Storm (9 page)

Kent didn’t have the same concern. He ate furiously, shoving in whatever he could balance on a fork. Jon wasn’t much better. Olivia ate too. I’d never seen a girl gorge the way she did. At one point we made eye contact, and she gave me an embarrassed smile . . . before letting out a deep boomer of a belch.
We both laughed and continued to chow.
At one point the lady server came up and stood over our table.
“I see we have some healthy appetites here,” she said warmly. “Don’t be shy about going for seconds.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before Kent and Jon were on their feet and racing each other back to the kitchen.
“Somebody’s going to get sick,” Olivia said. “It might be me.”
“You wouldn’t be alone,” the woman said. “Newcomers are always overindulging. It’s human nature.”
“This is incredible,” I said. “I mean, it’s a feast.”
“Some days are better than others,” the woman said. “Everyone has something to offer. It’s amazing what can be accomplished when your sole purpose is to take care of one another. Enjoy.”
The woman moved on to another table to see how they were enjoying their meal.
“I could get used to this,” Olivia said as she bit into a perfectly ripe tomato, the dark red juice running down her chin.
“It’s not bad,” I had to admit.
“It’s all so . . . civilized,” Tori said with disdain as she sat down at the table with a plate of food. Her bag was draped over her shoulder.
“What did the doctor say?” I asked.
“Not much. He pulled off the bandage, grunted as if it was exactly what he expected to see, put a few drops of antibiotic or something on the wound, wrapped me back up with fresh gauze, and sent me on my way. He didn’t even look me in the eye. Now I know what a dog feels like at the veterinarian. No, I take that back. At least a dog gets a pat on the head.”
“He’s probably exhausted from treating so many patients,” Olivia offered.
“No. He just didn’t care. What’s with the feast? Are these people living in denial or what?”
“They’re making the best of a bad situation,” I offered.
“They should spend less time getting comfortable and start worrying a little more about how to stop this from happening again.”
She put her head down and ate. A lot.
I said, “You’ve been doing nothing but criticizing these people, but you sure take advantage of what they’ve got to offer.”
Tori didn’t look at me. She said, “Why not? I’m not stupid. But as soon as I’m back up to speed, I’m out of here . . . with or without you people.”
That was it. Tori was headed for Nevada. Maybe it was the right thing to do, I didn’t know. I needed time to sort out my own thoughts. My only consolation was that she needed some time to heal. Maybe by the time she was ready to leave, I would be too.
After eating, we went back to our subterranean barracks. We were given towels and directed to makeshift showers that were erected in the bathrooms. They were nothing more than hoses stretched across the ceilings with nozzles that dangled overhead. The water was cold but welcome. It wasn’t until I was nearly finished that I realized how incredible it was that the water was still running. Just like the gas in the restaurant. The people who had survived to meet up in the Hall were a resourceful group.
When I got back to my bunk, I found that my neighbor had returned and lay on his cot reading. He was a gray-haired guy who looked as though he may have been athletic at one time, but the clock had caught up with him.
“I’m Tucker Pierce,” I said, holding out my hand to shake. “Sorry to crowd you like this.”
“Jim Hardimon,” the guy said as he shook my hand. “You’re not bothering me. Plenty of people have come and gone already, you’re just the next.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“Since the day after the attack. I was in my basement that night, working on the furnace. I complained about having to fix that cranky old thing but it ended up saving my life.”
“How did you end up here?” I asked.
“I drove into the city from Brookline, figuring I might find some people. I stumbled on this group and helped set the place up, you know, changing it from a tourist trap into a camp of sorts.”
“You all did an incredible job,” I said.
“Good enough, I suppose. Most of the credit goes to Chris Campbell. He really took the bull by the horns and organized us all. Good man.”
I glanced over to Tori to see if she was hearing Jim’s story. She was pretending not to be listening.
“What happens next for you?” I asked.
