Storm

by D. J. MacHale

“I’m sorry,” Chris said to her sincerely, then looked to the rest of us. “Finish up and I’ll meet you all over in the market.”

  He touched Olivia’s shoulder in a show of sympathy, then headed out.

  I looked at Tori, expecting some critical comment, but instead I saw that she was smiling.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You’re just as skeptical of this place as I am,” she said.

  “I’m not!” I said defensively. “I just saw something that didn’t make sense, that’s all.”

  “There’s a whole lot that doesn’t make sense here,” she said. “I get that you’re trying to find some new normal, that’s who you are, but I’m not convinced that this is it . . . and neither are you.”

  “So what do you think we should do?” Kent asked. “They’ve got a pretty sweet setup going on here; I think we should take advantage.” He finished by scooping a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

  “Sure,” Tori said. “It’s great . . . until those planes come back. But, hey, I guess that’s okay as long as we’re all comfy and well fed until then.”

  That put an end to the conversation—and my appetite. Tori was right. It wasn’t just about survival, it was also about protecting ourselves against whatever force was responsible for putting us on the path to Armageddon.

  And getting revenge.

  I might have appreciated what Chris and his cowboys had set up, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Tori was right about that too.

  We finished our meal in silence, then walked to Quincy Market. The same three girls were inside, processing new arrivals. When the first girl spotted us, she put on a welcoming face and said, “Come on in. They’re waiting for you right through there.”

  She pointed to a door on the far side of the room. I led the others through to find a large lecture hall. There were rows of tiered seats where several of Chris’s cowboys sat. They faced a low platform where five chairs were set up.

  “Come in,” Chris called to us. “Have a seat up there.”

  We each took one of the five chairs and faced the others. A pretty girl, who could easily have been one of the reception girls, sat in front with a notepad and pen.

  “Now, start from the top,” Chris said. “Tell us everything that happened on Pemberwick Island and bring us right up to when we saw you outside of Fenway.”

  I did most of the talking, though Kent was quick to add details, usually of his heroics. I told them everything, beginning with Marty Wiggens dying during the football game because he had used the Ruby that was brought to Pemberwick by the villain named Mr. Feit. I told them about Captain Granger and the division of the Navy called SYLO that invaded the island and created a quarantine that was more about keeping us prisoner than rooting out a bogus virus. I explained how they murdered people who tried to escape and about the rebels, led by Tori’s father, who planned to retake the island but were ambushed and executed before they could put their plan into motion. Tori spoke about how we tried to escape from Pemberwick on fishing boats and were recaptured, but not before witnessing what turned out to be the attack on Portland. We all talked about the SYLO prison camp and how we escaped by using the Ruby for strength.

  We described our ultimate successful escape from Pemberwick, from Feit’s death through the desperate speedboat journey that took us directly through the massive air-sea battle between SYLO and the black planes, when Captain Granger was killed. Finally, we described the desolation we found in Portland, the downed black plane that had the Air Force logo, and how we met Jon and decided to travel to Boston.

  “From what we saw,” I concluded, “there’s a civil war going on. Two branches of the United States military are at war. Why? We have no idea. But we know who’s suffering, and that’s pretty much everybody else.”

  Chris and the cowboys didn’t say much during our story. Every so often they’d ask a question to clarify something, but they mostly listened attentively.

  When we finished, we sat there staring at the group, waiting for their reaction.

  It was Chris who went first.

  “I can’t speak for anybody else, but I’m blown away. The idea that this is a civil war is something I never even considered. None of us did.”

  He looked at the other cowboys, and they all nodded in agreement.

  He then added, “Who do you think is giving the orders? I mean, armies don’t just fight for the heck of it.”

  “No clue,” Kent answered quickly.

  “I don’t know about the Air Force,” I answered. “But SYLO came to Pemberwick Island under orders from the president of the United States.”

  “So you think they’re the good guys?” Chris asked.

  “Not even close,” I answered quickly. “Not after what they did to our home. Captain Granger was a monster, and I’m glad he’s dead. They’re all murderers. As far as I’m concerned, SYLO started this war.”

  “And you say your parents are working for them?” Chris asked.

  I felt all eyes in the room on me, including those of my friends.

  I took a deep breath and answered with total sincerity. “They lied to me for years about why we moved to Pemberwick Island. The truth is that we moved there so they could help an invading force turn the place into a prison. They’re just as guilty as the soldiers who fired the guns that wiped out the rebel camp and killed Tori’s father. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have parents anymore.”

  Olivia let out a soft gasp.

  Everyone waited, expecting me to say more.

  I didn’t.

  Tori reached over and took my hand.

  “We’ll talk about it another time,” Chris said.

  “No, we won’t,” I said.

  “So what are we going to do?” Tori asked, changing the subject.

  “What do you mean?” Chris said.

  “I mean we’ve got to take charge of our lives. Our futures. We’ve got to end this.”

  “How can we end this?” Chris asked skeptically. “We don’t even know what this is. You say it’s a civil war, but nobody has declared anything. If the president is controlling SYLO, who’s controlling the Air Force? Some foreign power? A rebel group of soldiers trying to overthrow the government?”

