side, he took some of her weight.

  “We’re totally screwed, aren’t we?” The girl’s whisper matched the tremors Rafe felt coursing through her body.

  “Nah.” He tried to force a more confident tone than he felt. “Rush there, he’s a good guy. Was in the army or something. He can handle this.”

  He should say something about God. What, he wasn’t sure, but that was what had given him peace.

  “More than that, God’s got us. God’s a lot bigger than those guys with guns.”

  The skinny kid snorted. “Oh yeah? If He’s got this, why didn’t He stop it, huh?”

  That was always the million dollar question. He wished he had a million dollar answer. “I dunno know, man. Got a lot to do with choices, but I don’t get how it all works.”

  But individual choices, and the consequences those choices carried, that he understood all too well.

  “I’m Rafe.”

  The girl sniffled. “Chloe.”

  “Switch.” The skinny kid assessed him. “So what’d you do, anyway?”

  Much as he didn’t want to discuss it, it’d probably put their minds at ease to know he hadn’t killed anyone or something. “Got hooked on drugs. Which led to money laundering.”

  And had almost gotten him killed. But that was a story for another day.

  “Every choice gots a consequence.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but maybe it was what these kids needed to hear. “How’d you guys end up here, anyway?”

  Switch grunted. “Trusted the wrong guy.”

  “It was my fault.” Chloe’s words were so soft he almost didn’t hear them. “I thought Viktor was cool. An artist, like us. He said he wanted to tag up the island to make the world pay attention to the immigration crisis. But his friends had guns and there was shooting and he left us.”

  Clearly Viktor had things other than art and immigration on his mind.

  The story sounded a little fishy to him, but he could see where a smooth-talker could convince a couple of kids.

  Heck, he’d been that naïve once.

  A smooth-talker had convinced him to switch from smoking pot to snorting coke.

  “How’d you get hurt?”

  A hint of pink raced across Chloe’s cheeks. “I tripped. It was dark and we were tryin’ to get away…”

  “Yo, I get it.” Rafe adjusted his hold on Chloe slightly. “I’ve been around when the bullets start flyin’. Even got shot once. It’s messed up.”

  Of course, it was what had happened after getting shot that really changed his life. When God had healed him through Elly’s hands. He still cringed at the way that miracle had sent him on a downward spiral deeper into drugs, which had almost gotten him killed.

  “How’d you get shot?” Switch’s question broke through the guilt that still gnawed on him.

  “Was trying to help a buddy and got mixed up…” Actually, after the beatings he’d taken in prison recently, it was probably better not to say anything about the Alma Negra gang by name. “I crossed someone. Didn’t mean to, but they tried to kill me. The police showed up just in time to save my life.”

  True enough. Really, it was God and Elly who saved his life, but he couldn’t tell these kids all that.

  Too bad that the coolest thing that’d ever happened to him had to remain a secret.

  “Shh.” Rush’s hand sliced down to accent his one-word order.

  Shut up. Rafe got the message loud and clear.

  They stepped through another doorway. More concrete in front of them, hallways to either side. Rush moved to the right.

  A splash of color caught Rafe’s eye.

  He turned toward it.

  A mural, probably at least six foot by six foot, covered the floor in front of Rush. In it, several uniformed men held a black-haired woman by the arms. Tears streaked her face and her mouth opened in a scream he felt in his soul. In front of her, another uniformed man held a small boy in his arms. The guard appeared to be walking away from the woman, the child reaching with extended arms over the guard’s shoulder, straining for the woman.

  Red letters emphasized the point. STOP BREAKING UP FAMILIES!

  His steps slowed as he took in the detail in the painting.

  “I did that.” Chloe’s voice brought his head around.

  “No kidding?” He glanced at Rush, who’d warned them about making noise, and dropped his voice to whisper. “This is awesome. You’ve got skills.”

  A faint smile, the first one he’d seen on her, curled her lips. “Not too bad, given that I didn’t have a lotta light.”

  “That’s some legit work right there.”

  Rush held up his hand and stopped. “Repeat.”

  Repeat what?

  Oh, he was talking into his radio.

  Gunfire echoed down the corridor.

  Lots of gunfire.

  Accompanied by screams. Of fear… and pain.

  ₪ ₪ ₪

  The sun kissed his head as he surfaced.

