Colony East (11 page)

“Touk, let’s go to the library tomorrow.”

“I want a book about pirates.”

Abby smiled bitterly. She used to enjoy reading books like
Treasure Island
aloud, but the stories of real pirates robbing victims on the mainland had soured her on the topic. “How about something new? Like, uhh, not pirates.”

“Pirates,” Toucan insisted so enthusiastically that Abby could only sigh.

“Sure, why not?”

They exited the alley and started up Melrose, the street they lived on. Wheels rumbled as a pack of skateboarders zoomed down the island’s only hill. Nighttime made the run down ‘Mount Melrose’ more thrilling.

“Touk, what did you eat at camp?” Abby heard the desperation in her own voice. “They gave you a box dinner, right?”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Toucan replied.

Abby faked a chuckle. “Fish isn’t that bad.” In truth, she had to pinch her nose to eat the bony, smoked mackerel.

Toucan made a face. “Yuck.”

“Want me to make you some french fries?” Abby asked.

“Okay!” Touk chirped.

“You have to eat some fish first.”

“No, thank you.”

Abby took a deep breath. “Touk, c’mon.”

“I want chocolate.”

“If you eat fish and french fries, then you can have one piece of chocolate.”

“Okay!”

Abby could tell from Touk’s tone that she was grinning. Grinning and winning.

They saved chocolate for special occasions, but Abby thought her housemates would understand letting Touk have a nibble.

Up ahead, Abby heard rock music drifting out the window of Toby’s house. The strong signal of the adult station, 98.5 FM, operated by the Centers for Disease Control, came through clearly day and night, but they could only pick up the weaker FM 101 after the sun went down. DJ Silver, the host, called the station The Port.

The Port’s mysteries played in Abby’s mind. DJ Silver once mentioned he was broadcasting from Connecticut, but he didn’t give the exact location. How did the station get electricity? How did teens know how to operate a radio station? Strangest of all, The Port only played music. Abby had never heard them give news flashes. It continually puzzled her.

DJ Silver’s voice crackled out the window. “Silvy, can you dig it? Jimmy knows you dig him, and Jimmy knows you dig the Beatles. So, Little Miss Sugar Lumps, here’s a little something that Big Jimmy thinks will start your evening off right. Keep it locked on The Port.” The radio began to play “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” DJ Silver dedicated every song. Where did he get his information for the dedications? Just one more unanswered question about The Port.

As they passed by Toby’s house, Abby noted all the bikes and skateboards in the front yard. In the glowing light of lanterns, she saw kids inside, some dancing. When Abby spotted Mel standing by the window, she suspected that Timmy and Danny, her other housemates, were at Toby’s as well. It meant that Jordan must be home alone.

Toucan pulled at Abby’s hand, wanting to run up the steps of Toby's porch to join the party.

Abby tugged her back toward the sidewalk.

“Toby wants to kiss you,” Touk said with gleaming eyes.

Abby crinkled her brow. “Who said that?”

“I’ll tell you for two pieces of chocolate.”

“Forget it.”

“Toby told me.”

“What a surprise,” Abby replied flatly. Most people considered Toby annoying, which he was. These same kids pretended to be his friends because he was the island’s lead negotiator. They hung out at his house every night because he shared snacks and, of course, had batteries for the radio. Abby considered him a real friend, but she wanted to keep it at that.

She picked up the pace, and they both held their breath as they walked by the fourth house up from Toby’s. The backyard was this month’s toilet.

With half a block to go, Touk raced ahead and flew into their house. Abby ironed the crinkles from her forehead and forced a small smile before stepping inside.

“Gypsy vessel, this is Castine Island, do you copy?” Jordan stood by the battery-powered shortwave radio in the family room, keying the mic. “Gypsy vessel, do you copy?” Her brother was lanky, like their dad, and thanks to a recent growth spurt, he now towered over Abby by a good five inches. “Gypsy vessel, do you copy?” The radio speaker emitted a crackly hiss.

Jordan looked over at her, the lantern light magnifying the sadness in his eyes. “The captain of
Lucky Me
reported they have a medical emergency onboard. She said they’re near Bar Harbor, and they expect to arrive here tomorrow afternoon.”

Bar Harbor, on the coast of Maine, was about a hundred miles from Castine Island.

