SYLO

FOURTEEN

We spent the rest of the night watching TV, hoping for any news about why Pemberwick Island had had its communications cut off from the mainland, but there was nothing. The only update was that a few new cases of the virus in its early stages might have been identified and people had been brought to the hospital for observation and testing. The reporter said that the CDC was making steady progress and there was hope that they’d get to the bottom of the problem soon and blah, blah, blah.

There was nothing about the Ruby or the field of debris. There was no mention of the cigarette boat that was blown out of the water and the fact that two people were gunned down by SYLO killers, but I guess that was no surprise. It was torture not telling Mom and Dad about what I had seen but I followed Tori’s instincts. The less they knew, the better. It would all come out eventually. Of that I was certain. Once Granger and his army were gone and I felt safe, I’d talk to anybody who would listen about what we’d seen. I wondered how I might get in touch with somebody at the Boston Globe or the New York Times.

It had been an incredibly long day. The morning’s football game seemed like it had been played weeks before. My mind was racing in a million directions and if I hadn’t been totally exhausted, I never would have been able to fall asleep. Thankfully I nodded off fast and didn’t wake up until early the next morning.

When I got dressed and came out of my bedroom, Mom and Dad were already up and glued to the TV. I would have asked if they had been up all night but they were wearing different clothes.

Mom’s eyes were puffy and red. She had been crying again.

“Anything new?” I asked, not really sure that I wanted an answer.

“No, but there’s going to be an announcement soon,” Dad said. “Grab some breakfast.”

My heart started beating hard. Was this it? Did they figure out that the Ruby was to blame for the Pemberwick virus? Had somebody found the wreckage of the speedboat? I wasn’t hungry but couldn’t sit still so I grabbed some Cheerios and brought the bowl into the living room to join my parents. They were watching a Sunday morning news show that had nothing to do with Pemberwick Island. I watched the talking heads but didn’t register a single word anybody was saying. I couldn’t have cared less about what was happening with the rest of the world.

After about fifteen minutes, the screen went black. Seconds later, a SYLO logo appeared.

We all sat up straight. The logo stayed on the screen for a solid sixty seconds before it faded out and was replaced by the image of Captain Granger seated at a desk. The guy didn’t look any more comfortable than the last time he had been on the air. Only this time, I knew a little bit more about him and what he was capable of.

“Good morning,” he began. “I’m sure many of you know that there has been a massive failure of the communications infrastructure here on Pemberwick Island. While we are still able to receive digital data, the use of telephones, both hardwired and cellular, has been sporadic.”

“Sporadic?” Dad said, incredulous. “Try nonexistent.”

“Also, we are not able to access the Internet,” Granger continued. “Rest assured that the utility companies both here on Pemberwick Island and on the mainland are hard at work to identify the problem and restore service. Military communications have not been affected, so we are keeping tabs on the situation and will report the moment we have found a solution. We hope that we will all be back online and in touch shortly. Until then, we ask for your continued cooperation with the SYLO team during this time of inconvenience. Thank you.”

The picture dissolved back into the SYLO logo and moments later the news program picked up, in progress.

“I guess that’s it,” Mom said. She seemed relieved, as if she had been expecting some bad news.

“He’s full of it,” I declared.

“Why do you say that?” Dad asked.

“If there’s cable service, there’s Internet. And people have satellite phones. Satellites didn’t start falling out of the sky, did they?”

“Why do you think he’d lie?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. But I’ll bet anything that Granger knows exactly why we’ve been cut off. Heck, he probably has something to do with it.”

I jumped up and headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?” Dad asked.

“We can’t use the phone but we can still talk,” I said. “I want to see what other people think.”

Dad ran ahead and cut me off.

“I think we should do what Granger suggested. We have to have patience.”

“Seriously, Dad, do you trust that guy?”

He thought about the answer then said, “I have no reason to doubt him.”

“Well, I do,” I shot back. “And I want to know the truth.”

I started back toward the door but Dad grabbed my arm and said, “We’ll all get that soon enough.”

He stared me straight in the eye as if he were trying to tell me something without actually saying it. I looked at Mom. Tears welled in her eyes again.

“What are you guys not telling me?” I asked with determination.

For a second I thought Dad was going to answer. Instead, he let go of my arm and backed off.

“Nothing,” he said, sounding defeated. “I just don’t want you getting in any trouble. Stay close to home, would you?”

“Where am I going to go?” I asked. “We’re on an island, remember?”

Dad gave me a shrug and a nod. Mom got up and went into the kitchen.

“See you later,” I said and headed out.

My parents were starting to piss me off. I didn’t like how they were so willing to accept what was happening. These were good people who got shafted, had to pull up their roots in Connecticut and then move to another town to find a better life. That took guts. Why weren’t they showing those same guts when their life here was being threatened?

I left the house, not sure of where I would go or what I was looking for. I wanted to be around people who were as upset as I was, and it didn’t take long to find them. I went to Main Street and quickly discovered that my instincts were correct: People didn’t accept Granger’s explanation for why our phone and Internet had been cut off any more than I did. People I recognized from all over the island, and many more I didn’t, were slowly gravitating toward town hall. It was the center of government for Arbortown and as good a place as any for people to vent about how they were being treated, even though it was Sunday and the offices were closed.

