Storm

ONE

High noon.

The sun floated directly above us on a warm, clear, mid-September day. The street was bathed with an intense white light that cast no shadows… until the world suddenly went dark. The warm, comforting rays of the sun had been blocked by what appeared to be an unscheduled lunar eclipse.

The music that came from the looming shadow told me otherwise. The dark shape had appeared from over the tops of the brick buildings of the Old Port and hovered above us like a rogue storm cloud preparing to unleash its fury.

“They found us,” Kent said with a gasp.

High noon.

Showdown time.

“Back in the car!” I commanded.

The four of us scrambled to get to the Subaru we had “borrowed” after making our escape from Pemberwick Island.

Tori Sleeper was hurt. She had been shot through the shoulder and needed to lean on Kent Berringer and me in order to keep moving. Slowing down to help her saved our lives.

The black attack plane fired a weapon, sending an invisible pulse of energy at the car that rocked it onto its side and ignited the gas tank. The wave of heat from the violent explosion knocked us back, shaken but alive.

“This way!” Olivia Kinsey shouted while running toward a row of low, brick buildings.

We had been standing in the center of Commercial Street, which ran past the busy piers of Portland, Maine. The normally busy piers.

We hadn’t seen a single living soul from the moment we hit town. Stranger still, many of the buildings in Portland had vanished. They weren’t destroyed or bombed, they were just… gone. We knew this was the result of the attack we had seen several nights before when an enormous fleet of these flying black predators put on a light show over the city. Tori and I had witnessed the attack from her father’s fishing boat as we were making our first attempt to escape from Pemberwick Island. It wasn’t the only horror we saw that night. We also got a close-up view of the lethal power of these planes when three of them fired a laser-like weapon at a fishing boat that was making the escape with us. The light enveloped the defenseless craft. Seconds later it was gone…

…along with Quinn Carr.

The black planes had killed my best friend.

They had devastated Portland.

Now one of them was coming for us.

The hovering plane fired another shot that tore up the ground behind us as we sprinted for the safety of a building. It was close. I felt a sharp sting across my back as I was hit by a wave of pulverized street.

“The alley!” Kent shouted.

With one arm around Tori’s waist, I changed direction and ran toward a narrow alleyway between the old buildings.

“You okay?” I asked her breathlessly.

She nodded, but I didn’t believe her. Tori had lost a lot of blood. She needed to be lying down in a hospital, not running for her life.

As we ducked into the alley, I glanced up to see if the plane was following. I expected to see it loom into view above the buildings. Searching. Hunting. These beasts could fly with the speed of a jet fighter, hover like a helicopter, and cause unfathomable damage. What seemed impossible was all too real.

Several seconds passed. No plane appeared, nor did the signature musical sound of its engines. Had it given up that easily?

The streets of the Old Port were narrow and paved with rounded stones, giving the area the feel of an old-time fishing port, which is exactly what it used to be. Now it was a tourist destination where the vintage brick buildings held restaurants, bars, and souvenir stores.

Olivia ran for one of the shops. She yanked the door open and held it so I could get Tori inside. Kent followed quickly and slammed the door shut… as if a closed door would keep out the boogeyman.

We found ourselves in a store packed with Maine souvenirs. Every last inch of counter and wall space was taken up with displays of model lighthouses, saltwater taffy, kitchen-magnet lobsters, scrimshaw snow globes, and anything else that would remind visitors of their trip to the Pine Tree State.

Kent hurriedt to the large front window and peered out with caution.

“Why are they after us?” Olivia asked anxiously. “Because we escaped from Pemberwick Island?”

I helped Tori into a chair behind the sales counter. Though she appeared slight, she was a strong girl who had spent most of her life working lobster boats with her father. But at that moment she was as weak as an old lady.

She looked at me with glazed eyes and muttered, “I need some water.”

I searched the shop, hoping they stocked bottled water as well as flip-flops.