He shrugged and said, “That depends on what this is all about. Somebody must have won this war. All I know is that it wasn’t the people of Boston. I figure we’ll find out sooner or later. Until then, I’m staying right here. I got no family. Anybody I care about is gone. I can’t imagine finding a better place to be living, given the hand we’ve been dealt. Can you?”
“No,” I replied while glancing at Tori. “Considering all that happened, this place is pretty sweet.”
“I’m going to milk it until, well, until somebody tells me otherwise. Gotta look out for number one, you know. I suggest you do the same.”
With that, Jim rolled over to go to sleep.
I looked at Tori. She glared at me and turned away.
I suddenly felt dead tired. It had been a long, eventful day. I went to sleep with the hope that the next day would break with tradition and be totally boring.
When I woke up, I checked my new watch. Five
_a
.
_m
. At home I could sleep until noon. Those days were long gone. I was wideawake and knew I couldn’t force myself to konk out again, so I got up to do a little exploring.
It was still dark outside, though the sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn was normally alive with the chirping of early birds vying for their daily worms. I did hear the chirrups of a few random birds, but nothing like normal. At least it meant that a few of them had survived.
I also heard the sound of a running engine. It was the only sign of human life, so I followed it. The noise brought me to the far end of the building that housed the restaurant we had eaten in.
When I rounded the corner, I saw a large delivery truck idling near the back doors. Several people were hard at work unloading it. They carried out boxes of fresh vegetables, bushels of fruit, and at least five sides of beef. These were the scroungers who combed Boston for the food needed to feed our little colony. They probably searched every square inch of the town so that nothing would go to waste. It was good to see that there was still some fresh food around.
I was about to head back to the barracks when I saw another vehicle approach—a bus. It was big, the kind that people used to travel long distances. It pulled up beyond the truck that was being off-loaded and stopped. What was it doing there? Dropping off the next crop of survivors? When the bus door opened, I saw that it was empty. So what was it doing?
My answer came when a door opened at the end of the building and a line of people walked out, single file, headed for the idling vehicle. One of the cute girls who had processed us when we arrived appeared at the door of the bus, holding a clipboard. Was it Gigi? Or Ashley? I couldn’t remember. She stood at the vehicle entrance and made a notation on her clipboard as each person boarded.
The passengers were mostly men, but I did see a few women. They didn’t seem particularly excited about going wherever it was they were going. They dutifully waited their turn, gave their name to Gigi or Ashley, and boarded the bus. There was no conversation. No pleasantries. No personality to the event at all.
Five minutes later, the door to the bus closed, and the vehicle pulled out. The girl stayed behind and walked to the building, where she was met by . . . Chris Campbell. He checked the clipboard, took her pen, and made a note at the bottom, then handed it back to her. Without a word, they both went on their way.
I don’t know why the event bothered me. Maybe it was because I couldn’t come up with a logical explanation for what had happened. Or maybe because it looked like the people were being treated like numbers on a list.
It was something I needed to ask Chris about. But not just then. I wanted to have people around me when I brought it up because I had the weird feeling that I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to.

“This can’t last,” I said. “Eventually the fresh food will run out,

and we’ll be eating out of cans.”
“Until the cans run out,” Tori cautioned.
“We’ll have to start growing our own stuff,” Jon said. “Didn’t

you say that you’re a gardener, Tucker? You should tell Chris you want to start a farm.”
Kent laughed. “Perfect! Farmer Pierce.”
I wasn’t insulted. Just the opposite. I thought it was a pretty good idea. I knew a lot about plants, though most of my experience was with grass and flowers. How hard could it be to grow corn? Or tomatoes? For a brief moment, I let my mind shoot ahead to what the future might hold for somebody who could provide food for a colony of survivors. I could be a pretty valuable asset.
That image was shattered when I looked at Tori, who stared at me with cold eyes.
“Let me know how that works out for you,” she said with disdain and went back to her meal.
I felt my anger grow. Was I pissed at her for being so negative about everything? Or was I disappointed in myself for thinking of a future that involved accepting what had happened? Was I healing? Or giving up?
