SYLO

TEN

Arbortown had become a ghost town.

At Dad’s insistence, he and I went out the next morning to Schatz’s Bakery to get bagels and try to pretend like all was normal, but one look at Main Street proved that it was anything but. The day before, the town had been packed with people enjoying the Lobster Pot Festival. Now, only a few brave souls hurried along the sidewalk while keeping close to the storefronts, as if they might offer some protection against…what? Some people even wore surgical masks. Abandoned festival booths lined the street. Paper napkins blew past overflowing garbage cans. The festive bunting and smiling-lobster banners swung lazily in the offshore breeze as cruel reminders of a happier time. Yesterday.

“Everybody must be hiding under their beds,” I observed.

“That can’t last,” Dad said. “Life has to go on.”

Every so often we’d see a pair of SYLO soldiers strolling together. They weren’t walking with obvious purpose, but it definitely felt as if they were on some sort of patrol. Still, they each made a point of smiling and offering a friendly “Good morning.”

“They aren’t wearing any protection,” Dad pointed out. “That’s gotta mean we aren’t in any real danger.”

“Or maybe they’ve already been given some kind of vaccination,” I offered.

That made Dad pause, but he shook it off. “No. If that were the case, why not just come out and give it to everybody? I’m thinking there’s no real threat.”

“Really?” I said skeptically. “That looks pretty threatening to me.”

I pointed out to the water where a Navy warship stood guard over the harbor like a silent, shadowy specter—with big guns.

“Whatever’s going on,” Dad said, “I’m sure we’ll be told everything real soon.”

Something (besides everything) had been bugging me all night. I needed to talk about it with somebody. Dad was the logical choice.

“Do you think there’s a connection?” I asked. “I mean between the quarantine and what Quinn and I saw the other night? You know, the explosion?”

Dad stopped walking, as if my words had struck a nerve. He gave me such a grave look that I expected him to blurt out, “You’re right! I hadn’t thought of that!”

He didn’t.

“What makes you think that?” he asked cautiously.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who thought it might have been a military exercise. It seems like a pretty big coincidence that a dramatic military event happens right before we get dramatically invaded by the military.”

“We weren’t invaded,” Dad corrected.

“Whatever.”

Dad looked out to the water and the warship that was anchored at the mouth of the harbor.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I guess anything’s possible. But like I said, I think we’ll find out sooner rather than later.”

I had to agree. There was no way an entire island of people could be cut off from the rest of the world and kept in the dark for very long.

We continued on to Schatz’s Bakery only to discover it was closed. No big surprise. None of the other businesses on Main Street had opened either.

“It can’t last,” Dad said with conviction. “It’s Sunday. By tomorrow things will start getting back to normal.”

We spent the rest of the day at home. Cable was back. So was phone service. We stayed glued to the TV, watching for any news on the quarantine and talking to friends and family who lived on the mainland. The phone never stopped ringing. We had become national and probably international news. Friends from Connecticut called, wanting to know what was going on, but we didn’t have any more information than they did. I kept expecting—or hoping—that President Neff would break into regularly scheduled programming to announce that all was clear. I wouldn’t have minded if he did it during the Pats–Jets game since the Jets were kicking the Pats’ butts up and down the field. But there was no such announcement.

In the afternoon Dad and I took another walk down to the harbor, where we found an entirely different scene from what was there in the morning. There was an amazing amount of activity going on. Transports were arriving and dumping off tons of equipment. As each ship emptied out, it would then shove off and quickly be replaced by another. More troops were arriving too. Helicopters flew overhead, dangling wooden pallets holding large, heavy crates. The president said that SYLO would be setting up somewhere on the island. I had to believe that these choppers were making round trips to deliver equipment to their temporary base, wherever that was.

In just a few short hours, Arbortown had gone from a ghost town to a hub of military activity. The SYLO soldiers controlled the streets (and the water and the air) while the islanders kept to the sidewalks, watching in stunned wonder as their quiet little island was overrun.

“That’s a lot of gear,” I said. “Looks like they’re planning on staying a while.”

