That’s what was wrong.
“Power,” I said to myself.
There was electricity.
I had been so stunned by the sight of the carnival that it hadn’t clicked right away. Carnivals were supposed to look exactly like this. They were bright and colorful and cheesy… but not in a world without power. SYLO had the means to produce electricity, and by the looks of the carnival, it wasn’t from batteries or a couple of generators. This base had juice.
It made me focus on the reality of what I was seeing. This was an oasis. A well-protected oasis. There was a wide expanse of cleared earth that ringed Fort Knox. Inside that ring was a second ring of artillery and plenty of armed soldiers who protected the fort from attack. But what exactly was being protected? A rinky-dink carnival? There had to be more.
I heard the loud clang of a bell followed by a huge cheer. I looked to where the cheering came from to see one of those highstriker games where you try to ring the bell on top of a pole by hitting the base with a heavy mallet, shooting a metal weight up a wire. I’d never actually seen anybody win at that game. I always thought it was rigged.
Clang!
The bell rung again, and another cheer went up.
I wandered closer, not so much because somebody was killing the game, but because the crowd was so enthusiastic about it. It was a show of joy and laughter that filled a void in my soul. The spectators were thrilled, probably more so than the feat deserved. Hearing them laugh and applaud made me understand why this carnival existed.
It was a break from the reality of war. A vacation from the horror. By tomorrow the tents would probably be struck and the rides dismantled, but for the time being these people could forget that they were living inside a ring of artillery and under the constant threat of an aerial attack.
I made my way closer to the action. I wanted to see the guy win again so I could cheer him on like everybody else. I wanted a few seconds of relief. As I wound my way through the loosely gathered group, I could see that the hero of the moment was a SYLO soldier. No big surprise. He was a tall guy, though not particularly muscular. His back was to me, and I could see that he was breathing heavily from the exertion.
“One more time! One more time!” the crowd chanted, urging him on.
The soldier gripped the heavy mallet. The chanting grew louder and faster. The guy took a deep breath, wound up, and slammed the mallet down. He hit the pad, and the metal object shot to the sky, nailing the bell once again.
Clang!
The crowd cheered. I did too. I couldn’t help myself. It was silly, but at least it was something positive. There was very little that I had seen over the past few weeks that deserved a simple cheer of congratulations. I felt good for the guy, and for the crowd, and for me. It was nice to cheer for something.
It was a cheer that caught in my throat when the soldier turned around.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and handed the mallet to the man in the rainbow-striped jacket who was running the game.
“Show’s over,” the soldier said. “I’m too old for this.”
The crowd shouted “No!” as if to assure the guy he wasn’t all that old. He was their hero. He had given them reason to cheer.
He was also their commander.
Not only had he rung the bell, he had done something else that was equally impossible.
He had come back from the dead.
It was Captain Norman Granger.
The man I had come to find… and kill.
NINETEEN
The crowd applauded as Granger did his best to look humble. “Show’s over,” he said. “As you were.”
His people may have been off duty, but he still gave them orders. The crowd dispersed, and I realized I was the only one standing there, still staring at him. I quickly moved away, hovering close to a tent that held a baseball toss game.
I was beyond being surprised by anything anymore. Though I needed to see him to be sure, I’d known in my heart that Granger was alive the moment I heard his voice booming from that drone aircraft. Seeing him brought back so many memories. None of them were good. My hands started shaking. I had to clasp them together to stop from jittering. The last thing I needed was to let my emotions control me.
I needed time to think and plan my next move, but I had to be ready for anything. Half of my mission was already complete. I had seen Granger. The SYLO commander.
His presence on Pemberwick set the wheels in motion for Quinn to die.
He had turned my parents against me.
He was an enemy.
He was a murderer.
I had promised myself that if I found him, I would kill him. Would killing a soldier in a war zone be murder? I guess that depended on who was doing the killing. Was it justifiable homicide for a civilian to take out a soldier who destroyed his life? I was going to find out. But to succeed, I had to be cold and calculating. I had to be like Granger.
The SYLO commander strolled away from the high-striker game in no particular hurry. I trailed him, staying far enough behind to go unnoticed. I used other people to shield me from his view, while trying not to look like, well, like I was following him. Granger walked casually with his hands clasped behind his back and his posture impossibly straight. He surveyed each ride, food cart, and game as he passed, looking them up and down like he was on an inspection tour. At one point he stopped next to one of the tall metal cones. He reached out and touched it, running his hand along the metallic surface as if admiring its workmanship. His casual inspection tour reminded me of the way he strolled among the bullet-riddled bodies of Tori’s father and the other rebels on Chinicook Island, casually examining the victims of his ruthless attack. He showed no remorse or sympathy, and then he ordered his soldiers to torch the woods where we were hiding. I felt the weight of the gun pressing against my back. Killing Granger would go a long way toward getting revenge for what had happened on Pemberwick. But was I willing to sacrifice myself to do it? This bizarre carnival was in a secure military base loaded with armed soldiers. If I managed to put a bullet into Granger, several more bullets would soon be entering me. Not only would it be suicide, there would probably be other casualties. More innocent people would die in the cross fire. Some could be kids. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to get Granger alone.
He suddenly stopped walking and pulled a phone from his belt. Apparently SYLO not only had power, they had cell service.
Granger listened for a few seconds and then reacted physically to whatever he was hearing over the phone. He tensed up and glanced around as if looking for something. Or someone.
Had he been alerted that he was being stalked? I ducked behind one of the metallic teepees and cautiously peered at him. Granger turned and hurried away. My guess was that he was looking for a quiet place to talk. With the phone to his ear, he hurried past the furthest tent, away from the carnival and out into the dark beyond.
He was alone. I had my chance.
I followed quickly but not at a dead sprint. I didn’t want to attract attention. When I left the lights of the carnival, I had trouble seeing in the dark. I had to follow the sound of Granger’s voice as he shouted at the phone.
“Details!” he demanded. “I don’t want speculation. I want facts.” He was definitely worked up about something.
“No,” he barked with authority. “Not until we have confirmation. Are you in contact with the AWACs?”