Colony East (30 page)

Hearing a noise behind him, he spun around. It was just the hull groaning as it rubbed against the mossy dock piling.

His nerves fraying to the breaking point, Jordan sat behind the wheel and opened a dry well. He skated his hand over a laminated chart. When his fingers stabbed soft wool, he knew immediately he had found the pirates. The well held three ski masks.

He pedaled back to the clinic and tiptoed up to his room. The lights in Wenlan and CeeCee’s bedroom were off. He lit a candle and crept into the kitchen. From a drawer, he took out three long knives. He ran his thumb over each blade. Better than nothing, but none were sharp. He wanted better.

Visiting the room where the girls performed minor surgeries, he weighed a surgeon’s scalpel in his hand. The metal handle was about as thick as a pencil. The one-inch blade at the tip was razor sharp. He scraped the blade along his arm, and it sheared off the hairs with ease. There were four scalpels. He didn’t think Wenlan or CeeCee would miss one.

A large book on the shelf caught his attention.
Grey’s Anatomy
. He took the book to his room, flipping through the pages in the yellow candlelight until he came to a drawing of the neck. The artist had peeled back the skin to show the throat muscles and blood vessels. He found the carotid artery, a thick vessel that feeds blood to the brain, running vertically between the Adams Apple and the ear. He checked the location in the diagram, then arched his neck and probed with his fingertip.

Knowing where the pirates lived and knowing where to cut, Jordan had everything but the murderous will to exact the revenge he had promised himself. He closed his eyes and pictured the crew of
Lucky Me
. “Jenny, Monty, Stone, Nikki, Alisha, Todd.” Whispering each name, he saw their faces, heard their voices and remembered their quirks. As they vanished in a swirl of flames, he found the will.

CHAPTER NINE
Colony East

Ensign Parker’s voice crackled over Lieutenant Dawson’s two-way radio. “Lieutenant Dawson, come in.” Parker’s tone had an edge of urgency.

“This is Dawson, over. Standby.” He stepped outside the Grover Cleveland Conference Room and lowered the volume to make sure their conversation was private. “Go ahead.”

“Emergency CEC meeting, oh one hundred hours. You and Toby Leigh. Wilson will cover for you.”

“Parker, what’s up?”

“Oh one hundred hours, Lieutenant.”

“Roger.” Dawson signed off his radio and sighed, wondering what Cadet Leigh had done now. For Admiral Samuels and Doctor Perkins to hold an emergency council session, he couldn’t begin to imagine.

Leigh seemed to have a lot of anger toward authority figures, regardless of rank, affiliation, or job function. Dawson had received countless reports of the boy’s insolence from everyone from Navy cooks to farm bosses. Toby was so different from his sister.

Dawson figured the parents were to blame for his rude behavior. Of course, that didn’t explain why Abigail was so respectful and followed every rule. Perhaps that was normal in a family. One good apple for every bad one.

Ten minutes later, Chief Petty Officer Wilson arrived to take over trigonometry.

Wilson was an old salt, career Navy, maybe a year or two older than Admiral Samuels. Wilson liked to joke that he’d served when “the ships were wood and men were made of steel.” Wilson’s experience and versatility earned him every odd job in the colony. The last time Dawson had seen the chief petty officer, he was taking a group of seven-year-old cadets on a nature walk along the Hudson River.

Dawson saluted Wilson and told him the chapter to cover.

Then he put in a call to the liaison office to locate Cadet Leigh. Soon he was standing outside the Thomas Jefferson Conference Room. He spotted the boy in Lieutenant Masters’ History Class. He thought briefly about waiting for the period to end, but then decided he didn’t want to risk being late for the council meeting. He entered and whispered to Masters.

“Toby, please go with Lieutenant Dawson,” Masters instructed.

Dawson made eye contact with Abigail Leigh, three seats from her brother. She turned pale. He wished he had something positive to tell her, but whatever her brother had done, he had brought it upon himself.

“Follow me,” Dawson told the cadet as they stood in the hall outside the class.

“What’s up?”

Dawson gritted his teeth. He’d save his breath. Leigh had already heard his spiel on the importance of the chain of command, showing respect, following orders. “Let’s go,” he snapped. “We have an appointment.”

“With who?”

“With whom, sir?” He gave Leigh a threatening look and that got him moving. They walked in silence to Trump Tower. Cadet Leigh maintained a dismissive scowl the whole way.

