SYLO (THE SYLO CHRONICLES) (10 page)

The reaction was a chorus of boos and shouts as the people literally tried to wave them off. Quinn and I got caught up and shouted along with them, waving our arms and screaming at the invaders to go away. What else could we do?

“This is not an act of aggression,” the voice announced. “We need the streets to be cleared immediately to allow for our landing and everyone’s safety.”

“Let me through!” a guy shouted gruffly as he pushed his way forward through the crowd.

I turned to see Mr. Toll, a lobsterman who was older than dirt, making his way forward, clutching a shotgun.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “Bad idea.”

Mr. Toll was on a mission. He jumped up on the seawall and raised the shotgun.

“Whatever you got, we don’t want any!” he shouted, and before anybody could stop him, he unloaded both barrels.

The ships were too far away for the shots to do any damage. All it did was escalate the situation from confusing to dangerous.

“They’re firing back!” a lady yelled.

Sure enough, a soldier stood on the bow of the gunship and raised a large-bore rifle that looked a good deal more lethal than Mr. Toll’s twelve-gauge. Before anyone could move, the soldier fired.

Several people screamed in terror but nobody was hit.

What the soldier fired was tear gas. The shell exploded not ten
feet from Quinn and me and spewed a cloud of smoke that forced people to scatter. Another shot was fired and a second tear gas canister exploded further along the seawall.

The caustic smoke was already in my eyes, making them burn like I had been rubbing them with hot peppers.

“We gotta get outta here,” I said to Quinn and grabbed his arm to pull him back from the water.

Most people had the same idea. No matter how badly they wanted to defend the town, they were no match for a well-armed military invasion. Kids everywhere were crying as people staggered away from the marina in fear and confusion. A handful of older guys stayed and continued to shout at the boats but it was a futile gesture.

Pemberwick Island was being invaded whether we liked it or not.

“Let’s go to my house,” I shouted to Quinn.

The two of us dodged through the crowd, which wasn’t easy because everyone was moving in a different direction. It didn’t help that festival booths lined the streets. It was bedlam that bordered on panic. People started getting nasty, shoving one another to get out of their way.

“Let’s get off of Main Street,” I said, and pulled Quinn toward a side street.

We didn’t get far because the paratroopers had arrived. They stood at each intersection, blocking the way to keep the people all flowing in one direction out of the downtown area. It was the first good look I got at our invaders.

They were definitely military but with uniforms like I’d never seen before. They wore camouflage fatigues in various shades of
deep red rather than the familiar greens or grays. They also had on dark red berets and black bulletproof vests. Most daunting of all was the fact that they carried wide-bore rifles, held across their chests at the ready. The weapons looked to be the kind that fired beanbags rather than bullets. Or more tear gas. These guys definitely meant business, but at least it didn’t seem like they were ready to kill anybody. They each had a black baton hanging from their belts, along with handcuffs and a few other pouches that contained…I didn’t know what. They seemed to me more like hardcore riot-control policemen than combat troops…not that that explained anything.

“SYLO,” Quinn muttered.

“Huh?”

“The patch on their sleeves.”

Each soldier had a colorful round patch on his left shoulder. The background was green, with a simple yellow design that could have represented a rising sun. Stitched in bold black letters beneath the sun was one word: SYLO. The same rising-sun design was on the front of their berets. On their right shoulders was another patch: an American flag. That at least answered one question. These guys were U.S. military.

They stood at the street intersections, funneling the people in one direction: out of town.

The roar of multiple engines filled Main Street. Quinn and I ducked into the doorway of a store and looked back to see a few stragglers still near the shore. The paratroopers moved them gently yet insistently away from the pier. We soon saw why. They were clearing the way for the landing craft. The amphibious vehicles had
finally arrived and motored up to the town launch until their wheels hit land. The engines whined as they continued up the cement ramp and onto Main Street. I counted ten in all. They roared out of the water and lined up next to one another. On someone’s signal the ramps dropped in front to reveal they were loaded with more SYLO soldiers, all armed with the same riot-control gear as the paratroopers. The soldiers jogged quickly and efficiently out of the landing craft and fanned out as if they had practiced this landing more than once.