“I see you’ve all settled in,” Chris Campbell said as he approached our table. “Food isn’t bad, right?”
“No complaints,” Kent said. “I just hope it lasts.”
“That’s up to us,” Chris replied. “The harder we work, the better we eat.”
“We’ve got to figure out what our assignments are,” Jon said enthusiastically. “We want to do our part.”
“You will,” Chris assured him. “When you’re done eating, come over to Quincy Market. We want to hear about your trip here.”
“It’s a heck of a story,” Kent said with a full mouth.
“I’ve got a question for you, Chris,” I said. “I was walking around this morning and saw a bunch of people boarding a bus and taking off. What’s up with that?”
Chris shrugged and said, “People come and go all the time. We try to keep a record of it so when people leave, we ask that they do it in groups. It’s easier to document it that way.”
“People can’t just leave whenever they want?” I asked.
“Of course they can,” Chris answered quickly. “We just want to make sure we have a record of it. You never know. Somebody might show up looking for a lost kid, and if that kid passed through here, we want to be able to tell them. Olivia, what if your mother came looking for you? We want to be able to tell her you were here and safe.”
“If only,” Olivia said softly, without lifting her eyes.
“Makes total sense,” Kent said.
“Where does the bus take them?” I asked.
“Wherever they want to go, within reason. We’ve got to conserve gas. Some people want to get to the ocean and find a boat to travel down the coast. Others just want to get away from the city. We don’t question. All we try to do is keep track of the survivors who come through here as well as we can.” He shrugged and added, “I don’t know, maybe it’s all a big waste of time, but it makes us feel as though we’re doing something positive.”
“I think it’s really smart,” Jon said with enthusiasm.
“Could you drive me to New York City?” Olivia asked.
Chris gave her an apologetic shrug. “I’m afraid that’s a little out of our range. Like I said, we have to conserve gas.”
“That’s okay,” Olivia said while staring at her breakfast. “I doubt my mother’s there anyway.”
Her wistful comment made my heart go out to her. I’d been so wrapped up with my own demons that I kept forgetting that I wasn’t the only one who had lost family. Though in my case, my parents were still alive—they were just traitors.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said to her sincerely, then looked to the rest of us. “Finish up and I’ll meet you all over in the market.”
He touched Olivia’s shoulder in a show of sympathy, then headed out.
I looked at Tori, expecting some critical comment, but instead I saw that she was smiling.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re just as skeptical of this place as I am,” she said.
“I’m not!” I said defensively. “I just saw something that didn’t make sense, that’s all.”
“There’s a whole lot that doesn’t make sense here,” she said. “I get that you’re trying to find some new normal, that’s who you are, but I’m not convinced that this is it . . . and neither are you.”
“So what do you think we should do?” Kent asked. “They’ve got a pretty sweet setup going on here; I think we should take advantage.” He finished by scooping a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
“Sure,” Tori said. “It’s great . . . until those planes come back. But, hey, I guess that’s okay as long as we’re comfortable and well fed until then.”
That put an end to the conversation—and my appetite. Tori was right. It wasn’t just about survival, it was also about protecting ourselves against whatever force was responsible for putting us on the path to Armageddon.
And getting revenge.
I might have appreciated what Chris and his cowboys had set up, but I wasn’t ready to give up. Tori was right about that too.
We finished our meal in silence, then walked to Quincy Market. The same three girls were inside, processing new arrivals. When the first girl spotted us, she put on a welcoming face and said, “Come on in. They’re waiting for you right through there.”
She pointed to a door on the far side of the room. I led the others through to find a large lecture hall. There were rows of tiered seats where several of Chris’s cowboys sat. They faced a low platform where five chairs were set up.
“Come in,” Chris called to us. “Have a seat up there.”
We each took one of the five chairs and faced the others. A pretty girl, who could easily have been one of the reception girls who had processed us, sat in front with a notepad and pen.
“Now, start from the top,” Chris said. “Tell us everything that happened on Pemberwick Island and bring us right up to when we saw you outside of Fenway.”