Abby’s stomach twisted into a knot. She thought it was revealing that the gypsies preferred to sail all night and much of the day to come here, rather than pull into a closer mainland port. There were scant medical resources available on the mainland, and, in her opinion, many parts were dangerous. She worried what she’d have to face as the island’s medical first responder. “What type of emergency?”

Jordan gave a little shake of his head. “I don’t know. The transmission cut out.” He brought the mic to his lips. “Gypsy boat, do you copy?”

A broken bone? A cut requiring stitches? Appendicitis? With limited supplies and possessing virtually no experience, Abby could only try to provide comfort if the injury was serious.

Trying not to worry about a problem she couldn't deal with tonight, she lit a lantern and entered the kitchen. She cut up a potato, put the slices into a frying pan with a few drops of peanut oil and placed the pan on the wood stove. She picked out the bones from a piece of smoked fish and put it on a plate. Then she broke off a corner of a treasured candy bar and added it.

In the family room, Abby found Toucan petting Cat, the gray-and-white, domestic shorthair that had followed Abby home on the night of the purple moon. Jordan continued trying to talk to the gypsies.

After a few minutes, she returned to the kitchen and flipped the potatoes. Then she went back to the family room. Jordan shut off the two-way radio and checked his weather instruments. “The wind’s out of the southwest,” he said. “They’ll be lucky if they get here by tomorrow night.” He shot her a hard look. “They need a real doctor. When did the adults promise to open the first clinic?”

Abby let out a long exhalation, feeling the underlying tension in her brother’s voice.

“Tell me, Abby. When are they opening the first clinic?”

She bit her tongue.
Let him vent.

Jordan paced. “If I remember correctly, it was supposed to be October.”

Abby said nothing, because everyone on the island knew that. Nine months ago, the robotic voice on the CDC station had announced the scientists were planning to open medical clinics to treat survivors in major cities. They would also train kids to be doctors, calling the program, ‘Doctors of Tomorrow’. But not a single clinic had opened, and the CDC had yet to offer an explanation for the delay. Jordan already knew that.

“Jordan, they’re going to open the clinics.” She immediately regretted saying it. “The adults care about us. Remember what happened in Boston? They have as many problems as we do. They’re probably waiting until the mainland is safe before they try to open a clinic.”

“Pirates,” Touk chirped.

“The mainland is safe,” he said, rolling his eyes. Then his face turned the color of burgundy in the flickering light. “The adults have forgotten about us. I don’t listen to their stupid station anymore. It’s a waste of batteries. One clinic! Is that too much to ask? I bet they have a hospital in New York City. Why did they build a fence with barbed wire around the city?”

Abby leaned back in her chair, wishing he would stop. While she understood his anger, she wished he would take it out on someone else for a change. “We don’t know that’s true.”

He gave an exaggerated nod. “Trust me, it’s true. You believe every bit of news the gypsies bring until they tell you something you don’t want to hear.”

Abby had lost count of how many times they’d gone down this same road, each time making the same points, the conversation spiraling to the same conclusion that nobody knew what the adults were doing. The quickest way to end the conversation was just to have it and get it over with. “Only one gypsy said the fence had barbed wire.”

Jordan threw his hands in the air. “Then why did the adults blow up the bridges?”

She swallowed hard. “I’m sure they had a good reason.”

“Yeah,” he fired back. “They don’t want to help us. You know when we’ll see the first adult? Guess.”

“How would I know?”

“When we grow up,” he chuckled coldly. “When we become adults.”

Catching a mouthwatering whiff of potatoes frying, Abby saw her chance to escape her brother’s wrath. “To grow up, you have to eat, right?”

Jordan jolted. He seemed to understand that he wasn’t the only one with problems. He pressed his lips together and gave Abby a little nod. Then he turned to Touk. “Three meals a day. How else are you going to get strong enough to beat me at arm wrestling?” Jordan made a muscle.

Toucan made her own muscle and growled. “Bring it.” The growl quickly became a giggle.

“My money’s on Touk,” Abby smiled.

Jordan assumed an arm wrestling position at the corner of the table. “I hate it when my sisters gang up on me.” He locked hands with Toucan, ready to battle.

