Nil Unlocked (10 page)
Authors: Lynne Matson
A seventeen-year-old American teenager who disappeared last August near her Roswell, Georgia, home was found yesterday on the slope of Mont Blanc. Charley Crowder was discovered alive and uninjured, although she is reportedly suffering from hypothermia and extreme shock. According to local authorities, Ms. Crowder was “extraordinarily lucky” to have been found. “She was left for dead in unmarked terrain,” said one eyewitness who refused to give his name. Another eyewitness claimed Ms. Crowder was naked, although that report has yet to be confirmed.
Ms. Crowder was reported missing last August and had not been seen or heard from until yesterday. She was reunited with her family this morning. No further information was released.
Dad looked at me, a fierce combo of intellectual curiosity and
I-believe-in-aliens
loony radiating from his eyes. “Charley’s story matches the pattern of Scott’s, albeit a shorter time frame, but her story suggests she was on Nil. Perhaps she can tell me something specific about Nil, something to help pinpoint the island’s location. I’m going to fly to Atlanta and see if I can speak with her in person. With her parents’ permission, of course.”
He sounded more fanatical than he looked.
Yikes.
“Dad.” I spoke calmly to counter his crazy. “Listen to yourself. You’re just going to fly down to Atlanta and do what? March up to her house, introduce yourself to her parents, and say, ‘Hi. I’m a professor of astrophysics, and I think your daughter was on a mysterious island that really exists even though it’s uncharted and I’d like to talk to her about it’? Do you hear how creepy that sounds? Their daughter just showed up after being missing for months, and you think they’re going to let some strange guy who says he’s a professor come in and talk to her?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”
He had the decency to look chagrined.
“You haven’t thought this through at all, have you?” I asked.
“Not really,” he admitted.
I thought for a moment, putting myself in Charley’s shoes.
“How about this,” I said. “Let’s give her time to get home, to adjust. If she
was
on Nil, she’s probably freaked out. If she wasn’t, she’s still probably freaked out because clearly something bad happened to her. Maybe she was kidnapped, or fell victim to foul play.” I closed my eyes.
What the what? I did not just use the words
foul play.
Pulling myself back into the real, sane world where everyone else lived, I opened my eyes. “The only way this will work is if I talk to Charley alone. I’ll bring Uncle’s Scott’s journal. I won’t press, but I’ll give her an opening to talk.” I gave him a tough-love look. “I’m not letting you freak out some already-freaked-out girl some more. Let me figure out how to approach her, okay?”
He looked exceptionally guilty.
“Please tell me you haven’t called her parents already.”
“I may have left a message.”
I slapped my forehead with my palm. “Nice going, Dad. Well, let’s still go but don’t count on any information.” I pulled up the calendar on my phone, determined to give Charley some time and protect her from my overzealous dad, who still looked way too hopeful.
“Let’s try the weekend of the fifth,” I said. “But keep your expectations low, okay?”
Charley
, I thought,
if you were on Nil, I’m sorry. And if you weren’t, I’m sorry, too.
Either way, lying naked on a French ski slope sounded horrible, especially when you weren’t French.
Now I felt like a voyeur AND a stalker.
Two weeks with my dad and I was spiraling quickly into his abyss of crazy.
That night I stayed up to finish Uncle Scott’s journal. He described City life, island topography, and people in detail so clearly I could see why Dad believed it was real. Moments of beauty and peace transcended the danger, like the night Uncle Scott danced with Jenny until the fiery orange sun set, and then lay on the warm sand, holding her hand, studying the stars. Moments of weirdness stuck out, like the Brazilian boy who refused to wear a loincloth, opting to go au natural on Nil and leaving his man parts on constant display, or the time a sloth appeared in the City and scared the beejezus out of George. Names repeated and vanished; other entries were laundry lists of animals on Nil. There seemed to be an awful lot of cats. I learned that Uncle Scott cut his face when he was surfing and wiped out on the rocks. Jenny dragged him ashore. I didn’t know he knew how to surf.
I also didn’t know how he managed to get off Nil, or how he broke.
I do now.
And the last three entries gave me chills.
RIVES
DAY 243, ALMOST DUSK
Preparations for tonight’s Nil Night fueled the City.
Jason and I sat by the beachside firepit making torches, a mindless process if there ever was one. Beside us sat a basket filled with brown fruit the size and shape of oranges, only these fruits were off-limits for snacking.
The secret lurked inside. Break open the flesh and inside was an oily nut. Dry them out, string them together, and you had a slick bead necklace, but we used these jewels for fire. Take a piece of bamboo, tie a dozen fresh-hulled nuts on it, and
voil
à
—a Nil torch. Light the top nut first, then the flame worked its way down. From top to bottom, each torch burned for hours, depending on factors unknown to me.
All I knew was that it worked.
Even with Jason’s bum finger, we had a dozen torches fully made when the dark-haired girl with a flower tucked behind her ear walked up with Zane.
“Like the new ’do, bro,” Zane said.
“Thanks.” I turned to the girl and stuck out my hand, smiled. “Hey. I’m Rives.”
“Kiera.” She smiled. “I was wondering when I’d finally meet you. It seems that everyone knows you but me.”
