“What about the creatures?”
“We don’t have to worry about them, either.”
“Is it the water?” Lara asked.
“Something in the water, yeah,” Marcus nodded. “I can’t tell you what exactly, not my department. But it’s like the sun to them. For some reason, they don’t go anywhere near it.”
“Do you see them at night?” Carly asked.
“Along the shores, yeah,” Marcus said. “But you’d need binoculars. We’re too far from land to see anything with the naked eye, especially in the dead of night. You can see most everything that happens on this side of the lake from the Tower, including anyone approaching the marina.”
“That’s where the radio signal is coming from?” Lara asked.
“I think they were planning to run their own radio station. I have no idea.”
“Whose idea was it to use the FEMA frequency?” Will asked.
“Karen’s. Most of this is Karen’s idea. I guess you could say she’s our fearless leader.”
“Welcome to Song Island,” Debra announced, pulling back slightly on the throttle until they were drifting, carried forward by their momentum.
Up close, the island looked much bigger. It was still around one kilometer long, give or take, but there was enough foliage, vegetation, trees, and sandy beaches to give it the impression of being a much more expansive place. The solar panels also looked more prominent, each collection tray raised at least ten meters high. And he was right the first time — the solar panels wrapped completely around the island, like a string necklace.
“What’s the story behind the solar panels?” Will asked.
“A company called Kilbrew Resorts bought Song Island about six years ago,” Marcus said. “They were going to turn it into a private island for rich people, powered exclusively by solar and wind power. It was supposed to be a paradise for the environmentally-conscious. You know, get the hippie rich people from the cities someplace to play and let them leave with a clear conscience, all that good stuff. Unfortunately, they never got around to installing the wind component, but they did finish most of the solar installations.”
“Is that how you’re powering the radio tower?” Lara asked.
“It uses very little energy to broadcast,” Marcus said. “The rest of the power goes to the rooms in the main resort buildings. We have more than enough left over for other things like TV, DVD players. The little things that make life worth living.”
“You guys get cable, too?” Danny asked.
“They’re installing it next week,” Marcus said, playing along.
“NFL network?”
“That’s extra, so no.”
“Bummer.”
“You mean there are finished rooms on the island?” Carly asked.
“Finished-ish, I guess you’d say,” Marcus said.
“But roofs and walls and the like?” Carly pressed.
“Most of them, yeah. I think you’ll like it here.”
“Docking,” Debra announced.
Debra had slowed the pontoon down almost to a crawl as they approached one of three piers sticking out of the island like wooden fingers. The piers were along one end of a clear, sandy white beach. There were already five other boats tied up, including two more pontoons and three fishing boats of different sizes and varieties.
A young man in his early twenties jogged along one of the piers in cargo pants and an LSU Tigers football jersey. He waved them over, and Debra slowly sidled the pontoon alongside him.
“That’s Berg,” Marcus said. “He was already at the marina when everything went to hell. Came to the island with us and hasn’t stepped foot off the place since. I don’t think he wants to, either.”
“Smart kid,” Danny said. “Why go out and fight monsters when you can sit here on the sandy beaches and fight crabs? Though I hear those can be pretty dangerous, too.”
“You’re thinking of the wrong kind of crabs, babe,” Carly smiled.
“Never mind, then.”
Berg, like Marcus and Debra, had dark, tanned skin from too much exposure to the sun. He grabbed a rope Marcus tossed over, the other end already tied around a metal cleat on top of the pontoon’s gunwale. Berg pulled the boat over the last few meters, then tied it into place around a metal anchor.
“You’re good,” Berg said. Then he looked over at Lara and Carly and grinned, flashing crooked and slightly yellowing teeth. “Hey, ladies, welcome to Song Island.”
Watch it, kid, I’m armed and you’re not.
They piled out of the pontoon and walked up the middle pier, Will using the time it took to travel from one end to the other to familiarize himself with his new surroundings.
The beach went on for quite a long stretch, taking up a good section of the southern side of the island, until it was abruptly cut off by encroaching trees and grass on both ends. There was enough sand and beach here to make for a very decent resort, which was probably why someone had spent a lot of money to do just that. The trees grew tall, providing plenty of shade, and the bushes were thick. The lake was invitingly blue, and he saw fish breaking the surface around them.
Behind the woods, he saw the looming structure Marcus called the Tower. It looked very much like a lighthouse, with a fat, cylindrical bottom that extended upwards, getting smaller as it neared the top. Will guessed it had to be about forty meters high, which made it taller than your average lighthouse. The height also made it a brilliant perch to see in every direction. Will saw two sets of windows, one near the top and a second set near the middle, which told him the Tower had at least three floors, not counting the unfinished section at the very top. There was supposed to be a glass housing up there, along with a revolving beacon that was never installed.
Marcus led the way up the pier, while Debra and Berg busied themselves with the pontoon behind them. Danny was all the way in the back, as planned. Will carried the heavy duffel bag holding half of their weapons and ammo. Danny carried the other half. He was surprised by how little interest Marcus and Debra had paid to what they were bringing on board the pontoon with them, almost as if they expected a level of paranoia from their visitors.
“You said eleven people?” Will asked Marcus. “How many of those came because of your broadcast?”
“Three so far, not counting you folks,” Marcus said.
“I thought there would be more,” Lara said. She walked beside Will, carrying her backpack over her good shoulder. While minus the sling, she still favored her right side whenever possible.
“I guess not everyone has a radio,” Marcus said. “Or listens to the old FEMA frequency. I think more will show up in time.”
A large, nondescript concrete building, aesthetically incomplete and the size of a four-door garage — and just as squat — sat at the end of the piers, the four windows facing them propped open. Will glimpsed boat supplies, machinery, and shelves with cartons of gasoline, oil, and thick, three-strand twisted ropes inside. The shape and construction of the boat shack reminded him of Harold Campbell’s facility.
They finally reached the end of the pier, where Vera and Elise instantly broke off from the group and hopped onto the beach and began racing around, laughing and kicking gobs of sand around them. The entire group found themselves stopping as one and staring after the girls, and for a moment, no one said a word.
Will exchanged a look with Lara. She gave him the kind of smile he hadn’t seen in a long time — happy and utterly content. She reached over and took his hand and squeezed. He smiled back at her.
“Haven’t heard that in a while,” Marcus said.
“There are no children on the island?” Lara asked.
“Two, but they’re not exactly the outdoorsy type.”