I did most of the talking, though Kent was quick to add details, usually of his heroics. I told them everything, beginning with Marty Wiggens dying during the football game because he had used the Ruby that was brought to Pemberwick by the villain named Mr. Feit. I told them about Captain Granger and the division of the Navy called SYLO that invaded the island and created a quarantine that was more about keeping us prisoner than rooting out a bogus virus. I explained how they murdered people who tried to escape and about the rebels, led by Tori’s father, who planned to retake the island but were ambushed and executed before they could put their plan into motion. Tori spoke about how we tried to escape from Pemberwick on fishing boats and were recaptured, but not before witnessing what turned out to be the attack on Portland. We all talked about the SYLO prison camp and how we escaped by using the Ruby for strength.
We described our ultimate, successful escape from Pemberwick, from Feit’s death through the desperate speedboat journey that took us directly through the massive air-sea battle between SYLO and the black planes, when Captain Granger was killed. Finally, we described the desolation we found in Portland, the downed black plane that had the Air Force logo, and how we met Jon and decided to travel to Boston.
“From what we saw,” I concluded, “there’s a civil war going on. Two branches of the United States military are at war. Why? We have no idea. But we know who’s suffering, and that’s pretty much everybody else.”
Chris and the cowboys didn’t say much during our story. Every so often they’d ask a question to clarify something, but they mostly listened attentively.
When we finished, we sat there staring at the group, waiting for their reaction.
It was Chris who spoke first.
“I can’t speak for anybody else, but I’m blown away. The idea that this is a civil war is something I never even considered. None of us did.”
He looked at the other cowboys, and they all nodded in agreement.
He then added, “Who do you think is giving the orders? I mean, armies don’t just fight for the heck of it.”
“No clue,” Kent answered quickly.
“I don’t know about the Air Force,” I answered. “But SYLO came to Pemberwick Island under orders from the president of the United States.”
“So you think they’re the good guys?” Chris asked.
“Not even close,” I answered quickly. “Not after what they did to our home. Captain Granger was a monster, and I’m glad he’s dead. They’re all murderers. As far as I’m concerned, SYLO started this war.”
“And you say your parents are working for them?” Chris asked. I felt all eyes in the room on me, including those of my friends.
I took a deep breath and answered with total sincerity. “They lied to me for years about why we moved to Pemberwick Island. The truth is that we moved there so they could help an invading force turn the place into a prison. They’re just as guilty as the soldiers who fired the guns that wiped out the rebel camp and killed Tori’s father. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have parents anymore.”
Olivia let out a soft gasp.
Everyone waited, expecting me to say more.
I didn’t.
Tori reached over and took my hand.
“We’ll talk about it another time,” Chris said.
“No, we won’t,” I said.
“So what are we going to do?” Tori asked, changing the subject.
“What do you mean?” Chris said.
“I mean we’ve got to take charge of our lives. Our futures. We’ve got to end this.”
“How can we end this?” Chris asked skeptically. “We don’t even know what this is. You say it’s a civil war, but nobody has declared anything. If the president is controlling SYLO, who’s controlling the Air Force? Some foreign power? A rebel group of soldiers trying to overthrow the government?”
“Aliens?” Kent threw in.
Nobody acknowledged that comment.
“That’s exactly the point,” Tori exclaimed. “We need to know why this happened and who’s behind it.”
Chris took a deep breath and rubbed his face, buying time to think.
“Look,” he finally said, “we’re all angry and scared. But we’re just regular people. What else can we do but focus on survival?”
Tori jumped to her feet. “I know. I get it,” she shouted. “We have to eat and we need shelter, and you guys have that covered. Nice job. But we’re the lucky ones. We could just as easily be dead. This happened for a reason, and if we just sit around and feed our faces and get comfortable, then eventually our luck is going to run out. Whether you think so or not, we’re living on death row, and the executioner is still out there. If I’m going to die, at least I want to know why.”
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the room.
