“C’mon!” Tori called impatiently over the rumble of the engines.
I unlashed the stern line of the Tori Tickle, tossed it on the deck, then ran forward and released the bow line. Both boats were now drifting free in the pond. I jumped on board and stood behind Tori, who manned the large, chrome wheel.
“Nice and easy,” she said as she reached forward with both hands to grasp the dual engine throttles. She pushed both ahead gently and the engines rumbled louder.
We were under way.
I looked ahead through the Plexiglas windshield of the wheelhouse out to the horizon. It was still light but growing darker by the moment. That was good. By the time we maneuvered through the twists and turns of the lagoon to reach the ocean, it would be near dark. That’s when the real fun would begin. For a moment I let myself believe that everything would be okay. We would get away from the island and make it to the mainland without a problem. I didn’t want to think any further ahead than that. One step at a time. I settled in and took comfort in the familiar sounds of a rumbling engine and the far-off cry of seagulls.
My moment of optimism vanished when my eye caught something leaning against the console to Tori’s right. It was the shotgun. I hoped to God that we wouldn’t have to use it.
Tori stood straight at the wheel, her eyes focused on the course ahead. She had the brim of her USM cap pulled down low, though there was no sun to block anymore. It was probably out of habit. Or maybe that was just her style. Tori wasn’t exactly an open book. But she was an experienced sailor. She guided the Tori Tickle with confidence through the labyrinth of waterways that twisted through the marsh grass toward the sea. The tide was high, so I didn’t think there was much chance of grounding. At least we had that going for us. Still, she kept the small boat directly in the center of the narrow channel, just in case.
I caught the faint smell of lemons. It reminded me that, as confident as she was, part of her was self-conscious as well. It made me like her all the more, but at that moment I didn’t need her to be self-conscious. I needed her to be steely eyed and focused.
I glanced back to see the Patricia slowly drifting away from the dock. Quinn wouldn’t be following for another few minutes.
“I hope he knows the way out,” I said.
“He can follow our wake,” Tori said without breaking her focused gaze. “We hit this just right. There’s just enough light for me to navigate out of here and by the time we hit open water it’ll be dark.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re as good as home free.”
She gave me a quick, sharp glance. She didn’t appreciate my sarcasm.
The boat was a thirty-five-foot workhorse that was used for one purpose: catching lobsters. Quinn and I knew the routine all too well. There were empty bins on the deck behind the wheelhouse that normally held bait or the day’s catch. Bait would be put into a mesh bag and stuck in steel-cage traps. The traps would be lowered overboard and marked with a buoy. Every lobsterman had his own colors, so everyone knew whose was whose. After a few days, they’d travel back and haul them up with a winch to see how many dumb lobsters had wandered inside. They’d be measured to make sure they weren’t undersized and the lucky runts would be tossed back overboard. The bigger boys would have their claws strapped with rubber bands so they wouldn’t kill each other, and then they were all dumped into the deeper plastic bins that were filled with seawater to await the market and an eventual date with melted butter. The traps would be rebaited and dropped over to once again lie in wait. It was a Maine dance that had been going on forever. I couldn’t help but wonder if the tradition would continue on Pemberwick when things got back to normal.
Actually, I couldn’t help but wonder if things would get back to normal.
“You like lobstering?” I asked Tori, trying to make small talk that would take my mind off the steadily growing tension.
“If you had asked me that a couple of weeks ago, I would have told you how much I hated it.”
“And now?”
She shrugged. “Right now I’d give anything to be out here with my dad, just hauling out spiders. Funny how perspective changes things.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Perspective. Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone?”
Tori gave me a surprised look as if she were seeing me for the first time.
“That’s fairly profound,” she said sincerely.
I thought about taking the compliment and shutting up, but that wasn’t me. “It is,” I said. “And whoever wrote the song I stole the lyric from really knows what they’re talking about.”
I gave her a winning smile. She rolled her eyes and looked back ahead. So much for impressing her with my poetic observations on life.
“Keep an eye out,” she commanded.
As if on cue, I felt the boat rock as the V-shaped hull was buffeted by the surge of a wave. After chugging along for nearly ten minutes, we were one turn away from hitting the open ocean. I looked back to see the vague, gray shape of the Patricia’s wheelhouse making its way along the same route we had just taken. Quinn looked to be exactly five minutes behind us and finding his way without a problem. Ahead of us was the unknown. I ducked out of the wheelhouse and looked up to see stars appearing in the rapidly darkening sky. We had timed it perfectly. Tori wheeled us to starboard, skirted the last scrub-choked outcropping of sand, and gently pushed the throttles forward to help break us away from Pemberwick’s grasp. We motored through a protected cove where the surf was minimal. Still, I felt the Tori Tickle rise and fall on a wave as if we were being lifted up and given a gentle nudge that would send us on our way.
“And here we go,” I said without thinking.
We were officially in harm’s way. I scanned the horizon, hoping not to see any patrolling Navy vessels. If there was a destroyer waiting outside the cove, our journey would have been a short one. But there were no ships to be seen. I looked back to Pemberwick, scanning for any sign of a missile-carrying helicopter. The sky was clear. We had already gotten further than the cigarette boat had.
