SYLO (THE SYLO CHRONICLES) (21 page)

Before she could respond, Quinn grabbed my arm and hurried me past the desk.

“Wait, I’ll write you a pass,” Mrs. Guimond said.

“That’s okay, we won’t be long,” Quinn said and kept us moving.

“Shouldn’t we get a pass?” I asked him.

“Not if we don’t want any record that we were here,” Quinn said softly.

“What about your parents?” I asked. “I thought you said they were working today.”

“That’s what they told me,” Quinn said. He sounded troubled.

“Maybe she made a mistake,” I offered.

“Nah. Mrs. G may be a little dizzy, but she doesn’t miss a trick. If she says they aren’t here, they aren’t. What I want to know is why they said they were coming to work and didn’t.”

I didn’t want to speculate on the answer. There were too many bad scenarios.

Quinn led us quickly to a stairwell and down two flights to the ground floor and the emergency room, where his parents worked. A few people were being treated for what looked like scrapes and bruises. I wondered if they had gotten them on Main Street when the SYLO soldiers turned the hoses on the crowd. We didn’t stop to ask and kept moving down a long corridor of offices until we reached the end, and the office that was shared by Dr. and Dr. Carr, Quinn’s parents. Quinn gave a quick glance back toward the ER. There was nobody in sight so he opened the door and we slipped inside.

“Lock it,” he said as he hurried to one of the desks and fired up the computer. “Let me know if anybody’s coming.”

I twisted the lock and positioned myself near the door where I could see the corridor through the window.

“Doesn’t the computer have security?” I asked.

“Sure,” Quinn said as he keyed in a code. “High security. The passcode is my birthday. Then they each have their own personal codes…their birthdays. My parents may be great doctors but they’re clueless when it comes to computers. Got it!”

“Got what?”

“I’m on the secure hospital file server. I use the term
secure
with full sarcasm.”

“What’s there?” I asked while keeping an eye on the corridor.

“Everything. Schedules, budgets, equipment requests, even the cafeteria’s recipes. You name it. If it has to do with this hospital, it’s in here.”

“And what exactly are you looking for?”

Quinn continued to click through screens while he talked.

“The charts on the patients with the Pemberwick virus,” he replied.

“Aren’t you breaking a few dozen laws by looking through people’s personal medical history?”

“Absolutely. Ethical, moral, and criminal. But as far as anybody knows, my dad is the one who logged on and he’s allowed.”

A doctor hurried past the far end of the corridor and I ducked back so he wouldn’t see me.

“Whatever you’re doing, do it fast,” I said.

“Here, I got it,” Quinn declared. “Man, I am good.”

I couldn’t resist and hurried to the computer. Quinn was scrolling down a long list of file folders and came upon one that read P
EMBERWICK
V
IRUS
.

“That was easy,” I said.

“I told you, security is not their strength.”

Quinn dragged the folder onto the desktop and double-clicked it. The next level of files opened up, showing three different folders. They were marked D
ECEASED
, A
DMITTED
, and U
NDER
O
BSERVATION
.

“Start with deceased,” I said. “We already know about them.”

Quinn clicked on the file and two more file folders appeared. One was marked M
ARTIN
R. W
IGGINS
, the other P
ETER
N
ELSON
.

“That’s them,” I said. “Both dead.”

“Yeah, let’s see what the medical report said.”

Quinn clicked on the Nelson folder. It opened to reveal…nothing.

“How can it be empty?” I asked.

Quinn quickly clicked on Marty’s folder. It, too, was empty.

“Weird,” Quinn declared. “This should have all of their information, from the doctor’s evaluation to a death certificate and the autopsy report.”

“Check out A
DMITTED
,” I suggested. “The Berringers should be listed.”

Quinn closed out one folder and double-clicked on the A
DMITTED
folder. A new window opened. Quinn and I stared at it, neither comprehending what we were seeing.

“I don’t get it,” he finally said.

“Where are the files?” I asked.

“There
are
no files,” Quinn shot back. “According to this, not a single person with the Pemberwick virus has been admitted.”

