D. MacHale - SYLO

“So then what am I looking at?”

Quinn scrolled back to the first report and let it play.

“Check out the digital clock deep inside the newsroom.”

I looked over Storm’s shoulder and saw a red digital clock that read 18:00. Six o’clock, using military time.

“Yeah—so?”

“Keep watching.”

The next clip came up. The clock again read 18:00. The third clip was different. The clock read 2:04.

“Whoa, freeze it,” I said.

Quinn hit “pause.”

“I thought it was live at six o’clock?” I said.

“Yeah, me too. Watch.”

Quinn hit “play.” When the next clip came up the clock read 2:45. The clock in the following clip showed 4:06. The rest were different as well. The clock never read 18:00 again.

“So what does that mean?” I asked.

“It means the reports aren’t broadcast live,” Quinn replied. “They were shot at all different times of the day and then passed off as live.”

“Is that normal?” I asked.

“Not for a live newscast,” Quinn shot back.

“Maybe they pre-taped the reports,” I said. “That’s not a crime, is it?”

“No,” Quinn said patiently. “But it’s weird if they’re calling it live, and so it got me thinking. I watch a lot of TV. I admit it. Don’t judge me. After seeing that clock thing on CNN, I started paying closer attention to what was on in general, and you know what I realized?”

“That you have to stop watching so much TV?”

“Since the day SYLO invaded, there hasn’t been a single new episode of anything. No reality shows. No prime-time shows. No daytime stuff. It’s all reruns. Everything. Even the rest of the news. That’s the weirdest thing. There are no big stories. None. It’s like nothing newsworthy has happened for over a week. All they’re showing is a bunch of fluff stuff like… like…”

“Like it was all recorded a long time ago,” I said.

“Exactly. Nothing we’re seeing is new.”

My head started to spin.

“So that means—”

“It means we’re not only cut off from talking to the outside,” Quinn said. “It means the outside isn’t getting through to us either. We’re totally isolated.”

“I’ve seen some stuff,” I said tentatively.

“Who hasn’t?” was Quinn’s flip response.

“I mean, stuff I wish I hadn’t.”

“Again, who hasn’t?”

“I saw Granger murder somebody, okay!”

For the second time that day, Quinn was speechless. He sat there staring at me with his mouth hanging open. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about it. Not until we were all safe. But events were spiraling out of control. Safety seemed like a long way off. I wanted another ally.

“Details, please,” was all Quinn finally managed to croak out.

I told him everything. About Tori telling off Feit and how she showed me the horses and the Ruby that washed up on the beach along with the debris from what could have been the exploded shadow. I told him about the cigarette boat that was blown out of the water and the two guys who were hunted down and killed by SYLO soldiers…and by Granger. I also admitted to him that Tori was with me when I turned the Ruby and the wreckage in to the sheriff—and Granger.

He took it all in without a word. His nimble brain was taking each bit of information and placing it into an equation that would hopefully bring us to an answer that made sense. When I had finally gotten it all off my chest, I waited for his response.

Quinn nodded slowly then announced, “I knew you liked Tori Sleeper.”

“Seriously?” I shouted. “That’s all you got from that?”

“I’m kidding,” he said, then jumped to his feet and paced. He had gone from passive information gathering to full-on calculation mode.

“Okay, we know we’re being lied to,” he said, his words only a few steps ahead of his brain. “Or at least we’re not getting the whole truth about this so-called Pemberwick virus.”

“I think it’s all about the Ruby,” I declared.

“It can’t be that simple,” Quinn argued. “If that were true, all it would take is one announcement—‘Don’t eat the Ruby’—and poof, no more virus.”

“So then what do you think the Ruby is?”

“No idea,” Quinn said. “I’m more interested in SYLO. They’re grabbing people off the street but we’re only hearing about a few new cases of the virus. And now they’re so desperate to control the quarantine that they’re willing to kill people who try to escape.”

“I think the guy in that cigarette boat was trying to escape,” I said. “I don’t know about those men Granger hunted down and shot on the bluffs.”

“Whatever. It all comes back to the virus, and the reason SYLO is here,” Quinn declared.

“It’s gotta be about the Ruby,” I offered.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Quinn said with frustration. “If the Ruby was causing the virus, why would they keep it a secret?”

“I don’t know! To keep us from panicking,” I shot back. “Look at what happened downtown. Reasonable people turned into an angry mob when they suddenly couldn’t log on to Facebook. Imagine what would happen if everyone found out that we were all…”

I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What?” Quinn asked. “Being poisoned?”

We let that hang there for a second.

“I don’t buy it,” Quinn said. “There’s gotta be more to the virus than that.”

“But if SYLO truly has no idea of what they’re dealing with, why would all those soldiers volunteer to come here?”

“Who knows?” Quinn replied. “Maybe they were vaccinated. They might be here just to keep us calm until the end.”

“Don’t say that,” I said, sober. “That’s like…beyond horror.”

“So what do you think is going on?” Quinn asked. “What exactly is the Ruby?”

“I don’t know,” I said quickly. “But you’re right. It comes back to the virus. If we knew more about it, this would all make more sense.”

Quinn gave me a sly smile. I knew that look. It meant he had thought of something that nobody else had…including me.

“What?” I asked.

“I know how we can find out more about the mysterious Pemberwick virus,” he declared.

“How?”

“My parents. They’re doctors at Arbortown Hospital. Dad’s in the ER. They’ve got to know about every case of the virus that’s been brought in.”

“That’s right!” I exclaimed. “What have they said about it?”

“Nothing. They never talk about patients. Confidentiality and all that.”

“But this is a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“I do, but they don’t.”

“So they’re a dead end.”

“No,” Quinn said, once again offering the sly smile. “They might not tell me anything about their patients…but their computers will.”

Minutes later we were on our way to Arbortown Medical. We grabbed bikes from Quinn’s garage and pedaled our way to the far northern end of town along roads that we had all to ourselves. Nobody was out for a casual drive. They were too busy hiding.

I’d only been to the hospital once, when I fell off my bunk bed and broke my wrist. It was a painful memory. The process of resetting bones hasn’t changed since medieval times. It was the longest four seconds of my life.

“Act casual and nobody will question us,” Quinn instructed as we stepped into the lobby.

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” I complained. “How exactly do I act casual?”

“By not acting.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Quinn Carr!” called the elderly woman who sat behind the information desk at the dead center of the large lobby. “I haven’t seen you around here in ages. You’re growing up to be quite the handsome young man.”