Colony East (7 page)

Tears streamed down Mandy’s cheeks.

“We marched them into the woods. I told Sammy to stay there. I made up some story and said I’d come back for him soon. He kept calling for me as I walked away.”

Mandy fired up the motorcycle. “I know what you’re thinking, I’m a monster who murdered her baby brother. You’re right. I am.”

He wasn’t thinking that at all. He was wondering what he would have done in the same situation. All of a sudden, Jordan didn’t know.

Mandy put on her helmet, and he saw his reflection in the dark mask that hid her face. He hadn’t moved a muscle while she was talking.

“Wait,” he said.

She shifted the bike into gear and pulled away. The throb of the engine shrank to a pinprick of sound and then to silence.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Abby smiled at Timmy, sitting on the floor.

“Can I bring this with me?” he asked, clutching the Jenga game.

“Absolutely!”

“Awesome!” Timmy hurriedly stuffed the game into his backpack as if afraid she might change her mind.

She, Timmy, and Mel had moved to the O’Brien house next door soon after Mandy and Jordan left for the yacht club. Brad’s gang wouldn’t think to look for them there, but Abby had a second, more personal reason for suggesting they switch houses. She couldn’t bring herself to go upstairs where her mother’s body lay, and she didn’t want Mel or Timmy to go up there, either.

Abby continued searching for items on Jordan’s list. She hit the jackpot in a closet where she found a box of old ice skates. The skates produced a total of about ten feet of lacing.

She glanced out the window every few minutes. Kids still passed by in waves, but the gaps between the clumps were growing longer. Every time she spotted a tall boy, she asked Mel if it was Brad.

Together, she and Mel scrounged up about half of what Jordan wanted. Along with the laces, they found plastic garbage bags, which could serve as rain jackets, keep stuff dry, or plug a leaky hull.

Timmy caught more crickets in the backyard, and Abby ripped up a garbage bag and packed individual pouches of bugs for each of them to carry.

Hearing a motorcycle, Timmy charged out front. Abby figured it was good news that Mandy was returning so soon. She’d been gone less than an hour.

When Abby stepped onto the porch, she noticed a front door closing in the house across the street. A figure darted out of sight. She didn’t get a good look at the person other than to see that he or she was wearing a baseball cap.

Mandy had dismounted her motorcycle and was speaking to Timmy. His head bobbed up and down. “Yes,” he cried in response to whatever Mandy had told him. She gave him a bear hug, and he pushed back from her. She tousled his hair.

Timmy raced past Abby and Mel and into the house.

“How about ‘excuse me’,” Abby joked, but Timmy was already out of earshot.

“We’ll have plenty of time to teach him manners,” Mel said with a wry smile.

“That’s her job.” Abby gestured to Mandy.

Mandy stopped before them and looked away.

“Well,” Abby asked. “How did it go?”

When Mandy didn’t answer right away, Abby felt her stomach sink. “Did you guys find a boat?” Mandy remained silent and shifted from side-to-side. “Mandy, what’s wrong?”

“Your brother found a boat. He has the pills. Timmy and I aren’t going to the island with you.”

Abby cocked her head. “Isn’t the boat big enough to fit all of us? If not, Jordan can make two trips, remember?”

Mandy nodded. “It’s big enough for you guys. I’m doing what’s best for us.”

Abby folded her arms, thinking of one way she could change Mandy’s mind. “You care what happens to Timmy, right? Going to the island is what’s best for him. We’re planning to open a school for the younger kids.”

“School!” Timmy blurted and made a face. “Forget it.”

Abby wondered how long he’d been standing beside them. Mandy shoved her hands in her pockets and turned away.

“What if…?” Abby began.

Mandy spun around. “There is no what if. We’re not going with you.” Abby had seen that expression before. When she first met Mandy, she mistook it for toughness. It was really fear.

Mandy told them about her grandparents’ cabin in Maine. Inside, she found a pen and paper and drew a map. “You’re welcome anytime.”

Abby knew then, Mandy and Timmy were leaving. She looked at the crude map. A cabin in the woods, next to a lake, far from this madness, sounded almost as good as Castine Island. She hoped Mandy would find the peace there that would allow her heart to heal.