Another troop transport arrived, but instead of soldiers, these boats carried a load of people in civilian clothes pulling rolling suitcases. It was a mix of men and women who could easily have been mistaken for tourists.

“CDC,” Dad said. “The cavalry has arrived.”

“They’re not wearing protection either,” I said.

“See?” Dad declared brightly. “If anybody should know if there’s a danger, it’s them.”

Waiting for them was Captain Granger. The guy was tall and thin, towering over most of the other SYLO soldiers who were part of the reception committee. He definitely carried himself like a soldier, with straight posture that made it look as though he had a pole stuck up his back. Or somewhere else.

Granger didn’t welcome the newcomers or shake hands or salute or anything. He just stood there, quietly observing. A few of the arriving scientists gave him a nod as they passed him but Granger didn’t return the acknowledgement. He stood with his arms folded, staring at them with his steely eyes as if sizing them up.

A stream of black Humvees (when had they arrived on the island?) pulled up to the wharf. The scientists moved quickly up the ramp, handed their bags over to a few waiting SYLO soldiers, and jumped into the vehicles. The soldiers loaded the bags into the backs of the big cars and seconds later they roared off.

Granger never said a word. He stood observing the process until the last Humvee had driven off, after which a military Jeep screamed up to him. He got in the passenger seat, and the Jeep took off after the line of Humvees. The whole process took only a few minutes.

It was a disturbing scene. I’m not sure if that was because it had to happen at all, or because of the intensity of the moment. You could feel it in the body language of the arrivals, and definitely with Captain Granger.

In a word, it was tense.

“Those guys mean business,” was my comment.

“Yeah, well, they didn’t come for the chowder,” Dad replied.

On the way home we walked past the Blackbird Inn. It was Dad’s biggest client and he wanted to get a heads up on any work that needed to be done. We were about to turn off the street onto the pathway that led to the house, but I stopped him.

“What?” he asked.

I motioned toward the big house.

On the porch were Olivia and Kent. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear that Olivia was upset. I didn’t need two guesses to figure out why. She’d wanted to leave Pemberwick even before the quarantine and now she was stuck here without her mom. Kent leaned against the porch railing, pretending to be interested in what she was saying. I knew he was faking because no sooner did Olivia turn her back to him than he glanced at his cell phone, probably to see if the Pats had come back against the Jets. He wanted to be anywhere else but there.

I wasn’t sure if I was ticked off by the fact that Kent had the opportunity to get tight with her, or relieved that I didn’t have to give her sympathy for being in the exact same mess that I was in.

“Got it,” Dad said when he saw the tense scene. “It can wait.”

We headed home in time to see another live message delivered on TV, again from Captain Granger. He sat at a desk, behind which was a big SYLO logo.

“What exactly is SYLO?” I asked Mom and Dad.

Both shrugged. They didn’t know either.

I added, “I Googled it but didn’t find anything to do with the military.”

“Good afternoon,” Granger began.

He tried to smile, but it looked painful. It was like somebody had told him he had to lighten up or he’d intimidate the natives, but it was so forced that it came out more as a sneer.

“As some of you may have observed, the team from the Centers for Disease Control has arrived. They are now hard at work and I assure you that they will do everything in their power to isolate and neutralize the alleged agent as quickly as possible. I urge you to cooperate with any request they may make so that they can do their work quickly and efficiently.”

“I’ll give him that,” I said. “They definitely looked efficient.”

Granger continued, “I observed today that most of you chose to stay in your homes. While that is certainly your choice, I urge you to carry on with your lives as normally as possible. There is no health risk in going about your daily activities. That is, of course, unless your daily activities include taking your boat for a sail.” He smiled as if this was a clever joke but it came across more like an evil scientist who got his jollies by delivering veiled threats. I half expected him to let out a “Muhahahahaha!”

He quickly dropped the smile and lowered his voice an octave. “As we have made abundantly clear, until the quarantine is lifted, there will be no leaving the island. I trust that today’s unfortunate incident was an aberration and will not be repeated. There will be no exceptions. As soon as there is more information to share, it will be. Good night.”

The screen went black and a few seconds later it returned to the football game.

The three of us stared at the TV for a moment, letting Granger’s words sink in.

