Colony East (12 page)

Dawson rose and faced the small American flag on the counter. “Please rise,” he said and punched play on the boom box. He saluted the flag while the Star Spangled Banner played.

CHAPTER FOUR
Castine Island

Abby rolled out of bed at first light, anxious to visit the harbor and keep watch for the gypsies. They might arrive earlier than expected if the winds had picked up or changed direction during the night.

She dressed in layers so she could shed one at a time as the temperature rose throughout the morning. Tiptoeing, she turned on a walkie-talkie and propped it on Mel’s pillow.

Once she was downstairs, Abby ate a piece of mackerel, some rice, and drank a glass of water from the still. She took a pinch of sand from a glass on the windowsill, brushed her teeth with her finger, and spat out the gritty slop. She put a piece of fish on a plate and wrote TOUK on a sheet of paper, which she placed over the fish. On her way out the door, she stuffed her pocket with peanuts and grabbed a plastic trash bag and walkie-talkie.

When she arrived at the deserted harbor, she saw whitecaps forming beyond the jetty. To get a better view of the open ocean to the north, the direction from which the gypsies should arrive, she scrambled up the giant blocks at the base of the jetty and started for the end. Seagulls, standing in a line like soldiers, stretched their wings and stepped into the air, one by one, as she approached.

At the tip of the jetty, Abby positioned the trash bag on a flat boulder and sat with her back against the corroded metal structure of the beacon, which had remained depressingly dark since the night of the purple moon.

Wishing she’d remembered binoculars, Abby gazed out to sea. Most gypsy vessels had a mainsail and jib, and sometimes they raised a spinnaker to run with the wind.

The sun warmed her face as it moved higher in the sky. Over the next several hours, the moisture on the boulders evaporated and gulls skimmed over the water, dipping their beaks below the surface to snag herring. She closed her eyes and listened to the birds dropping clams onto the rocks.

Abby thought about her problems with Touk and Jordan. Mel had told her recently, “Your sister will eat when she’s hungry.” Abby kept telling herself that, but then she’d panic every time she saw Touk turn her nose up at food. Mel was probably right and Abby had to find the strength to back off, keep her mouth shut. Jordan hadn’t helped the situation, accusing Abby of being domineering so often that Toucan had started to call her bossy.

Even though Jordan’s problem was different, Abby thought the solution was the same. Keep her mouth shut and back off. She knew what it was like to grieve the loss of a loved one. You needed the comfort of friends, but you also couldn’t help lashing out at the people you cared for the most. Jordan lashed out at her, saying some very mean things. She hoped that by serving as a punching bag she was helping him heal.

As the morning wore on, she took off her windbreaker and then peeled off her sweater. There was a hint of spring in the air. Another hour passed. At the dock, the trawler’s inboard engines fired up. The island’s fishing crew was preparing for their trip out to sea at Georges Banks. The cod and haddock they harvested from the rich fishing grounds was the currency that Toby spent at the Portland Trading Zone. He’d trade fish for everything from fuel to peanut oil.

Abby’s heart raced when she spotted a glint of silver in the sky. The airplane flew over the island seven days a week, usually in the morning. Endless speculation about the flights always led to the same conclusion. Nobody had a clue what the airplane was doing. She liked to believe it was proof the adults were coming up with some plan to help them.

She stood and gripped a steel bar of the beacon. The plane was coming in low, very low. The roar of the four propellers sent the gulls flying.

Abby waved both arms until the belly of the plane was directly above her. They must see her, she thought excitedly.

After the plane passed over, the wings tilted back and forth. The pilot was waving back!

Abby let out a whoop. It was her first communication with an adult in over two years.

~ ~ ~

Dishes rattled. The house foundation vibrated. The bed shook. The roar rose to a loud crescendo and then faded just as quickly.

Jordan blinked and rolled onto his side. He simmered with anger. He had gone to bed angry, had violent dreams, and now the airplane was stirring his rage on a new day.

The airplane was a reminder of everything wrong with the adults. It was a total mystery, just like what the adults were doing in New York City.

They never explained anything. Never said why they hadn’t opened clinics. Never mentioned why they had stopped distributing pills.