  Josiah bobbed in the rough waters of the bay, his attention focused on the island a few hundred yards away. Other than the black cloud above, he saw nothing amiss.

  Yet he knew things were wrong. Very, very wrong.

  Any human threat would be watching the dock area, which was on the northeast side of the island.

  So, he would approach from the south, where there was no dock, no buildings, and no reason to suspect someone might come ashore there.

  The coastline was rocky on that side, with low bluffs extending into the sea. It’d be risky, but he felt confident the Lord was leading him to that side.

  Ducking below the water’s surface, he swam toward his target.

  As he neared the area where he planned to come ashore, he shifted to swim parallel to the rocky bluffs, allowing the water to push him closer to the jagged rocks that could easily end his life.

  While God had gifted his people with an innate sense of how to work with the ocean currents, caution was still needed.

  Sovereign Father. Guide me ashore.

  The prayer floated through his mind as he kept the looming rocks in his peripheral.

  The ocean pushed him closer, closer… there!

  A large, mostly flat rock caught his attention as if on fire. That was where he was to land.

  He angled for it, straining against the surging waves.

  One miscalculation and he’d be of no use to anyone.

  A swell caught him and pushed him toward the rocks. He maneuvered, but the current was too strong. A rock jabbed into his shoulder, another mashed his hip. Salt water stung his arm, which had no doubt been cut by the rock.

  He wrenched himself toward the rocks, his fingers curling around the edges.

  Waves pounded his back. He pressed his body around the rocks to keep from being thrust into them and pulled himself to the surface.

  The demonic swarm swirled above him, a frenzied mass of evil that he could feel.

  It was strange how the demons looked like a black cloud, yet had no impact on the sunshine beating down upon the island. They were two separate worlds, co-existing in the same sphere.

  If Satan’s minions had noticed him, they were ignoring him.

  Unlikely. Experience told him that they never missed the opportunity to pick a fight with a child of the King. Once they saw him, the battle would begin.

  The angel who had visited him on the boat was nowhere to be seen, yet he knew the hosts of heaven were close.

  Not that he could see any of them right now, but where a battle loomed, they were never far away.

  Moving hand-over-hand, he dragged himself across the rocky wall. More than once, his fingers slipped on the slimy, algae-covered stone. The only way he kept any momentum at all was to force his fingers into the cracks between the rocks.

  As much as he loved swimming, right now it would be more helpful to be able to fly.

  The top of the embankment hovered about six feet above his he
ad. Not so far by traditional rock-climbing standards, but it felt twice that distance with the slick surface beneath him.

  Already, his forearms ached and the tips of his fingers felt raw.

  Continue up or move further down the wall to where the distance to the top was shorter?

  He surveyed either direction. The bluff extended at least twenty feet to his left. It jutted out into the ocean to his right, so going that way would require going around the point.

  Up.

  The Father’s voice rang in his head as clear as ever.

  Okay then. If God said up, he’d go up. God would give him strength.

  He stretched his right hand up, his fingers searching for a crevasse. Finding one, he shoved his fingers inside, then searched for a foothold.

  His bare feet slid, then slid again, before finally finding a gap in the rocks where he could wedge his toes.

  Inch by laborious inch, he ascended. He was now far enough above the ocean that the waves no longer lapped at the soles of his feet.

  Sweat dribbled between his shoulder blades.

  The top of the bluff was within reach, but he resisted the temptation to put his hand there. He needed to see what was up there rather than blindly slapping his hand where someone might see it.

  He pulled himself further up. Stretching on his tiptoes, he strained to see over the edge.

  No sign of anyone. Human, angelic, or demonic.

  He grabbed the top of one of the rocks and hauled himself up, collapsing on the harsh, rock-strewn ground.

  Thank you, Father.

  The prayer filled his mind as he lay unmoving, flat on his back with his face to the sky.

  The evil cloud still swirled above, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Still, there was no way he was turning his back on the enemy.

  A few minutes passed before his breathing evened out and his arm muscles stopped quivering. He sat up and shrugged off the lightweight nylon bag he’d strapped to his back. Pulling out his flip-flops, he shook the excess water off them before slipping them on.

  He rose on legs that were still unsteady from the sea and waited for the muscles to respond to dry land again, taking a second to wring the excess water out of his dreadlocks and clothes while he waited.

  Time was short.

  He could sense the Spirit’s urgency stirring inside. Lives were at stake. More than that, souls were on the line.