“What incident?” I asked, the first to say what we were all thinking.

“I don’t know,” Dad answered.

“Whatever it was didn’t sound good,” Mom added.

We stared at the game, though the action meant nothing to me. It felt odd that the rest of the world could be turning normally when our boring little corner of the universe had been turned upside down.

I didn’t want to go to school the next day but couldn’t come up with any good reason not to. Dad had left for work early and sitting home fretting with Mom wasn’t appealing, so I sucked it up and headed out the door.

I had to walk past Main Street to get to the high school and saw that Dad was right. The town was slowly getting back to normal. The military presence was mostly gone. Whatever gear they needed had been delivered the day before. The festival booths were gone and the banners had been removed. I wondered if the people who had run the booths had decided to crawl out of their cocoons and pack up their stuff, or if it was the work of the SYLO soldiers. The scene wouldn’t have seemed out of the ordinary at all, if it weren’t for the occasional duo of soldiers walking by…

…and the warship sitting in the harbor.

The school was half empty, which meant there were a lot of people still hiding under their beds. But it also meant that at least half of the families had decided to do what we did, which was try to be normal.

“Did you hear?” Quinn asked as he jogged toward me on the way to our first class.

“I’ve been hearing a lot of things,” I answered. “There’s a long list of possibilities.”

“I mean about the Catalina.”

“What Catalina?”

“A thirty-five-footer that some guy from Cape Elizabeth sailed here over a week ago. He had it moored at Memagog and was staying at the Hob Knob Inn, but he didn’t stay in his room Saturday night. Then yesterday morning the boat turned up on the rocks, nearly cut in half. Nobody’s seen the guy since.”

“Jeez,” was all I could say.

“I’ll bet that’s what Granger was talking about on TV last night,” he declared. “He said something about an unfortunate incident.”

“So what are you thinking?” I asked. “That the United States Navy murdered a guy who was trying to escape from quarantine?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Get outta here!” I said, scoffing.

I continued walking toward class and Quinn kept right up with me.

“I’m telling you, Tuck,” he said, “this whole thing doesn’t add up.”

“So you’re saying there’s some kind of conspiracy going on, headed by the president of the United States, to harass the people on Pemberwick Island?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” Quinn shot back. “But I don’t think we’re hearing the whole story and that means that when we do, we’re not going to like it.”

“Or maybe it’s exactly what they say and those scientists are going to figure out what caused those people to die and avert a huge catastrophe by saving Pemberwick and the rest of the world.”

Quinn snickered. “Yeah, and then we’ll wake up from that dream.”

“That would be okay with me too,” I said and headed for class.

The whole school was talking about the quarantine and SYLO and the people who died and the president and…and…and. In some ways it was annoying to hear so much speculation, but I guess it helped to talk about it. At least none of us felt as if we were in it alone. Pemberwick Island was a tightly knit community, especially among the people who lived here year round. We took care of our own and that wasn’t going to change because of a little old invasion.

After school I went to football practice but we didn’t do much. Half of the guys weren’t there and Coach wasn’t even sure if there would be a game the following Friday. So we did a few drills and called it a day.

On the way home I took advantage of the extra hour with no practice and detoured into town. I grabbed a can of iced tea from Molly’s and took it to a bench on the edge of the park on top of Main Street where I could get a good view of the entire downtown area. It all looked so normal, though I knew it wasn’t.

Arbortown was still quieter than normal. There weren’t even any cars moving on the streets. The only sign of life came from the fact that many of the shops were open, which meant business was being carried on, even if there were few customers. Since the quarantine had kept so many tourists on the island, I had to believe that they were all holed up in their hotels and inns with their bags packed, ready to blast out of Dodge. It seemed as though they’d be waiting for a while, based on all the equipment and personnel that SYLO had shipped in.

There were only three ways off the island. Most used was the ferryboat, but that service was shut down when SYLO landed. Another way off was by airplane, but I doubted anyone could even get close to the small planes at the airport with SYLO all over the place. The final way was by private boat, which brought up the mystery of the destroyed Catalina. I didn’t even want to think about the possibility of that boat being attacked because the owner had tried to escape.