“I’ll count,” Abby said. “Jordan, no cheating. Ready? On the count of three. One, two, two-and-a-half.” Abby struggled to purge her voice of tears. Toucan’s grit and determination to beat Jordan were bigger than the ocean, but her arm was as frail as a toothpick. “Three.”

Touk pinned Jordan’s arm. “I win,” she squealed, grinning with a bright face.

Jordan scrunched up his face in a mock frown. “You won’t be so lucky next time.”

Abby winked at him and headed to the kitchen, where she scooped golden potato slices onto a plate. Returning to the dining room, she set the meal on the table and wagged her finger at Touk. “Fish and fries before chocolate!”

“Can I have some ketchup?” Toucan’s eyes begged.

Abby returned to the kitchen, thinking she was finally on the home stretch. French fries, chocolate, arm wrestling, now ketchup… whatever it took to get her sister to eat… one meal, one victory at a time.

She ladled a spoonful of pale red water into a cup. A trader at the Portland Trading Zone had come up with the idea of mashing up a few tomatoes, adding salt, gallons of water and calling it ketchup. Adding a healthy dose of imagination to the subtle flavor worked wonders.

When Abby returned to the dining room, she stopped cold. Toucan and the chocolate had disappeared and Cat was making off with the fish. Jordan, staring sadly into space, was oblivious to the heist that had just taken place under his nose.

CHAPTER THREE
Colony East

Lieutenant Dawson stepped outside the hotel and onto Lexington Avenue to enjoy a final moment of calm before awakening the one hundred and five cadets of Biltmore Company. He wore many hats—father, mother, counselor, big brother, naval officer, math teacher, and once the day’s activities began, he’d be on his toes until lights out, fourteen hours from now.

The sky was turquoise and rays of light from the rising sun blazed on the remaining glass windows of the tall buildings. He detected a whiff of salt in the canyon of skyscrapers. An east wind was blowing off the water.

He lifted his eyes to beating wings. Canada geese passed overhead in a V-formation, most likely heading to Central Park Farm or the reflecting pool in front of Rockefeller Center.

Colony East was awakening. A Navy medic jogged by on his way to the hospital. The medic saluted, and Dawson returned the salute, though he didn’t recognize him. Dawson used to know most of the military personnel at the colony by sight, if not by name, but transfers from Atlanta Colony and Colony West were arriving all the time. Down the street, sailors were assembling for construction work. A van, ferrying supplies from La Guardia Airport, rounded the corner, and a scientist approached on a bicycle. She wore a white lab coat, a trademark of the CDC personnel stationed at the colony. She said nothing as she pedaled by, a snub Dawson didn’t take personally. All interactions between the scientists and members of the military were strictly business.

Dawson returned to the Biltmore’s lobby and unlocked the padlock of the suggestion box on the wall. He was pleased to find a card inside, but he read the note with growing concern. The anonymous author reported that Cadet Billings possessed contraband. He made a mental note to search the cadet’s living quarters after the national anthem played.

He locked the box and moved behind the front desk, where he flipped the switch of the luxury hotel’s intercom once reserved for emergencies, historically, fire or terrorist attacks.

“Reveille!” His voice bellowed into every room on floors one through four. “Rise and shine. It’s a beautiful day. On the double, let’s go.”

He pictured eyes cracking open, sleepy heads lifting off pillows. He imagined a lot of groaning going on. Groaning and grumbling were good. He prescribed to the wise military saying: ‘When your troops stop grumbling, start worrying.’

He drummed his fingers. How should he announce Code 4? His cadets hated going to Medical Clinic 17. Dawson could empathize. The scientists lacked bedside manner; they treated the kids like guinea pigs in an experiment, poking and prodding them without explanation, often saying nothing for long stretches as they recorded data. “Code 4,” he barked, figuring honesty was the best policy. “I repeat, Code 4. If anyone feels extra hungry, or warm and achy, please see me. You’ll need to go to Medical Clinic 17.”

He ended with the Colony East credo that every company leader delivered twice a day. “Remember, you are Generation M, the seeds of the new society.”

‘M’ for Magnificent. That was the official word from Doctor Perkins. From scuttlebutt among the company leaders, though, he understood that ‘M’ really stood for Mendel. Gregor Mendel, the father of genetics, who died in the late 1800’s.