SYLO (THE SYLO CHRONICLES) (38 page)

“That one,” Kent said, pointing to the largest of the set. “That’ll fly.”

“No,” Tori said with authority as she sized up the rest. “I told you, we can’t outrun them. We have to be able to maneuver, and that thing looks like a pig.”

“A fast pig,” Kent argued.

“Sure, if we were taking a single heading,” Tori shot back. “We’re going to need more options.”

“Listen to her, Kent,” Olivia said. “She’s, like…a boat person.”

Tori made a quick appraisal of the small fleet and said, “That one.”

Without waiting for anybody’s approval, she hurried for the chosen boat. It was on the far right end, which made it easier to access. I have to admit that I wasn’t so sure about her choice at first. It was a V-hull open-deck sport boat, about thirty-seven feet long with a center console and two padded pilot seats. There weren’t any bells and whistles. All the boats were simple craft that were built for performance, not comfort. Mr. Sleeper and his rogues must have scoured the island until they found the five fastest boats on Pemberwick. Tori’s choice looked like it could maneuver well enough, but at first glance it didn’t look to have the same horsepower as the other, bigger craft.

That is, until we climbed on board.

“Wow,” Kent said. “Never saw a rig like that.”

The boat was powered by four identical 250-horsepower Mercury engines. Any one of them would have provided enough horsepower to make the boat fly. I couldn’t imagine what they would do together.

“You say we can’t outrun the Navy,” I said. “But this gives us a shot.”

Tori was focused on the console, familiarizing herself with the controls.

“That’s not why I picked it,” she said. “I want to maneuver.”

“Can we go now?” Olivia asked.

“Cast off the line,” Tori commanded.

I jumped to the stern to see that all the boats were anchored to a spot deep within the cave. I cast off the line and tossed it to shore.

“Clear,” I announced. “It’s deep enough to turn the props.”

Tori fired up the first engine. Its low, throaty growl boomed through the cave and rattled my gut. She started each of the others in turn. The power these motors put out was almost scary.

“Kent, walk us out of here,” Tori commanded.

Kent went to the starboard side, reached over the rail, and walked his hands along the rail of the next boat over to move us forward.

I sat down on the stern bench and looked forward as we slowly slipped from the protection of the cave. There was nothing for me to do but go for a ride. It was a sobering moment.

This was it. Our last shot. We were going to make a run for the mainland in broad daylight. There was no halfway. No moral victory to be had. No Plan B. We were either going to make it…or die.

I felt strangely at peace, much like I had felt that morning as I watched the sun rise. The plan may have changed but the feeling that I had that morning remained true. This was the end game. It was an oddly peaceful feeling, though I knew it was the calm before the storm. The final storm. One way or another, it would soon be over.

I thought of Quinn and said, “
This
is the Pemberwick Run.”

“Buckle up,” Tori barked.

The boat crept into the sun, slipping out from its hiding place, purring, ready to launch. I got up and sat next to Tori, who was buckling her seat belt. What kind of boat had seat belts? It was yet another clue that we were in for a wild ride. I sat to her right and did the same. Kent and Olivia sat directly behind us on the seat that ran the width of the stern. They too buckled in.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Kent called.

“I don’t see anybody else on board who knows more,” was Tori’s cocky reply.

I had total faith in her, and in her father’s opinion. He said that if anybody could pilot a boat through a crapstorm, it was Tori. I also put faith in Quinn’s opinion. Tori could sure as hell tie knots.

“Ready?” she asked me.

“Absolutely,” I replied.

Tori turned her baseball cap backward and hit the throttles. The engines roared, the boat lurched forward—and the crack of a rifle cut through it all. I spun around to look back at the bluff to see a SYLO sharpshooter sitting on top, with his rifle trained on us.

“They’re here!” I shouted over the roar of the engines. “That must have been the guy who got Feit.”

I looked at Tori. She was slumped over the wheel.

“Tori?” I called.

She didn’t answer.

A blossom of blood was growing on her back, soaking her shirt.

M
y brain locked.

I didn’t know if I should shake her or scream for help or grab the wheel. I probably should have done all three, but I felt as though I’d been hit in the head with a baseball bat.