“I’ll get us out of the cove before heading north.” She looked at me and added, “Don’t want to run aground.”
It was a dig over what I had done with the Willards’ boat a few months before, but I didn’t call her on it.
She kept the running lights off and the engine throttled down. I wanted to lean forward and jam both throttles to the max to pile on the speed and get away from there, but knew that could be a fatal mistake. The whole plan was to move as quietly as possible and slip under their radar—perhaps literally.
The cove was on the western shore of Pemberwick, the side that faced the mainland. That was huge. If we had had to circumvent the island, we would have certainly run into one of the Navy ships. As it was, we only had to travel a straight line. It was five miles from shore to shore.
Five really long miles.
Tori spun the chrome wheel, turning us to starboard and on to a northbound course that would run us parallel to shore. I would have preferred that we just kept going west, but the whole point was to put some distance between Quinn and us. We’d be headed west soon enough. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.
The sea was calm, as predicted. At least seasickness wouldn’t be an issue, unlike the last time I had been out on the ocean when we traveled by ferry to my ass-kicking at Greely High.
I looked west to see the hazy outline of the mainland. It seemed much closer than five miles but that’s how it worked over the water. Distances always appeared smaller than they actually were. It was far enough away that I couldn’t make out any lights. The area where we would land was fairly remote anyway. It wasn’t like Portland was right there. Once we hit land, we’d have to find our way to the city. It was a problem I hoped we’d get the chance to face.
“Enough,” Tori announced. “Let’s get outta here.”
She was as anxious as I was. We hadn’t been traveling north for anywhere near fiv
e minutes but I didn’t complain. The longer we stayed near Pemberwick, the better the chance of being spotted from shore. Tori spun the wheel and we turned again, back on our original heading, due west. The island was behind us, the mainland ahead. I wondered if I would be able to hold my breath for the entire five miles.
“You see anything?” Tori asked, as if I would have kept it to myself if I had.
“Nothing,” I replied.
I kept moving my gaze from side to side, scanning up and down the coast for any signs of a Navy vessel. I didn’t think they’d be hard to spot. They had no reason to be out there with their running lights off, like us. At one point I thought I saw a single light bobbing far north of us, but couldn’t tell for sure if it was a ship, or a star reflecting in the water. I chose not to sound the alarm, not that we could have done anything about it, anyway.
“I don’t see Quinn either,” I said as I gazed south.
“Good,” Tori replied. “That means nobody else can either.”
We traveled in silence for several minutes. It was excruciating. I kept expecting to hear the shrill whine of a missile that was headed our way, or the bright floodlights from a Navy destroyer that had spotted us. Instead, there was nothing but the low, steady growl of the twin diesels and the lapping of the dark sea against our hull.
I stood right next to Tori and whispered, “Are we there yet?”
It was a joke. She didn’t find it funny.
“We’ve gone about a mile,” she whispered back.
We were both whispering for fear that the sound of our voices would carry over the water.
“A mile is good,” I whispered. “Two miles would be better.”
Pemberwick was shrinking behind us. I wondered how tight the naval blockade was. They had to be fairly close in order to spot any boats trying to leave. It wouldn’t make sense for them to hang too far back. That would only increase the area they had to monitor. My spirits started to rise. Was it possible? Could we have done it?
I stared south, trying to spot Quinn, but there wasn’t enough light. Again, that was good news. Visibility was low. By complete dumb luck we may have taken off on the perfect night. I fought the urge to grab the walkie-talkie and call him.
“What’s that?” Tori asked, listening.
I didn’t hear anything but the engines.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Listen,” she commanded.
I did—and immediately heard it. An alien sound cut through the rumbling of the diesels. It was a sound I’d heard before. It sent a chill up my spine.
Tori said, “It sounds like—”
“Music,” I said, finishing her thought.
I instantly looked skyward.
“I’ve heard that before,” she declared.
I held my hand up to quiet her. It was the same sound we had heard on the bluffs the night the shadow exploded. It was a single, sustained note that could have been coming from some celestial instrument.
Only this time I sensed a slight difference.
“There’s more than one,” I declared.
The single voice was joined by another. And another. It was like a heavenly orchestra, with each instrument playing different notes that slowly grew louder…as if they were coming closer.
“Kill the engine,” I demanded.
Tori reacted quickly and shut down both engines. With nothing but the sounds of the open ocean to compete, the musical notes became more distinct. I scanned the sky but saw only stars.
“Is it the same thing?” Tori asked.
“Sure sounds like it.”
Tori ran to the stern and gazed out over the water.
“I don’t see anything at water level,” she declared.
The notes grew louder. I couldn’t tell how many were joining in. Five? Ten? A hundred? There was nothing threatening about them, except for the fact that they existed at all—and that they were growing closer.
“Maybe it’s the SYLO navy,” Tori offered.
“There they are!”
I exclaimed, pointing to the sky.