“Keep moving, boys,” a soldier called to us as he approached with his rifle still across his chest. “You need to head on home.”

I didn’t want to give him any reason to use the rifle, so I pulled Quinn out of the doorway and we started up the center of Main Street.

“Who are you?” Quinn called to the guy as we backed away. “What do you want?”

The soldier didn’t answer.

We were the last people to leave Main Street. There was us and what looked to be about five hundred soldiers. We picked up the pace and started jogging toward my house. Overhead, more helicopters roared past, giving the impression that not only was the town secured and under control, but the sky over the island was too. We already knew that the invaders controlled the sea.

The reality of the situation was clear, but incredible: Pemberwick Island had been invaded by a mysterious branch of the United States military.

“This can’t be happening,” Quinn said, out of breath, as we jogged toward my house.

“Yeah, it can,” I replied. “But what is ‘it’?”

We didn’t say another word until we got to my house. Mom and Dad were both there and nearly collapsed with relief when they saw us.

“Oh thank God,” Mom cried.

She hugged me so hard I could barely breathe. I felt pretty sure that after all this she wouldn’t stress over football anymore.

“I’ll call Quinn’s parents to tell them he’s here and safe,” Dad said.

He grabbed the phone, punched the speed dial, and waited.

“Doesn’t work, does it?” I said. “Our cell phones don’t work either.”

“What about TV?” Quinn said.

I found the remote and hit the power button. The TV came on but there was only static.

Mom said, “We can’t get online either.”

“So what do we do?” I asked.

Dad was the most calm. Surprisingly so, considering that I doubt he’d ever experienced a military takeover before.

“What we
don’t
do is panic,” he warned. “There has to be a logical explanation.”

The four of us stood there, staring at one another, unable to come up with one.

“Another guy died,” I announced. “A guy in the regatta.”

“Oh no,” Mom said with a gasp.

“Nothing to do with the invasion?” Dad asked with concern.

“I don’t think so. He died at the helm and crashed his boat,” I said.

“That’s when everything hit the fan,” Quinn added.

The TV suddenly came to life. The annoying static ended and was replaced by a simple card that read: PLEASE STAND BY. The four of us ran to the screen and stared at the words. I willed the TV to show us a picture. I needed some proof that the rest of the world was still functioning normally. It could have been
Phineas and Ferb
for all I cared.

A full five minutes went by. I was about to give up when the screen flickered and a new image appeared. An impossible image, though the man on screen was about as familiar as could be. He stood behind a podium, prepared to address the world.

“Good afternoon,” he said in grave, measured tones. “I’m here today to speak to all Americans, but in particular to the residents and visitors on Pemberwick Island, Maine.”

Hearing him say those words was almost as shocking as having been through the invasion. It wasn’t every day that you were spoken to directly by the president of the United States.

“T
ell me this is a dream,” Quinn mumbled.

President Richard E. Neff stood behind a podium that had the seal of the president of the United States displayed boldly in front.

Why do people always say a president’s middle initial? It’s not like you could mistake them for somebody else. Same thing with serial killers. Hopefully there’s no correlation.

“Today at noon, a special task force attached to the United States Navy, known as SYLO, under my direction, landed troops on Pemberwick Island,” the president announced gravely. “This is an unprecedented action but one that I approved for the following reason: The CDC in Atlanta—the Centers for Disease Control—requested the action following reports of several deaths on the island that by all accounts were natural but, as of this moment, unexplainable. The fear is that there is an unknown viral threat that has manifested itself on Pemberwick Island.”

“Holy jeez,” I said with a gasp. “Were there more deaths we didn’t hear about?”

