SYLO (THE SYLO CHRONICLES) (20 page)

They lifted Kent up and quickly slid him into the ambulance.

“I’m coming for you, Pierce!” Kent screamed as they closed the doors on him.

Seconds later the Humvees took off, followed by the ambulance with lights flashing and sirens blaring.

Olivia buried her face in my chest and cried. “Why is this happening? What is wrong with them?”

I wasn’t about to stand there and explain the Ruby to her.

“It’s the Pemberwick virus,” I said. “Hopefully they’ll catch it in time.”

Olivia looked at me and through sad, teary eyes said, “I’m never going to leave this island, am I?”

“Why don’t you go to the hospital and try to calm Kent down,” I said.

“No,” she said, backing away as if I’d suggested she pay a visit to a leper colony. “I’m not going anywhere near that place.”

She turned and ran into the house, slamming the door behind her.

“Well,” Quinn said. “We’ve got all sorts of drama going on.”

“The Berringers took the Ruby,” I said. “It’s spreading. Those CDC scientists can’t ignore it anymore. They have to put out an announcement to keep people from using it.”

“They won’t,” Quinn said. “Or they would have already.”

“You think they’re hiding the truth too?” I asked.

“I think the whole bunch of them know what’s going on and they’re doing everything they can to keep the truth from leaving this island.”

“But there’s no way they can keep it secret for long. I mean, people on the mainland are going to start asking questions.”

“Maybe,” Quinn said, sounding grim. “Or maybe this is bigger than we can imagine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s go to my house,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

We left the inn and walked to Quinn’s house without discussing it further. Arbortown was deserted. The stores were all closed. A riot will do that. People must have gone back to their houses to hole up out of fear for what SYLO might do to them if they poked their noses out. I wasn’t worried about the soldiers so much. It was Granger who scared me. He was in charge. He knew it all. And I knew how ruthless he could be.

Worse, he knew I knew.

Quinn’s parents weren’t home. I figured they were doing extra duty at the hospital since so many cases of the Pemberwick virus were being brought in. We went right to Quinn’s room, where he fired up his computer.

“Have you been watching TV?” he asked while the laptop booted up.

“Sure. What else is there to do?”

“Have you noticed that there isn’t much news about Pemberwick
anymore? When the invasion first happened, we were all over the place. I mean, Jimmy Kimmel did a whole sketch about being trapped in preppie prison where everybody was forced to wear bright pink and green and eat deviled eggs. But since those first few days, zip. We’re already old news.”

“What about CNN?” I asked.

“Ahh,
The Pemberwick Report
,” Quinn said as he keyed in some words. “Every night intrepid reporter Dave Storm comes on at exactly six o’clock with a live, up-to-the-minute report on the latest news from our troubled little island. Check this out.”

He brought up a media player and hit “play.” The familiar image of the CNN anchor Dave Storm came up. He sat at a desk in front of a busy newsroom to deliver the evening report on Pemberwick. There was a logo and everything.
The Pemberwick Report.
Quinn let it play, but the sound was muted.

“This was the first report. The day after the invasion. I set the DVR to record them all. You know. It’s history. I transferred it all to my laptop.”

“What’s your point?” I asked impatiently.

Quinn stopped the playback, hit a few more keys, and said, “I edited together a few seconds from every report. Check this out.”

He hit “play” again, and the image of Storm came up from the next day’s report. Everything was exactly the same except for his suit. It played silently for a few seconds and then cut to the next day’s report. Again, it was the same thing, only with Dave Storm wearing yet another different suit.

Quinn said, “I’ve got seven reports here. All live. All recorded one day apart at six o’clock.”

Two more clips went past.

“What am I watching?” I asked. “Is he saying something weird?”

“No,” Quinn replied. “He’s not saying much of anything. It’s all about how SYLO is doing a fantastic job and everybody’s fine. In the later reports he mentions the possibility of a few new cases of the virus, but that’s it. There was definitely nothing about the Ruby.”

“So then what am I looking at?”

Quinn scrolled back to the first report and let it play.

“Check out the digital clock deep inside the newsroom.”

I looked over Storm’s shoulder and saw a red digital clock that read 18:00. Six o’clock, using military time.

“Yeah—so?”

“Keep watching.”

The next clip came up. The clock again read 18:00. The third clip was different. The clock read 2:04.

“Whoa, freeze it,” I said.

Quinn hit “pause.”

“I thought it was live at six o’clock?” I said.

“Yeah, me too. Watch.”

Quinn hit “play.” When the next clip came up the clock read 2:45. The clock in the following clip showed 4:06. The rest were different as well. The clock never read 18:00 again.

“So what does that mean?” I asked.

“It means the reports aren’t broadcast live,” Quinn replied. “They were shot at all different times of the day and then passed off as live.”

“Is that normal?” I asked.

“Not for a live newscast,” Quinn shot back.

“Maybe they pre-taped the reports,” I said. “That’s not a crime, is it?”

“No,” Quinn said patiently. “But it’s weird if they’re calling it live, and so it got me thinking. I watch a lot of TV. I admit it. Don’t judge me. After seeing that clock thing on CNN, I started paying closer attention to what was on in general, and you know what I realized?”

“That you have to stop watching so much TV?”

“Since the day SYLO invaded, there hasn’t been a single new episode of anything. No reality shows. No prime-time shows. No daytime stuff. It’s all reruns. Everything. Even the rest of the news. That’s the weirdest thing. There are no big stories. None. It’s like nothing newsworthy has happened for over a week. All they’re showing is a bunch of fluff stuff like…like…”

“Like it was all recorded a long time ago,” I said.

“Exactly. Nothing we’re seeing is new.”

My head started to spin.