“But they were,” I argued. “What about all those people that SYLO grabbed? And the Berringers?”

“I know,” Quinn replied with frustration. “That’s what I don’t get. I’ll check U
NDER
O
BSERVATION
.”

He closed out the file and opened the final folder. The result was the same.

“How can that be?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Quinn said, sounding shaken.

“Maybe there’s some kind of medical setup at the SYLO camp,” I offered.

“Then why did my parents tell me that all the suspected cases were being brought here? And those paramedics told us they were bringing the Berringers here.”

We both stared at the blank screen, hoping that it would provide some other clue.

“There has to be a mistake,” I said. “Are you sure this is the only record of patients for the hospital?”

“Yes!” Quinn shouted impatiently. “And it’s not just for this hospital. This is the database for the entire island. Even if patients were taken to some other place, the information would be entered here.”

I said, “Do you think that SYLO is hiding the information? Like a cover-up?”

“Maybe,” Quinn said tentatively. “There’s one other possibility.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

Quinn turned from the screen and looked at me. His face was gleaming with nervous sweat and his heavy glasses had slipped down to the end of his nose.

“Maybe there
is
no Pemberwick virus,” he said softly.

“Dr. Carr?” came a voice from the corridor.

We both froze.

There was a knock on the door.

“Dr. Carr?” the man’s voice called again.

This time he tried the doorknob. Quinn shot me a questioning glance. I nodded quickly—I had locked the door. Did the guy have a key? Four seconds went by. Four seconds that felt longer than when they had reset my broken wrist.

Finally, the guy gave up, and we heard footsteps walking away.

Without a word Quinn logged off the computer and shut it down. After a quick check to make sure nothing was out of place, we headed out. Neither of us spoke as we cautiously opened the door, checked that nobody was in the corridor, and hurried back through the ER.

“Quinn!” a man’s voice called.

Quinn’s back went straight as if he’d been hit with a cattle prod.

A guy dressed all in white and with a name tag on his shirt approached us. He looked like a staff guy, not a doctor.

“Hey, is your dad scheduled today?” he asked. “I’ve got some requisition forms for him to sign.”

I willed Quinn to hold it together and think fast.

“You know,” Quinn said, sounding way more casual than he deserved to, “I thought he was, but I can’t find him. He must be around somewhere.”

“No problem,” the guy said. “I’ll catch him tomorrow.”

The guy hurried off and we could breathe again. The two of us did all we could to keep from running out of there. We hit the stairs, climbed back to the lobby, and hurried out the front door without stopping to say goodbye to Mrs. Guimond.

Once outside, we finally gave in and started running. We grabbed the bikes, blasted out of the parking lot, and didn’t stop pedaling until we hit the war memorial on the edge of the village green.
There, we finally dumped the bikes and sat on the edge of the large cement sculpture that had the engraved names of all the war dead from Pemberwick. We were both breathing hard and trying to catch our breath when I looked up at the long list of names…and was hit with an odd thought: All those guys had died fighting for our country. I wondered what any of them would have done if they had been asked to be part of an outfit like SYLO.

“Why did my parents lie?” Quinn said, gulping for air. “What do they know?”

“Don’t get all paranoid,” I cautioned. “They’re probably just as clueless as the rest of us.”

“No,” Quinn shot back. “My dad doesn’t miss a thing. Neither does Mom. They’re like…like surgeons. That’s how precise they are. No wasted effort. No wasted words. They say what they mean with no room for wiggle. They said they were both going to work.”

“So maybe something came up.”

“Sure. Okay. Possible. But they’ve definitely been lying about the virus patients. Why would they do that unless…” His voice trailed off.

“Unless what?” I asked.

“Unless they’re hiding something,” Quinn declared. “Tuck, could they be involved with this somehow?”

“No,” I answered quickly, then thought for a second. “I mean, that’s crazy. Right?”

He didn’t answer.

My mind raced ahead, trying to understand what it was we had uncovered, and what to do with the information. There was nobody to turn to. The sheriff was useless, we were cut off from the
rest of the world, and the people who were supposedly protecting us were the ones keeping all the secrets.

