Sylo

by D. J. MacHale

  “Let’s go with ’em,” Quinn said and made a move to climb down.

  I grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

  “Stop,” I commanded. “You want to live to tell your kids about this?”

  “Aww, you’re no fun.”

  To Quinn this was all an exciting game.

  I knew better.

  Up until that moment the SYLO soldiers had not shown themselves. That was about to change. In the center of Main Street, at the top of the rise that led down to the wharf, a dozen soldiers ran into position, forming a wall to block off the street. Each had rifles slung over their shoulders. Real rifles. Not the kind with a wide barrel that fires beanbags.

  “Ooh, not good,” Quinn said, suddenly serious. “Maybe it is better we stay here.”

  The crowd of guys charging for the ferry started whooping a battle cry.

  “Somebody’s going to get hurt,” I said soberly.

  “Look,” Quinn said, pointing to a rooftop across the street.

  Captain Granger had arrived. He stood looking down on the action along with two SYLO subordinates. One of the soldiers had binoculars that he used to scan the crowd. Granger stood ramrod-straight with his hands clasped behind his back. If he was worried about the developments below, he didn’t show it.

  “That is one cold dude,” Quinn commented.

  He had no idea how true that statement was.

  The angry sprinters were about twenty yards from clashing with the line of soldiers when the soldiers opened fire—with water. Fire hoses positioned on either side of the street spewed powerful blasts of water directly into the mob. Some people fought to keep going, but the force of the water was too strong. Many were knocked off their feet. Others were pushed back, only to hit the huge crowd that was following them. It was a madhouse. There were screams of anger and frustration floating everywhere. The people in the back didn’t realize what was happening up front and kept surging forward which made it harder for anyone to retreat.

  Granger remained as calm as if it was all a day at the beach. He motioned to one of his soldiers to come closer to him. Without taking his eyes off the action below, he said something to the soldier, who immediately got on a walkie-talkie to relay whatever Granger had said.

  “He’s running this show,” I said.

  The crowd kept surging forward. The waterworks might have worked if it were only the handful of guys who were running for the ferry, but there were so many people behind them that they were caught between SYLO and the surging mob that kept pushing them forward. It was looking as though this was going to lead to an even more violent clash when…

  BOOM.

  There was an ear-splitting eruption that came from the sea. It was so loud that it instantly quieted the crowd. All eyes looked out to the warship that was floating at the mouth of the harbor. A cloud of dark smoke drifted up from its deck.

  “I think they just launched something,” I said with dismay.

  “I don’t believe that,” Quinn said, stunned.

  A second later, he believed it. We all did.

  A shrieking sound followed that meant something was headed toward us. Fast.

  Pemberwick Island used two ferryboats. One had been turned back the day the island was invaded. The second sat empty and unused at the end of the pier. That ferry was an iconic image of Pemberwick Island that was duplicated on postcards and posters and photographed by every family that had ever experienced the idyllic pleasures of our island in the Atlantic.

  But it would never carry another passenger, for a few seconds later it exploded. It was a solid hit. Flames spewed from the doomed craft as its fuel tanks erupted. I felt the heat from as far away as we were. It must have been searing hot down on the street.

  The emotion of the crowd instantly turned from anger to panic. Dozens turned and fled. Women picked up small children to keep them from being trampled. People stumbled and fell, only to be stepped on by those desperate to get away from the wharf. Many of these people had been friends and neighbors for decades. None of that mattered when fear took over. Everyone wanted out and they didn’t care who stood in their way.

  The soldiers kept washing them with the fire hoses until the crowd had fled out of range. A few dazed men stumbled away, staring back in disbelief at the ferryboat that burned at the end of the wharf.

  A number of soldiers turned the fire hoses from the crowd to the boat to extinguish the inferno. The water hit the fire to create billows of black smoke that floated up and formed a dark cloud over the small harbor, blocking out the light and warmth of the sun. Within minutes, Main Street was nearly deserted. All that was left of the riot was wet pavement and the burning hulk of the ferry.