Neff was an older guy with short gray hair and piercing blue eyes. He always came across as easygoing, but at that moment he looked pretty intense. I guess that’s what happens when you order an invasion of your own country. He spoke slowly and clearly, making sure that everyone understood exactly what was happening.

“This action is about creating a swift and airtight quarantine of the island so that the cause of these deaths can be identified and eradicated while preventing the possibility of the threat from spreading to the mainland.”

“Yikes,” Quinn said. “I guess the soldiers are the least of our problems.”

Dad had his arm around Mom and hugged her close.

“Until the CDC can do their work and neutralize this potential threat,” the president continued, “Pemberwick Island will be under strict quarantine. Ferry and air service has been suspended. No private boats will be allowed to leave or land, including commercial fishing boats. I understand that Pemberwick is a vacation destination and there are many visitors who are now stranded there. Of course this is an unfortunate and regrettable situation. To you folks, please know that you will be compensated and your living expenses will be taken care of for the duration of the time that you spend under quarantine.”

I immediately thought of Olivia. If she was upset about being trapped here before, this was going to make her head explode. And what about her mother? Was she stuck on the mainland?

The president continued, softening his tone. “I want to stress that we don’t believe there is an imminent danger to anyone on Pemberwick. No one in authority believes that this infectious agent
is easily spread. Our actions are of an overly cautious nature. In spite of the dramatic nature of the SYLO presence, I urge everyone to remain calm.”

“Ha,” Quinn cackled. “Easy for
him
to say.”

Neff continued, “Early investigation has shown that the cause of these deaths may have as much to do with genetics as with any infectious agent. In other words, the victims may have been genetically predisposed to be susceptible to what might possibly be a deadly agent. There is little chance that anyone else on Pemberwick is in danger. However, when considering the larger threat to the rest of the country, and the world, we have chosen the prudent path by initiating a total quarantine in order to stop the threat in its tracks.”

I asked the screen, “So are we in trouble or not?”

The president didn’t answer.

“No apology would be adequate to give to the people on Pemberwick for this sudden and, I’m sure, frightening invasion of their home,” the president said. “I deeply regret having to make this decision, but I firmly believe that it is the correct one. The SYLO team will be setting up their operations in a central part of the island. The CDC will use this location as a base to conduct their research and bring an end to this problem as quickly and safely as possible. I will ask two things of the people on Pemberwick. First, as impossible as this sounds right now, please try to go about your life as normally as possible.”

“Ha!” Quinn shouted.

“The SYLO team will do everything in their power to keep the intrusion as minimally invasive as possible. Second, please be patient and give your full cooperation to Captain Granger and his
SYLO team. They are there to help you. This swift action was taken without warning, I understand that. But it was the most prudent way to proceed in order to completely ensure that the quarantine would be effective and complete. Again, I apologize for creating such a disturbance to your lives and trust that you appreciate the importance of this action. I know there will be some confusion at first, but every effort will be made to keep you aware of changes as the situation develops. I thank you for your understanding, and your patience. God bless you, God bless Pemberwick Island, and God bless America.”

The picture faded to black and was soon replaced by static.

The four of us stood staring at the TV. I couldn’t even begin to process the information we had just been given, and I’d bet there were a whole lot of people staring at a whole lot of televisions feeling the exact same way.

“Well,” Dad finally said with ironic cheer. “Other than that, how was the festival?”

Mom gave him a shove. “Not funny.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Quinn said. “How many people died? There was Marty, but Mr. Nelson just died a little while ago. The order to quarantine the island must have been given long before that.”

“Maybe your parents know,” I offered.

Quinn grabbed his cell phone and punched in a number. “Still no service,” he announced. “Everybody must be doing the exact same thing and crashed the system.”

I added, “And we’re supposed to act all normal, as if nothing is going on?”

“That’s what the president said,” Mom offered weakly. “What else can we do?”

“I gotta find my parents,” Quinn announced.