The soldiers fell to their knees to brace themselves.
Feit spun around toward the field, looking as stunned as we were. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t part of his plan.
Boom!
Another explosion erupted next to the first.
An ear-splitting shriek signaled the arrival of two dark shapes that tore across the sky.
It was an all-too-familiar experience.
They were fighter planes, and not the singing black marauders.
They were U.S. Navy fighters.
SYLO was back.
ELEVEN
Fenway Park was under attack.
We had a short window of confusion to try to get the hell out and away while Feit and his soldiers were focused on something other than us.
The steel structure was doomed. Multiple fighter jets screamed overhead and dropped their explosives before blazing off to make way for others to follow. Dozens of missiles hit the field and exploded, turning the framework into a twisted, melting hulk. The sounds of the explosions and the screaming jets made it impossible to think, let alone hear.
The field was ablaze, its heat turning the mezzanine into an oven. Terrified workers fled for their lives. Ironically, many of them survived because the Ruby gave them the speed and power to escape the inferno.
I pushed Tori to get moving, but instead of running she dropped to her knees to retrieve the gun. I wanted to scream at her to leave it but didn’t want to risk turning Feit’s attention back to us. It was a frustrating few seconds . . .
. . . that ended when the injured soldier looked our way.
“Stop!” he screamed and lifted his baton gun.
I yanked Tori to her feet and pulled her toward me as the soldier fired. The charge from his gun missed us and blasted the back off one of the stadium seats. It was a far more powerful charge than the one that had knocked the gun from Tori’s hands.
They were now shooting to kill.
The shot got the attention of the others. When the second soldier went for his own weapon, I thought we were done.
But Tori had found her gun. She unloaded on them, blasting shot after shot, sending Feit and the soldier down behind the first row of seats.
I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her backward as she continued to shoot, pinning Feit and the soldiers down.
We were nearly at the doors leading outside when I heard a sharp click. Tori had fired her last bullet.
“Move!” I shouted.
I slammed the door open and jumped outside. As soon as we were out, the glass door next to us exploded, sending a spray of glass shards our way.
The soldiers were up and shooting back. The only choice we had was to run.
The bombardment on the field continued. Fenway was rocking, and not in a good way. As each missile hit, the stadium shivered. It felt like we were in a violent earthquake, which made it hard to stay on our feet. We struggled to head back the way we had come, running down the stairs to street level. We were several steps from the ground when a streaking missile tore out of the sky, headed directly for us.
“Jump!” I shouted.
We vaulted over the handrail and fell the last few feet to the sidewalk as the missile hit the stairs above us. The force of the explosion threw us forward in a shower of pulverized steel and cement. I hit a light pole with my shoulder and crumpled to the ground. My ears rang, and I had trouble catching my breath, but we weren’t dead.
A cloud of dust swirled, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. A hand grabbed my shoulder, making me jump with surprise. Turning quickly, I saw Tori’s tear-streaked face inches from mine. Her long, dark curls were caked with the gray dust of what used to be Fenway Park.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “We gotta get to the car.”
I struggled to my feet and helped her up. We were both shaken, but uninjured . . . and totally disoriented. Tori grabbed my hand, and we ran.
Through the dust cloud I spotted the Explorer right where we had left it . . .
. . . and another fighter in the sky, headed our way. It released its missile and broke off quickly as the rocket shot ahead and exploded into the side of the old ballpark, sending out a wave of brick and mortar that rained down around us.
“I guess SYLO isn’t done after all,” Tori said breathlessly as we dodged the falling bricks.
When we got to the Explorer, Tori jumped behind the wheel while I got in the passenger side. She fired up the engine while flexing her left hand.
“Is it hurt?” I asked.
“Just numb. What are those guns they have?”
“They must be the same kind of thing the black planes have. It shoots a burst of energy.”
“That’s like science fiction,” Tori said. “Since when does the military have stuff like that?”
“That and lasers that evaporate people and disintegrate buildings, and magic medicine that instantly heals injuries, and fighter planes that sing, and red crystals that turn people into super humans before killing them. The Air Force is using some serious technology.”
“Why doesn’t SYLO have the same stuff?” she asked.
“You’re asking me like I might have an answer.”
Fenway was tumbling. One whole side had collapsed, making the ballpark look more like the remains of the Roman Colosseum than a modern-day stadium. The Navy fighters continued to scream overhead while launching missiles. The steel structure that Feit called “salvation” was destroyed, yet the punishing attack continued. Terrified people fled from the crumbling stadium. Both soldiers and civilians flooded out from every door, desperate to escape the destruction.
“Drive us back to Faneuil Hall,” I said. “The others have to know what’s going on.”
Tori hit the gas, did a sharp one-eighty, and we sped away from the smoldering wreck that was once Fenway Park.
“Is it possible?” Tori asked, breathless. “Could the Air Force have wiped out most of civilization? How could that help mankind?”
“I don’t know. I can’t get my mind around any of it.”