“Tucker!” Olivia cried impatiently. “I asked you a question. Why are they after us?”

“How should I know?” I replied, annoyed.

“Because you have all the answers,” Kent commented with his usual dose of sarcasm.

Everyone looked at me, hoping for words of wisdom. I hated being the one who was always expected to come up with solutions.

Moments before being attacked, we had learned a frightening truth while examining the wreck of one of the black planes. The craft looked like a giant manta ray with no aerodynamic capabilities whatsoever. I thought it might have come from an alien world… until I saw the logo on its skin.

It was the symbol of the United States Air Force.

That morning the four of us had escaped by speedboat from our home on Pemberwick Island and found ourselves in the middle of a sea-air battle between killer planes from the U.S. Air Force… and warships of the United States Navy.

“What can I say?” I answered tentatively. “It looks like the Navy and the Air Force are at war with one another.”

“We were running away from SYLO,” Kent said. “And SYLO is part of the Navy, so that means the Air Force are the good guys.”

“How can the Air Force be good guys?” I shot back. “They just wiped out Portland.”

“Yeah and SYLO turned Pemberwick into a prison,” he countered. “Oh, and they also killed Tori’s father. Did you forget that?”

I hadn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Tori for a reaction.

“Maybe there are no good guys,” Olivia said gravely.

We let that sobering thought hang in the air for a few seconds.

Tori then added in a weak voice, “Or maybe we’re in the middle of the second Civil War. One side’s got the Air Force, the other has the Navy and SYLO.”

None of us commented. The possibility was mind-numbing.

“What are we going to do?” Olivia whined.

“Stick to the plan,” I replied. “First we get to a hospital and patch Tori up. Then we head to Boston and tell the world what’s been happening on Pemberwick Island. After that I don’t know what—”

“Get out!” came a threatening voice from deeper in the store.

We all spun to see an elderly man standing in the doorway leading to the back room. He was a typical Mainer with a plaid flannel shirt and jeans. There was nothing unusual about him… except for the shotgun he had leveled at us.

“Whoa, take it easy, gramps,” Kent warned.

“Don’t gramps me,” the old guy snarled. “Get outta my store.”

“We will,” I said, trying to defuse the situation. “But one of those planes was shooting at us and—”

“That’s why I want you out,” he snapped. “I’ve been ducking them things for days. I don’t need you kids bringing them down on me.”

“Wait,” I exclaimed. “You’re alive.”

“Keen observation, Rook,” Kent said sarcastically.

“I mean you survived the attack,” I said to the man, ignoring Kent. “What happened that night?”

“You don’t know?” he asked suspiciously. “Where you from?”

“Pemberwick Island,” I replied. “We saw the—”

“Pemberwick!” the guy exclaimed as if I’d said we just dropped in from Alcatraz. He held the shotgun higher but took a frightened step back and added, “You got the disease!”

“There is no disease,” Tori said weakly. “The quarantine was just an excuse they used to keep us there.”

“Who?” the old guy asked.

“SYLO,” I answered. “You must have seen it on the news. They’re part of the Navy. They took over the island and were gunning down people who tried to escape so the truth wouldn’t get out.”

“Truth about what?” he demanded.

“There was no virus,” Tori said weakly. “We were prisoners.”

“We think they were experimenting on us with this stuff called the Ruby,” Kent added. “It was killing people, so we left. That pretty much sums it up.”

“What about your parents?” the guy said with suspicion.

The answer would only have confused him more. Tori’s father and Kent’s father were dead, and my parents were part of SYLO. How could I explain that to him? I couldn’t even explain it to myself.

“Look,” I said, ducking the question. “Tori’s hurt. Can I give her some water?”

The man’s gaze jumped between us as he debated what to do. He finally looked to Tori, who sat slumped in the chair behind the counter.

“Over there,” he said, jabbing the shotgun toward another counter.

There was a case of bottled water on the floor. I grabbed one, cracked it open, and brought it to Tori.