  I looked to see Granger’s reaction to the mayhem—and gasped. He wasn’t looking at the street. He was staring directly at me. I could feel his sharp glare boring into my head. Once again I had witnessed him committing a ruthless act. There was no doubt in my mind that he had called in that missile strike on the ferry.

  “We’re prisoners here,” I said numbly.

  Quinn nodded. “There’s only one reason they’d do this. The Pemberwick virus has got to be way more deadly than they’re letting on. Why else would they go so far to keep us here?”

  I started to climb down from the balcony.

  “Where are we going?” Quinn asked as he followed.

  “I want to see how Kent is.”

  “Berringer? What the hell for?”

  When we hit the sidewalk, I looked up to see that Granger had stepped to the edge of the roof so he could still see me. What was he thinking? Was he worried that I might know too much?

  As we hurried away from Main Street, headed for the Blackbird Inn, I confessed to Quinn. There was no way I could keep it to myself any longer. I told him the truth about the Ruby and about how I had taken it. I told him about Feit and about my fear that the Ruby had killed Marty. I also told him that I brought a sample to the sheriff to examine and how Granger was there and said he would bring it to the CDC scientists. But that’s all that I said. I didn’t want him to know too much and be on Granger’s radar along with Tori and me.

  At first he was pissed that I hadn’t confided in him earlier, but the revelation of the possible cause of the Pemberwick virus topped his anger.

  “So…what did the Ruby stuff do to you?” he asked with wide-eyed curiosity.

  “I felt like I could do anything, and it wasn’t just in my head. You saw the way Marty played. Kent was the same way. It gives you incredible strength and speed, but it’s impossible to function at that level for any length of time. If you take too much, you flame out.”

  “So you think Kent is, like, dead?” Quinn asked.

  “No, I think he beat it. But I want to know for sure.”

  “Jeez…,” Quinn said, stunned. It was the only time I had ever seen him at a loss for words.

  “You were right from the get-go,” I said. “There’s more going on here than they’ve been telling us.”

  “More than they’re telling anybody,” Quinn added. “I think this is why communications have been cut off. They don’t want the rest of the world to know what’s going on either.”

  The realization hit me like a punch in the gut.

  “Oh my God,” I exclaimed. “Communications were cut right after I took the Ruby to the sheriff.”

  “You were getting too close,” Quinn said.

  The idea that Tori and I were the cause of the communication blackout was both stunning and frightening. If Granger was willing to execute people for trying to escape, what would he do to people who were in on his secrets? My only consolation was that I hadn’t told my parents. They couldn’t know until the rest of the world knew…which meant that somehow we had to tell the rest of the world.

  We arrived at the Blackbird Inn to see an ambulance parked out front, along with two black Humvees.

  “Uh-oh,” said Quinn.

  We ran up the driveway in time to see SYLO soldiers stepping out of th
e front door carrying a stretcher. On it was Mrs. Berringer. She was strapped down, but not to keep her from falling off—it was to keep her under control. She fought against her restraints, desperate to break loose.

  “They’re coming!” she shouted. “We have to protect our home! Let me go!”

  Moments later, Mr. Berringer sprang from the front door and sprinted off the porch. He was an older guy. There was no way he could run like that. Not normally, anyway. Two SYLO soldiers sprang from behind a Humvee and tackled him. Mr. Berringer fought to get away, but the guys were too strong and quickly wrestled him toward the dark car.

  “You can’t do this,” he railed. “We’ll be overrun. They’re coming!”

  A second stretcher was carried out of the inn. This one held Kent.

  I couldn’t stand it anymore and ran for the house.

  “Kent!” I called. “What happened?”

  The paramedics put Kent’s stretcher down and helped the others who were struggling to get Mr. Berringer into the Humvee. Kent had mostly come down from the effects of the Ruby, but when he saw me, his eyes flared. Not with power, but with anger.

