D. MacHale - SYLO

“Quinn!” a man’s voice called.

Quinn’s back went straight as if he’d been hit with a cattle prod.

A guy dressed all in white and with a name tag on his shirt approached us. He looked like a staff guy, not a doctor.

“Hey, is your dad scheduled today?” he asked. “I’ve got some requisition forms for him to sign.”

I willed Quinn to hold it together and think fast.

“You know,” Quinn said, sounding way more casual than he deserved to, “I thought he was, but I can’t find him. He must be around somewhere.”

“No problem,” the guy said. “I’ll catch him tomorrow.”

The guy hurried off and we could breathe again. The two of us did all we could to keep from running out of there. We hit the stairs, climbed back to the lobby, and hurried out the front door without stopping to say goodbye to Mrs. Guimond.

Once outside, we finally gave in and started running. We grabbed the bikes, blasted out of the parking lot, and didn’t stop pedaling until we hit the war memorial on the edge of the village green. There, we finally dumped the bikes and sat on the edge of the large cement sculpture that had the engraved names of all the war dead from Pemberwick. We were both breathing hard and trying to catch our breath when I looked up at the long list of names…and was hit with an odd thought: All those guys had died fighting for our country. I wondered what any of them would have done if they had been asked to be part of an outfit like SYLO.

“Why did my parents lie?” Quinn said, gulping for air. “What do they know?”

“Don’t get all paranoid,” I cautioned. “They’re probably just as clueless as the rest of us.”

“No,” Quinn shot back. “My dad doesn’t miss a thing. Neither does Mom. They’re like…like surgeons. That’s how precise they are. No wasted effort. No wasted words. They say what they mean with no room for wiggle. They said they were both going to work.”

“So maybe something came up.”

“Sure. Okay. Possible. But they’ve definitely been lying about the virus patients. Why would they do that unless…” His voice trailed off.

“Unless what?” I asked.

“Unless they’re hiding something,” Quinn declared. “Tuck, could they be involved with this somehow?”

“No,” I answered quickly, then thought for a second. “I mean, that’s crazy. Right?”

He didn’t answer.

My mind raced ahead, trying to understand what it was we had uncovered, and what to do with the information. There was nobody to turn to. The sheriff was useless, we were cut off from the rest of the world, and the people who were supposedly protecting us were the ones keeping all the secrets.

“We gotta tell my parents,” I finally declared. “I didn’t want to before but this is getting out of control.”

“What can they do?” Quinn asked, skeptically.

“I don’t know!” I shouted. “But I don’t want to deal with this alone anymore.”

“Okay. Right. I’m with you.”

We had gotten our wind back enough to get on the bikes and ride to my house. It felt good to focus on riding. It helped keep my thoughts from spinning out of control, kind of like our midnight rides. My entire focus was on getting home, dumping everything I knew on my parents, and getting some sage parental advice that would help us figure out the right thing to do. That’s what parents did. It was their job. I was actually starting to feel a little bit better…

…until we turned the corner onto my street.

“Oh, crap,” Quinn muttered.

Two black Humvees were parked in front of my house.

My stomach hit the sidewalk.

“They must be looking for you,” Quinn said.

I didn’t know if that was true or not but wanted to find out before they knew I was there. We walked behind my neighbor’s house, past the hedge that bordered my backyard, and right to my back door. We dumped the bikes out of sight, then followed in reverse the route that I always took when sneaking out of my room at night for our midnight rides. I climbed onto the porch, shinnied up the column that held up the roof, and snuck across the shingled surface to my window. I was in my bedroom in under a minute. Quinn followed seconds later. We quietly moved across my room to the door. Luckily it was open a crack. From there we could hear what was happening in the living room below.

My parents were there. I recognized their voices. But I also recognized another voice.

“It is absolutely imperative that we find them,” the man said. “Both of them.”

A chill rolled up my spine. It was Captain Granger. He was in my house. Talking to my parents.

Quinn saw the look on my face and turned pale. There was no way to know how many other SYLO soldiers were in the room, but there had to be at least one since there were two Humvees parked outside.

“I have no idea where he could be,” Dad said.

“This is a critical moment,” Granger added. “All signs indicate that the event is imminent. The arks have all been secured. If there’s any trouble here on Pemberwick Island, then—”

“You don’t have to remind us,” Mom said. “We get it. All too well.”

I shot Quinn a look. His eyes were already wide behind his thick glasses.

What event? What were they talking about? What were arks? More importantly, how would my mother know about any of it?

“There were no casualties during the rogue insurrection this afternoon,” Granger said. “But I can’t promise that being the case the next time, especially if your son starts riling folks up.”

My knees went weak. My fears were correct. I was square in Granger’s sights.

Mom said, “You could be mistaken.”

“There was no mistake, Mrs. Pierce,” Granger shot back curtly. “We have the satellite intel. It was your son and the Sleeper girl who witnessed our ambush of the rogues out near the Sleeper house. I only wish we had seen them at the time.”

I had to hold my breath to keep from letting out a gasp. We were done. Granger knew we had seen him kill those men—and apparently so did my parents.

Granger continued, “This island is a powder keg and the fuse is burning quickly. If those two children start throwing accusations around, it will get very ugly very fast and it will be well within my mission to use whatever countermeasures are necessary to keep the peace.”

Dad said, “When he gets home, you’ll be the first to know.”

I knew that tone. His teeth were clenched in anger as he fought to keep from boiling over.

“I can’t wait for that,” Granger declared. “We’re going to find them.” It sounded as though Granger had stood up and was headed for the door.

“You mean like you found that Feit person?” Dad called sarcastically.

My head started to spin. Dad knew about Feit too! He knew everything!

“We’ll find him as well,” Granger shot back. “This entire operation is about timing. I want to minimize casualties but if your son interferes—”

“He won’t,” Dad assured him.

“I need you to understand,” Granger said sternly. “There is far too much at stake here to jeopardize our mission by protecting them.”

“We understand,” Dad shot back sharply. “We’ve all worked too hard and too long to let this get out of hand now. I can’t speak for the Sleeper girl but you won’t have to worry about Tucker.”

“I’m going to make sure of that,” Granger said. It sounded like a threat.

Someone’s cell phone chirped. I didn’t think for a second that phone service had been restored to everyone. It had to be one of the SYLO guys.

“Granger,” said the captain, answering the phone.

There was silence for a few seconds as he listened to whomever was calling him.