Generation M (3 page)

Abby turned and started to walk. “I have to hurry.”

“My name is Stacy.”

Abby pretended she hadn’t heard.

“Do you want something to eat?” Stacy called out.

Abby’s chest hitched sharply, confused by the way she was acting, but she kept walking.

Jordan paced through the dark empty house on Castine Island, clutching Abby’s note and balling his fist in guilt. When his sisters had needed him the most, he had not been there for them.

He strode from the kitchen that his supposed friends had stripped bare to the memory room, where his eyes fell on the shelf of photos — loved ones who had died during the night of the purple moon — the glass catching the flickering candlelight.

He read the note again.

Joining the crew of news gypsies was the best thing you ever did. We are so proud of you.

Love,

Abby and Touk

Neighbors had told Jordan what had happened while he was away from the island, sailing on the news gypsy vessel,
Lucky Me.
He had bartered news along the east coast. Touk had been so sick with the Pig that Abby and Toby had taken her to Colony East, where they had hoped an adult doctor would treat her. Prior to that, Toby was the only one who had helped Abby and Toucan on the island. Everyone else, including Jordan’s best friend, Eddie, and Abby’s friend, Mel, had avoided them, afraid of catching the Pig. From the Portland Trading Zone, Abby, Touk, and Toby had gotten a ride to Colony East from a boy, Spike, who worked for the fuel king, Martha.

Jordan had to find Spike.

At first light, he picked up his bag of supplies and stepped outside. He stopped on Melrose Street and considered which way to go. The harbor was to the left. If
Mary Queen of Scots
, the boat he had sailed to the island just before the hurricane struck, was still in one piece, he’d sail to the Portland Trading Zone. To the right lived Eddie. Jordan wanted to look Eddie in the eye and ask why he hadn’t helped his sisters, but he headed for the harbor instead.

The strong winds of the storm had deposited mountains of seaweed on Front Street and damaged many of the buildings and storefronts. The big window at Sal’s barbershop was broken. He prayed that
Mary Queen of Scots
had fared better.

He feared the worst at his first view of the harbor. Not one boat was moored in the half-mile stretch between the docks and the jetty.

Jordan stepped onto the dock and headed to the spot where he'd lashed the boat to two pilings, but there was no sign of her mast. What had happened? He peered over the side of the dock. She was there. Barely afloat, her hull filling with water, but she was there. The mast, though, had snapped in half. He figured he could still rig the sail in such a way as to harness the power of the wind. It might take six days to reach Portland, but it was better than being stranded on the island.

He considered another option. A small sailing skiff was moored on the eastern side of the island. He and Eddie had used the boat to teach the little kids how to sail. With some help, he’d be able to carry the skiff across the road and launch from the rocky shore. At the very least, he could take the skiff’s mast and use it on
Mary Queen of Scots
.

He bailed
Mary's
hull, secured new lines, and stowed his backpack in the stern. Then, he started out on the two-hour walk to the eastern shore.

He saw a few kids along the way. All were strangers to him.

A boy who appeared to be about ten ran up to him and pleaded, “Do you have any food? My stomach is killing me.” His eyes were misty from pain.

Jordan’s heart demanded he help. “Sure, I have something for you.”

Jordan gave him directions to
Mary Queen of Scots
. “There are potatoes and smoked fish in a canvas bag. There’s a knife in the pack. Only take half a potato, okay?”

The boy sprinted away, holding his sides.

Jordan continued walking on the road that was soon matted with seaweed and shells. Farther on, he saw a large group of kids gathered at a rocky inlet. The eastern side of the island faced the open ocean, and large waves pounded the shore.

As he drew closer to the group, he saw that they were collecting clams. He had gathered shellfish along this shore many times himself, but he never ate them on the spot, raw, as these kids were doing. Kids were whacking clams on the rocks to crack the shells.

All of a sudden, a fight broke out between two girls. It seemed they had both seen a clam at the same time. Others moved in to separate them.

He arrived at the mansion thirty minutes later. The large rambling house on the hill would always hold a special place in his heart. He had lived here with Abby and Touk and others right after the night of the purple moon. After the Leighs moved out, the mansion had seen many different inhabitants come and go.