I did my best to convince myself that whatever the problem was, it would soon be solved, the missing sailor would turn up, and we could all get back to normal. I really wanted my life back.

The loud blare of a car horn tore me from my thoughts.

I turned quickly to see Tori Sleeper on her motor scooter, zipping quickly through an intersection. A light pickup truck was in the intersection, too, blaring its horn. I quickly realized what had happened: Tori must have sped through the intersection and cut the guy off—

And the guy didn’t like it. He gunned the engine and the pickup jumped forward. With a squeal of tires, the guy made a U-turn and jammed on the gas. He was after Tori.

Tori rounded the far side of the park and glanced back to see the pickup charging toward her. I expected her to gun the engine but she did the exact opposite. She put on the brakes and hopped off, pulling her scooter up onto the sidewalk.

The pickup roared toward her. For a second I feared it was going to jump the curb and hit her, but it stayed on the road—and kept after her. I looked around quickly, hoping there was somebody around who could help, but there was no one in sight. Tori was on her own, unless I did something. I leaped over the back of the park bench and ran across the expanse of grass, headed her way, not sure what I was getting myself into.

The pickup screeched to a stop not five yards from Tori.

Tori didn’t flinch. She stood next to her scooter with one hand on the seat and the other on her hip in defiance. The pickup had barely stopped moving when the driver jumped out.

I knew him. His name was Gary something-or-other. He was a carpenter who lived in Memagog. I’d guess he was about thirty and was known as a hot head. In that moment, he was living up to his reputation. He charged around the pickup, headed for Tori—with a baseball bat that he held up like a weapon.

Uh-oh.

“You messing with me?” Gary screamed.

Tori didn’t answer. Or move.

I sprinted toward them with no idea of how I could stop a rampaging guy swinging a bat.

“Come on!” he screamed, his face red with anger. “You want to mess with me now?”

Gary wound up with the bat and took a swing that knocked a metal garbage can into next week. The garbage can flew five yards and the bat splintered, leaving Gary holding a sharp wooden spike that he waved at Tori as he moved closer.

Tori finally took a step back. She may have been cool but she wasn’t that cool.

“Gary!” I shouted. “What are you doing?”

Gary shot me a look and I saw a fevered glare in his eyes that instantly brought back bad memories.

“She cut me off!” he screamed as if it were a heinous crime worthy of the death penalty.

“I didn’t see you,” Tori said softly but with certainty. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry!” Gary screamed. “You don’t know what sorry is! But you will!”

He moved closer, ready to swing the sharp spike.

I don’t know how I had the guts to do what I did, probably because it wasn’t me who Gary was angry with, but I stepped in front of Tori.

“She didn’t mean to cut you off,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “She didn’t see you.”

Gary stopped moving. He seemed confused. He looked to the weapon in his hand as if he was seeing it for the first time.

“You’re right,” I said, even calmer. “She shouldn’t have done it, but it was an accident.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Tori said, but in a soft whisper that only I could hear. “I didn’t cut him off.”

Gary looked around as though not sure what to do.

“Maybe you should let it go, Gary,” I said.

He let it go all right. He wound up and with a chilling scream threw the handle of the bat. The sharp splinter of wood flew further than I thought possible, sailed across the park, and embedded itself into the roof of the gazebo that sat in the center of the park.

That got Tori’s attention.

“My God,” she said under her breath, her cool finally cracking.

“Thanks, Gary,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Now it’s over.”

But it wasn’t. Gary let out another scream and ran for his truck. He covered the twenty yards so quickly he seemed like a blur. He jumped behind the wheel, threw it into gear, and hit the accelerator. His tires squealed and smoked as he took off and flew down the road, taking a corner so fast it seemed as though the truck went up on two wheels. Seconds later he was gone. The only proof that the incident had happened was the lingering smell of burning rubber and the baseball bat lodged in the gazebo.

“What the hell?” Tori said, aghast.

She had no idea what had just happened.

I, on the other hand, had a pretty good idea. Gary losing it like that answered a question I hadn’t even thought about asking until then.

Mr. Feit had been caught in the quarantine.

He was still on the island.

And he was still pushing the Ruby.