SYLO (THE SYLO CHRONICLES) (28 page)

That was something I could understand.

As I sat on the floor in that dark room, lost in rage and confusion
and sorrow, I made a decision. I couldn’t just wish for the trouble to go away and for my life to return to normal. I couldn’t hope that my parents would tell me the truth and it would all make sense and somehow go away. That wasn’t going to happen…unless I made it happen. We were in a war. I had made a decision. I was going to fight. For me, for my old life, and for my best friend.

I promised myself that someday, somehow, Granger would pay for Quinn’s death. I owed my friend that much.

I don’t know how long I sat there in the dark. A couple of minutes? An hour? It was long enough to get back some control. I couldn’t let my emotions rule my actions. I had to be as cold as Granger. Every move I made had to be calculated while taking one step at a time—and I knew what that first step had to be….

I had to escape.

I had to make another Pemberwick Run.

A door opened, flooding the room with light. Standing there was a SYLO soldier with a pistol in a holster on his hip.

“Come with me,” he commanded and stepped back outside.

I struggled to my feet, fighting the pain of my bruises and the residual effect of whatever it was that had knocked me out. I saw that the wall I had run into was a mirror. A two-way mirror. Was Granger still watching me? I didn’t care. I staggered toward the door on stiff legs and stepped out into bright sunlight.

The dark room was actually a small stand-alone hut. It was one in a long line of similar prefab wooden huts with no windows that had been erected along the par-5 sixth fairway of the Oak Hills Golf Course. I wondered how many of the other huts were occupied by prisoners of SYLO…and if Tori might be one of them.

Looking out onto the fairway, I saw what looked like a pleasant fall afternoon. People were scattered everywhere. Some lay on their backs, soaking up the sun. A few jogged. A couple of elderly folks sat on benches, just staring into space. It could have passed for a typical day in a town park, except for the high chain-link fence topped off with a coil of razor wire that circled the perimeter.

This was the recreation yard of a prison.

Armed SYLO soldiers were stationed everywhere, silently watching the inmates.

“Follow me,” my escort said.

He led me along the row of huts toward the north end of the fairway. As we walked I stared out at the people, wondering why they were there. Had they crossed Granger too? Did they know too much, just like me? I saw no obvious link between any of them. There were older folks, both men and women, and some as young as me. I recognized a few people who lived on the island, but most were strangers. That wasn’t odd since so many off-islanders had stayed to enjoy the warmer-than-usual autumn and were trapped because of the quarantine. I guarantee they all wished they had cut their vacations shorter.

Everyone wore their own clothing. There was no “prison garb” that would have helped to complete the image of a prisoner-of-war camp. It was odd to see everyone dressed in casual vacation clothing like shorts and T-shirts and sandals. A few even wore tennis whites, as if they had been plucked off the courts. There was only one thing they all seemed to have in common: They were all alone. There were no couples talking or strolling. Nobody playing catch. No groups sharing conversation. From what I could tell, all of these people were on their own.

“Through here,” the soldier commanded as he opened up a gate in the fence.

I was about to step through when my eye caught something that froze me.

Kent Berringer was standing on the far side of the compound, staring at me. He must have been watching me walk the whole length of the fairway. I should have felt it sooner because the heat of his gaze was that intense. The last time I’d seen him, he was pissed, thinking I’d turned him and his parents in to SYLO for using the Ruby. I hadn’t, but that didn’t matter to him. He’d wanted to take my head off and from the look he was giving me, he still did. At least he was alive and looking somewhat normal. The effects of the Ruby were gone.

I didn’t wave to him or acknowledge his presence. Not because I wanted to continue our feud, but because Granger was so interested in our relationship. That couldn’t have been a random question he asked. I figured I had to be careful around Kent Berringer for all sorts of reasons.

The soldier led me through a narrow walkway between two fences until we were let through a gate on the far side and into another section of the SYLO base. What was once a driving range was now occupied by large, temporary structures that gave the area the feel of an instant city. The place was teeming with soldiers and civilians alike. When did all these people arrive? They must have been transported to the island from the naval ships at night.