  “Aliens?” Kent threw in.

  Nobody acknowledged that comment.

  “That’s exactly the point,” Tori exclaimed. “We need to know why this happened and who’s behind it.”

  Chris took a deep breath and rubbed his face, buying time to think.

  “Look,” he finally said, “we’re all angry and scared. But we’re just regular people. What else can we do but focus on survival?”

  Tori jumped to her feet. “I know. I get it,” she shouted. “We have to eat and we need shelter, and you guys have that covered. Nice job. But we’re the lucky ones. We could just as easily be dead. This happened for a reason, and if we just sit around and feed our faces and get comfortable, then eventually our luck is going to run out. Whether you think so or not, we’re living on death row, and the executioner is still out there. If I’m going to die, at least I want to know why.”

  She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the room.

  The rest of us sat there in awkward silence for a few long moments.

  “She’s had a tough time,” I finally said. “She saw her father gunned down by SYLO just a few days ago and then took a bullet herself.”

  “Hey, my father was killed too,” Kent said. “But I’m keeping it together.”

  “Then I guess you’re a better person than she is,” I snapped. “But if not for her, you wouldn’t be here. Don’t forget that.”

  That shut Kent up.

  Chris stood. “It’s okay,” he said. “She’s not the only one who feels that way. But we’re not here to stage some kind of counterrevolution. All we want to do is get by. If you want to take off and tilt at windmills, that’s your choice. But if you stay here, you’ve got to be cool. We’re all on edge, and I can’t have somebody stirring things up, or
this whole thing will come tumbling down.”

  “I hear you,” I said. “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Great. If you want to leave, just let us know. No harm, no foul.”

  He went for the door along with the rest of his people.

  “We’d like you to stay,” Chris said as an afterthought. “We need your energy.”

  He left, and the others followed.

  Kent, Olivia, Jon, and I stayed in our chairs, waiting for somebody to say something.

  “She’s going to get us kicked out of here,” was Kent’s first comment.

  “What does she want to do?” Jon asked. “Fight back? With two pistols?”

  “I don’t want to leave,” Olivia added quickly. “I feel safe here. Maybe he’s right. Maybe my mother will come looking for me. It’s possible. I mean, anything’s possible, right?”

  Kent put his arm around her and said, “Wherever we go, you’ll be safe as long as you’re with me.”

  She didn’t pull away from him, but she kept her eyes on me. They all had their eyes on me, expecting some words of wisdom that I was having trouble finding. I was getting tired of being the one they all looked to for answers. Or explanations. Or assurances that everything was going to be fine when I knew it wasn’t.

  “I’ll try to calm Tori down,” I said. “But she’s right. Whatever this war is, it’s just beginning.”

  I got up and left the building to search for Tori. I found her sitting alone on a park bench between the two main buildings, clutching her bag.

  “I don’t trust him,” she said as I walked up.

  “Who?”

  “That Campbell guy. There’s something off. With him, with this place. Everything is just too . . . easy.”

  I glanced around the grounds to see people raking leaves, washing windows, or just strolling along and chatting.

  “It does seem strangely normal,” I commented.

  “Exactly!” she exclaimed. “That’s not normal. We all just had our lives wiped out. Millions of people have been killed, and all they care about is that there’s bacon for breakfast.”

  “I hear you,” I said. “I think maybe everyone’s in denial. It’s a lot easier to worry about an empty belly than to stress over the downfall of civilization.”

  “Then they’ve given up,” Tori said with spite.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Let’s ride this out for a while. At least until your shoulder gets better. We’ll do whatever they ask while you get stronger. Once you’re back up to speed, we’ll make a decision.”

  “Would you go to Nevada with me?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I replied. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

  “And you think you’ll know any better after living here in Camp Oblivious?”

  “Maybe not, but I wouldn’t mind being well fed and safe in their basement while we try to figure it out . . . and heal.”

  Tori looked at the ground and frowned. She wasn’t buying it.

  “You have to trust somebody, Tori. It might as well be me.”

  She kicked at the dirt absently.

  “The leaves are starting to turn,” she said. “It’ll be cold soon. Fall was my dad’s favorite time of year.”

  “He seemed like a great guy.”

  “He’d want me to fight back,” she said.

  “I know. But he’d want you to be smart about it.”

  She nodded thoughtfully.

  “All right, Tucker, I’ll try it your way. But as soon I’m strong enough to travel, I’m gone.”

  Tori was true to her word. Over the next several days she didn’t rock the boat and did her best to fit in. We all did.

  Jon volunteered to help keep the rechargeable batteries topped off. Every day he’d gather lamps from all over Faneuil Hall and bring them to the solar charging station, replacing them with fully charged units.

  Olivia did what she did best . . . shop. She got together with the people who scavenged the city for clothes and went out with them every day to pillage the abandoned stores. Her choices tended to be more fashionable than practical, but nobody complained.