“We gotta tell my parents,” I finally declared. “I didn’t want to before but this is getting out of control.”

“What can they do?” Quinn asked, skeptically.

“I don’t know!” I shouted. “But I don’t want to deal with this alone anymore.”

“Okay. Right. I’m with you.”

We had gotten our wind back enough to get on the bikes and ride to my house. It felt good to focus on riding. It helped keep my thoughts from spinning out of control, kind of like our midnight rides. My entire focus was on getting home, dumping everything I knew on my parents, and getting some sage parental advice that would help us figure out the right thing to do. That’s what parents did. It was their job. I was actually starting to feel a little bit better…

…until we turned the corner onto my street.

“Oh, crap,” Quinn muttered.

Two black Humvees were parked in front of my house.

My stomach hit the sidewalk.

“They must be looking for you,” Quinn said.

I didn’t know if that was true or not but wanted to find out before they knew I was there. We walked behind my neighbor’s house, past the hedge that bordered my backyard, and right to my back door. We dumped the bikes out of sight, then followed in reverse the route that I always took when sneaking out of my room at night for our midnight rides. I climbed onto the porch, shinnied up the column that held up the roof, and snuck across the shingled surface to my window. I was in my bedroom in under a minute.
Quinn followed seconds later. We quietly moved across my room to the door. Luckily it was open a crack. From there we could hear what was happening in the living room below.

My parents were there. I recognized their voices. But I also recognized another voice.

“It is absolutely imperative that we find them,” the man said. “Both of them.”

A chill rolled up my spine. It was Captain Granger. He was in my house. Talking to my parents.

Quinn saw the look on my face and turned pale. There was no way to know how many other SYLO soldiers were in the room, but there had to be at least one since there were two Humvees parked outside.

“I have no idea where he could be,” Dad said.

“This is a critical moment,” Granger added. “All signs indicate that the event is imminent. The arks have all been secured. If there’s any trouble here on Pemberwick Island, then—”

“You don’t have to remind us,” Mom said. “We get it. All too well.”

I shot Quinn a look. His eyes were already wide behind his thick glasses.

What event? What were they talking about? What were arks? More importantly, how would
my mother
know about any of it?

“There were no casualties during the rogue insurrection this afternoon,” Granger said. “But I can’t promise that being the case the next time, especially if your son starts riling folks up.”

My knees went weak. My fears were correct. I was square in Granger’s sights.

Mom said, “You could be mistaken.”

“There was no mistake, Mrs. Pierce,” Granger shot back curtly. “We have the satellite intel. It was your son and the Sleeper girl who witnessed our ambush of the rogues out near the Sleeper house. I only wish we had seen them at the time.”

I had to hold my breath to keep from letting out a gasp. We were done. Granger knew we had seen him kill those men—and apparently so did my parents.

Granger continued, “This island is a powder keg and the fuse is burning quickly. If those two children start throwing accusations around, it will get very ugly very fast and it will be well within my mission to use whatever countermeasures are necessary to keep the peace.”

Dad said, “When he gets home, you’ll be the first to know.”

I knew that tone. His teeth were clenched in anger as he fought to keep from boiling over.

“I can’t wait for that,” Granger declared. “We’re going to find them.” It sounded as though Granger had stood up and was headed for the door.

“You mean like you found that Feit person?” Dad called sarcastically.

My head started to spin. Dad knew about Feit too! He knew everything!

“We’ll find him as well,” Granger shot back. “This entire operation is about timing. I want to minimize casualties but if your son interferes—”

“He won’t,” Dad assured him.

“I need you to understand,” Granger said sternly. “There is far too
much at stake here to jeopardize our mission by protecting them.”

“We understand,” Dad shot back sharply. “We’ve all worked too hard and too long to let this get out of hand now. I can’t speak for the Sleeper girl but you won’t have to worry about Tucker.”

“I’m going to make sure of that,” Granger said. It sounded like a threat.

Someone’s cell phone chirped. I didn’t think for a second that phone service had been restored to everyone. It had to be one of the SYLO guys.