“Thank you,” she said and took a few small sips.

“Now, on your way,” the guy commanded, hardening once again.

“We have to get to Maine Medical,” I said. “If her wound gets infected—”

“Then go!” he barked.

“We’ll never make it on foot. We’re going to need a car or—”

“Look!” Olivia screamed.

The black plane was outside the window, at ground level, moving slowly along the street like a giant black shark searching for its next victim.

Nobody moved.

The lethal shadow floated by, the sound of its musical engine growing louder as it moved closer, providing eerie accompaniment while searching the streets for us. Was there a pilot? Or was it an unmanned drone being controlled from a command room miles away?

Seconds passed. The music receded. The plane moved on.

“Now go,” the old man said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t live through an attack on my town just to be given away by a couple of fugitives from a leper colony.”

“Put the gun down,” I barked. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The old man wasn’t sure of how to react to my bold order.

“You can’t shoot, or that plane will come right back here,” I threatened. “And I doubt you’re a killer anyway. What’s your name?”

The man blinked a few times, as if he was having trouble processing what was happening.

“Whittle,” he answered tentatively.

“All right, Mr. Whittle, we’ll be on our way. I promise. But first we need a car.” I looked to Kent and said, “Go get one.”

Kent stiffened. “You go get one!”

“I don’t drive well. You’ve got a better chance.”

Kent looked around, as if searching for an argument. He was a few years older than me, and I didn’t even have my driver’s license. He knew I was right.

“I’ll go with you,” Olivia offered. “This guy makes me nervous.”

Whittle slowly lowered the shotgun, as if embarrassed.

“I’m just trying to protect myself is all,” he said apologetically.

Kent stuck a finger in my face. “You are not in charge.”

I shrugged. “I don’t care who’s in charge as long as we’re smart about what we do. Right now the smart move is for you to get a car.”

Kent’s eyes flared. For a second I thought me might take a swing at me, but Olivia put a hand on his arm and gently pulled him away.

“C’mon,” she said softly. “The sooner we get a car, the sooner we’ll be out of this horrible city.”

Olivia kept surprising me. I don’t think many people told her no… especially guys. She was a spoiled rich girl with cute short blonde hair who was used to getting her way. It didn’t hurt that she was gorgeous. She was no dummy either. She always seemed to know the exact right thing to say to calm people down, and she was quick to help when it was needed. I guess you’d call her an enigma. Maybe that was why I liked her. That and the gorgeous part.

“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” she said to me, then looked to Whittle and added sweetly, “Don’t go shooting anybody while we’re gone now, ’kay?”

“Sure enough,” Whittle replied meekly.

Olivia had worked her magic on him too.

“Be careful,” Tori called out.

“Gee, you think?” Kent shot back. He looked out of the window to scan the street, then cautiously opened the door and peered outside.

“It’s clear,” he announced and stepped out.

Olivia gave me a small smile and followed him.

There was an awkward moment when nobody knew what to say.

“We’re sorry to give you grief,” I said to Whittle, hoping to get him to lighten up.

“Grief?” he said with an ironic chuckle. “You kids can’t bring on any more grief than we’ve already got.”

“Tell us what happened that night,” Tori asked gently. Whittle softened.

“They came out of nowhere,” he began. “No warning. No explanation. No chance to run for cover.”

“Three nights ago, right?” I asked.

Whittle nodded. He spoke as if in a daze, relating a story that must have been too mind-numbing to believe.

“It was primetime in the Old Port. Early evening. Restaurants were full, saloons were buzzing, people were out strolling, enjoying the warm night. Then the sound came. Like music. Folks stopped and stared up at the sky, pointing. It looked like a wave of bats flying in from the west. They were all perfectly spaced up there, like a pattern. It seemed like a show in the sky. But it was no show. It was a… a storm.”

Whittle’s eyes started to water. It was a painful memory.

“We were out on the ocean,” Tori offered. “We saw the sky light up over the city.”

