D. MacHale - SYLO

That solved the mystery of the rising leviathan. We were hit with a bright searchlight. I didn’t even bother to raise my hand to shield my eyes.

“Attention,” came an amplified voice. “Are you armed?”

Armed? We had just witnessed an aerial war using unheard-of weapons and this guy wanted to know if a couple of kids in a lobster boat were armed?

Tori was more together than I was. She grabbed the shotgun and threw it over the side.

“Prepare to be boarded,” came the voice.

The dark, massive shape that had risen up before us loomed closer and I now saw it for what it was. It was a conning tower. The giant sea beast was a submarine. Painted boldly beneath the bridge was a logo.

SYLO.

My best friend was dead. His adventure was over.

But ours was only beginning.

My head hurt.

That was the first conscious thought I’d had since staring up at the giant SYLO logo on the side of the submarine. After that, everything had gone black. What had happened? Had I been shot? Knocked out? Drugged? Or was I dead? Dead probably wasn’t an option. Not that I had any experience with the afterlife, but I didn’t think being dead involved having a pounding headache.

I opened my eyes, I think. It was hard to tell because it was dark. I was lying on a thin mattress that didn’t do much to cushion the hard floor. A quick check of my body showed no injuries. The only thing that hurt was my head.

And my heart.

Quinn was dead. It was hard to imagine, let alone accept.

His last moments were the ones that kept playing in my head. It was like a horror movie on an endless loop. Three converging streaks of light hit the Patricia and…did what? Vaporized it along with my best friend? There was no sound. No explosion. No cry of surprise or agony. One second the boat was there, the next it wasn’t. It simply disappeared—along with Quinn. I couldn’t even kick my brain into searching for explanations. All I could do was dwell on the fact that Quinn was gone. He had made a selfless decision to fly solo. If he hadn’t, all three of us might be dead. The attack could just as easily have been directed at the Tori Tickle .

Could I have saved him? What if I had gone with him instead of Tori? Could I have gotten the engine started and put the fire out? If I had been there, we might have been under way and out of there before the shadow planes arrived. But I wasn’t there. I was on the other boat. The second Quinn put out the SOS about the fire, we should have gone for him. But we didn’t. Tori asked me to. I remembered that. But I was too caught up with the light show over the mainland to worry about a little thing like my best friend needing me. What if I had been just a little more selfless? Would he still be around? I’d have to live with that guilt for the rest of my life.

Quinn had always talked about one day leaving the island to do something important, something that would be remembered. As far as I was concerned, he had done just that. He had saved our lives—and sacrificed his own to do it.

“Tori?” I called out.

All I got back was the sound of my own voice. It seemed as though I was in a small room on land. That much I figured because there was no rocking motion. I reached out and banged my knuckles into a wall. Fighting the kettledrum-like pounding between my ears, I managed to sit up and lean my back against the solid surface.

“Hey,” I yelled. “I’m awake.”

Soon after, a bright light flashed on, blinding me. Squinting against its glow, I looked to see the silhouette of someone standing ten feet away.

“How are you feeling?” the silhouette asked.

I was feeling horrible and hearing that voice made me feel even worse.

It was Granger.

“Where am I?”

“In the SYLO compound,” was his simple answer.

“Why am I hurting?”

“You were tranquilized,” he said matter-of-factly. “The discomfort will pass.”

Discomfort? That was a nice way of describing a pain that felt like I was being thumped by a sledgehammer…not to mention the anguish over having lost my best friend.

“Where is Tori Sleeper?” I asked.

“In the same situation as you,” was his reply.

“What situation is that?”

“That is what I would like to know,” he said. “Why were you out on the water?”

“I want to talk to my parents.”

“You will first answer my questions. Why were you out on the water?”

“To get away from here,” I shouted angrily. “And from you. Why else?”

“To what purpose?” he asked, emotionless.

“Purpose?” I repeated, incredulous. “We’re prisoners and you’re the warden. I saw you hunt down and kill people. How many others did you take out? Why? To contain some mysterious virus that doesn’t even exist? And you killed my best friend. The only thing he did wrong was look for the truth.”

My tirade had no impact on Granger. He glanced down at a tablet computer he was holding and said, “You are familiar with Kent Berringer?”

“Why?”

“What is your relationship to him?”

“We’re on the same football team. What’s the big deal?”

Granger stepped forward into a light that allowed me to see his face. His cold eyes were locked on me. There was no humor or sympathy coming from this guy.

“How long have you known him?”

“I don’t know. A while. My father works for his family. Why are you asking? Is he okay?”

Granger looked back down to his tablet.

“Tell me about the man known as Feit,” he said coolly.

“No!” I shouted and struggled to get to my feet. “First you tell me what the hell is happening here. I just saw a war in the sky and whatever was flying around up there killed Quinn with a weapon like I never knew existed. Why don’t you tell me . Who are you? What is SYLO? And what is really happening on Pemberwick?”

Granger stared at his tablet as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

“You sampled a substance you call the Ruby, is that correct?”

I started walking toward Granger.

“Do my parents work with you? Do they know what’s going on here? Do Quinn’s parents? Do they know that he’s dead because of you? Who gets to tell them? I hope it’s you.”

I charged toward Granger. It was idiotic, but I was out of my mind. To me, he was responsible for the entire nightmare that had gripped my home and killed my friend. I wanted to hit him. Maybe wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until he told me the truth. I wanted to see fear in his cold eyes. I suppose I should have realized how foolish a move that was, especially because he stayed focused on his tablet and didn’t even brace to protect himself. When he didn’t react, I had a fleeting thought that my move was a complete surprise and that I might actually have a chance against him.

The thought ended abruptly when I ran full speed into a hard, clear surface. I slammed my shoulder and was knocked backward. For my effort I was rewarded with a sore shoulder to go along with my aching head.

Granger was standing on the opposite side of protective glass. He looked down at me over his tablet with no sympathy.

“You will be moved to more comfortable quarters,” he said, simply stating fact. “I trust that you will control your impulses or you will find yourself back in here. Alone.”

“You killed him!” I shouted. I was trying to hold back tears but it was a losing battle. “He was a good guy. He got nothing but straight As in school. He read every book he could get his hands on and he liked every one of them. He was the smartest guy I know. He made me laugh. And now he’s dead. Why? Why are people dying? What are you doing here?”