“What if Feit is right? What if SYLO is plotting something even worse?”
“Worse than genocide?” I asked. “I have trouble believing that.”
“Why? Because Feit’s a liar?”
“Because my parents are part of SYLO. I don’t care what they did to me, there’s no way they could buy into something like that.”
“And Feit’s a liar,” she added.
“Yeah, that too.”
“Then why did SYLO choose Pemberwick Island to make a stand?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they thought they could defend it. They sure sent enough firepower there. What I don’t get is how nobody knew a civil war was brewing. You’d think that kind of thing would make the news.”
“Maybe the government thought they could stop it,” Tori offered.
“What government?” I shot back. “The Air Force is the government too! There’s gotta be something else behind this.”
“Yeah,” Tori said. “If we believe Feit.”
The sounds of the attack on Fenway grew fainter as we tore through the empty streets of Boston.
“Does this mean you’re with me?” she asked.
It took a second for me to understand what she was asking. “You mean Nevada?”
“That radio broadcast might be the only hope we have of finding people who are ready to fight back.”
“Fight back against who?” I shouted in frustration. “SYLO is supposedly trying to destroy the world, and the Air Force has already wiped out most of the population. I’m not seeing a clear choice here.”
“If we believe Feit,” Tori cautioned.
“The guy’s a liar, but everything he just said seems to be true. What we don’t know is why it came to this, and who can be trusted.”
“Exactly,” Tori said with conviction. “The only people we can rely on are survivors like us.”
It was the first
logical thing I had heard since I woke up that morning.
“Oh man, we’ve gotta hurry,” I said. “Look!”
A squad of twenty soldiers wearing gray camouflage fatigues and black berets was on the street ahead of us, headed in the same direction we were: toward Faneuil Hall. They jogged together, two by two, each holding a black baton gun.
Tori took a sharp right to avoid them.
“Whatever they were building at Fenway is destroyed,” she said. “Fenway is rubble. They don’t need workers there anymore.”
It was a sobering thought. If the survivors at Faneuil Hall were no longer needed, what would happen to them?
“Drive dangerously,” I said.
Tori accelerated, flying along a street that ran parallel to the one the soldiers were on.
“Why aren’t they on a bus?” Tori asked.
“How should I know? At least it gives us a little time.”
“We’ve gotta be careful,” she said. “If we fly in there shouting about how Chris is really with the Air Force, his cowboys could turn on people.”
“We won’t make a big show,” I said. “We’ve gotta get Olivia and Kent and Jon out. Whoever else we see along the way, we’ll tell them quietly. The news will spread fast, and people can slip away without a lot of noise and disappear into the city.”
“What if they don’t believe us?” Tori asked.
“Then the soldiers will convince them when they show up,” I said grimly.
Tori took the gun that was in her lap and tossed it to me.
“The shells are in the glove box,” she said. “Load it.”
The gun was still warm, the result of having been fired seventeen times. It took me a few seconds to find the lever that released the clip from the handle. I grabbed the box of bullets from the glove compartment and tried feeding them into the clip, but they wouldn’t go.
“Other way,” Tori pointed out.
I flipped the clip. That made the job much easier. In no time it was reloaded with seventeen more shots.
“I’ll carry the gun,” Tori said. “No offense. I just don’t want you shooting off your foot.”
“None taken.”
“How do you want to do this?” Tori asked.
We were nearly back to Faneuil Hall, and we needed a plan. We would get there well ahead of the soldiers, but they would catch up quickly.
“Park near the east end of the Hall,” I said.
Tori made the last turn off the surface street and pulled to a stop behind an abandoned FedEx truck.
“Are you okay with splitting up?” I asked. “We can cover more ground that way.”
“Yeah. Sure. What are you thinking?”
“Find Kent and bring him here.”
“How? I have no idea where he goes during the day. He’s totally secretive about it.”
“I don’t know what he does either, but I’ve seen him eating lunch under the trees on the south end of the complex. If he’s not there, forget him and get back here.”
“What about you?” she asked.
“Jon’s probably at the battery-charging station. I’ll tell him to meet you here and then look for Olivia.”
“I have no idea where she could be either,” Tori said.
“Neither do I, but everybody knows her. Somebody’s bound to know where she is.”
“Yeah, she’s hard to miss.”
I thought I caught a note of disdain. Or jealousy. I ignored it.
“Whenever you see somebody, let them know what’s going on,” I said. “Tell them to spread the word fast, leave their stuff, and get the hell out.”
“There isn’t much time, Tucker,” she said, troubled. “If you can’t find Olivia . . .”
She didn’t have to finish her sentence.
“I’ll find her,” I said. “Just try not to attract any attention.”
I handed her the gun and the clip. She took it and slammed the clip home.
“I guess shooting Chris Campbell would attract attention.”
“Yeah, try to avoid that,” I cautioned.
“What if we don’t all make it back here?” she asked, looking me dead in the eye.