He slammed his fist into the pillow at the memory of Portland. A year ago, he had gone to Portland International Airport, where the scientists had announced over the radio they would hand out pills.

He had arrived on May twenty-ninth. It was almost six weeks after the double tragedies in Boston—the disaster at Logan Airport and the death of Mandy.

Thousands of kids, most of them sick, were already waiting at the Portland airport. Portland was a Phase II city. The scientists were supposed to distribute the antibiotic pills there on June first. Some kids, like Jordan, were there to get pills for friends.

The scientists never showed, and from what Jordan later heard from news gypsies, they had not shown up anywhere else across the country. Millions of kids, desperate for the antibiotic, had waited in vain, and every one of the unlucky ones had died.

Such large numbers of victims numbed him, but the death of a single person—the girl he loved—had shredded his soul, and he would never be the same again.

He took quick, shallow breaths. Why hadn’t he insisted that she take one of the pills that he brought back from Boston?

“I’m fine,” she’d told him. “Give the pills to kids who need them now. I can wait until we get more in Portland.”

Jordan flopped on his back and stared at the ceiling. The ball of rage in his chest spread out and seeped into his bones the way water bleeds into sand after a wave pounds the shore.

He heard voices and laughter through the window. Touk, Timmy, and Danny were playing outside.

He dragged himself out of bed. It seemed the sadder he got, the less he cared about anything. And the less he cared, the greater his fatigue. Night after night of restless sleep caused by frightening dreams added to his fatigue, slowing his thoughts to a crawl. Exhausted and in a fog, Jordan checked the girls’ bedroom. Mel was sleeping and Abby was gone. He knew how Abby’s mind worked. She was keeping watch for the gypsies at the harbor. The walkie-talkie on Mel’s pillow confirmed his suspicion.

He stumbled downstairs and consulted his weather instruments. Good news for the gypsies, the barometer showed fair weather. Even better news, the wind had switched direction and picked up during the night. It was blowing out of the southwest at fifteen to twenty knots. They might arrive earlier than he predicted.

He saw Abby’s note to Toucan and the plate licked clean. “Can’t you read,” he said to Cat, eyeing him from the corner. She flicked her tail, looking not the least bit guilty.

Jordan stepped outside and found the holy trio of terror playing Jenga on the porch. Toucan, hands on hips, seemed to be in charge of the two boys, Danny and Timmy. To him it was proof that Touk had the same bossy streak as Abby. Deep down he liked the fact that his sisters were assertive; he’d just never admit it to anyone.

Six-year-old Danny sat cross-legged, his pant legs rising midway to his shins, revealing a layer of dirt baked into his skin. Because the ocean was still cold, most islanders only took one bath a month, and they jokingly called their grimy ankles ‘Castine Island socks’.

Timmy ran up to Jordan. “Jordie, did you see the airplane?” He extended his arms, jumped off the steps, and made his best roaring propeller sound. Danny flew after him.

Timmy still had the ability to confront terrible things without a care in the world. Jordan wished that he knew the boy’s secret.

He turned to Toucan. “Hey, did you see Abby’s note. You have to eat.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Look at me!” He moved his face until they were nose to nose and her big green eyes swallowed him. “Eat!”

Touk shook her head.

He sighed. “Stubborn as me, bossy as Abby.”

“Abby says I’m assertive.”

“You know a big word like that, you should eat.”

Touk folded her arms and shook her head.

Timmy flew back to the porch. “Can I pick mushrooms with you?”

“Me, too,” Touk cried.

“Let’s pick mushrooms,” Danny shouted.

Jordan shook his head and headed for his bike that was leaning against the garage. The kids gazed at him with long faces. It was as if they sensed his sadness, but couldn’t understand it.

He pedaled up Melrose Street. A half mile from his house, he dismounted and hid the bike behind some bushes. He walked through the woods toward the water, keeping an eye out for tiny wildflowers that bloomed in the early spring. Finding none and running out of forest fast, he knelt by a patch of moss. It was green and kind of pretty, so he dug up a small patch with his fingers.

He continued walking until he reached the desolate western shoreline, a narrow band of pebbles with a few large boulders. There he placed the moss next to the pile of dried flowers he had built over the past weeks.

