Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

From the port, they walked through massive parking lots, with plants and trees squeezing into the cracking asphalt. The remnants of warehouses were reduced to rubble.

A dilapidated chain-link fence separated the commercial district from the military golf course. They found a place where the fence had collapsed. No need to use the bolt cutters. They knew from the map and the compass that they walked through what used to be a golf course, but no evidence of a golf course remained. The jungle had swallowed it whole.

It was pitch dark under the jungle canopy. They navigated by shadows and Gavin’s glow-in-the-dark compass. On the plus side, the trees shielded them from much of the rain. Gavin led them down a narrow game trail until they eventually reached a road. They looked both ways for traffic or guards, then ran across the road. They climbed a berm, moving through more jungle.

It was slow going as they moved around and though thick vines and vegetation. Once over the berm, they came to a solar farm, roughly the size of a football field. Derek cut through the rusted fence with the bolt cutters. They entered the solar farm. Some of the panels were in disrepair, but the berm had protected many of them from the hurricanes.

They moved along the rows of ground-mounted solar panels. Gavin held up a fist and stopped and crouched, everyone else following suit. A small concrete building was twenty yards to their left, next to a gate. A light was on.

“Might be batteries in there,” Javier said to Gavin.

“Probably not the kind we need,” Gavin replied. “The battery powering that light is probably lead acid. Too heavy. We need to find their vehicle garage. That’s where the lithiums are located.”

They moved away from the concrete building, careful not to alert the guards likely inside. They cut through the fence again, exited the solar farm, and climbed another berm. This berm was taller and steeper than the first one they’d climbed, but the vegetation was only waist high. Someone had been maintaining the massive berm.

Once they reached the top of the berm, about twenty feet up, they looked down the other side. Two roads appeared to lead inside the berm. Each road was guarded by a gate and a concrete guard house. Lights were on, and silhouettes were visible. Men with rifles. Beyond the gates and the guard houses was an airplane runway.

They trekked down the berm, as far away from the guards as possible. At the bottom, they crept around the corner and saw the front of the earth-sheltered bunker. The concrete structure was windowless, with two massive garage doors for vehicles and four people-size doors. Lights illuminated the front of the bunker.

“The vehicles have to be in there,” Javier said.

“You think those doors are unlocked?” Summer asked.

“Probably not,” Gavin replied.

“I’ll check it out,” Derek said.

Gavin grabbed Derek’s shoulder. “Hold on. What about the lights?”

“Not much we can do about the lights. I’m assumin’ the guards are watchin’ in front of the gates, not behind ’em.”

Gavin nodded his approval.

Derek hurried along the front of the building. He checked all four doors and hustled back. “They’re locked.”

“Now what?” Javier asked.

“I don’t know,” Gavin replied.

Lights approached. It was a military truck. When they were planning their mission, Fred had called them BRVs. It was eerie, the lights floating through the rain, the electric motor dead quiet. The truck stopped at the nearby guard house. The metal arm raised, and the BRV drove forward. The garage door opened.

“Let’s go,” Derek said. “We can slip in with the truck.”

“They’ll see you,” Gavin said.

“It’s our only chance,” Summer said, her conviction surprising herself.

Derek started for the garage door, and Summer followed.

“Hold on,” Gavin said.

But they didn’t listen. Summer and Derek crouched at the corner of the building. The BRV drove inside. As the garage door started to close, Derek and Summer hurried inside, ducking just beneath the closing door. The earth-sheltered bunker was dark, only a few emergency LEDs providing dim light. Nine BRVs, four golf carts, and a six-wheel UTV were parked inside. A few of the vehicles were plugged in with a heavy charging cord.

The tenth BRV drove toward the back, parked, and cut the headlights. The BRV was an armored vehicle with off-road tires and a gun turret on top. Derek and Summer hid behind another BRV, listening. Doors opened and shut. Male voices spoke Spanish. Female voices giggled and also spoke Spanish. They disappeared from the garage through internal double doors, deeper into the bunker complex.

“They’re gone,” Derek said, standing. “Let’s check the golf carts.”

Summer nodded, already eyeing them.

They didn’t bother checking the BRVs. Fred had told them that they wouldn’t be able to remove the batteries without a lift and impact guns. They crept to the four golf carts. They all looked old, their tires worn.

Derek lifted the seat, checking the batteries. “Shit. They’re lead acid.”

“What about that thing?” Summer whispered, pointing to the UTV.

Derek glanced at Summer for a moment, speechless.

It was the first time she’d spoken to Derek. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was purely desperation to leave the island. Desperation to see her son.

Derek finally replied, “Let’s check. It looks newer than these golf carts.”

The six-wheel utility vehicle was about the size of a small pickup truck and plugged into a charging outlet.

Derek found the batteries under the seat and said, “Bingo.”

Derek disconnected the UTV from the charger, removed the batteries, and Summer packed them in their bags. They stripped about one hundred pounds of solid state lithium ion batteries from the UTV. Summer packed their backpacks and duffel bags with about twenty-five pounds each.

Derek zipped up one of the bags, then stood, his head cocked. “Did you hear that?”

Summer shook her head.

Voices came from the hall, and Derek’s eyes went wide. They grabbed their bags and lugged them beside a BRV. They hid by one of the large wheels, crouched, their bodies tight together. Summer breathed shallow, trying to be quiet. The voices drew closer. More Spanish. One woman and one man. The man said something in Spanish, and a door opened, then shut. It had the familiar thud of the BRV that had parked just fifteen minutes earlier. They must’ve forgotten something .

The man said something else to the woman in Spanish. His tone was urgent. Footsteps approached the UTV. The man spoke again. Summer didn’t understand what he was saying, but one word made sense, las baterias . Summer knew they were talking about the batteries. She winced, remembering that they hadn’t yet replaced the seat on the UTV, so the mostly empty battery compartment was plain to see.

The woman replied, “ No se .”

The man called out, “ Quien esta aqui? ” A few seconds later, he repeated himself.

Footsteps moved closer. From Summer’s vantage point, she saw black boots along the back of the BRV. Two more steps and he’d see Summer and Derek crouching by the wheel. The man took one step, stopped for a beat, then took one more, clearing the rear of the BRV. He turned and looked at Summer and Derek. In the dim light, the whites of his eyes were clearly visible. He reached for the handgun on his hip.

Derek rushed him. The man shot wildly, missing them both, the bullet whizzing over their heads. The woman screamed and ran from the scene, back into the complex. Derek grabbed the man’s arm, the man shooting again in response, this bullet going straight up into the roof. Derek wrenched his wrist, the handgun falling to the ground.