Free Night of the Purple Moon by Scott Cramer Page B

natural immunity, but you’re probably right. We also don’t know how long the illness will last. Will someone die the minute their hormones reach a certain level? Or will the germs attack them slowly, over a period of weeks or months?”
    Just then a runaway train of kids rumbled down the stairs, circled the room once, and roared back upstairs—Toucan the engine, Danny the caboose, Chase and Terry in between—all of them hollering and laughing.
    Abby hardly noticed.
    “We’re lucky the germs aren’t a virus,” Kevin added. “To stop a virus, you need a vaccine. Making a vaccine takes a year or longer.”
    Puberty was a ticking time bomb planted in each and every teen. The older you were the louder and faster it ticked. Abby could not begin to imagine the minute-by-minute anxiety of waiting up to a year for the bomb to go off.
    She no longer thought three or four months seemed so bad.
    * * *
    Jordan’s friend, Eddie Egan, lived inland, a mile from the water. Many of Jordan and Emily’s classmates also lived in this neighborhood. Their fathers were commercial fishermen, and Jordan guessed that when they were at home they didn’t want to see the ocean.
    As they drove into the neighborhood, there were no signs of life, any life—human, animal, bird.
    Jordan’s throat pounded. He had assumed that Eddie, twelve years old, would be alive. Puberty for both of them was a year or two away. Abby had thought the same thing. She worried more how the locals would receive the Leighs and Patels. They were newcomers to the island. Despite that Jordan’s grandparents lived on Castine Island for years and his father grew up here, he and Abby were outsiders.
    Jordan turned into the Egan driveway and headed toward the house. A lobster boat sat on blocks in the front yard. Mr. Egan owned several fishing boats. A week ago, Eddie had invited Jordan to go deep sea fishing with his older brother and dad over spring break—today, in fact.
    When he pulled to a stop, he and Emily reached for each other at the same moment. Eddie’s house, similar to every other one, stood as still as a tombstone. There were no lights on inside.
    Jordan nervously brought the mic to his lips, about to call out. But before his voice boomed over the loudspeaker, the front door flung open, and Eddie, followed by a line of kids, ran outside. Jordan wasted no time hopping out of the cruiser.
    The locals froze, staring wide-eyed at him and Emily, and for a moment nobody spoke.
    “Leigh,” Eddie finally cried, “what the hell are you doing driving a cop car?”
    * * *
    Ten kids—two holding babies—quickly surrounded Emily and Jordan outside. Emily knew those in her sixth grade class and recognized others from school lunch period. She thought the babies must be siblings of the kids holding them.
    They peppered Jordan with questions.
    Without access to the internet and unaware of the emergency broadcast station, Eddie and the others who had found their way to his house did not know about the space germs or the efforts of the CDC, though they had suspected the purple dust had a lot to do with the mysterious tragedies they had all experienced.
    Jordan told them all that he knew.
    “I don’t believe adults are dead everywhere.” The boy who said this had broad shoulders, clearly the strongest among them, and the oldest. “My father took the ferry to Portland,” he added. “He’d call, but the phones aren’t working.”
    The other locals shifted uneasily in the awkward silence that followed.
    “Colby, give me a break,” Toby Jones said.
    Emily had heard stories about Toby. He was in Kevin’s class. He often made fun of her brother.
    The broad-shouldered boy—Colby—glared at Toby. Then Eddie stepped between them and said, “Toby, don’t be an asshole.”
    A girl with pigtails, who looked like a second or third grader, raised her hand. “What’s puberty?”
    Emily, who had yet to say anything, saw an opportunity. “When you get older,” she said,