The civilians all seemed to have purpose, hurrying between buildings. They wore red jumpsuits with a four-inch SYLO logo over their hearts. Most carried papers, clipboards, and tablet computers
that they read while walking. It was a wonder that there weren’t any collisions. There were no smiles. No laughs. It was all tense and urgent. Everyone was busy; nobody seemed happy.

The soldiers weren’t as busy. They were watchful…and armed.

A truck was being unloaded that was stacked with large crates, all with the SYLO logo stenciled on the outside. It seemed like there was a steady flow of deliveries coming in from the mainland. There had to be. How else would the people of Pemberwick be fed? I watched as one large wooden crate was cracked open and saw that it contained smaller boxes with markings that indicated what each held. I saw: Wheat Cereal, Light Bulbs, Hand Soap, and Marshmallows. Marshmallows? Like it was important to bring in marshmallows to a prison camp? Whatever. The variety of stuff made it seem as though SYLO had been doing some damage at Walmart.

I was led into the one and only building that had been there before the occupation—the clubhouse. It was a big old white structure that had probably been around since the turn of the last century. It was a place where the wealthier residents of Pemberwick Island socialized, along with the type of visitors who stayed at the Blackbird Inn. The kind of people Tori hated. The place was all polished wood and overstuffed leather furniture with oil paintings of whaling ships on the walls and beautiful scale-model ships inside glass cases.

Normally it was crowded with men wearing navy blazers or loud golf clothes and women in tennis outfits but those people were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the place was overrun by SYLO soldiers and civilians. The antique furniture in the large sitting
room was gone, replaced by rows of steel desks. Each one was occupied by a soldier or civilian busily filling out paperwork or talking on a cell phone.

I was led past the front desk and down a flight of stairs. Our journey ended in the men’s locker room, where a few temporary walls had been set up to create a makeshift doctor’s examination room. There was a padded table with sanitary paper stretched along its length next to a counter with a sink. No sooner had I entered the room than three men wearing medical-looking white lab coats arrived.

“We need to do a thorough exam,” the first guy announced. “Please try to relax. Your cooperation will make this a simple process.”

I looked at the soldier, who gave me a blank stare that said, “Do exactly what he says or I’ll hurt you.”

“Whatever,” I replied.

What followed was an experience that gave new meaning to the word “thorough.” The three of these guys operated quickly and efficiently, as if they’d done this several times before—that same day. They didn’t ask me a single question and barely spoke to each other. They weren’t interested in my opinion, they were gathering data. While one entered the information into a laptop, the other two proceeded to take me apart. They began with the usual poking, prodding, deep breathing, eye-looking, tongue-depressing stuff that comes with a normal exam. It quickly evolved into something more annoying. Using long cotton swabs they took samples from every orifice I owned. The worst wasn’t what you’d expect. One guy came at me with two swabs on the ends of long, wooden sticks. He grabbed my forehead then jammed them both up my
nose, one in each nostril. He pushed them so high I thought they would hit the top of my skull. The only good thing I can say about it was that it was quick. Each sample was put into its own plastic bag, sealed, marked, and placed on a tray.

They also took blood samples. Lots of them. I don’t know how many vials they filled, but it made me wonder how much blood they were leaving behind for me to use. I didn’t say a word the whole time. I didn’t want them to know how freaked out I was.

After the physical abuse in the exam room, I was taken down the corridor into a room with a huge device that looked like a human-size donut.

“MRI,” the one examiner said. “It’s a scan. There’s no discomfort.”

Fine. So long as they didn’t go sticking swabs where they didn’t belong, I didn’t care what they scanned. I was strapped down onto a table so I couldn’t move, then slid into the donut. The whole process took about twenty minutes and didn’t hurt at all. When I was pulled out, the examiners were gone. The soldier wasn’t.