“It lit up all right,” Whittle said, his voice cracking. “So many people. Families. Little ones. One minute they were out enjoying the evening, and then… they weren’t.”

He looked to the ground, suddenly seeming very tired. He lifted the shotgun, and for a second I was afraid he was going to turn it on himself. Instead, he placed it down on a table, pushing aside a bunch of snow globes that fell to the floor and shattered. He didn’t care.

“Did they use that laser weapon?” I asked tentatively.

“Is that what it’s called?” Whittle snapped. “All I saw were streaks of light coming out of the sky. The beams would join up and grow stronger, like they were coming together to build up energy. It was almost pretty, like a holiday spectacle. But there was nothing pretty about what those lights did. Whatever they hit would light up and then… poof. Gone. Whole buildings were there one second and gone the next. It seemed impossible, especially since it was all so silent. There were no explosions or sounds of buildings crumbling. All you could hear was the music of their engines… and the screams.”

I knew exactly what he was describing. It was how Quinn died.

“But the buildings meant nothing compared to what happened to the people. So many of ’em were just… what? Disintegrated? Vaporized? Whatever you want to call it, bottom line is they’re gone. Killed. Thousands of ’em.”

Whittle’s throat clutched. It was a tough memory to relive.

Tori said, “So sometimes buildings disappeared, and other times it was just people?”

Whittle nodded. “Being inside didn’t help. It was like those evil beams could penetrate walls to grab their victims. Whole apartment buildings were left untouched, but every last person inside was wiped out. At least it was quick. They didn’t suffer. Can’t say the same for those who watched it happen. They knew their time was coming. Panic took hold real quick. People ran every which way, but it made no difference for most of ’em.”

“How did you make it through?” I asked.

“I ducked inside here and hid down in the basement. Seems like that was the only way to protect yourself. You had to be underground. Not that I knew that beforehand. It was the only place I could think of to hide. I was just lucky, I guess. Or maybe the lucky ones are those who got gone. They don’t have to live with the nightmare.”

“Are there other survivors?” I asked.

“Plenty. If they were underground during the attack, they’re still around. But you won’t see ’em ’cause they’re hiding like scared cockroaches. Those planes came back a couple of nights later for a second go at it. They’re rooting out the survivors is what they’re doing. Lately they’ve been showing up during the day. You never know when a plane might pass by. They don’t use that laser-light thing during the day though. Seems as though it only works in the dark, but what do I know? Nothing makes sense anymore. There’s no TV or radio. No power. There’s running water, but who knows how long that’ll last? You’d think the Army would have shown up by now. I mean, we were invaded, right? Shouldn’t the cavalry be riding in?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the cavalry was part of the problem because our own military was at war with itself.

“It’s like we’ve been abandoned,” he cried, his nerves starting to fray. “It makes me wonder if…” His voice trailed off.

“If what?” I pressed.

“Maybe we weren’t the only ones who got attacked. What if those things hit Washington? Or New York? Or London, for that matter. If that happened, then nobody’s gonna care about little old Portland, Maine, because it’ll mean the whole world has gone crazy.”

“I hate to believe that’s true,” Tori said softly.

Whittle looked to her with sadness, and I could see him for what he truly was: an old man who was as scared as he had ever beenin his life..

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked warmly. “You’re looking kind of fragile.”

Tori shrugged. “Better than most people who get shot, I guess.”

“Drink more of that water,” he said with genuine concern. “You remind me of my granddaughter. She’s down in Boston. I wonder if…”

He didn’t finish the thought, but I knew what he was thinking. He was wondering if she was still alive.

“Come with us,” I said. “After we hit the hospital we’re going to Boston. I gotta believe we’ll find answers there and—”

“Look out!” Tori shouted.

I spun to look out of the front window in time to see that the black plane had returned. I had been so focused on Whittle that I hadn’t heard the musical engine. It hovered outside of the window, filling the frame. Its nose was facing us.

