D. MacHale: Storm

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.