She declined Mandy’s offer to shuttle her and Mel to the yacht club, thinking if they were going to split up, it might as well be now.

Mandy handed Timmy her motorcycle helmet. “You ready?”

When he put it on, it swallowed his head and came to a rest on his shoulders. “It’s too big!”

Mandy rapped the top with her knuckles. “Anybody home?” Her light-hearted tone did not match the grave doubt flickering in her eyes.

A moment later, the ultimate mainland survivors were gone, and it was just her and Mel, about to put their own survival skills to the test. Friends since the second grade, they were going after Jordan again—this time they’d greet him with a hug, not a headlock.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Convinced that the only witness to his covert activity was the gull hovering overhead, Jordan brushed away ash at the base of the flagpole and scooped out a little hollow. He placed the bag of pills in the hole and covered it up with dirt. He didn’t want to risk the pills dissolving while he swam out to a boat.

He walked to the end of the dock and stared at the cracks between the boards until his vision blurred. Mandy’s words would not let go of him. Why hadn’t she told him earlier the whole story of what had happened to her? He felt bad because he thought the way he had treated her was the reason she wasn’t joining them.

He knelt and dipped his hand into the water. An aching sensation spread from his palm to each finger and up his arm. Boston Harbor would not warm up until the dog days of August—three months away.

The closest boat was forty yards away. He stripped to his underwear and placed his shoes and his clothing into his backpack. When he slipped into the icy water, he grunted, expelling a breath of air. With the pack on his back, he dog paddled out to his target.

The frigid water quickly sapped his energy, and he panicked. Numb from the neck down, he imagined what Abby’s reaction would be when she arrived and found him doing the dead man’s float. He struggled to keep his chin above the water, clawing wildly to thrust his head up enough to take each breath. By tensing up, he just sank deeper.

To break the cycle, he fixed his direction on the nearest boat and pretended he was a polar bear out for a leisurely dip. Webbing his fingers, he closed his eyes and paddled.

After a while, afraid that he might be veering away from his target, he opened his eyes, and a surge of excitement crackled through his frozen insides. The vessel,
Duke of York
, was only five feet away. He kicked his leaden legs until he reached the stern. After several failed attempts, he finally pulled himself up and rolled into the boat.

Sunshine streamed through a patch of blue, and it was tempting to lie there, tingling in the warm air. A gull cried out and water lapped against the hull. He sighed and got to work.

He guessed the sloop was about twenty-five feet long. A quick inspection revealed it had no sail, but he discovered three life jackets. He put one on, clipped the other two together, and clipped them to his. He might die of hypothermia, but he wouldn’t drown.

He thought about a trick weight lifters used. They imagined that the heavy dumbbells they were about to lift were as light as a feather. Hot, cold, heavy, light—the mind could outsmart the body. Looking down at the water, he pretended it was a warm Jacuzzi he couldn’t wait to jump into. The loud yell that came out of his mouth when he plunged into the icy water, indicated he had yet to master the trick.

Five minutes later, he rolled into
Stargazer
, a thirty-foot yacht that had everything they needed and then some. A canvas covering protected the sail, which was rolled on the boom. The lines were frayed, but he thought they’d hold. The hull had survived both pounding winter storms and a frozen harbor. Jordan whooped when he discovered a life raft. It came with a pressurized canister to inflate it, as well as an emergency kit of first-aid supplies, flares, an air horn, and protein bars. Jordan ripped the wrapping off a bar and tore off a hunk with his teeth. He worked the crumbs that tasted like sawdust into a paste and gagged it down.

Then Jordan entered the cabin where he discovered the skipper. The man slumped in his berth, his book open to the page he had been reading on the night of the purple moon. With blood pounding in his head, Jordan closed the book and covered the corpse with a blanket. “Thank you for letting us use your boat.” He felt his throat pinch. “Once we’re at sea, we’ll give you a proper burial.”

