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.”
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 cli
ck 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 PEMBERWICK VIRUS.
“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 DECEASED, ADMITTED, and UNDER OBSERVATION.
“Start with deceased,” I said. “We already know about them.”
Quinn clicked on the file and two more file folders appeared. One was marked MARTIN R. WIGGINS, the other PETER NELSON.
“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 ADMITTED,” I suggested. “The Berringers should be listed.”
Quinn closed out one folder and double-clicked on the ADMITTED 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 UNDER OBSERVATION.”
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. br />
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.”