D. MacHale - SYLO

“My mother is fine, I think,” he finally said. “I haven’t seen her in a while. They keep us separate.”

“What about your father?”

“Dead,” was his simple, emotionless answer.

I turned quickly without thinking.

“Turn around,” he demanded again, through clenched teeth.

I turned back to the helipad. Dad was still in an animated discussion with the suits.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“I tried to escape,” I said. “To get off the island and tell people what’s going on here.”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Yeah? And how did that work out for you?” he said, back to his usual sarcastic self.

I ignored the obnoxious comment and said, “There were three of us. I don’t know what happened to Tori Sleeper. My guess is she’s here somewhere. But Quinn is dead.”

“Quinn who?”

I spun back to him. I didn’t care what he or anybody else thought about it.

“Quinn Carr,” I barked. “You know exactly who he is. Don’t pretend you don’t. He doesn’t deserve that because he died trying to help the people on Pemberwick.”

I expected some backpedaling from Kent. What I got instead was unexpected. He had tears in his eyes. I realized then that bold, arrogant Kent Berringer had also reached bottom and was barely holding it together. I turned back around to give him some space.

“They’re watching us,” he said, his voice cracking. “That’s why we’re all here. They want to see who’s working against them. It’s why nobody talks to each other. They don’t want to be accused of conspiring against SYLO.”

I glanced around at the SYLO guards. It suddenly seemed as though they were doing more observing than guarding. Was this why I was sent out to the recreation area? To see who I would talk to? To see if Kent and I were planning something?

“There was a battle,” I said. “In the air. We saw it from out on the water. Something happened over the mainland. There were planes firing on one another. They had this weapon—it was like a laser or something. It’s what killed Quinn.”

“Who was fighting who?” he asked.

“No idea. SYLO was part of it but I don’t know on which side. I don’t even know what the sides were or what they were fighting over. The only thing I can say for sure is that the truth is being kept from us. There is no Pemberwick virus, Kent. It’s all a lie. The world has to know.”

“I want out,” Kent said. “Out of this camp. Off this island. I want the world to know what Granger is doing…what everybody is doing that has anything to do with SYLO. I want to blow this place up.”

As I let Kent’s bold words sink in, I watched my father finish his conversation and get back onto the chopper. Oddly, it was a familiar scene. Not the chopper, but seeing my father in a discussion with guys in suits. It was the kind of thing I saw him do all the time when I was a kid and he worked for the town of Greenwich. He was always fighting for something he believed in. I wondered what he could possibly believe in that was happening on Pemberwick Island.

The rotors sped up and the craft lifted back into the air, headed for…who knew where? It was painful to realize I didn’t know anything at all about who my father really was.

“Then we want the same thing,” I said. “But it won’t be easy. Like you said, we’re being watched and we’re stuck behind some very big fences.”

“How badly do you want it, Rook?” Kent asked, suddenly sounding like his old, brash self. “What are you willing to risk to get out of here and get a little payback?”

“I think I already answered that,” I said, trying to match his bravura. “I tried to escape, remember?”

“But how far are you willing to go?” he asked.

He was getting at something but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Why?”

“Because I can get us out of here,” he said. “Out of this compound. I can even get us a shot at escaping from this island. But you have to want it, desperately, to take the risk.”

I gave his ominous warning some thought then said, “I’ve already lost it all. What more is there to risk?”

“Just your life,” he said.

“I already did that once,” I shot back. “Maybe the second time will be easier.”

There was a long silence. Kent was thinking it over.

“All right, Rook,” he said. “We’ll talk again. Until then…have a ball.”

I stood there waiting for him to say something else.

“Kent?”

No reply.

I turned to see that he was halfway across the compound, strolling away casually. I didn’t like that he was being so mysterious about what he knew, and what his plans were, but I guess when you’re being watched, you can’t be too careful.

I glanced back up to see the helicopter with my father onboard flying away. I was filled with both sadness and anger. I knew I would have to confront him at some point, but that wouldn’t be soon. A reckoning would come, but not until I had taken back a little control.

I took a step to head back into the compound and accidentally kicked something on the ground.

Kent’s white Wiffle ball went skittering across the grass. Had he dropped it without knowing? Or had he left it there?

Have a ball.

That’s what he said. Was he being literal?

I picked up the ball and immediately realized that it felt off. The closed half, the half opposite the air holes, was heavier than normal. Something was inside. I casually lifted the ball, trying not to arouse suspicion from the ever-watchful guards as I peered through the air holes.

What I saw made my throat clutch. Kent’s words suddenly made sense, as did his plan. He was right. Doing things his way was a risk. A huge risk. There was no guarantee that his plan would work and even if it did there was a good possibility that we wouldn’t survive. The question was, was I willing to take the chance?

I needed to think. What was I willing to risk to expose SYLO, stop Granger, and get revenge for Quinn’s death? What I held in my hand might give me that chance.

Nestled in the closed side of the seemingly innocent Wiffle Ball, glued firmly in place, was a thick layer of sparkling crystals.

Ruby red crystals.

At five o’clock a horn sounded that was the call to dinner. I had no idea if it was actually five o’clock because I didn’t have my cell phone, but that’s what the soldier told me would happen. Everyone in the recreation yard stopped what they were doing and immediately started moving toward a gate that had swung open along the northernmost fence. Nobody said a word. They simply started walking as if it was a well-practiced routine. I didn’t know what else to do so I followed. Besides, I was hungry.

“My name’s Tucker,” I said to the guy in line next to me.

He must not have been a local because he wasn’t familiar. He gave me a quick glance then looked straight ahead without answering.

“Do you know why they’re keeping us here?” I asked.

“Mind your own business, kid,” the guy said, without looking at me.

“Why?” I asked, pressing. “Why won’t anybody talk to each other?”

“Because we want to stay alive,” was his sober response.

He pushed through the line to get further ahead—and away from me. Just as well. His answer stunned me into silence anyway. I tried to make eye contact with a few other inmates but got the same response. They were scared. But why? They were prisoners. Why would talking to other prisoners get them into more trouble than they were already in? And why were they in trouble in the first place? It made me even more determined to escape, not just to save my skin, but to find out what was really going on.