“So that means—”

“It means we’re not only cut off from talking to the outside,” Quinn said. “It means the outside isn’t getting through to us either. We’re totally isolated.”

“I
’ve seen some stuff,” I said tentatively.

“Who hasn’t?” was Quinn’s flip response.

“I mean, stuff I wish I hadn’t.”

“Again, who hasn’t?”

“I saw Granger murder somebody, okay!”

For the second time that day, Quinn was speechless. He sat there staring at me with his mouth hanging open. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about it. Not until we were all safe. But events were spiraling out of control. Safety seemed like a long way off. I wanted another ally.

“Details, please,” was all Quinn finally managed to croak out.

I told him everything. About Tori telling off Feit and how she showed me the horses and the Ruby that washed up on the beach along with the debris from what could have been the exploded shadow. I told him about the cigarette boat that was blown out of the water and the two guys who were hunted down and killed by SYLO soldiers…and by Granger. I also admitted to him that Tori was with me when I turned the Ruby and the wreckage in to the sheriff—and Granger.

He took it all in without a word. His nimble brain was taking each bit of information and placing it into an equation that would hopefully bring us to an answer that made sense. When I had finally gotten it all off my chest, I waited for his response.

Quinn nodded slowly then announced, “I
knew
you liked Tori Sleeper.”

“Seriously?” I shouted. “That’s all you got from that?”

“I’m kidding,” he said, then jumped to his feet and paced. He had gone from passive information gathering to full-on calculation mode.

“Okay, we know we’re being lied to,” he said, his words only a few steps ahead of his brain. “Or at least we’re not getting the whole truth about this so-called Pemberwick virus.”

“I think it’s all about the Ruby,” I declared.

“It can’t be that simple,” Quinn argued. “If that were true, all it would take is one announcement—‘Don’t eat the Ruby’—and poof, no more virus.”

“So then what do you think the Ruby is?”

“No idea,” Quinn said. “I’m more interested in SYLO. They’re grabbing people off the street but we’re only hearing about a few new cases of the virus. And now they’re so desperate to control the quarantine that they’re willing to kill people who try to escape.”

“I think the guy in that cigarette boat was trying to escape,” I said. “I don’t know about those men Granger hunted down and shot on the bluffs.”

“Whatever. It all comes back to the virus, and the reason SYLO is here,” Quinn declared.

“It’s gotta be about the Ruby,” I offered.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Quinn said with frustration. “If the Ruby was causing the virus, why would they keep it a secret?”

“I don’t know! To keep us from panicking,” I shot back. “Look at what happened downtown. Reasonable people turned into an angry mob when they suddenly couldn’t log on to Facebook. Imagine what would happen if everyone found out that we were all…”

I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“What?” Quinn asked. “Being poisoned?”

We let that hang there for a second.

“I don’t buy it,” Quinn said. “There’s gotta be more to the virus than that.”

“But if SYLO truly has no idea of what they’re dealing with, why would all those soldiers volunteer to come here?”

“Who knows?” Quinn replied. “Maybe they were vaccinated. They might be here just to keep us calm until the end.”

“Don’t say that,” I said, sober. “That’s like…beyond horror.”

“So what do
you
think is going on?” Quinn asked. “What exactly
is
the Ruby?”

“I don’t know,” I said quickly. “But you’re right. It comes back to the virus. If we knew more about it, this would all make more sense.”

Quinn gave me a sly smile. I knew that look. It meant he had thought of something that nobody else had…including me.

“What?” I asked.

“I know how we can find out more about the mysterious Pemberwick virus,” he declared.

“How?”

“My parents. They’re doctors at Arbortown Hospital. Dad’s in the ER. They’ve got to know about every case of the virus that’s been brought in.”

“That’s right!” I exclaimed. “What have they said about it?”

“Nothing. They never talk about patients. Confidentiality and all that.”

“But this is a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“I do, but they don’t.”

“So they’re a dead end.”

“No,” Quinn said, once again offering the sly smile. “They might not tell me anything about their patients…but their computers will.”

Minutes later we were on our way to Arbortown Medical. We grabbed bikes from Quinn’s garage and pedaled our way to the far northern end of town along roads that we had all to ourselves. Nobody was out for a casual drive. They were too busy hiding.

I’d only been to the hospital once, when I fell off my bunk bed and broke my wrist. It was a painful memory. The process of resetting bones hasn’t changed since medieval times. It was the longest four seconds of my life.

“Act casual and nobody will question us,” Quinn instructed as we stepped into the lobby.

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” I complained. “How exactly do I act casual?”

“By not acting.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Quinn Carr!” called the elderly woman who sat behind the
information desk at the dead center of the large lobby. “I haven’t seen you around here in ages. You’re growing up to be quite the handsome young man.”

Under his breath Quinn said, “She says the exact same thing every time I see her.”

“Hi, Mrs. Guimond,” he said politely. Then in his most charming voice he added, “Are my parents around? I figure you’re the one to ask since you pretty much run this place.”

The sweet old woman chuckled and gave Quinn a coy smile. He knew the exact right thing to say to get people to do what he wanted. I was beginning to think he really was a brilliant student of human nature.

“Hang on a sec, sweetie,” the woman said. “Let me see.”

She checked her computer monitor, looking over her half eyeglasses.

Quinn leaned in to me and whispered, “She pretends to read the screen so people will think she knows how to use the computer.”

“Nope,” the woman announced. “They’re not checked in. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen them all day. Are you sure they’re scheduled?”

Quinn frowned. “They said they were. You absolutely sure they didn’t check in?”

“Sure as sugar,” she said with a smile.

“Okay, maybe I’m wrong. No worries. I’ve got to get something from their office. Homework.”