D. MacHale - SYLO

Normally it was crowded with men wearing navy blazers or loud golf clothes and women in tennis outfits but those people were nowhere to be seen. Instead, the place was overrun by SYLO soldiers and civilians. The antique furniture in the large sitting room was gone, replaced by rows of steel desks. Each one was occupied by a soldier or civilian busily filling out paperwork or talking on a cell phone.

I was led past the front desk and down a flight of stairs. Our journey ended in the men’s locker room, where a few temporary walls had been set up to create a makeshift doctor’s examination room. There was a padded table with sanitary paper stretched along its length next to a counter with a sink. No sooner had I entered the room than three men wearing medical-looking white lab coats arrived.

“We need to do a thorough exam,” the first guy announced. “Please try to relax. Your cooperation will make this a simple process.”

I looked at the soldier, who gave me a blank stare that said, “Do exactly what he says or I’ll hurt you.”

“Whatever,” I replied.

What followed was an experience that gave new meaning to the word “thorough.” The three of these guys operated quickly and efficiently, as if they’d done this several times before—that same day. They didn’t ask me a single question and barely spoke to each other. They weren’t interested in my opinion, they were gathering data. While one entered the information into a laptop, the other two proceeded to take me apart. They began with the usual poking, prodding, deep breathing, eye-looking, tongue-depressing stuff that comes with a normal exam. It quickly evolved into something more annoying. Using long cotton swabs they took samples from every orifice I owned. The worst wasn’t what you’d expect. One guy came at me with two swabs on the ends of long, wooden sticks. He grabbed my forehead then jammed them both up my nose, one in each nostril. He pushed them so high I thought they would hit the top of my skull. The only good thing I can say about it was that it was quick. Each sample was put into its own plastic bag, sealed, marked, and placed on a tray.

They also took blood samples. Lots of them. I don’t know how many vials they filled, but it made me wonder how much blood they were leaving behind for me to use. I didn’t say a word the whole time. I didn’t want them to know how freaked out I was.

After the physical abuse in the exam room, I was taken down the corridor into a room with a huge device that looked like a human-size donut.

“MRI,” the one examiner said. “It’s a scan. There’s no discomfort.”

Fine. So long as they didn’t go sticking swabs where they didn’t belong, I didn’t care what they scanned. I was strapped down onto a table so I couldn’t move, then slid into the donut. The whole process took about twenty minutes and didn’t hurt at all. When I was pulled out, the examiners were gone. The soldier wasn’t.

“You’re done,” he said and led me out of the building.

I guess you could say that I felt violated. I wondered if the experience was anything like what those people said they went through after being abducted by aliens. There had been far too much probing going on. They gave me no clue as to what they were looking for or why they were being so thorough, but it made me wonder if we had been wrong about the Pemberwick virus. Granger knew that I knew it was bogus, so then why go through the motions of examining me like that? Was there really something scary that they were looking for? The whole process ended up leaving me more confused than I had been before.

While my anger grew.

The soldier led me out of the clubhouse, past the driving range, and back to the recreation fairway.

“You’ll be called to dinner at seventeen hundred hours,” he said perfunctorily. “After that you will be assigned a bunk.”

“Any chance of you telling me why I’m here?” I asked.

The soldier ignored me, left through the gate, and locked it behind him.

“Guess not,” I said to nobody.

I had no idea of what to do so I wandered around aimlessly, trying to think. I needed a plan. Finding Tori was key. I had to hope that she was being kept somewhere on the same compound. I had the horrible thought that something may have happened to her out on the water but I forced those ideas away. It wouldn’t do any good to stress over something that might not be true. I also had to do all I could not to think about Quinn because as soon as my thoughts went to him, my heart started beating faster and my head started to spin. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to think clearly, so I did my best to lock Quinn away in a remote part of my brain.

It was strange walking along the perfectly mowed and manicured fairway. This was a place for fun, not for holding criminals. I tried to make eye contact with the other prisoners, but everyone was making a distinct effort to avoid any interaction. My guess was that they were all just as angry and confused as I was and felt it was better to keep to themselves. Or maybe they were all plotting their own escape.

The sound of an incoming helicopter broke the silence. I looked up to see a chopper skim the treetops, headed toward the opposite end of the recreation compound. With nothing better to do, I picked up the pace and made it to the fence on the far side. Beyond was a landing pad with a windsock. I watched as the helicopter hovered and landed softly. A soldier ran up to slide open the door and the new arrivals began jumping out.

There were a few older soldiers who were probably officers, followed by two men wearing business suits. The suits were incongruous with anything I’d seen before. What were these guys dressed up for? A board meeting? I was about to turn and walk away when the last guy jumped out—and I did a double take. It didn’t seem possible, but there was no mistake.

It was my father.

He carried a thick briefcase (like I’d never seen before) and was talking animatedly to the guys in suits. He wasn’t wearing a suit himself—he had on his usual khakis and polo shirt. Between the whine of the rotors and the fact that he was a good fifty yards away, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. It didn’t matter. I was staring at proof positive that my father was working with SYLO. It took all I had not to scream. Or cry. Or puke.

“Just keeps on getting more interesting, doesn’t it?” came a voice from behind me.

I turned quickly to come face to face with Kent. He, too, was staring at my father while casually tossing a white Wiffle ball into the air and catching it.

“Turn back around,” he barked.

I did what I was told. I was too surprised to do anything else. I faced the fence and the helicopter beyond. Kent stood several feet behind me, facing the same way.

He said, “We don’t want them to think we’re talking…unless you’re with them now.”

“If I were with them, would I be on this side of the fence?” I asked.

I glanced around to see that several other people had gathered near the fence to watch the helicopter. It was the only game in town at the moment and better than staring at grass.

“So your father is with them,” he said.

“I…I don’t know,” I said over my shoulder. “It looks like it.”

“You didn’t know?” Kent asked.

“Not at first, but I wondered. Now I know. I didn’t turn you in, Kent.”

“I know. I was out of my head.”

“Why did your parents take the Ruby?” I asked.

“They were afraid. They thought there would be riots and the Blackbird would be looted. They were protecting their property.”

“They got it from Feit?” I asked.

“Who else?”

“How are they?”

Kent didn’t answer right away. I thought he might have walked away but a quick look back showed me that he was still there.