Huddled next to a boulder, out of the wind, Jordan wept and, as he did most mornings, cried out her name, “Emily…”

CHAPTER FIVE
Colony East

Once the national anthem ended, Lieutenant Dawson sprinted up to the fourth floor where the fifteen-year-old boys lived. Moving down the hall, he swelled with pride at the flurry of activity: cadets making beds, folding clothes, brushing hair. What a far cry from the undisciplined lot he’d first set eyes on when Colony East opened.

Jonzy Billings lived at the end of the hall, the last room on the right. He found the boy tucking in the last corner of the bed sheet.

“Billings!”

Jonzy snapped to attention and saluted, knocking his glasses askew. He adjusted them. “Good morning, sir.”

The boy might be gangly and uncoordinated, but he had the right stuff for leadership. He was a brilliant student who radiated confidence. Conflicted, Dawson wondered if he should even document the infraction. Experience had taught him to nip problems in the bud, but he also knew that looking the other way was sometimes the best approach.

“At ease.”

Jonzy relaxed.

Dawson shifted his gaze to the chest of drawers. There, according to the note, he would find the contraband in the third drawer down.

He paced, observing that Billings kept his room shipshape. Every room in the Biltmore had a king-size bed, thick carpeting, comfortable chairs, a mini-fridge, radio, and bathroom. The cadet had squared his schoolbooks on the table.

He fished a quarter out of his pocket to buy himself time while he decided what to do. He held his arm out straight, shoulder level, pinching the quarter between his fingers. “You ready?”

Jonzy pulled his shoulders back. “Yes, sir.”

“You know what happens to sailors who fail to make their beds properly?”

Jonzy nodded. “Latrine duty.”

He released the quarter. It bounced six inches off the mattress.

Jonzy beamed. “Good job, right Lieutenant?”

Dawson ignored the comment and took a step toward the chest of drawers, but pivoted and aimed for the bathroom. The toilet, sink, and shower were spotless. Even the crack around the tub faucet was free of mildew.

Jonzy gave him a knowing look.

“Don’t get cocky, Billings. It’s not like you earned the Navy Cross.”

Rules and regulations were put in place for a reason, Dawson told himself and headed straight for the chest of drawers, opening the third one down. He lifted up the neatly folded pile of T-shirts and eyed the electronic components hidden beneath them. “Care to explain?”

“Those are radio parts,” Jonzy’s voice trembled. “Sir.”

“And why do you have radio parts?”

“I’m building a radio.”

Dawson pointed out the radio in the room. “What’s that?”

The cadet shifted foot to foot. “It only gets the CDC station. It doesn’t pick up The Port.”

“You’re not allowed to listen to The Port.”

“Sir, nobody ever said we couldn’t listen to The Port. They just made it difficult.”

Technically speaking, the boy was correct. Navy technicians, at the request of Doctor Perkins, had modified the room radios so they could only pick up the CDC station, FM 98.5. To the lieutenant’s knowledge, nobody had ever issued a direct order that forbade cadets from listening to the other station.

Dawson couldn’t simply drop the matter. He would turn the situation into a teaching moment. He got in Jonzy’s face. “I’m going to write this up and file it in my records. Consider that you have one strike against you. You know what happens if you get two strikes?”

Sweat beads blossomed on the boy’s brow. “Expulsion, sir.”

He paused a moment to let Jonzy marinate in fear. Dawson wasn’t the least bit angry. His scowl and sharp voice were tools of the trade. He had learned it was the best way to empower a cadet to change his behavior. “I trust you’ll dispose of those parts.”

“Yes, sir.”

He lost the scowl. “We all make errors in judgment. Learn from it.” Dawson ended with the type of fatherly smile that Admiral Samuels usually gave him after a good chewing out. “Carry on.”

A moment later, walking down the hallway, Dawson smiled to himself, pleased at how he had set Cadet Billings on the correct path.

CHAPTER SIX
Castine Island

Abby’s radio crackled to life. “This is Mel, over.”

Leaning against the rusty beacon, she brought the walkie-talkie to her lips and pressed the button. “No sign of the gypsies, over.”

She and Mel reviewed their plans to meet at Sal’s later on. The former barbershop was the site of the island’s clinic.