D. MacHale - SYLO

“Where’s this going?” I asked.

The answer came from the crowd itself.

“The ferry!” I heard someone yell.

The men who had been pounding on the town hall doors immediately moved as one toward the harbor while continuing to chant and scream in protest.

“Enough!”

“We’re getting off!”

“They can’t stop us!”

The crowd parted to let the men through and they picked up speed, headed for the harbor.

“Are they seriously going to try to take over the ferry?” I asked, stunned.

“This is awesome!” Quinn declared.

“Awesome? They could get killed!”

“Nah,” Quinn scoffed. “Do you seriously think the United States Navy would hurt their own people?”

That was exactly what I thought.

The rest of the mob followed the guys, who began sprinting for the wharf.

“Let’s go with ’em,” Quinn said and made a move to climb down.

I grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Stop,” I commanded. “You want to live to tell your kids about this?”

“Aww, you’re no fun.”

To Quinn this was all an exciting game.

I knew better.

Up until that moment the SYLO soldiers had not shown themselves. That was about to change. In the center of Main Street, at the top of the rise that led down to the wharf, a dozen soldiers ran into position, forming a wall to block off the street. Each had rifles slung over their shoulders. Real rifles. Not the kind with a wide barrel that fires beanbags.

“Ooh, not good,” Quinn said, suddenly serious. “Maybe it is better we stay here.”

The crowd of guys charging for the ferry started whooping a battle cry.

“Somebody’s going to get hurt,” I said soberly.

“Look,” Quinn said, pointing to a rooftop across the street.

Captain Granger had arrived. He stood looking down on the action along with two SYLO subordinates. One of the soldiers had binoculars that he used to scan the crowd. Granger stood ramrod-straight with his hands clasped behind his back. If he was worried about the developments below, he didn’t show it.

“That is one cold dude,” Quinn commented.

He had no idea how true that statement was.

The angry sprinters were about twenty yards from clashing with the line of soldiers when the soldiers opened fire—with water. Fire hoses positioned on either side of the street spewed powerful blasts of water directly into the mob. Some people fought to keep going, but the force of the water was too strong. Many were knocked off their feet. Others were pushed back, only to hit the huge crowd that was following them. It was a madhouse. There were screams of anger and frustration floating everywhere. The people in the back didn’t realize what was happening up front and kept surging forward which made it harder for anyone to retreat.

Granger remained as calm as if it was all a day at the beach. He motioned to one of his soldiers to come closer to him. Without taking his eyes off the action below, he said something to the soldier, who immediately got on a walkie-talkie to relay whatever Granger had said.

“He’s running this show,” I said.

The crowd kept surging forward. The waterworks might have worked if it were only the handful of guys who were running for the ferry, but there were so many people behind them that they were caught between SYLO and the surging mob that kept pushing them forward. It was looking as though this was going to lead to an even more violent clash when…

BOOM.

There was an ear-splitting eruption that came from the sea. It was so loud that it instantly quieted the crowd. All eyes looked out to the warship that was floating at the mouth of the harbor. A cloud of dark smoke drifted up from its deck.

“I think they just launched something,” I said with dismay.

“I don’t believe that,” Quinn said, stunned.

A second later, he believed it. We all did.

A shrieking sound followed that meant something was headed toward us. Fast.

Pemberwick Island used two ferryboats. One had been turned back the day the island was invaded. The second sat empty and unused at the end of the pier. That ferry was an iconic image of Pemberwick Island that was duplicated on postcards and posters and photographed by every family that had ever experienced the idyllic pleasures of our island in the Atlantic.

But it would never carry another passenger, for a few seconds later it exploded. It was a solid hit. Flames spewed from the doomed craft as its fuel tanks erupted. I felt the heat from as far away as we were. It must have been searing hot down on the street.

The emotion of the crowd instantly turned from anger to panic. Dozens turned and fled. Women picked up small children to keep them from being trampled. People stumbled and fell, only to be stepped on by those desperate to get away from the wharf. Many of these people had been friends and neighbors for decades. None of that mattered when fear took over. Everyone wanted out and they didn’t care who stood in their way.

The soldiers kept washing them with the fire hoses until the crowd had fled out of range. A few dazed men stumbled away, staring back in disbelief at the ferryboat that burned at the end of the wharf.

A number of soldiers turned the fire hoses from the crowd to the boat to extinguish the inferno. The water hit the fire to create billows of black smoke that floated up and formed a dark cloud over the small harbor, blocking out the light and warmth of the sun. Within minutes, Main Street was nearly deserted. All that was left of the riot was wet pavement and the burning hulk of the ferry.

I looked to see Granger’s reaction to the mayhem—and gasped. He wasn’t looking at the street. He was staring directly at me. I could feel his sharp glare boring into my head. Once again I had witnessed him committing a ruthless act. There was no doubt in my mind that he had called in that missile strike on the ferry.

“We’re prisoners here,” I said numbly.

Quinn nodded. “There’s only one reason they’d do this. The Pemberwick virus has got to be way more deadly than they’re letting on. Why else would they go so far to keep us here?”

I started to climb down from the balcony.

“Where are we going?” Quinn asked as he followed.

“I want to see how Kent is.”

“Berringer? What the hell for?”

When we hit the sidewalk, I looked up to see that Granger had stepped to the edge of the roof so he could still see me. What was he thinking? Was he worried that I might know too much?

As we hurried away from Main Street, headed for the Blackbird Inn, I confessed to Quinn. There was no way I could keep it to myself any longer. I told him the truth about the Ruby and about how I had taken it. I told him about Feit and about my fear that the Ruby had killed Marty. I also told him that I brought a sample to the sheriff to examine and how Granger was there and said he would bring it to the CDC scientists. But that’s all that I said. I didn’t want him to know too much and be on Granger’s radar along with Tori and me.

At first he was pissed that I hadn’t confided in him earlier, but the revelation of the possible cause of the Pemberwick virus topped his anger.

“So…what did the Ruby stuff do to you?” he asked with wide-eyed curiosity.

“I felt like I could do anything, and it wasn’t just in my head. You saw the way Marty played. Kent was the same way. It gives you incredible strength and speed, but it’s impossible to function at that level for any length of time. If you take too much, you flame out.”

“So you think Kent is, like, dead?” Quinn asked.

“No, I think he beat it. But I want to know for sure.”

“Jeez…,” Quinn said, stunned. It was the only time I had ever seen him at a loss for words.