Tori was the most confident person I had ever met. Back home, when a SYLO soldier had a gun pointed at her head, she had taken him down with a Taser without blinking. She had fearlessly driven a speedboat into a firestorm between burning warships and saved our lives. She had just fired on Feit and his Air Force bodyguards, giving us the cover we needed to escape from Fenway. But in that moment, I saw a hint of fear in her eyes. It wasn’t that she was afraid of SYLO or the Air Force or whatever else we might encounter. She was afraid of being alone.
I wished I had something more comforting to say.
“Stay until the soldiers arrive. Once they show up, take off and don’t look back.”
“Will you do the same?” she asked.
“If it means the difference between getting killed and not getting killed, yes. Pick a meeting place. If we have to take off, we’ll go there and wait for as long as it takes for the others to show up.”
“Twenty-four hours,” she said coldly. “If nobody else shows up by then, they aren’t coming.”
“Done. Where do we meet?”
“Old Ironsides,” Tori replied with no hesitation. “I love that ship.”
The USS Constitution was a museum-piece warship that was berthed in Boston Harbor. Every schoolkid in New England had been there on a field trip.
“Old Ironsides it is. Wait there for one day and then—”
“Then go to Nevada,” she said with conviction.
There was an awkward moment.
I can’t say that I loved Tori Sleeper. I wasn’t even sure what that kind of love was. Hell, I was only fourteen. I’d had plenty of crushes, but I’d never known what it was like to be truly in love. Frankly, I wasn’t in any hurry. Life was just starting. But sitting there in that car, after what we’d been through, it was hard to know whether my life was just starting, or nearing its end.
“I think you’re great,” I said, fumbling for words.
Tori gave me a small smile.
“I’m still debating about you.”
She leaned forward and kissed me. A real kiss. It didn’t get all steamy or anything, but it wasn’t a quick peck either. It was an all-too-brief vacation from reality.
She pulled away, and we held eye contact.
I think I was breathing, but I can’t be sure.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“In case we don’t get the chance again,” she replied.
She threw her door open, grabbed the pistol, and took off running down the street.
I was left stunned, but I couldn’t take the time to dwell on a sweet and confusing moment that was already history.
The Air Force hit squad was on the way.
TWELVE
I had no idea how much time I had before the soldiers descended on Faneuil Hall—or what they would do once they got there. With the project at Fenway Park destroyed, the Air Force no longer needed slaves to build it, whatever it was. Would they try to keep up the ruse of the Hall being a refuge for survivors? Maybe they had another project for which they needed some drugged-up workers. Or would they finish the job they began when they attacked Boston and wipe out as many survivors as possible?
Whatever. We had to get out.
The solar battery-charging station was set up on the roof of the north building to maximize the sunlight. I sprinted there, charged up the stairs, and pushed through the door to see Jon walking to a table with an armload of batteries. Yes!
“Thank God you’re here,” Jon said with a big sigh of relief.
“Why? What happened?” I asked, momentarily thrown.
“I’m way behind,” he explained. “Can you grab the batteries from Section D?”
“No! We’re leaving. Now. Chris and his cowboys aren’t survivors. They’re with the Air Force. They set this place up to collect survivors and put them to wor
k.”
Jon gave me a blank look. “What?” was all he managed to say.
“Tori and I saw it. Nobody’s leaving here by choice. They’re being used as slaves by the Air Force. Did you hear those far-off explosions?”
“I heard something,” Jon said, nodding dumbly. “I thought it was thunder.”
“It was Fenway Park being destroyed by SYLO missiles.”
“SYLO attacked?” Jon asked, incredulous.
“Yes. The Air Force was building something there. It was like a . . . a . . . giant steel igloo, but SYLO took it down, along with the rest of Fenway. Now the Air Force soldiers are headed this way to . . . to . . . I don’t know what they’re going to do, but I don’t want to be here when it happens. Tori’s looking for Kent. I came for you and Olivia.”
Jon stared at me, still clutching the batteries, with his mouth hanging open.
“Say something,” I commanded.
He snapped back to reality and shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
“What? Why would I lie?”
“I don’t think you’re lying, I just think you’re mistaken. Chris has taken care of us. Why would he hand us over to the Air Force to be . . . what? Slaves?”
“Because he’s one of them!” I shouted with frustration. “They’ve been fattening us up and letting us build our strength so we could work on their project. But the project is rubble. They don’t need us anymore.”
“But that’s so . . . so . . . implausible.”
“Everything that’s happening is freaking implausible!” I shouted. “Look, you can do what you want, but I’m outta here. The Explorer is parked behind a FedEx truck near the northeast corner of the building. That’s where we’re all going to meet. Be smart. Go there and wait for us.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he meant it.
I wanted to throttle the guy and force him to go, but I didn’t have time.
“Do you know where Olivia is?” I asked.
Jon went back to work, placing the batteries in rows on a table as if I hadn’t said a word. Or was he just taking time to process the information?
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