Jordan burst from the cabin and took a deep breath of fresh air. For a moment, he stood in awe of a single spear of light splitting the darkening clouds. Then he started to rig the
Stargazer
.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Abby and Mel limped down the O’Brien’s front steps. On the sidewalk, they dropped chins to their chests and joined the slow flow of kids moving down Pearl, pretending they, too, were walking to their graves. Mel had turned her jacket inside out, showing the white side to reduce the odds that Brad’s gang might recognize her. She had also smeared dirt on it and tied her hair up as an added precaution.

Abby did not have to change her appearance to look like she belonged in the death march. She slung a garbage bag over her shoulder, which held diapers, lacings, and more garbage bags. Bug packets bulged in their pockets, and each of them carried a thermos. As Abby passed her mom’s house, she lifted her eyes to the second floor, to her mom’s bedroom window, knowing it was probably the last time she would see the house. She started to tear up, so she quickly returned her gaze to the ground.

They turned right on Massachusetts Avenue and headed for the Charles River, six blocks away. Abby had visited the Charlestown Yacht Club more times than she could remember, but, naturally, she had never walked there from Cambridge. Unfortunately, she had never paid attention to the route they took when her mother or father drove her there either.

They planned to follow the river to where it emptied into Boston Harbor, just past the Museum of Science. They would cross the highway and then start to look for the Bunker Hill Monument. Abby felt confident that, using it as a landmark, she could lead them to the yacht club.

Of the many dangers they might encounter, nighttime worried her the most. She wanted to reach the club before the sun set. They might never find Jordan in the dark, and she dreaded the idea of spending the night outside. With six hours of daylight remaining, she thought they could make it. If it meant they had to stop their fake limps and walk fast, that was just a risk they would have to take.

Mel looked back while Abby shifted her gaze left and right. Together, they kept a complete watch on their surroundings.

Squatters had moved into a deli, furniture store, nightclub, and Chinese restaurant along Mass. Ave. The smell of roasting meat wafted through the broken windows of the post office in Central Square. Kids had built an urban campsite inside Sky Dry Cleaners, complete with a wood stove, several mattresses, and a full-length mirror. It was protected by barbed wire. Abby saw bedding and pots and pans in several cars. Laundry hung out of the windows of a yellow school bus, parked half on the sidewalk. In what used to be her favorite park, boys and girls were playing soccer.

Nearing the river, they encountered an increasing number of survivors. The younger kids demonstrated the most energy. The teens looked sick and moved more slowly.

Ahead, a motley pack of dogs were chowing down on something, all tugging at the object and growling. Such an odd collection: a poodle, a Chihuahua, several mutts, a German shepherd, and a Lab. Abby had no interest in seeing what the dogs had found for a meal.

They encountered kids lugging drinking water two blocks from the river. Then Abby saw ‘The Charles’. It was a mile across by the Mass. Ave. Bridge. Makeshift shelters crowded both banks. On the other side, Boston’s skyscrapers, some rising like charred stalks of corn, formed a saw-toothed pattern against a darkening sky.

A storm was approaching, but Abby looked forward to the rain. It would protect her and Mel by making them look even more bedraggled.

On Memorial Drive, halfway between the bridge and the Museum of Science, Mel squeezed her arm and whispered, “We’re being followed.”

Eyes straight, they continued walking as Mel described the girl who she said had maintained the same distance behind them for the past quarter mile. “Black leather jacket, torn jeans, short hair. She’s wearing a baseball cap. Thirteen or fourteen.”

Abby wanted to ask Mel why she had waited so long to say anything. “Maybe she’s not following us.”

“I know when someone is following me.”

Abby sighed, realizing that being on constant guard was a skill one needed on the mainland. She yearned for the peace and security of Castine Island where such skills were not necessary. “Let’s look back fast on the count of three.”

Mel agreed and Abby counted.

The girl looked vaguely familiar. She stood twenty yards away. She had stopped as they had. There was one thing Mel had failed to mention. A knife hung from the girl’s belt.

“What do you think she wants?” Mel asked.

At that moment, a tall boy stepped out from behind a tree and moved next to the girl. Mel gasped. “It’s them.”

Even if Mel had remained silent, Abby would have known it was Brad. He towered over the girl. He had a Mohawk haircut and long arms. He had a knife attached to his belt too. Cocking his head to the side, he glared at them as if she and Mel were hunks of raw meat, and he was a hungry wolf.