D. MacHale - SYLO

“Why do you think he’d lie?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know. But I’ll bet anything that Granger knows exactly why we’ve been cut off. Heck, he probably has something to do with it.”

I jumped up and headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?” Dad asked.

“We can’t use the phone but we can still talk,” I said. “I want to see what other people think.”

Dad ran ahead and cut me off.

“I think we should do what Granger suggested. We have to have patience.”

“Seriously, Dad, do you trust that guy?”

He thought about the answer then said, “I have no reason to doubt him.”

“Well, I do,” I shot back. “And I want to know the truth.”

I started back toward the door but Dad grabbed my arm and said, “We’ll all get that soon enough.”

He stared me straight in the eye as if he were trying to tell me something without actually saying it. I looked at Mom. Tears welled in her eyes again.

“What are you guys not telling me?” I asked with determination.

For a second I thought Dad was going to answer. Instead, he let go of my arm and backed off.

“Nothing,” he said, sounding defeated. “I just don’t want you getting in any trouble. Stay close to home, would you?”

“Where am I going to go?” I asked. “We’re on an island, remember?”

Dad gave me a shrug and a nod. Mom got up and went into the kitchen.

“See you later,” I said and headed out.

My parents were starting to piss me off. I didn’t like how they were so willing to accept what was happening. These were good people who got shafted, had to pull up their roots in Connecticut and then move to another town to find a better life. That took guts. Why weren’t they showing those same guts when their life here was being threatened?

I left the house, not sure of where I would go or what I was looking for. I wanted to be around people who were as upset as I was, and it didn’t take long to find them. I went to Main Street and quickly discovered that my instincts were correct: People didn’t accept Granger’s explanation for why our phone and Internet had been cut off any more than I did. People I recognized from all over the island, and many more I didn’t, were slowly gravitating toward town hall. It was the center of government for Arbortown and as good a place as any for people to vent about how they were being treated, even though it was Sunday and the offices were closed.

It started out as a few groups of people scattered here and there but the numbers soon swelled. They were all talking about the fact that we had been cut off, and nobody was happy about it. Everyone wanted to be heard, but nobody was doing much listening. I heard bits and pieces of angry outbursts coming from all around me.

“Who is he kidding?”

“It’s not right!”

“I haven’t pulled a single trap in weeks.”

“My kids are in Boston. I have to talk to them.”

“Without a phone, I’m out of business.”

It went on and on.

“The natives grow restless,” came Quinn’s familiar voice. He walked up to me and said, “I was wondering how long it would take before people started getting antsy.”

“I think SYLO cut us off,” I said.

“Really?” he said with exaggerated surprise. “That makes you…and everybody else. The question is, why?”

I didn’t tell Quinn about Granger for the same reason Tori and I hadn’t told our parents.

“If they’re not telling us the truth to keep us calm,” Quinn said, “it’s backfiring.”

The crowd had grown and spilled into the street, choking off traffic into town. Car horns blared but it didn’t help. It was gridlock.

“Not that I have any experience in these things,” Quinn said. “But this has all the makings of an angry mob. Kind of exciting.”

“Exciting?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, in an anarchistic, overthrow-the-government kind of way. History is being made here and we’re part of it.”

I watched with apprehension as the small groups of angry islanders gradually drifted into one big group.

“I’d rather have things go back to normal,” I said.

“Ah,” Quinn scoffed. “Normal’s overrated.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “Do you mean that?”

“That depends,” he replied.

“On what?”

“On whether or not we live to tell our kids about it all.”

“Jeez, man, don’t even joke about something like that.”

“Who’s joking? This is going to get hairy.”

People started shouting to be heard. You could feel the energy growing, and it wasn’t positive. I only hoped that nobody had decided to sample the Ruby. That would have been like lighting a fuse on dynamite. Slowly, the crowd pushed toward the steps of town hall, where people stopped talking to each other and started shouting their questions at the empty building.

“Why have we been cut off?”

“Tell us the truth!”

“Check this out,” Quinn said. He cupped his hands around his mouth and started chanting: “Sy-lo, Sy-lo, Sy-lo…”

“Stop!” I commanded, pulling his hands away. “You don’t want to mess with Granger.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied and continued his chant. “Sy-lo, Sy-lo, Sy-lo…”

The crowd actually picked up on it and soon the chant was booming across town with the combined voices of a thousand angry islanders.

I grabbed Quinn by the shoulders and got right in his face.

“Don’t do this. It’s not a game!” I shouted at him over the chanting crowd. “You’re pushing the wrong buttons.”

“Or helping to start a revolution,” he said, then pulled away from me and continued to chant.

I didn’t know what to do. Quinn was having the time of his life…and helping to whip the crowd into a frenzy. Finally, a woman’s amplified voice came over a loudspeaker that was set up on top of town hall.

“Attention. Please clear the street to allow for the flow of traffic.”

“No!” was the basic response as everyone shouted her down.

“Please disperse,” the woman said calmly. “This assembly has become a public hazard.”

Her voice only seemed to rile the people up even more. The angry crowd had suddenly become an enraged mob. People I knew who were usually normal and friendly were showing their darker side. I saw my football coach and an art teacher. There were parents of my friends and even little kids. But the familiar faces were few and far between. Most of these people I had never seen in my life. No matter where they had come from, they were all getting swept up in the emotion.

A handful of guys broke from the crowd, charged up the stairs, and started banging on the doors. Everyone was yelling something different but the general sentiment was the same: They were tired of being held prisoners. Cutting off communications was the last straw.

“Come on!” Quinn said.

We pushed our way in the opposite direction and climbed up onto the second-floor balcony of a hardware store across from town hall. From there we had a perfect view of the action.

The street was jammed with people of all ages. Another chant began: “Sy-lo…Sy-lo…Sy-lo.”

Quinn smiled with satisfaction.

The guys in front of the town hall continued to pound on the doors. It seemed like it was only a matter of time before they’d break a window and overrun the place. I doubted that Granger was inside, but that didn’t matter. It was more about letting out frustration.

The announcements continued, “Please disperse immediately. This unlawful assembly has become a public hazard.”

The crowd reacted instantly and angrily to that statement with a new chant, “Un-law-ful…un-law-ful…”

“Not as catchy as my chant,” Quinn commented