“Sorry,” Kent said, chastened.
“Don’t worry about it. Gotta keep a sense of humor, right?”
“Do you have any idea why it happened?” I asked.
“No clue,” Chris replied. “One minute everything was fine, the next minute the city got swarmed by these flying Darth Vaders.”
“Darth Vader is right,” Kent chimed in. “We think they came from another planet.”
“That’s just one theory,” I said quickly. “We have no idea where they came from, except that they have United States Air Force logos.”
Chris was visibly shaken by that. He looked back at his other “cowboys,” who looked equally stunned.
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“One crashed in Portland,” I replied. “We saw the wreck.”
“Seriously?” Chris asked, his excitement growing. “You got a close-up look at one of them bastards?”
“We saw a whole lot that you probably didn’t,” Tori said.
“Well, then you gotta tell us,” Chris replied enthusiastically. “Not knowing what’s going on makes it that much worse. Though I guess things can’t get much worse than Armageddon.”
Armageddon. It was the first time I’d heard that word. Was it possible? Was this the beginning of the end of the world?
We were ready to tell them what had happened on Pemberwick Island, but Chris asked us to wait until we got back to a place he called “the Hall.” It was the spot where the Boston survivors were congregating. One of the cowboys went with Kent and Tori in the Explorer. There was no way Tori was going to be separated from her guns. Olivia glued herself to me. There was no way she was going to be separated from someone she trusted. Kent started to protest, but Olivia hurried me away before he could say a word.
I really wished she wasn’t playing this game, whatever game it was. I didn’t need trouble with Kent.
Jon went on his own with one of the other cowboys.
Olivia and I walked toward Chris’s police car. Before we got in the back, I glanced at Tori and Kent. As they walked together, Kent put his arm around her like he was being protective. At least I think that’s what it was about. Tori didn’t shrug him off. I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealousy, though I had no right to feel that way. We had been thrown together under dire circumstances and had a connection, but that didn’t mean we were, like… together. She could let anybody put his arm around her while she leaned in close and put her head on his shoulder… which is what she did. It was none of my business.
Then again, I thought Kent was all about Olivia. What was his deal?
I decided that we had a bigger drama going on and stopped staring at them… as he brushed Tori’s hair out of her eyes and gently helped her into the back of the Explorer.
Olivia had her arm draped through mine, and the length of her body pressed against my side like wallpaper. She was scared and needed any kind of security she could find. I didn’t mind, especially after what I saw between Kent and Tori.
Everyone else loaded up, and as if on cue, the cars took off— but in different directions. In seconds we were moving along the deserted streets of Boston.
“I thought we were all going to the same place?” Olivia said.
“We try not to travel in groups,” Chris replied. “You never know when one of them planes will show up. Right after the attack they’d sweep through the city looking for strays, but that’s happening less and less. The plane that was after you was the first one I’ve seen in days. I think they did what they came to do, and now they’re done with us.
I thought of the plane that had attacked us in Portland. Was that what it was doing? Searching for strays? With their evil mission complete, would they now leave us alone?
“How many survivors are there?” I asked.
“Hard to tell because they come and go. At any one time there might be about a hundred at the Hall. But there are plenty more out there, scared and hiding. We find ’em every day.”
“What exactly is the Hall?” I asked.
“It’s like a refugee camp,” Chris explained. “There’s food and a place to sleep and even some doctors. We pretty much take care of one another.”
“If it’s so great, why would anybody leave?” Olivia asked.
“Different reasons. Some go looking for loved ones. Others don’t want to be in a large group. They’re afraid we’re sitting ducks. For me, I’d rather be with people. If I’m going to die, I don’t want to be alone.”
“Do you think the planes hit other cities?” I asked.
Chris gave me a quick sideways look and said, “Don’t you? What happened up in Portland?”
“Same thing,” I replied.
“There you go. I don’t know who those devils are, but they seem to have only one goal, and that’s to wipe us out.”
That put an end to the conversation.
Every time my mind sought out the wider implications of what was happening, I was hit with a gut-twisting sense of sadness and dread. How many people had been killed? Hundreds of thousands? Millions? Billions? It was too staggering a concept to comprehend. I found that it was better to focus on the here and now as opposed to letting my mind wander to the big picture. Thinking too far ahead was like looking into a dark hole… with a black plane inside, lying in wait.
It had only been a week or so since the attack, but downtown Boston was already showing small signs of disuse. Garbage blew along the sidewalks and collected along the curbs. Broken glass was everywhere, some from smashed windows and others from shattered streetlights. Of course there were plenty of abandoned cars. Many had crashed into buildings or had blown through glass storefront windows. The once busy city was quiet. There was no noise at all, not even from the cooing of pigeons. The only sound came from the wind that blew through the abandoned urban canyons.
I was beginning to accept that this was the new normal. I hate to admit that because it meant I was willing to accept an unfathomable future, but what choice did I have? At least it meant that I could move forward and not crawl up into a ball, wanting to die. That’s saying something. I think.
Chris pulled into a parking lot and announced, “We’re here.”
Olivia and I looked around and had the same thought: “Where’s here?”
We were in a nondescript section of the city with no hint of survivors.
“We’ve still got a short walk,” Chris replied. “Like I said, we try to stay spread out. I’m not sure what good it does, but at least it makes us feel like we’re taking a little control.”
He led us along the sidewalk for a few blocks until we made the turn into an open park, where our question was answered.
“The Hall” turned out to be Faneuil Hall. I’d visited the place with my parents and knew a little bit of its history. The thumbnail description is that there were three three-story brick buildings that dated back to colonial times. Two of them ran parallel to each other and had to be at least a couple of blocks long. Faneuil Hall was originally a meeting place where speeches were given about fighting for independence from England. After that it served as a kind of town hall. It eventually became one of those historic spots that they renovate to look like it did back in the day. At some point the place was turned into a sprawling indoor/outdoor marketplace.
From the outside, the buildings looked as though they were from the 1700s, but inside were aisles of shops where you could buy anything from fried clams to artwork to dog collars. It was mostly a tourist spot. Locals didn’t buy refrigerator magnets of the Old North Church. But the restaurants were always busy, which meant it was a spot that drew lots of people.
At least it did before the population was wiped out.