“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.
NINE
“Tell 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 act
ion. 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.
He strode toward the door but suddenly stopped before going outside. He stood staring at the door as if not sure he should go out.
It wasn’t hard to guess why.
Quinn said, “You don’t quarantine an entire island unless there’s some threat of this thing spreading.”
“Seriously,” I agreed. “The rest of the world is protected, but what about us?”
“I don’t think we have to worry,” Dad said. “You heard what the president said. Very few people are genetically susceptible.”
“So how do we know if we’re genetically susceptible or not?” Quinn asked.
Dad gave Mom a dark look, took a deep breath, and said, “If we are, then it’s probably too late already.”
“Not comforting,” Quinn said gravely.
“But it’s a long shot, right?” I said hopefully. “I mean, odds are against us getting this thing.”
“That’s what it sounds like,” Mom said.
Quinn shook his head. “It won’t matter. People are going to panic. This doesn’t add up. We’ve gotta—”
The TV flickered back to life. What appeared was an image of the front entrance to the Arbortown town hall. On the steps were two SYLO soldiers, standing at attention. In front of them, closer to the camera, was another soldier in fatigues who wasn’t wearing a beret. He had steel-gray hair that was cut short, military style, and he stared right into the camera with such intensity that it was hard to look away. It was as if he was looking right at me. I wondered if everybody else thought the same thing.
“Good afternoon, Pemberwick Island,” the man said with tight precision. “My name is Captain Benjamin Granger. I am the commanding officer of the SYLO division of the United States Navy. I trust that you have all seen President Neff’s address, so you understand the circumstances that brought about this intrusion.”
“Intrusion?” Quinn said. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”
“Yeah,” I added. “A minimally invasive invasion.”
“It is my mission,” Granger continued, “to ensure the safety and well-being of each and every person on Pemberwick Island. I am also charged with securing the island so that during the quarantine period, no individual will leave and no individual will arrive. There will be no exceptions, other than my SYLO team and the scientists from the CDC who will soon arrive to begin the process of identifying and eradicating the threat.”
Granger didn’t waste words. He was a serious, no-nonsense soldier.
“As the president stated, we ask that you go about your business as usual. There should be little or no disruption to your lives.”
“Who is he kidding?” I complained. “I’m feeling pretty disrupted right about now.”
Granger continued, “I ask that you give your full cooperation to the team from the CDC, as well as to the men and women of SYLO who selflessly volunteered for this mission. They are here to help you.”
“Help us what?” Quinn asked. “Not leave?”
“I cannot stress enough,” Granger said, “that this quarantine is absolute. Do not attempt to leave the island. The SYLO team has been instructed to ensure that there is full compliance. That is our mission and we will not fail.”
Quinn shot me a grave look and said, “Is it me, or was that a threat?”
“I will offer periodic updates on the state of the quarantine,” Granger announced. “Our goal is to complete this mission as quickly and painlessly as possible. In large part, that will be up to you. Good luck. Granger out.”
The screen went black and we were once again left staring at static.
“Wow,” I said sarcastically. “What a warm guy.”
“Seriously,” Quinn added. “Why didn’t he just say: ‘Try to leave the island and I’ll fire more tear gas up your—’”
“Quinlan!” Mom admonished.
“Sorry,” Quinn mumbled.
“Look,” Dad said. “We don’t have a whole lot of choices here. Let’s just keep our heads down and ride this out.”
“But how are we supposed to be normal?” I asked. “There’s a virus out there that’s—”
“Potential virus,” Dad corrected.
“Okay, there’s a potential virus out there that’s potentially killing people,” I shot back. “Forget leaving the island. Nobody’s going to leave their house.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Quinn said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The soldiers,” he replied. “They’re not wearing gas masks or hazmat suits. They knew what they were getting into and none of them took any precautions.”
“There you go,” Dad exclaimed. “That proves the threat is pretty slight. The best thing we can do is what the president said. Be patient and act normal.”
“There’s another thing,” Quinn added.
“What’s that?” Mom asked.
“I don’t care what Neff said, there haven’t been a whole lot of deaths. I would have known. Mom and Dad would have said something. Heck, we all would have known. You can’t fart on Pemberwick without people knowing about it.”
“So then what’s the point of the quarantine?” I asked.
Quinn shrugged and said, “I don’t know, but I’ll bet you a nickel there’s more to this story than we’re being told.”
We all shared looks, then Quinn took a quick breath and went for the door. This time he opened it. He leaned out and took a deep, exaggerated breath.
I couldn’t help but wince, as if the action might increase his chances of dropping dead on the spot.
“I don’t smell any killer virus,” he announced. “Later!”
He bounded out of the door, jumped off the porch, and jogged off.
“What do you think, Tucker?” Mom asked cautiously, as if she were afraid of what my reaction might be.
“I don’t know. I guess we just have to ride this out.”
It seemed as though my answer allowed Mom to relax.
“It’s the only thing we can do,” Dad said, agreeing.
He sounded relieved. I wasn’t sure why my reaction made them feel any better, but whatever.
Mom gave me a big hug. “We’ll get through this,” she said, though it sounded as though she was trying to convince herself.
“I’m going to lie down for a while,” I said. “I’m still pretty sore from the game.”
“Take a nap,” Mom said. “We’ll have an early dinner.”
I nodded and went for the stairs. My legs suddenly felt heavy. I needed some downtime. I started climbing the stairs and glanced back at my parents.
They hadn’t moved except that Dad was giving Mom a hug as if to reassure
her that everything would be okay. I realized that they were putting up a good front so I wouldn’t be scared, but they were plenty worried. I was about to continue on when I saw that Mom was crying. She was definitely a whole lot more upset than she was letting on. I started moving again, not wanting to intrude on the private moment. Their reactions made perfect sense, until I heard Mom softly say something that was intended for Dad’s ears only.
“This is it,” she said.
“Sure seems that way,” Dad replied soberly.
I wanted to ask what he meant, but I had already heard more than I wanted to. Besides, they were my parents. They were always looking out for me. If there was something I should know, they would tell me.
So I kept my mouth shut and ran up the stairs.
TEN
Arbortown had become a ghost town.
At Dad’s insistence, he and I went out the next morning to Schatz’s Bakery to get bagels and try to pretend like all was normal, but one look at Main Street proved that it was anything but. The day before, the town had been packed with people enjoying the Lobster Pot Festival. Now, only a few brave souls hurried along the sidewalk while keeping close to the storefronts, as if they might offer some protection against…what? Some people even wore surgical masks. Abandoned festival booths lined the street. Paper napkins blew past overflowing garbage cans. The festive bunting and smiling-lobster banners swung lazily in the offshore breeze as cruel reminders of a happier time. Yesterday.
“Everybody must be hiding under their beds,” I observed.
“That can’t last,” Dad said. “Life has to go on.”
Every so often we’d see a pair of SYLO soldiers strolling together. They weren’t walking with obvious purpose, but it definitely felt as if they were on some sort of patrol. Still, they each made a point of smiling and offering a friendly “Good morning.”