It knew we were there.

I dove for Tori. The second I wrapped my arms around her, the shop exploded. We fell down behind the counter as the window blew in and the world turned inside out. I felt the force of the powerful blast as the counter was knocked over on top of us. It wasn’t firing the laser weapon. If Whittle was right, that only worked in the dark. Instead, it was shooting the same kind of gun it had used in the battle with the Navy. It fired an invisible pulse of energy that didn’t disintegrate its target—it blew it apart. The weapon itself was absolutely silent, which meant all we could hear was the sound of the shop being torn apart.

Tori and I rolled over in a jumble of arms and legs. “You okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “The back door.”

We crawled through the rubble of plastic beach toys, twisted picture frames, and smoldering T-shirts. There was so much dust and debris in the air that it was impossible to tell which way to go. I crawled on my hands and knees and pushed aside a metal shelving unit to discover… Mr. Whittle. He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling with lifeless eyes. I can’t say what had killed him, but as with all the other victims, it had been fast.

By his standards, he was now one of the lucky ones.

I pushed Tori away so she wouldn’t see him. There was no sense in both of us having that memory. Me? I was getting used to seeing dead people.

Tori didn’t hesitate and crawled toward the back of the store. I was right behind her, fearing that the dark plane would blow another shot into the store and tear the place apart… with us along with it.

When we passed through the doorway into the back, I felt safe enough to get to my feet. I grabbed Tori around the waist to pull her up just as the plane fired again. The floor rocked like we had been hit by an earthquake. Heavy crossbeams that had held the roof up for a hundred years came crashing down around us. We were lucky the entire building didn’t come down on our heads.

“There’s gotta be a back way out,” I called over the sound of tearing, crashing timbers.

A heavy beam landed and rolled, slamming my hip and nearly knocking me off my feet. Tori grabbed my hand. It kept me from falling, but she paid the price. She winced with anguish but didn’t yell out. She wouldn’t give in to the pain.

We had made it to the back storage room of the shop. Cardboard boxes were stacked everywhere, creating a twisted labyrinth that I hoped would lead us to a way out. I was disoriented from having been slammed by the beam, so it fell to Tori to keep us moving. She kept hold of my hand and led me through the narrow maze of boxes as the floor shook again.

Our hunters weren’t giving up. Stacks of boxes were blown apart, their contents hitting our backs and sending us sprawling. The jolt nearly knocked me senseless. I couldn’t imagine how Tori felt.

“This way,” she commanded.

That was my answer. Her head was clearer than mine.

When we finally reached the back door, we saw that it was a heavy, fire-safety metal rectangle with five locks to keep us from getting outside quickly. We stared at it, totally discouraged, until a massive beam crashed down behind us. That was all the encouragement we needed. Tori and I jumped forward and fumbled with the locks. In seconds we had sprung them all and pushed the door open.

We were out, but still on the run.

“We gotta find Kent,” Tori said.

“First we gotta shake that plane,” I corrected.

We ran down a narrow alleyway that emptied onto a wider backstreet. I pulled Tori to the left, only because it would get us farther away from the shop and the attack plane that was blowing it apart.

Running on the uneven paving stones was tricky. The rough stones may have provided a quaint New England touch for the tourists, but to us they could mean the difference between escape and death. The last thing we needed was to twist an ankle.

We reached the end of the block and turned right onto another narrow street…

…and came face-to-face with the black plane.

It had circled around and cut us off.

Tori screamed with surprise. I might have too if I hadn’t gone into brain lock.

The plane hovered two feet above the ground, twenty yards in front of us. There was no time to jump back. It had us.

The manta ray–shaped predator seemed to be glaring at us, as if it could think. Maybe it could. Whoever was controlling it, whether it was a pilot on board or somebody sitting safely in a control center with his hand on a joystick, we were square in its sights.

“Who are you?” Tori shouted. “Show yourself, coward!”

