D. MacHale - SYLO

I followed the narrow meandering path for at least thirty yards until I broke out into the open to find a wide expanse of sand and grass that stretched to the ocean. From the end of the scrub where I stood to what looked like the edge of a bluff was about fifty yards. Luckily I had come out on the east side of the island, the side where I would see the sunrise.

It was spectacular.

The sky was growing brighter by the second. I thought about walking out to the edge of the bluff but remembered Mr. Sleeper’s warning. It wouldn’t have been smart to be spotted by a passing Navy ship. So I stayed close to the edge of the scrub, where I had a perfect view of the sunrise.

Standing alone with only the sounds of the ocean and the occasional squawking seagull to keep me company, I felt oddly at peace. As uncertain as I was about how the day would unfold, it was good to know that there was a plan. I wasn’t so naïve as to think that we would put a quick end to the nightmare, but at least we now had direction. And friends. We weren’t alone anymore. I guess you have to appreciate the good stuff when it comes because there was more than enough bad stuff to go around.

If there was anything positive to take from recent events, it was that in some small way I had proven to myself that I was able to rise to a challenge. That’s saying a lot. I guess you could say that I had been floating. I didn’t like to fail—at anything—which meant I usually didn’t try. Quinn loved to point that out about me. When I was faced with a challenge, I backed off, whether it was in school or with girls. It was always easier for me to pretend as though I didn’t care than to put myself on the line and risk falling on my face. If I had known I was going to land in the spotlight on the football team, I never would have joined in the first place. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to look bad. Or to be seen as somehow lacking. I think that’s why I never allowed myself to have the kind of dreams that Quinn had: to leave Pemberwick and make a difference somewhere. That was the kind of stuff other people did. I didn’t think I had it in me—whatever “it” is.

But that changed when life changed. I could no longer sit back and say, “Really? The island’s been invaded? Oh well, pass the popcorn.” Maybe you have to have things taken away before you can truly understand how valuable they are…or however that song lyric goes. I had been pushed. Hard. I’m proud to say that I finally pushed back. And I would continue to push back. It was a strangely exciting feeling. It made me wonder what I might be capable of once we got past all of this crap and life settled back to the new normal. Maybe I’d start thinking more like Quinn and start looking around to see what could be accomplished. I’m not sure if that kind of thinking frightened me before, or if I just couldn’t see myself succeeding. But after what we had been through, I no longer had those doubts. I felt confident that I could rise to the challenge. Any challenge.

I wanted the chance to prove it…for myself, and for Quinn.

While I stood there contemplating the wonders of my newfound enlightenment, the sun began to peek up over the horizon. The strip of sky above the sea quickly turned orange, lifting the curtain on a new day. It was a day that would set the course for the next chapter in this strange adventure. I felt certain that the next time the sun came up it would be on a whole new reality—one that we all had a hand in shaping because we were about to make another Pemberwick Run.

Then I saw something on the horizon.

It started out as a black speck on the sun…that soon turned into two specks.

I stared at the aberrations, not sure of what I was seeing as the mysterious blots grew larger. It was the sound that brought it all into focus. It took a few seconds after I had registered the black specks for me to hear it because the speed of sound is painfully slow.

It was a steady, low thumping sound. It was incessant. It grew louder. Fast.

I don’t know why it took so long for me to react. Maybe it was ignorance or disbelief or wishful thinking—or stubborn resistance to the fact that all of our carefully crafted plans were about to go into the toilet.

The black specks were flying out of the rising sun.

They were helicopters.

SYLO had found us.

“Wake up! Get up! We’re under attack!”

I ran through the camp screaming like a lunatic, trying to roust the dozens of people who were sleeping peacefully, totally unaware that the game was about to change. People crawled out of their tents, wiping sleep from their eyes, looking more annoyed than worried.

“Get up! Helicopters are coming this way!”

Nobody reacted. Maybe they were still asleep and didn’t trust the ravings of a guy they didn’t know. They wandered about, grumbling, rubbing their eyes and generally looking dazed. I had the odd thought that this was what it must have been like on Pearl Harbor just before all hell broke loose.

“Tucker!” Mr. Sleeper called as he crawled out of his tent. “What’s going on?”

I opened my mouth to tell him, but didn’t get the chance.

His answer came from the sky as the first helicopter swooped in low and unleashed a torrent of machine gun fire on the camp.

They hadn’t come to capture anybody. This was an all-out attack.

Nobody saw the flying beast. The camouflage cover worked both ways. What we saw instead was the sky falling and the ground torn up by two lines of bullets that raked the ground, splintering trees, tearing through tents, and sending small explosions of dirt into the air.

That woke everybody up.

Some people went for their shotguns. Others turned and fled into the scrub. Still others crawled out of their tents with looks of shock, as if the reality was too much to comprehend.

I hit the ground but didn’t know why until I realized that Mr. Sleeper had grabbed me and thrown me down while shielding me with his body.

“Get Tori,” he said. “Go for the boats.”

I jumped up and started running for the big tent just as the next helicopter made its attack run. I hit the ground on my own this time, grabbing my head for protection—not that that would have helped against a white-hot bullet. The stream of bullets strafed the camp, pulverizing the plastic coolers, blowing them into the air with a shattering barrage. This time people were hit. I saw a guy running through the center of the camp, headed for his shotgun. He didn’t make it. At least one and probably more bullets hit him, dropping him instantly. A red cloud that seemed strangely pretty erupted from his back. My mind wouldn’t accept it for what it really was. The poor guy hit the ground and didn’t move.

“Go!” Mr. Sleeper yelled to me.

I scrambled to my feet and sprinted for the big tent.

Inside, Kent was just starting to wake up. Fool.

“What’s all the noise?” he asked, groggy.

“Get up!” I shouted. “We’re under attack.”

“Attack?” he repeated dumbly as if it didn’t register. “By who?”

“Where’s Tori?”

“Here!” she called.

Tori was huddled under one of the picnic tables with Olivia, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights with wide, frightened eyes.

“New plan,” I said, breathless. “We’re going for the boats now.”

“I knew it,” Tori said angrily. “That’s why we escaped so easily. They let us go.”

Kent crawled over and scrambled under the table.

“No way,” he argued. “My plan worked perfectly.”

“Because there weren’t any guards around, you idiot!” Tori screamed. “They knew exactly what we were doing. We were set up. They followed us here.”