Storm Read online

  “Do you want to go to USM?” I asked.

  “No,” was her curt reply.

  I didn’t press.

  I gave Tori a bag, and she filled it with her extra clothes, along with various girl-specific items that I didn’t examine too closely. She also had some extra gauze pads, cotton, adhesive tape, and alcohol. It was a grim reminder that she wasn’t yet whole. Her one unique item was a ten-foot length of flexible rubber hose.

  “What’s that for?” Kent asked.

  “Gas,” she replied. “We can use this to syphon it from other cars.”

  It was probably the most practical thing that any of us had gotten.

  Olivia arrived wearing short-shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. That was the good news. She was also wheeling a shopping cart overflowing with clothes.

  “I’m surprised,” she said happily. “I had no idea that Target carried such a variety of really nice things!”

  The four of us stood there, staring at her blankly.

  “What?” she asked, genuinely confused.

  I held up the final duffel bag.

  “Whatever fits in here comes with us,” I said. “Whatever doesn’t, stays.”

  Olivia glared at the bag as if she were a vampire and I was holding a crucifix.

  “That does not work for me,” she said, shaking her head petulantly.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jon said with a superior tone. “There’s only so much room in the car.”

  “Then . . . then . . . we’ll strap a bag on top!” she declared.

  I was going to argue with her but decided it wasn’t worth it.

  “She’s right,” I said. “Get a big bag, Olivia. We’ll strap it to the roof rack.”

  “Seriously?” Tori said, peeved.

  “Why not?” I said. “You can do the same thing if you want.”

  “What I want is to get going,” she snapped at me. “I’ll get some straps for her.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Yeah, thanks, Tori!” Olivia said.

  Tori ignored her.

  Ten minutes later we had Olivia’s oversized duffel strapped securely to the roof and four smaller bags stowed in back. It was a strange feeling to have walked out of the store without paying. I felt as though we were doing something wrong, but it wasn’t like anybody cared.

  “Can we get on the road now?” Kent said while checking the last strap.

  “We have to make one more stop,” Tori announced.

  “Where?” Kent asked, peeved.

  “We need guns,” was her simple answer.

  There was a moment of stunned silence.

  “We do?” Olivia finally said in a very small voice.

  “We have to defend ourselves,” Tori responded quickly.

  “You don’t really think a gun could shoot down one of those planes,” I said, incredulous.

  “It’s not about the planes,” Tori answered without looking at me. “I’m worried about who we’ll run into along the way.”

  “She’s right,” Kent said. “That dude from the Old Port was ready to blow our heads off.”

  “But . . . guns?” Olivia said, sounding squeamish. “I’ve never even picked up a gun.”

  “I have,” was Tori’s matter-of-fact answer.

  I remembered how she had held Quinn and me back with a shotgun while protecting her house, right after her father had been arrested by SYLO. Between that and the way she took a SYLO soldier out with a Taser, I was confident that Tori knew how to handle a gun.

  “I hate to admit it, but I agree with Tori,” I said.

  “Why?” Tori snapped at me defensively. “Is it so hard to believe that I could be right about something?”

  She was still pissed at me.

  “No,” I said calmly. “Because you may know about guns, but the rest of us don’t. I don’t want innocent people getting shot . . . like me.”

  “I’m with her,” Kent said. “I’d feel better if I had a weapon.”

  “You sound a little too enthusiastic,” I said to him. “We aren’t playing here. Guns kill people.”

  “Guns don’t kill people,” Tori said. “People kill people.”

  “People with guns kill people,” I said. “But you’re right. We have to be able to protect ourselves.”

  We drove to the shop where Tori’s father bought his guns. Other than her giving directions, it was a quiet drive. I’m not sure if that was because we were on our way to pick up lethal weapons, or because of the tension between Tori and me. She didn’t have to like me, or trust me, but I didn’t want her to be carrying around so much anger . . . especially if she was also going to be carrying around a loaded gun.

  She directed us to a small shop that carried all sorts of sportsman gear. Unlike the other places we had entered, its front door was locked.

  “Guess we’re out of luck,” Kent said.

  Tori picked up a rock the size of a bowling ball and heaved it through the glass of the front door. The rest of us watched, dumbfounded.

  Jon said, “Somehow this makes it seem more like looting.”

  Tori reached inside the hole, unlocked the door, and we were in.

  It was sportsman heaven. There were displays of every kind of archer’s bow you could imagine, camouflage hunting gear, an entire wall of fishing rods and reels, and guns. Lots of guns. One whole wall was taken up by rifles displayed on racks.

  Kent ran straight for the weapons. He picked one up and set his sights on a stuffed deer on the far side of the store.

  “Say your prayers, Bambi,” he declared, laughing.

  “Stop!” Tori screamed.

  Kent lowered the rifle and looked at her.

  “What?” he asked, sounding genuinely clueless.

  “These aren’t toys,” she scolded. “Put it down.”

  She was dead serious, and Kent knew it. He didn’t argue, and sheepishly put the rifle back on its rack.

  “I hope this isn’t a bad idea,” Olivia said nervously.