Behind the house, resting on its side against a row of rain barrels, was the skiff. The mast was still intact and it would work on
Mary Queen of Scots
, though he could have kicked himself for forgetting to bring pliers. He needed them to remove cotter pins and unbolt the chainplate.

To see if anyone inside the mansion had pliers, he stepped through the front door and came face to face with Eddie. He almost didn’t recognize him. Eddie’s head was shaved, and he had grown a few inches taller.

Eddie raised his hand to give Jordan a high-five. “When did you get back?”

Clenching his fists, Jordan took quick breaths to settle himself. “I need pliers.”

“I’ll get ‘em.”

When Eddie returned with the pliers, Jordan took them without uttering a word, and then turned and headed for the skiff. Eddie tagged along.

“I heard DJ Silver mention you on the radio,” Eddie said. “He played
Here Comes the Sun
. That was your mom’s favorite song, right?”

DJ Silver was in charge of “The Port,” a kid-operated radio station in Mystic, Connecticut. Jordan, recovering nearby at Wenlan’s clinic after his brush with death at the hands of the pirates who sank
Lucky Me
, had wanted to get word to Abby that he was all right. Kids on Castine Island listened to The Port at night when the signal was its clearest. DJ Silver, however, only played music. He never delivered news, but he would do song dedications. So Jordan had asked him to play the Beatles song and dedicate it to Abby and Toucan.

“It’s was my dad’s favorite song,” Jordan said, simmering with anger.

“You need help?” Eddie asked.

Jordan walked around Eddie and yanked the cotter pin from the other stay.

“You leaving again?” Eddie asked.

“Listen, I got it, okay. You can …” Jordan’s voice trailed off because he had nothing else to say to Eddie.

“I can what?” Eddie asked.

Jordan loosened the bolts that secured the chainplate, and then unscrewed each one using his fingers. That freed the mast. Next, he wrapped the stays around the mast and balanced it on his shoulder.

“Let me help you,” Eddie said.

Jordan started walking. The mast was heavy and a rivet cut into his shoulder. His anger erupted, and he flung the mast. It hit the ground and bounced up. Blood pounded in his ears.

“What’s your problem?” Eddie asked.

A knot in Jordan’s chest threw off hot sparks. “My problem! Abby and Touk needed you.”

“They needed
you
. You’re the one who left them to be a news gypsy.”

Breathing fast and shallow, Jordan felt his neck pulsing heavily at a different drumbeat from that in his ears.

He cocked his fist back, lunged, and struck Eddie squarely on the nose.

Following a brief moment of confusion, Eddie clenched his jaw and charged, wildly swinging his fists. One connected with Jordan’s cheek.

Eddie was still coming, and Jordan met the ball of fury head on, both boys grabbing and punching, delivering just as many blows as they received.

Eddie’s eye puffed up and blood streamed from his nose, splattering on both of them. Jordan felt his lip bulging fat, and when he tasted warm, salty liquid, he realized his nose was bleeding too.

He got Eddie in a headlock and squeezed him tightly, but he released the pressure, stunned at how hot Eddie felt.

Eddie wormed his way free, wrapped his arms around Jordan’s waist, and drove him forward. Jordan lost his balance, and Eddie landed on top. Jordan braced for a new round of pummeling, but Eddie rolled off and lay on his back. It was over. They remained like that for a moment without speaking, both breathing hard.

“I was afraid of the Pig,” Eddie said. “We all were. That’s no excuse, I know. I’m sorry. I still think about it a lot. I should have helped them.”

“Yeah, maybe I should have stayed here,” Jordan said.

Eddie pinched his nostrils to stem the trickle of blood. “How could you have known what would happen? I wish I could have gone with you.”

Jordan knew Eddie had wanted to join him on
Lucky Me
, but he had needed to go by himself. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Jordan, I want to go with you. Abby always said that if kids work together, they’re stronger, right?”

He and Eddie had proven that many times. They made a good team. “I’d really like you to come with me.”

Eddie dragged his blood-splattered sleeve across his eyes. “There’s something you need to know. I have the Pig.”

Lieutenant Dawson moved to the window in his living quarters at the Biltmore Hotel where the morning sunlight made it a little easier to see. He unsealed the plastic bag and removed two separate photographs.