It started out as a few groups of people scattered here and there but the numbers soon swelled. They were all talking about the fact that we had been cut off, and nobody was happy about it. Everyone wanted to be heard, but nobody was doing much listening. I heard bits and pieces of angry outbursts coming from all around me.

“Who is he kidding?”

“It’s not right!”

“I haven’t pulled a single trap in weeks.”

“My kids are in Boston. I have to talk to them.”

“Without a phone, I’m out of business.”

It went on and on.

“The natives grow restless,” came Quinn’s familiar voice. He walked up to me and said, “I was wondering how long it would take before people started getting antsy.”

“I think SYLO cut us off,” I said.

“Really?” he said with exaggerated surprise. “That makes you…and everybody else. The question is, why?”

I didn’t tell Quinn about Granger for the same reason Tori and I hadn’t told our parents.

“If they’re not telling us the truth to keep us calm,” Quinn said, “it’s backfiring.”

The crowd had grown and spilled into the street, choking off traffic into town. Car horns blared but it didn’t help. It was gridlock.

“Not that I have any experience in these things,” Quinn said. “But this has all the makings of an angry mob. Kind of exciting.”

“Exciting?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, in an anarchistic, overthrow-the-government kind of way. History is being made here and we’re part of it.”

I watched with apprehension as the small groups of angry islanders gradually drifted into one big group.

“I’d rather have things go back to normal,” I said.

“Ah,” Quinn scoffed. “Normal’s overrated.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “Do you mean that?”

“That depends,” he replied.

“On what?”

“On whether or not we live to tell our kids about it all.”

“Jeez, man, don’t even joke about something like that.”

“Who’s joking? This is going to get hairy.”

People started shouting to be heard. You could feel the energy growing, and it wasn’t positive. I only hoped that nobody had decided to sample the Ruby. That would have been like lighting a fuse on dynamite. Slowly, the crowd pushed toward the steps of town hall, where people stopped talking to each other and started shouting their questions at the empty building.

“Why have we been cut off?”

“Tell us the truth!”

“Check this out,” Quinn said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and started chanting: “Sy-lo, Sy-lo, Sy-lo…”

“Stop!” I commanded, pulling his hands away. “You don’t want to mess with Granger.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied and continued his chant. “Sy-lo, Sy-lo, Sy-lo…”

The crowd actually picked up on it and soon the chant was booming across town with the combined voices of a thousand angry islanders.

I grabbed Quinn by the shoulders and got right in his face.

“Don’t do this. It’s not a game!” I shouted at him over the chanting crowd. “You’re pushing the wrong buttons.”

“Or helping to start a revolution,” he said, then pulled away from me and continued to chant.

I didn’t know what to do. Quinn was having the time of his life…and helping to whip the crowd into a frenzy. Finally, a woman’s amplified voice came over a loudspeaker that was set up on top of town hall.

“Attention. Please clear the street to allow for the flow of traffic.”

“No!” was the basic response as everyone shouted her down.

“Please disperse,” the woman said calmly. “This assembly has become a public hazard.”

Her voice only seemed to rile the people up even more. The angry crowd had suddenly become an enraged mob. People I knew who were usually normal and friendly were showing their darker side. I saw my football coach and an art teacher. There were parents of my friends and even little kids. But the familiar faces were few and far between. Most of these people I had never seen in my life. No matter where they had come from, they were all getting swept up in the emotion.

A handful of guys broke from the crowd, charged up the stairs, and started banging on the doors. Everyone was yelling something different but the general sentiment was the same: They were tired of being held prisoners. Cutting off communications was the last straw.

“Come on!” Quinn said.

We pushed our way in the opposite direction and climbed up onto the second-floor balcony of a hardware store across from town hall. From there we had a perfect view of the action.

The street was jammed with people of all ages. Another chant began: “Sy-lo…Sy-lo…Sy-lo.”

Quinn smiled with satisfaction.

The guys in front of the town hall continued to pound on the doors. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before they’d break a window and overrun the place. I doubted that Granger was inside, but that didn’t matter. It was more about letting out frustration.

The announcements continued, “Please disperse immediately. This unlawful assembly has become a public hazard.”

The crowd reacted instantly and angrily to that statement with a new chant, “Un-law-ful…un-law-ful…”

“Not as catchy as my chant,” Quinn commented

“Where’s this going?” I asked.

The answer came from the crowd itself.

“The ferry!” I heard someone yell.

The men who had been pounding on the town hall doors immediately moved as one toward the harbor while continuing to chant and scream in protest.

“Enough!”

“We’re getting off!”

“They can’t stop us!”

The crowd parted to let the men through and they picked up speed, headed for the harbor.

“Are they seriously going to try to take over the ferry?” I asked, stunned.

“This is awesome!” Quinn declared.

“Awesome? They could get killed!”

“Nah,” Quinn scoffed. “Do you seriously think the United States Navy would hurt their own people?”

That was exactly what I thought.

The rest of the mob followed the guys, who began sprinting for the wharf.

“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 the 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.”