  Tori went for the counter where the handguns were stored. She seemed to know what she was looking for, so I didn’t bother asking. Instead, I looked around the store for anything else we might need. I spotted walkie-talkies. If we got separated we would need to stay in contact, so I figured they might come in handy. Better still, I found a solar-powered charger that we could use to keep the batteries at full power.

  “Over here,” Tori called.

  We all joined her.

  On the counter were two identical black handguns.

  “These are Glock 17s,” she said. “Policemen use them.”

  She picked up one of the guns and expertly pulled the slide back to examine the chamber.

  “I’m making sure there are no rounds in there,” she explained.

  “Bullets,” I said. “Calling them ‘rounds’ makes it seem less . . . lethal.”

  She ignored me and continued. “It fires a nine-millimeter . . . bullet.” She pulled out the clip from the grip and showed it to us. “This holds seventeen . . . bullets.”

  “The more, the merrier,” Kent said.

  His eyes were wide as he stared at the gun like a kid who couldn’t wait to get his hands on a new Christmas toy.

  Tori grabbed several boxes of ammunition from a shelf and placed them on the counter.

  “I’ll load two magazines but only put one in a gun. We’ll keep the loaded weapon in the glove compartment. The other we’ll store in the back cargo area, unloaded, with the clip separate. When we get the chance, I’ll teach you all how to shoot.”

  Kent picked up one of the guns and felt its weight.

  “What’s so hard?” he asked. “You point this end and bang!”

  He held the gun loosely and pretended to shoot.

  Tori grabbed his gun hand and held it firmly.

  “If you shoot like that you’ll miss, and the recoil would probably kick the gun out of your hand.”

  “How do you know so much about guns?” Kent asked.

  “My
father,” Tori said as she let Kent loose and started loading bullets into the magazine. “We had to protect our property. Our lobster boats. He wanted me to be totally safe with the weapons in the house, so he taught me well.”

  I saw the hint of a tear growing in Tori’s eye, and her voice cracked. It felt like a couple of lifetimes since her father was gunned down by SYLO, but it was only the day before. She wiped her eye quickly and cleared her throat, as if embarrassed to have shown her emotions.

  “You a good shot?” Kent asked.

  “That’s irrelevant,” she replied, back in control. “These guns are only accurate to ten yards, tops. Even then you have to be good to hit anything. These are for our protection. We’re not going to be playing James Bond. Hopefully we won’t need them, but if we do, we’ll have them.”

  “They still make me nervous,” Olivia said.

  “Not me,” Jon said. “I’m feeling safer already.”

  “Until I check you out, nobody touches these but me,” Tori declared. “Understand?”

  She looked at each of us in turn. Everyone nodded, including Kent.

  “Now we can go,” she said. “Jon, take the ammunition.”

  She swooped up the guns and headed for the door.

  Jon obediently grabbed the boxes of bullets.

  I had mixed feelings about having the guns. I could see that we might need them for protection. That made all sorts of sense . . . as long as somebody didn’t do something stupid and shoot one of us in the foot. Or worse.

  When we got to the car, Tori put the second gun and the ammunition in the rear compartment near the spare tire. She kept one box of ammunition and put it in the glove box up front. She then did a quick check of the gun to make sure there was no bullet in the firing chamber. Satisfied that it was safe, she put it into the glove compartment and slammed it shut.

  Tori was now riding shotgun, so to speak.

  Olivia opened her mouth, ready to fight for her spot in the car, but thought better of it. With a huff, she got in the backseat next to me.

  “I can reach the gun back here if you need it!” Jon announced from the third row.

  Nobody responded.

  Kent fired up the engine, then turned to face us.

  “Are we ready now?” he asked.

  “Let’s go to Boston,” I said.

  Kent hit the gas, and we were finally on our way.

  SIX

  It took two hours to drive from Portland to Boston.

  It felt like two days.

  We were on edge the whole way because none of us knew what we would find there. Or not find. Would the city be surrounded by the military to protect it from attack? Which military would that be? Would SYLO have surrounded Boston like they did Pemberwick Island? Or would the Air Force and their killer planes be in control?

  Would Boston even be there?

  For the entire trip, we constantly stole quick, nervous glances to the sky for fear that an Air Force plane would come swooping in after us, but none appeared. Was their mission complete? Or had they moved on to another target?

  I kept staring at the glove compartment, knowing a gun was inside. I’m not a wuss or anything. We needed to protect ourselves, but the idea of having a weapon so close that could easily take a life was disturbing. I know how dumb that sounds. After all we’d been through, it didn’t make sense that I should be so obsessed with a pistol that held seventeen bullets, but I was. I can’t honestly say whether I was afraid of the gun or worried that I wouldn’t have the guts to use it.

  I leaned forward between the two front seats, turned on the radio, and scanned the frequencies. There was nothing to hear but a whole lot of static.

  Olivia gave me a weak smile and a shrug.

  “It was worth a try,” she said sympathetically.

  She rubbed my arm as if to console me. I didn’t mind, until I saw that Kent was staring at us in the rearview mirror. I quickly twisted away from her without making it seem as though I was twisting away from her.

  After we had driven for over an hour, Kent asked, “Should I say it first?”