  Tori was limited by her injury, so there wasn’t much she could do that was physical, but she found a perfect job anyway. The cowboys had scrounged up gas-powered generators from around the city, and not all of them were in great shape. Using her knowledge of engines, Tori tuned them up and had them humming. Their main function, now that it was getting colder, was to power the heaters that pumped warm air into the buildings. Thanks to Tori, the people at the Hall would be warm throughout the long winter.

  Though she was going along with the program, her gym bag was never far from her side.

  I did what I did best: garden. In this case it was a vegetable garden. Winter was coming, so planting anything outside would have been a waste. Instead, I cleared an unused section of one of the buildings that had a skylight and set up rows of planters that we scrounged from a nearby gardening center. In no time I had several rows of tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, and onions growing in the improvised greenhouse. If all went well, there would be enough plants to provide fresh vegetables throughout the winter.

  The only one of us who didn’t do much to fit in was Kent—no big surprise. At first he was asked to wash windows, but that didn’t last more than a minute. Kent didn’t do menial chores that were more suited to the lower classes—which in his opinion was everybody but him. Once he blew off that job, he would disappear for hours on end. Nobody knew where he went or what he was doing.

  One time I saw him strolling across Faneuil Hall in deep discussion with Chris Campbell. When he saw that I was watching, he walked away from Chris quickly, as if he didn’t want me to know that they were talking.

  When I would ask him at night what he had done that day, he’d get evasive and say, “Whatever they ask me to do.”

  He didn’t even confide in Olivia—unless she was being secretive about it too.

  I didn’t press him on it because I didn’t want to start a fight. It was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about whatever he was doing, and to be honest, I didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t getting into any kind of trouble that might hurt the rest of us.

  We quickly settled into our jobs and the day-to-day routine of making the best of what we had. New people arrived all the time, but our numbers never seemed to grow, which meant that just as many were leaving. Every day I’d hear about somebody who knew somebody who took off. I’d guess that about ten people left every day. For a group that only numbered around two hundred, that seemed like a big chunk of people who didn’t want to be there. But everyone had the right to do what they wanted.

  It wasn’t a horrible way to live, but the real reason for our being there was never far from anybody’s mind. The fear of another attack wasn’t our only worry. There was real concern over what our lives would be like once the war was over. It was like living in limbo, waiting for the next phase of life to kick in.

  The guy in the cot next to mine, Jim, fully believed that we would be living in the Hall for a long time.

  “Whoever did this has got to have big plans,” he’d tell me. “We could be waiting around for months until we find out what they are, so make yourself comfortable.”

  Jim gave Chris Campbell all sorts of credit for pulling the Hall together and keeping the people safe and well fed. He got no argument from me. Chris was one of those guys who ran toward problems instead of away from them. I don’t know where the people of the Hall would be if he hadn’t taken charge.

  Besides Kent’s secret activities, the only odd part about life at the Hall were the busloads of people who left every morning, like clockwork. Most days I got up early and went to observe the daily bus as it was loaded up with people I’d probably never see again. Many of them I recognized from working around the Hall. None of them had mentioned that they planned to leave, yet there they were, loaded up and headed out.

  The marauding planes didn’t return, the abun
dance of food didn’t slack off, and we all had jobs that made us feel as if we were contributing. We had settled into a new normal . . .

  . . . until the tenth night we were there.

  It started out innocently enough. Better than innocent, in fact, because of Olivia.

  She decided that simply surviving wasn’t good enough. Her point was that if we were all stuck together in this forced community, then there was no reason that we shouldn’t have a little fun every once in a while. To that end, she organized a dance. Yes, a dance. Under her direction, a group of guys arranged strings of outdoor Christmas lights to create a festive atmosphere between the two buildings. Jon scavenged a couple of iPod docks with speakers from somewhere in the city, and Tori’s people brought generator power to a makeshift DJ booth. A few people loaned iPods that probably hadn’t been used since the day the city was attacked. The stage was set.

  At eight o’clock, music returned to Faneuil Hall.

  The sound brought people out of the buildings. They gathered slowly and a bit cautiously around the small area where twinkling lights dangled from the trees. I understood their concern. It was night. It was dark. That’s when the invading Air Force planes were the most powerful. But nobody had seen a plane for nearly two weeks, and the sound of music was way too tempting to ignore.

  Jon played some old-time song I didn’t recognize. It was a big-band jazz thing that he must have thought would appeal to all ages. It didn’t matter to me. Hearing music for the first time in weeks was like a drink of cold water after having walked a hundred miles through the hot desert.

  I couldn’t help but smile, and I wasn’t alone. The music was magically melting away the tension that had been gripping us all. People circled Jon at the DJ table and stood there swaying, letting their minds go to another place and a better time.

  It was all pretty mellow until Kent jumped up onto a bench and shouted, “Enough! Let’s have some fun!”

  Jon took his cue and changed the laid-back jazz to a thumping, club-mix dance tune.

  A few of the older people cringed, but the younger people loved it.

  “Whooo!” came an exited cheer from a girl in the crowd. It could have been Ashley. Or Gigi. Or Madalyn.