It was the second gunshot that pulled me back into the moment. I heard a
crack
and then the fiberglass console directly between the two of us was shattered by the impact of a bullet.

“Kent!” I shouted.

Turning around I saw that both Olivia and Kent were huddled down on the seat, beneath the stern rail and the engines.

“She’s hit, help her!” I screamed.

He didn’t move.

“Now!”

I tried to gently pull Tori back off the wheel but this was no time for being careful. We were flying over the water’s surface under full power and nobody was steering. First priority was to take control.

Kent finally came forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.

Tori moaned in pain.

“What do I do?” he cried. He was near brain-lock as well.

“Get her back there and lay her on the deck,” I screamed. “And stay low!”

He unbuckled her seat belt, then reached under her arms and dragged her off the seat. I didn’t have time to worry about her. We were under attack. I undid my own seat belt and slid into the captain’s chair.

“She’s bleeding!” Olivia cried, as if she was more worried about getting blood on her clothes than about Tori’s life.

“Get us outta here!” Kent yelled.

Thank you, stater-of-the-obvious.
I hoped that with each passing second we were getting further out of range of the sharpshooter. Just to be sure, I made a short turn to keep from traveling in a perfectly straight line and making us a perfectly easy target. I barely touched the wheel and the boat responded instantly.

“Whoa, easy!” Kent hollered.

Tori had called it. This boat could maneuver. The slightest adjustment made a dramatic turn.

No more shots followed. We were definitely out of range. But now I was the captain of the boat so I set a course that would take us out of the mouth of the bay. Chinicook was north of Pemberwick Island and the bay was to the northernmost shore of Chinicook. All I could think to do was get out of the bay, round the top of the island, and then head west, staying as close to the island for protection for as long as possible before turning into the open sea and the five-mile crossing to the mainland. It was the best I could come up with.

“How is she?” I called back.

“I don’t know,” Kent replied. “She’s bleeding bad. Front and back. The bullet must have traveled straight through her shoulder.”

“It freakin’ hurts,” Tori moaned out.

She was conscious. At least that was something.

“Put pressure on it to stop the bleeding,” I ordered. “Then find something to bandage it.”

I didn’t know anything about bullet wounds, but it seemed like Tori may have caught a break if the bullet went through her shoulder without hitting anything vital—like her heart or her lungs. If she could talk, I had to believe we had some time to get her help. But where? There were no hospitals in the ocean, and we definitely weren’t going back to Arbortown. It made getting to Portland all the more critical.

“What do I use?” Kent cried. “There aren’t any bandages back here!”

“Look under the seats,” I ordered.

Olivia responded and started lifting up cushions. It wasn’t an easy job because we were bouncing over the swells, but she stayed focused.

“Here!” she exclaimed and pulled out a first-aid kit.

“There’s gotta be gauze or something,” I said. “Pack the wound and then use a bandage to tie it up.”

“Got it, got it,” Kent said. “Jeez, there’s blood everywhere.”

“So shut up and stop it,” Tori ordered.

It was good to hear her voice. She was with us and alert. But for how long?

We were nearing the mouth of the bay. It was time to turn but I
had no idea how shallow the bottom was. The last thing I wanted to do was run aground or hit a rock, like I did the last time I was in command of a boat. To be safe I steered a wide course that I hoped would get us out of the bay.

I kept glancing back to see how Tori was doing and was surprised to see Olivia really stepping up.

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” she said to Tori, though it sounded like a lie to make her feel better. “It looks like the bullet went clean through. We’ll stop the bleeding and you’ll be okay.”

She gingerly took off Tori’s sweatshirt and then her flannel shirt to reveal the wound. Olivia used some alcohol on cotton pads to clean it up. It actually seemed as though she knew what she was doing. Once the blood was wiped away, the wound didn’t look quite so bad.

“Jeez,” Kent said. “It really did go clean through. It’s just a hole on either side.”

“Yeah, a hole that’s bleeding,” Tori pointed out.

Olivia made two thick pads out of gauze and placed one in front on the wound just below her collarbone and the other on her back, just inside of her bra strap.

“Get the bandage,” she instructed Kent.