It was a defiant yet futile demand…

…that got a response. Two small panels opened on the front edge of each wing. They were panels I feared were retracting to uncover its deadly cannons.

Tori stood tall but reached out and grabbed my hand.

I tensed up.

The Pemberwick Run had finally come to an end.

The musical sound of the jet’s engines echoed off the brick walls of the narrow street… and were drowned out by the sound of a car’s engine and the squeal of tires on pavement. A second later, a silver SUV came screaming out of the side street next to the hovering plane and crashed into it.

The violent impact brought me back to my senses. I pulled Tori out of the street and into a recessed doorway for protection.

Whoever was in control of the dark plane never saw the car coming. The craft actually flipped up onto its side and careened into the building, slamming its top into the wall, smashing windows and pulverizing brick. The plane seemed incredibly light, not only because it was so easily tossed but because its skin crumbled on impact.

The SUV continued forward, pinning the craft against the wall. The force of the impact inflated both airbags, though there was relatively little damage to the car. The driver’s door opened and Kent tumbled out, pulling Olivia with him. They hit the pavement, fell, then scrambled to their feet and ran to us.

A sound came from the damaged plane that sounded like an engine revving up. It wasn’t the familiar musical sound, but rather a steadily growing whine that made it seem as though power was building up inside the craft. Something was about to happen, and it wasn’t going to be good.

“Run!” I shouted.

Kent and Olivia were dazed but managed to stay on their feet and stumble toward us. I jumped out from the doorway and grabbed Olivia, who was in tears. I pulled her into the doorway as Kent jumped in right behind.

Tori stood peering back around the corner, her eyes focused on the plane.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

As if in answer, the plane was suddenly engulfed by a bright light that seemed to grow from within. Seconds later, it exploded.

“Whoa!” I screamed as we all pinned ourselves into the doorway for protection. A powerful fireball erupted and flashed past us. The heat was so intense I feared that our clothes would catch fire. The event lasted for only a few brief, devastating seconds. The sound of the explosion echoed through the streets of the Old Port and was soon gone.

We all looked to one another, stunned.

“Anybody hurt?” I asked.

Nobody replied. I took that as a no.

I cautiously peered around the corner to see that there was nothing left of the predator plane but the scorched brick wall it had crashed into.

The hunter had become the victim. It had incinerated.

“Did the fuel tank explode?” Tori asked, shaken.

“I guess,” I replied. “But what kind of fuel would do that? I mean, the plane was obliterated.”

Kent crawled to the edge of the doorway and peered back to see his handiwork.

“Woohoo!” he screamed in victory. “I so nailed that bastard! Did you see? We spotted you running into the street, so I drove another block to head you off and saw the plane. There wasn’t time to think, so we just went for it!”

Kent was so charged up I thought he might have taken a dose of the Ruby, but that was impossible. It was adrenaline talking.

Tori kneeled down next to a shaken Olivia.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No,” Olivia replied. “I’m totally out of my mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I jammed my foot down on the gas over Kent’s,” she said, stunned, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. “I don’t know what made me do it. I could have killed us.”

“So ramming the plane was your idea?” I asked.

“Hey, I didn’t fight it,” Kent announced, trying to salvage some credit. “I would have done the same thing.”

Tori gave me a quick look and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever,” I said. “You both saved our lives.”

“Remember that, Rook,” Kent said. “You owe me.”

“We can’t stay here,” Tori said. “This is bound to bring other planes.”

“We still need a car,” I pointed out.

“No problem,” Kent proclaimed cockily. “There’s a parking lot full of them, all with keys. They must belong to tourists.”

“Used to belong to tourists,” Tori corrected.

The reality of that statement hit hard. We were in a city of the dead. The United States Air Force had wiped it out. And as horrifying as that was, we had no way of knowing the full extent of the damage. Was Portland the only city hit? Or would we find more devastation elsewhere? With all forms of communication wiped out, there was only one way for us to find out.

We had to travel.