When they started up the stairs, the boy finally spoke. “Where are we going, sir?” His voice trembled. The insolent veneer was cracking.

“Colony East has a council that meets once a week. It’s chaired by Doctor Perkins and Admiral Samuels. We’ve been asked to attend an emergency session.”

“Why do they want me there?” Leigh hesitated. “Sir.”

He could see the boy was shaking. “If I were a betting man,” Dawson told him, “I’d say they’re not giving you a letter of commendation. If there’s anything you want to tell me, now’s the time.”

Leigh’s shoulders folded over like taffy in the warm sun and he addressed the tips of his shoes. “Abby had nothing to do with it, sir.”

“Nothing to do with what?”

The boy shook his head and remained in a posture of defeat. After a moment, Dawson figured the cadet was not going to tell him anything.

“Let me be honest with you, mister. If I’m asked for an opinion of your behavior, I’ll give it to them straight. From the day you stepped foot in Colony East, you’ve shown disdain for the rules and regulations. And you’ve been insolent to the men and women obligated to enforce the rules. Think about it, would your behavior make your father proud?”

Toby choked out a sob.

Dawson knew he’d gone too far. His pent up frustration with the boy was leaking out in a corrosive way. Leadership demanded control. He lowered his voice and changed his tone. He wanted to be upbeat, without being effusive. “Here’s some advice my father gave me. When you’re facing a tough battle, don’t give in. Throw your shoulders back, lift your chin high. Show pride and courage in the face of your enemy. Especially, if that enemy is fear. I think you have that spirit inside of you Cadet. I know you do.”

Leigh wiped his eyes and replied to his pep talk with a hard stare. The boy clearly had serious issues.

“Suit yourself,” Dawson said. “So much for sharing a word to the wise.”

They entered the council meeting room, and after brief formalities, he and Cadet Leigh sat opposite Admiral Samuels and Doctor Perkins, and, to his surprise, Doctor Droznin.

Doctor Perkins tilted his head down, peering above his glasses at Leigh. “Son, what’s your name?”

The cadet stared into his lap.

The chief scientist slipped into his expression of wisdom the way one puts on a windbreaker one sleeve at a time. The smarmy smile came first. Then he somehow made his eyes look like deep pools of knowledge. “It’s not Leigh, is it? Did you think you could maintain your charade forever? There’s a reason we scrape cheek cells for every cadet. We just received your DNA results, young man. Precision is the poetry of science, and your genetic fingerprint informs us that you are not related to Abigail and Lizette Leigh. Is your name really Toby? Or did you make that up, too?”

A heavy silence poured into the room. Dawson checked on the admiral. He was contemplating his craggy fingers folded before him. Droznin seemed to be contemplating equations on her scientific calculator.

“Toby Jones,” the cadet said after a long moment.

Doctor Perkins let out a sigh. “We’re in very troubling times and it pains me to think of the choices we must make. Unfortunately, we have limited resources. Imagine you have one glass of water and ten thirsty individuals. You can give every one of them a sip and they’ll still be thirsty. Or you can select two and quench their thirsts. In the former situation, nobody wins. In the latter, we take the most responsible action. Such is our intent with Generation M.”

After hearing Doctor Perkins deliver this theme many different ways, Dawson knew the meaning behind his convoluted words all too well. Now, though, he was more consumed with the shocking news that Toby and Abigail were not brother and sister. That’s what Toby had meant in the stairwell when he said Abby had nothing to do it. But she did know! Abigail Leigh, he realized, was aware of the deception from the beginning. She had made herself an accomplice by withholding the truth, by her silence.

“It was my idea,” Toby blurted out, as if he had read Dawson’s mind. “I told Abby to pretend I was her brother. She didn’t want to do it.”

Doctor Droznin looked up from her calculator and interjected, “Abigail Leigh is still useful to us.”

“Mr. Jones,” Doctor Perkins said, “in light of the circumstances, I’m afraid we must expel you from Colony East.”

Admiral Samuels looked up. “Lieutenant Dawson, what’s your take on Cadet Jones?”

On one side of Dawson, Toby Jones hung his head. Across from him, Admiral Samuels jutted out his jaw and fired laser beams from his blue eyes. Doctor Droznin had returned to her calculations, and Doctor Perkins sat in calm repose.