Feeling light-headed, he fixed his gaze on his wife, Lisa, and then turned her photo over to review his notes: “Five feet, four inches,” “pink pajamas,” “black and white bathrobe,” “second floor bedroom faces west,” and “elm tree outside window.”

Dawson braced his forearm on the table for stability and added with a fine-tipped marker: Wedding ring with three small diamonds.

Next, the photo of Sarah. In the picture, his daughter was eleven months old, her toothless grin and chubby cheeks frozen in time. With a sob working its way up his throat, he reviewed the back of her photo: “three-years old now,” “small, round birthmark on her elbow,” and “light brown hair.”

He swallowed the sob and unfolded the map he had drawn of Mystic. In the center was the address of the house he had shared with his family prior to the first epidemic. Twenty-three Walpole Avenue. He had traced two different routes from Colony East to the house. He added several details. One block west of his house, at the corner of Walpole and Berkley, he wrote, “International House of Pancakes.” The tall IHOP sign was an excellent landmark.

He returned the map to the bag that he sealed and slipped into his rear pocket.

At 0700 hours, he started for the wing of seven-year-old girls. He knocked on doors, poking his head into each room. “Good morning. Rise and shine. Fall out to the hall.”

Soon, ten girls stood at parade rest in the corridor. Since the power was out, he trailed his flashlight along the ceiling. “At ease. Have a seat.”

Earlier, by radio, Admiral Samuels had ordered Dawson to inform the cadets about the evacuation and determine if any of them showed symptoms of the AHA-B illness.

The girls yawned and rubbed their sleepy eyes.

“I’m proud of how you’ve conducted yourselves over the past three days,” Dawson said. “It’s not easy being cooped up together for so long.”

Cadet William’s hand shot up.

“Tabby, please hold your question.”

She waved her hand and blurted, “Can we go outside today, sir?”

“I’m sorry, but the answer is ‘no.’”

The other cadets responded with a chorus of groans.

Tabby raised her hand again.

Dawson sighed. “What?”

“What happened to Abby?”

The cadet grapevine was alive and well. Abigail Leigh was a mystery to them. Here one day, gone the next.

“Cadet Leigh is at Medical Clinic 17,” he said, hating to lie, but Job One was to keep the cadets focused and calm.

The girls traded glances and were about to ask more questions.

“No more interruptions or everyone will be confined back to quarters when the cooks bring us chow.” The threat brought instant silence.

He told them about the evacuation. The first hand shot up before he had finished.

He sighed and pointed to Cadet Baker. “Let’s start here.”

“Where are we going?” Baker asked.

“Atlanta Colony or Colony West. However, I don’t know which one yet. I’m meeting with Admiral Samuels and the other company leaders later on. I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

They fired more questions at him, and Dawson realized their curiosity and pent up energy were too much to contain.

“When are we going?”

“Tomorrow, or maybe the day after,” he said.

“Sir, I have a lot of friends in Sheraton Company. What if they go to a different colony?”

He nodded, knowing how important friendships were at their age. “My father was in the Navy, and when I was growing up, we’d move to a new base every two years. Each time we had to move, it made me sad, but I soon made new friends. You will too.”

“Can we see our friends before we go?”

“I’ll speak to the admiral about it,” Dawson said.

“What should we pack?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I find out,” he replied.

“Will you still be our company leader?”

He smiled. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Now I have a few questions for you. Is anyone feeling hot or feverish?”

Hands remained at sides.

“Does anyone have a tummy ache?”

Nobody spoke.

Dawson pulled his shoulders back. “Please see me if you don’t feel well at any point. Chow should be here shortly. Dismissed.”

He held similar meetings with the cadets on the second and third floors. After finishing with the fifteen-year-old boys on the fourth floor, he stood outside the living quarters of Jonzy Billings and barked, “Cadet Billings, is that any way for you to make a bed?”

“I can do a better job, sir,” the boy announced loudly as they had arranged earlier.

Dawson stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and removed the bag containing the photo of Sarah from his pocket. He handed it over to Jonzy. “Stow it under the mattress. After chow, study the material in the latrine.”