  “Why?” he snarled while straining against his restraints.

  “Why what? Did your parents—?”

  “The island’s in chaos. They wanted to protect our property from the rioters. What else could they do? And you turned us in.”

  “What? No! I didn’t tell anybody.”

  Olivia hurried out of the inn and stood close to me.

  “This is horrible,” she said with tears in her eyes. “They just started going…crazy!”

  She held on to my arm like a frightened child, pressing her body close to mine. It only made Kent angrier. He struggled against the straps that held him onto the stretcher, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “You’re dead, Pierce,” he growled. “I swear I’ll kill you.”

  The paramedics returned and one put a firm hand on his chest and said, “Easy. Calm down.”

  “Where are you taking them?” Quinn asked.

  “The hospital,” the paramedic answered. “Back away, please.”

  They lifted Kent up and quickly slid him into the ambulance.

  “I’m coming for you, Pierce!” Kent screamed as they closed the doors on him.

  Seconds later the Humvees took off, followed by the ambulance with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

  Olivia buried her face in my chest and cried. “Why is this happening? What is wrong with them?”

  I wasn’t about to stand there and explain the Ruby to her.

  “It’s the Pemberwick virus,” I said. “Hopefully they’ll catch it in time.”

  Olivia looked at me and through sad, teary eyes said, “I’m never going to leave this island, am I?”

  “Why don’t you go to the hospital and try to calm Kent down,” I said.

  “No,” she said, backing away as if I’d suggested she pay a visit to a leper colony. “I’m not going anywhere near that place.”

  She turned and ran into the house, slamming the door behind her.

  “Well,” Quinn said. “We’ve got all sorts of drama going on.”

  “The Berringers took the Ruby,” I said. “It’s spreading. Those CDC scientists can’t ignore it anymore. They have to put out an announcement to keep people from using it.”

  “They won’t,” Quinn said. “Or they would have already.”

  “You think they’re hiding the truth too?” I asked.

  “I think the whole bunch of them know what’s going on and they’re doing everything they can to keep the truth from leaving this island.”

  “But there’s no way they can keep it secret for long. I mean, people on the mainland are going to start asking questions.”

  “Maybe,” Quinn said, sounding grim. “Or maybe this is bigger than we can imagine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s go to my house,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

  We left the inn and walked to Quinn’s house without discussing it further. Arbortown was deserted. The stores were all closed. A riot will do that. People must have gone back to their houses to hole up out of fear for what SYLO might do to them if they poked their noses out. I wasn’t worried about the soldiers so much. It was Granger who scared me. He was in charge. He knew it all. And I knew how ruthless he could be.

  Worse, he knew I knew.

  Quinn’s parents weren’t home. I figured they were doing extra duty at the hospital since so many cases of the Pemberwick virus were being brought in. We went right to Quinn’s room, where he fired up his computer.

  “Have you been watching TV?” he asked while the laptop booted up.

  “Sure. What else is there to do?”

  “Have you noticed that there isn’t much news about Pemberwick anymore? When the invasion first happened, we were all over the place. I mean, Jimmy Kimmel did a whole sketch about being trapped in preppie prison where everybody was forced to wear bright pink and green and eat deviled eggs. But since those first few days, zip. We’re already old news.”

  “What about CNN?” I asked.

  “Ahh, The Pemberwick Report,” Quinn said as he keyed in some words. “Every night intrepid reporter Dave Storm comes on at exactly six o’clock with a live, up-to-the-minute report on the latest news from our troubled little island. Check this out.”

  He brought up a media player and hit “play.” The familiar image of the CNN anchor Dave Storm came up. He sat at a desk in front of a busy newsroom to deliver the evening report on Pemberwick. There was a logo and everything. The Pemberwick Report. Quinn let it play, but the sound was muted.

  “This was the first report. The day after the invasion. I set the DVR to record them all. You know. It’s history. I transferred it all to my laptop.”