There was an Ace bandage for wrapping sprained ankles that Olivia used to hold the gauze pads in place. She wound it under Tori’s armpit, covering both gauze pads.

“Sorry, I’ve got to make it tight,” she said to Tori kindly. “It’s the only thing that’ll stop the bleeding.”

Tori said, “It’s like you’ve done this before.”

“You learn all sorts of things in the Girl Scouts,” Olivia answered casually.

“Really?” Tori said. “I don’t remember going for the gunshot-wound merit badge.”

Olivia wrapped the bandage several times around then secured it with adhesive tape.

“I think that’s got it,” Kent declared.

“I do too,” Olivia said.

“Looks like you really dodged a bullet,” Kent said. “So to speak.”

“Shut up, Kent,” Tori barked. Then looked to Olivia and softened. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Olivia replied, then staggered to the side of the boat, leaned out, and puked.

Kent gave me a surprised look and a shrug.

Olivia could have puked on my shoes for all I cared. She had earned it. Fixing up Tori like that was probably the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life, but she didn’t back down. It gave me new respect for her. She wasn’t the liability I thought she would be.

With Tori stable I turned my attention to the hardest thing
I
was ever going to have to do—getting us somewhere safe. I hadn’t seen any trace of the other boat that had blasted off before us. They must have taken another route. Or maybe it was already on the bottom of the sea.

I worried that the helicopters might come after us, but there was nothing in the air. As far as I could tell, we were alone on the ocean.

There was a moment…a perfect moment of peace in which I allowed myself to believe that we were only small fish in the general scheme of things. Granger had invaded the rebel camp and had either killed or captured most of the people he was after. The
revolution had been squashed; his hold on the island was secured. Did that mean we didn’t matter to him anymore? It was a nice thought that I tried to convince myself was true.

We were approaching the northernmost spot of Chinicook. Once we rounded the point and turned west, we’d be able to see the mainland five miles away and begin our run to freedom. I gripped the wheel and gently eased the hurtling boat into a turn. The craft responded instantly. Tori had chosen well. I looked ahead to see the rocky promontory that was the tip of Chinicook. I had to be careful not to cut it too close. I eased the wheel to port, made the gentle turn and…

…my moment of peace instantly vanished.

“Oh my God,” Kent said with an incredulous gasp.

Though we were facing due west, we couldn’t see the mainland because the view was blocked by a line of naval warships that stretched across the horizon for miles.

“Please tell me this is a bad dream,” Olivia muttered.

There was every kind of ship imaginable: cruisers, destroyers, assault ships, frigates…it looked like the entire Atlantic fleet had arrived at the Maine coast. Pemberwick Island was blockaded. Access to the mainland was completely cut off.

“Turn back,” Kent said.

I didn’t react to his demand. I think I might have been in shock.

“Turn back!” Kent screamed into my ear.

“Why?” I yelled back at him. “To end up back in that prison?”

“Tori needs help,” Olivia announced. “We can get her to a hospital on the island.”

“We
all
need help,” Kent argued. “They’re gonna blow us out of the water!”

“Stop, all right,” I shouted. “I gotta think.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Kent shouted. “This is suicide.”

“No,” Tori called in a weak voice. “Going back is suicide. Out here we’ve got a chance.”

“Seriously?” Kent replied. “There’s us—and the entire freakin’ Navy. What kind of chance is that?”

As we argued, we continued to speed toward the fleet. It was hard to tell how far away the ships were. A mile? Two miles?

“My father died fighting back against SYLO,” Tori said. “He didn’t give up and neither will I.”

“Hey, my father’s gone too,” Kent yelled back. “We’ve all lost family. Except Tucker. His parents are fine. They’re working for the bad guys.”

I let go of the wheel and nailed Kent with a punch that sent him to the deck.

“Stop it!” Olivia shouted in tears.

I grabbed the wheel again and kept us heading west—toward the blockade.

“That’s just great,” Kent said, rubbing his sore jaw. “Are you
trying
to get us killed?”

As I stood at the wheel, I honestly didn’t know what I was trying to do. Going back meant prison, assuming we even made it to shore without getting shot or blown out of the water. Going forward meant sailing into the teeth of the Navy. There was no third option. I didn’t think that the situation could get any worse until—