  I knew what he meant. We all did.

  The deadly Air Force storm hadn’t stopped in Portland.

  “It’s the exact same,” Olivia said, hardly above a whisper.

  The entire length of the highway looked like the stretch leading into Portland. Abandoned cars were everywhere, with far more wrecks than we saw in Maine. Vehicles had driven into ditches, slammed into guardrails, flipped into the medians, and crashed into each other. It felt as though we were driving through an auto graveyard.

  Or an actual graveyard.

  Yet there wasn’t a single person to be seen.

  “No jet fighter wrecks,” Kent pointed out. “Or bomb craters. Maybe there wasn’t a battle here.”

  “Well, something happened,” Olivia said. “I mean . . . look.”

  It was grim enough that the population of Portland had been wiped out. Boston had ten times more people. When you added in the suburbs that stretched from Maine to Massachusetts, the possibility of what we were headed toward was too much to comprehend.

  Olivia said it best without saying a word.

  She started to cry.

  “There have to be survivors,” Tori said, numb. “An entire population can’t just be . . . erased.”

  “There will be,” I said hopefully. “Just like in Portland.”

  “We’ll find them,” Jon said, doing his best to sound positive.

  We were all trying to think practically. It was the only way to keep from going totally out of our minds. I did my best to focus on the present because to think of the big picture was overwhelming. None of us said the obvious, but I knew we were thinking it: If Boston had been attacked by the black Air Force planes and another population center had been obliterated, what did that mean for the rest of the country?

  Or the world?

  We drove on for several more minutes, moving closer to Boston and deeper into the desolate horror. Kent had to swerve a few times to steer clear of cars that were stopped dead on the interstate. When we passed through the town of South Lynnfield, we were hit with a new grim vision.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Kent asked with trepidation.

  Ahead of us was a structure that at first appeared to be a partially collapsed building. As we drove closer, the truth became clear in the form of a logo: Delta Airlines.

  “Oh no,” Tori said with a gasp.

  It was the wreckage of a commercial jetliner that had crashed into a strip mall. The tail was kicked up into the air, and the fuselage had been broken in two. The entire wreck was scorched black from a fire that had long since burned out. The only thing missing were bodies.

  As we moved closer to the city, we passed no fewer than ten similar burned-out plane wrecks.

  “It’s like they just dropped out of the sky,” I said, hardly believing it could be possible.

  “Boston’s going to be empty,” Olivia said, sounding shakier than Tori. “We’re not going to find anybody there to help us.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tori said, her voice quivering with emotion. “What kind of war is this? How can you invade a city, wipe out everyone, and then just . . . leave? What’s the point? It’s insanity!”

  “I knew we should have gone to Nevada,” Jon said.

  Tori shot me a sideways look. I didn’t return it.

  “Shut up!” Kent shouted. “Just shut up! Everybody. I gotta think.”

  “Let’s keep it together,” I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt. “The entire population of Boston can’t be wiped out. We’ll find people.”

  “What about the plan to tell the world about Pemberwick?” Tori said.

  “I doubt if that matters anymore,” I said. “I think the rest of the world knows plenty. Compared to what we’re seeing, our little island is irrelevant.”

  “Not to me it isn’t,” Kent snapped.

  “Yeah, well, change your thinking,” I said. “I hate to
say this, but we’re in survival mode now. I want answers as much as everybody else, but I’m more worried about staying alive. We need to find some other survivors. There’s safety in numbers.”

  “Tell that to the people of Boston,” Tori said.

  We drove on in silence, skirting abandoned cars and burned-out jetliners. As we approached the city, I scanned the skyline for any buildings that might be missing, but I didn’t know Boston well enough to pick any out.

  As we drove across the Tobin Bridge that spanned the Charles River and led to downtown, I looked down to see a jetliner floating with its tail barely above water.

  “Boston’s dead,” Olivia said softly and with finality.

  Nobody argued.

  Kent turned south on Storrow Drive, which took us along the Charles. Looking left to the city, we saw no signs of life. Looking right to the Charles, we spotted two more half-submerged plane wrecks and many small boats drifting free.

  “It’s beyond a nightmare,” Tori whispered.

  “I don’t think anybody died in those crashes,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “Impossible,” Kent snapped back.

  “I’m not saying they’re not dead, I just don’t think they died in the crashes. None of those empty cars had their doors open. And we haven’t seen a single body. Not one.”

  “Except for the Navy pilot outside of Portland,” Kent pointed out.

  “He died in the dogfight,” I said. “That’s different. I don’t think there was a battle here. I think people were obliterated by the weapon the Air Force has, just like in Portland. How else could so many people have disappeared without a trace? Same with the airliners.”

  “Then why didn’t the cars disappear along with them?” Tori asked. “Like the buildings in Portland? Or Quinn on the boat or—”

  She didn’t finish the sentence. The memory was too raw.

  “That guy Whittle in the Old Port said it,” I offered. “Sometimes the buildings disappeared, other times the light reached inside and took the people without touching the buildings. Who’s to say what that weapon can do? Maybe it can target organic life-forms and leave structures intact . . . unless they choose to obliterate them.”