The rest of us sat there in awkward silence for a few long moments.
“She’s had a tough time,” I finally said. “She saw her father gunned down by SYLO just a few days ago and then took a bullet herself.”
“Hey, my father was killed too,” Kent said. “But I’m keeping it together.”
“Then I guess you’re a better person than she is,” I snapped. “But if not for her, you wouldn’t be here. Don’t forget that.”
That shut Kent up.
Chris stood. “It’s okay,” he said. “She’s not the only one who feels that way. But we’re not here to stage some kind of counterrevolution. All we want to do is get by. If you want to take off and tilt against windmills, that’s your choice. But if you stay here, you’ve got to be cool. We’re all on edge, and I can’t have somebody stirring things up, or this whole thing will come tumbling down.” “I hear you,” I said. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Great. If you want to leave, just let us know. No harm, no foul.”
He went for the door along with the rest of his people.
“We’d like you to stay,” Chris said as an afterthought. “We need your energy.”
He left, and the others followed.
Kent, Olivia, Jon, and I stayed in our chairs, waiting for somebody to say something.
“She’s going to get us kicked out of here,” was Kent’s first comment.
“What does she want to do?” Jon asked. “Fight back? With two pistols?”
“I don’t want to leave,” Olivia added quickly. “I feel safe here. Maybe he’s right. Maybe my mother will come looking for me here. It’s possible. I mean, anything’s possible, right?”
Kent put his arm around her and said, “Wherever we go, you’ll be safe as long as you’re with me.”
She didn’t pull away from him, but she kept her eyes on me. They
all
had their eyes on me, expecting some words of wisdom that I was having trouble finding. I was getting tired of being the one they all looked to for answers. Or explanations. Or assurances that everything was going to be fine when I knew it wasn’t.
“I’ll try to calm Tori down,” I said. “But she’s right. Whatever this war is, it’s just beginning.”
I got up and left the building to search for Tori. I found her sitting alone on a park bench between the two main buildings, clutching her bag.
“I don’t trust him,” she said as I walked up.
“Who?”
“That Campbell guy. There’s something off. With him, with this place. Everything is just too . . . easy.”
I glanced around the grounds to see people raking leaves, washing windows, or just strolling along and chatting.
“It does seem strangely normal,” I commented.
“Exactly!” she exclaimed. “That’s not normal. We all just had our lives wiped out. Millions of people have been killed, and all they care about is that there’s bacon for breakfast.”
“I hear you,” I said. “I think maybe everyone’s in denial. It’s a lot easier to worry about an empty belly than to stress over the downfall of civilization.”
“Then they’ve given up,” Tori said with spite.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “Let’s ride this out for a while. At least until your shoulder gets better. We’ll do whatever they ask while you get stronger. Once you’re back up to speed, we’ll make a decision.”
“Would you go to Nevada with me?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”
“And you think you’ll know any better after living here in Camp Oblivious?”
“Maybe not, but I wouldn’t mind being well fed and safe in their basement for a while as we try to figure it out . . . and heal.”
Tori looked at the ground and frowned. She wasn’t buying it.
“You have to trust somebody, Tori. It might as well be me.”
She kicked at the dirt absently.
“The leaves are starting to turn,” she said. “It’ll be cold soon. Fall was my dad’s favorite time of year.”
“He seemed like a great guy.”
“He’d want me to fight back,” she said.
“I know. But he’d want you to be smart about it.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
“All right, Tucker, I’ll try it your way. But as soon I’m strong enough to travel, I’m gone.”
Tori was true to her word. Over the next several days she didn’t rock the boat and did her best to fit in. We all did.
Jon volunteered to help keep the rechargeable batteries topped off. Every day he’d gather lamps from all over Faneuil Hall and bring them to the solar charging station, replacing them with fully charged units.
Olivia did what she did best . . . shop. She got together with the people who scavenged the city for clothes and went out with them every day to pillage the abandoned stores. Her choices tended to be more fashionable than practical, but nobody complained.