It was the same as before. A single shadow sailed high above, headed west. When it passed over us, the sustained note reached a peak and then dissipated as it moved west toward the mainland.
“So it wasn’t a boat,” Tori said, spellbound.
“And it’s not alone,” I added.
Another shadow sailed overhead, followed by another. The only time we could see them was when they blotted out the light from the stars as they crossed over us.
“Are they giant bats?” Tori asked.
“Giant musical exploding bats?” I replied skeptically. “That carry cargo?”
All of them were the same size and shape, like stingrays with no tails. They each traveled in a straight line with no obvious mechanical movement or engine sound to reveal how they were staying aloft. It was hard to tell how big they were because I couldn’t judge their altitude. If they were close, then they weren’t big at all. They could have been the size of dinner plates. But if they were far away and high in the sky, they were massive. I couldn’t judge their thickness either. All we could see in the dark were two-dimensional black shapes—shapes that floated by while playing musical notes.
“Are we hearing their engines?” I asked. “Is that what’s making the music?”
“I don’t know, but there are hundreds of them,” Tori said in awe.
A crackling voice came through the walkie-talkie. “Are you seeing this?”
It was Quinn. I grabbed the device and squeezed the talk button.
“Yes. Just like the other night,” I said.
“Maybe they’re angels,” Quinn responded.
I looked to Tori. She frowned.
“Be serious,” I called back. “And keep the air clear. We don’t want to be tracked.”
“I guess it could be SYLO,” Tori said. “Maybe they’re some kind of reconnaissance drones.”
“Then they’re not looking for us,” I announced. “Or they suck.”
Tori said, “But if they’re SYLO, it raises another scary possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“The explosion, the wreckage, and the Ruby. Does that mean SYLO was bringing the Ruby to Pemberwick Island?”
I snapped a quick look to her. “I don’t want to even think of that possibility.”
She shrugged. “Just sayin’. If they’re military, then they might really be from SYLO. And if the thing that exploded was full of the Ruby…”
She let her voice trail off.
Quinn called, “That’s the last of ’em.”
The sky was clear again, with nothing but twinkling stars shining down on us, unobstructed.
Quinn continued, “Let’s keep on going and—whoa, look!”
Without seeing where he was looking, I had no idea what he was talking about.
Tori did. She pointed toward the mainland.
“There,” she declared.
The sky over the mainland was lighting up, backlighting the contour of the horizon. It was a spectacular light show that stretched to either side but seemed concentrated over the area near Portland. There was no sound, only light. The colors were brilliant, as if a rainbow was erupting in the sky that was even more dramatic than the explosion we had seen weeks before. It looked like the aurora borealis had descended on the coast of Maine.
“Is there some holiday light show happening in Portland?” Quinn called over the walkie.
I keyed the talk switch but didn’t say a word. I couldn’t think of any.
The stunning lights silhouetted the swarm of black shadows that flew toward shore. There were too many to count. They flew together, as if—
“It’s a formation,” Tori said with a gasp. “They’re coordinated. Are they creating those lights?”
I had no answer. We floated there, watching the light show for several minutes. Unlike my earlier sighting of the mysterious shadow, there were no flashes of light that came from the ocean. T
he impossible display had momentarily made us forget our own dire situation…until reality came flooding back.
“I got trouble,” Quinn announced over the walkie.
“What?” I called.
“I killed the engines so I could hear the shadows and now I can’t start ’em up again. I think maybe they’re flooded.”
I looked at Tori and said, “We gotta get out of here. If we’re seeing this, so is the Navy, and they might come to investigate.”
“Damn,” Tori snarled and grabbed the walkie to talk to Quinn. “You may have a gas fume buildup. Put the throttles in neutral and run the electric bilge blower. It’s the silver toggle to the right of the ignition. Do you see it?”
We waited. I couldn’t take my eyes off the mainland and the spectacular light show.
“Quinn?” she called.
“I got it,” he replied. “The blower’s working. How long will this take?”
“I don’t know. Maybe five minutes. Be patient. When you crank it, don’t do it for any more than ten seconds or you’ll flood it again.”
“Understood,” was Quinn’s response. “What the hell is going on over there?”
The light show not only continued, it grew more dramatic, rising high into the sky and blotting out the stars above Portland.
“What about us?” I asked, nodding toward the throttles.
Tori cranked the ignition and the engine fired. The second started just as easily.
“Maybe we should go get Quinn,” she said.
I kept staring at the mainland as if hypnotized by the display. I don’t know how long we floated there. Minutes? Many minutes?
“Tucker? Are we going after Quinn?”
A shrieking sound tore through the sky. There was nothing musical about it. The sound was so painfully deafening that we had to cover our ears. We both fell to the deck and dared to look up to the sky to see…
“Fighters,” I cried.
Four fighter planes, also silhouetted against the stars but much more recognizable as military aircraft, tore over us, headed in the same direction as the shadows. They traveled in formation for several more seconds, then broke apart. One went left, another right. The two in the middle stayed the course, headed straight for the shadows. We could see them easily because of the backdrop of flashing lights over the mainland.
Sylo Page 20