“You’re done,” he said and led me out of the building.

I guess you could say that I felt violated. I wondered if the experience was anything like what those people said they went through after being abducted by aliens. There had been far too much probing going on. They gave me no clue as to what they were looking for or why they were being so thorough, but it made me wonder if we had been wrong about the Pemberwick virus. Granger knew that I knew it was bogus, so then why go through the motions of examining me like that? Was there really something scary that they
were looking for? The whole process ended up leaving me more confused than I had been before.

While my anger grew.

The soldier led me out of the clubhouse, past the driving range, and back to the recreation fairway.

“You’ll be called to dinner at seventeen hundred hours,” he said perfunctorily. “After that you will be assigned a bunk.”

“Any chance of you telling me why I’m here?” I asked.

The soldier ignored me, left through the gate, and locked it behind him.

“Guess not,” I said to nobody.

I had no idea of what to do so I wandered around aimlessly, trying to think. I needed a plan. Finding Tori was key. I had to hope that she was being kept somewhere on the same compound. I had the horrible thought that something may have happened to her out on the water but I forced those ideas away. It wouldn’t do any good to stress over something that might not be true. I also had to do all I could not to think about Quinn because as soon as my thoughts went to him, my heart started beating faster and my head started to spin. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to think clearly, so I did my best to lock Quinn away in a remote part of my brain.

It was strange walking along the perfectly mowed and manicured fairway. This was a place for fun, not for holding criminals. I tried to make eye contact with the other prisoners, but everyone was making a distinct effort to avoid any interaction. My guess was that they were all just as angry and confused as I was and felt it was better to keep to themselves. Or maybe they were all plotting their own escape.

The sound of an incoming helicopter broke the silence. I looked up to see a chopper skim the treetops, headed toward the opposite end of the recreation compound. With nothing better to do, I picked up the pace and made it to the fence on the far side. Beyond was a landing pad with a windsock. I watched as the helicopter hovered and landed softly. A soldier ran up to slide open the door and the new arrivals began jumping out.

There were a few older soldiers who were probably officers, followed by two men wearing business suits. The suits were incongruous with anything I’d seen before. What were these guys dressed up for? A board meeting? I was about to turn and walk away when the last guy jumped out—and I did a double take. It didn’t seem possible, but there was no mistake.

It was my father.

He carried a thick briefcase (like I’d never seen before) and was talking animatedly to the guys in suits. He wasn’t wearing a suit himself—he had on his usual khakis and polo shirt. Between the whine of the rotors and the fact that he was a good fifty yards away, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. It didn’t matter. I was staring at proof positive that my father was working with SYLO. It took all I had not to scream. Or cry. Or puke.

“Just keeps on getting more interesting, doesn’t it?” came a voice from behind me.

I turned quickly to come face to face with Kent. He, too, was staring at my father while casually tossing a white Wiffle ball into the air and catching it.

“Turn back around,” he barked.

I did what I was told. I was too surprised to do anything else. I
faced the fence and the helicopter beyond. Kent stood several feet behind me, facing the same way.

He said, “We don’t want them to think we’re talking…unless you’re with them now.”

“If I were with them, would I be on this side of the fence?” I asked.

I glanced around to see that several other people had gathered near the fence to watch the helicopter. It was the only game in town at the moment and better than staring at grass.

“So your father is with them,” he said.

“I…I don’t know,” I said over my shoulder. “It looks like it.”

“You didn’t know?” Kent asked.

“Not at first, but I wondered. Now I know. I didn’t turn you in, Kent.”

“I know. I was out of my head.”

“Why did your parents take the Ruby?” I asked.

“They were afraid. They thought there would be riots and the Blackbird would be looted. They were protecting their property.”

“They got it from Feit?” I asked.

“Who else?”

“How are they?”

Kent didn’t answer right away. I thought he might have walked away but a quick look back showed me that he was still there.

“My mother is fine, I think,” he finally said. “I haven’t seen her in a while. They keep us separate.”