Expelling Toby Jones was potentially a death sentence for the boy, Dawson realized. The meteorologists had reported Tropical Storm David was now Hurricane David. The hurricane was bearing down on Cuba, and there was a fifty-fifty chance it would swing north and make landfall on the east coast. Dawson was unaware of any plans to distribute the antibiotic outside the colonies, though he still held a sliver of hope the higher-ups had something up their sleeves.

“As Biltmore Company leader, I’m happy to offer my assessment of Cadet Jones. Jones has been a model cadet. After a brief adjustment period, I’ve come to admire him for his assertiveness and leadership skills. He gets along well with the other cadets. He shows respect to those who command him. I’d be honored to have him remain a member of Biltmore Company.”

Dawson had witnessed many flavors of expression on Cadet Leigh, all variations of rebellion, smirks, sneers, pouts and the like. Now he saw a new expression. Shock.

“Thank you for that report, Lieutenant,” Doctor Perkins said. “I should remind everyone at the table, we have many thirsty individuals and only one glass of water. We’re obligated to nurture the seeds of the new society.” Perkins looked to his right, his thin nose swinging like a weather vane in a cold wind. “Admiral.”

Admiral Samuels paused a long moment. “Parker,” he barked finally.

Ensign Parker and two sailors walked over to Toby and told him to stand.

Toby Jones pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin high. Dawson could feel the boy’s courage rising. Then Jones faced him. His eyes were clear and bright. “There’s something you need to tell Abby.” His voice was steady and strong. “Tell her I know she didn’t mean what she said.” He grinned and gave him a wink. “Sir.”

Dawson sat in stunned silence as they led the boy away.

CHAPTER TEN
Mystic

Jordan rolled onto his side, his back, his side again. Too restless to sleep, he lit a candle and entered the bathroom where he looked at himself in the mirror. “Jenny, Monty, Stone, Nikki, Alisha, Todd.” Their ghostly faces floated across his.

With his resolve to avenge their deaths restored, he carried the candle back to the bedroom and blew it out. Pressing his palms against the windowsill, he looked up at the stars and once again whispered the names of his friends. He didn’t know if they were among stars or in the bellies of sharks, but memories of the
Lucky Me
crew would always be part of his heart.

At dawn, Jordan rolled a strip of paper around the scalpel and slipped it into his sock. Wedged inside his sneaker, the handle bit into his ankle, but he found it oddly comforting. He knew the scalpel was there.

He slung his pack over his shoulder, hopped on the bike and pedaled to Mystic Harbor where he busied himself on
Mary Queen of Scots.

Splicing line, he kept his eye on the whaler tied up at the end of the dock, and on the ice cream house across the street.

An hour passed and then the boy with red hair ran from the house and onto the dock in his bare feet. Ten or eleven years old, he wore a T-shirt and jogging shorts. Yesterday, Jordan had mostly seen this one in the company of the girl with stringy blonde hair.

His heart raced as he watched the pirate climb into the whaler. Jordan couldn't decide what he wanted most: for the pirate to fire up the boat and speed off, or for him to stay put.

When it seemed the pirate wasn’t going anywhere, Jordan waded ashore and eyed his bike. It was not too late to hop on it and pedal back to the clinic. Forget everything. Spend his final days with Wenlan before sailing to Castine Island.

“Jenny, Monty, Stone, Nikki, Alisha, Todd… ” Jordan spoke their names and took a step toward the dock. Then another. Even with a limp, he moved as quietly as a leopard. His strength had returned. His right arm felt especially strong. He stopped for a moment and stared into the sun. The fireball that had ended the lives of his friends had been just as brilliant. The explosions from that night of horror rocked his memory.

The pounding in his head lessened and his mind cleared as he approached the dock. On the wide planks, he bent down and pretended to tie his shoe.

He saw no activity at the pirates’ house. In the opposite direction, the redheaded pirate had tossed a few life jackets on the dock. The pirate was cleaning the whaler. Jordan transferred the scalpel to his back pocket and gave his T-shirt a tug to make sure the blade stayed hidden.

A moment later, he stood on the dock above the pirate, an executioner lording over the condemned. “Hey, awesome boat.” The pirate may have pillaged and plundered, but he must have eaten like a bird. His shirt was baggy where his chest belonged, and whoever put those purple moon tats on his forearms didn’t have much room to work with.