  “What’s your point?” I asked impatiently.

  Quinn stopped the playback, hit a few more keys, and said, “I edited together a few seconds from every report. Check this out.”

  He hit “play” again, and the image of Storm came up from the next day’s report. Everything was exactly the same except for his suit. It played silently for a few seconds and then cut to the next day’s report. Again, it was the same thing, only with Dave Storm wearing yet another different suit.

  Quinn said, “I’ve got seven reports here. All live. All recorded one day apart at six o’clock.”

  Two more clips went past.

  “What am I watching?” I asked. “Is he saying something weird?”

  “No,” Quinn replied. “He’s not saying much of anything. It’s all about how SYLO is doing a fantastic job and everybody’s fine. In the later reports he mentions the possibility of a few new cases of the virus, but that’s it. There was definitely nothing about the Ruby.”

  “So then what am I looking at?”

  Quinn scrolled back to the first report and let it play.

  “Check out the digital clock deep inside the newsroom.”

  I looked over Storm’s shoulder and saw a red digital clock that read 18:00. Six o’clock, using military time.

  “Yeah—so?”

  “Keep watching.”

  The next clip came up. The clock again read 18:00. The third clip was different. The clock read 2:04.

  “Whoa, freeze it,” I said.

  Quinn hit “pause.”

  “I thought it was live at six o’clock?” I said.

  “Yeah, me too. Watch.”

  Quinn hit “play.” When the next clip came up the clock read 2:45. The clock in the following clip showed 4:06. The rest were different as well. The clock never read 18:00 again.

  “So what does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means the reports aren’t broadcast live,” Quinn replied. “They were shot at all different times of the day and then passed off as live.”

  “Is that normal?” I asked.

  “Not for a live newscast,” Quinn shot back.

  “Maybe they pre-taped the reports,” I said.
“That’s not a crime, is it?”

  “No,” Quinn said patiently. “But it’s weird if they’re calling it live, and so it got me thinking. I watch a lot of TV. I admit it. Don’t judge me. After seeing that clock thing on CNN, I started paying closer attention to what was on in general, and you know what I realized?”

  “That you have to stop watching so much TV?”

  “Since the day SYLO invaded, there hasn’t been a single new episode of anything. No reality shows. No prime-time shows. No daytime stuff. It’s all reruns. Everything. Even the rest of the news. That’s the weirdest thing. There are no big stories. None. It’s like nothing newsworthy has happened for over a week. All they’re showing is a bunch of fluff stuff like…like…”

  “Like it was all recorded a long time ago,” I said.

  “Exactly. Nothing we’re seeing is new.”

  My head started to spin.

  “So that means—”

  “It means we’re not only cut off from talking to the outside,” Quinn said. “It means the outside isn’t getting through to us either. We’re totally isolated.”

  FIFTEEN

  “I’ve seen some stuff,” I said tentatively.

  “Who hasn’t?” was Quinn’s flip response.

  “I mean, stuff I wish I hadn’t.”

  “Again, who hasn’t?”

  “I saw Granger murder somebody, okay!”

  For the second time that day, Quinn was speechless. He sat there staring at me with his mouth hanging open. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about it. Not until we were all safe. But events were spiraling out of control. Safety seemed like a long way off. I wanted another ally.

  “Details, please,” was all Quinn finally managed to croak out.

  I told him everything. About Tori telling off Feit and how she showed me the horses and the Ruby that washed up on the beach along with the debris from what could have been the exploded shadow. I told him about the cigarette boat that was blown out of the water and the two guys who were hunted down and killed by SYLO soldiers…and by Granger. I also admitted to him that Tori was with me when I turned the Ruby and the wreckage in to the sheriff—and Granger.

  He took it all in without a word. His nimble brain was taking each bit of information and placing it into an equation that would hopefully bring us to an answer that made sense. When I had finally gotten it all off my chest, I waited for his response.