Her accent surprised me.
“You’re French?” I asked.
“Tahitian.”
“Your home is a beautiful place,” I said in French.
She looked surprised too. “You speak French?” Hers was flawless.
“Yes.” I answered in English, aware of Jason’s and Zane’s eyes, unwilling to make this moment private. “My mother was raised in Paris. We have a flat there.”
“You don’t have an accent.” It sounded like an accusation.
I shrugged. “We travel a lot.” With my parents’ jobs, we’d lived in a variety of places, always long enough for me to find a local club to play football and sharpen my skills as striker. My last coach said I had pro potential. Even though he was a former scout for Real Madrid, I thought Coach just threw out that line to get more out of me. I wondered now.
“But”—Kiera’s lilting French brought me back, still pressing—“where do you live?”
I didn’t feel like playing—or defending myself.
“Here.” One word, in crisp English, delivered with a smile.
“I meant, where are you from?” she asked. Annoyed tone, tilted chin. I realized I’d misread her posture the first time I’d seen her standing near Dex. It wasn’t strength I’d seen, or defiance; it was privilege. I sensed Kiera was accustomed to getting her way.
“Before here?” she added in English.
“Everywhere. I travel with my parents. They’re journalists.” I could’ve added that we had flats in Paris, Los Angeles, and Honolulu, and rotated between the three. But I didn’t.
Arms crossed, Kiera studied the torch assembly line.
“In Tahiti, we have candlenut trees, too,” she said. “I’ve seen fishermen use the nut oil, but I’ve never seen anyone make torches. How did you know how to do that?”
“Natalie taught me,” I said. “She was the Leader before Thad. I don’t know who taught her. Maybe one day you’ll teach someone else.”
“I’d rather go home,” she said.
“Amen, sister,” Zane agreed.
Jason looked up from his torch. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately,” he said. “Not about leaving but about how much knowledge we lose. You know someone before Charley must have figured out the gate pattern, but then it got lost, like in a bad telephone game.” He turned toward me, worried. “What if the next ten people who show up don’t speak English? What if all the veterans leave in the same week? What if people forget what these do?” He held up a nut. “What if there’s other stuff we don’t know, but we don’t even know that we don’t know?”
“Whoa,” said Zane, his eyes wide. “Deep.”
Jason tossed a nut at Zane, barely missing his head. “You know what I mean. For all we know, we’re still missing tons of information about this place.”
“Or maybe we know more than ever,” I said. “Either way, I hear you, bro. But you can’t worry about the what-ifs.”
Because that’s how Nil gets in your head.
“All you can worry about is the now.”
“Agreed,” Zane said. “But I’ve only been camping here forty-two days, so what do I know? Not much. Just that this place is a total freak fest.”
“That it is,” I agreed.
I wondered why I’d felt so defensive with Kiera, why I’d shared so little. Maybe I didn’t like all the questions. I came from a family that preferred to do the asking.
Maybe,
the waves whispered.
Or maybe it’s you. Maybe you haven’t found what you’re looking for. Or who.
Or who?
I wondered, glancing toward the ocean.
If there was someone out there for me, she wasn’t on this island. I’d risked my heart once here; I sure as hell wouldn’t do it again.
I had absolutely no time for that.
SKYE
NOVEMBER 18, DUSK
Entry #18
Day 202. I stood alone in the Arches, looking at the sea.
Come, the island whispered. Search.
I didn’t know what I was supposed to search for. Gates? People? Something else?
I still don’t know. But I know we Searched for gates every damn day. And the island named the system for us.
My name is Scott Bracken, and this is the truth.
Entry #19
You’re not well, they say.
We love you, they say.
You’ll be okay, they say.
I’m not sure anymore. Sometimes I think I still hear Nil.
My name is Scott Bracken, and I swear this is the truth.
Entry #20
My last day on the island began like the rest.
Sunrise, I rise.
John sat by the firepit, carving dice. Anne lay curled beside him, asleep. I waved, not wanting to wake her. John tossed me a mango. I caught it and saluted him with it.
He grinned.
I passed the Wall, pointed to my name, and hit the beach. Sunrise in Giraffe Land was stunning. And peaceful. It was my favorite time of day on the island.
Hui was already awake, working on the hang gliders he’d been building for weeks.
The first time I’d gone up, the rush was so intense I didn’t want to come down. It had been our project ever since I’d stepped down as Leader. Hui was the engineer; I was the labor. We had two fully functional; two more were halfway complete. The gliders would help us see the island from the air, and since we’d broadened the Search area for gates well beyond the City, we were getting spread out. We were losing people to gates, which was good. We were losing supplies to the island, which was bad. And we were running into more wildlife than ever, which was dangerous. Weird wildlife, not what you’d expect on a tropical island. Like hippos. The game Hungry, Hungry Hippos was wrong; it should’ve been called Angry, Angry Hippos. Hippos were big, pissed-off creatures. And the only thing worse than getting caught off guard by a hippo was running into a snow leopard. An honest-to-God snow leopard, on a tropical island.
Stay away from the meadow, my angel girl had warned. Probably because it hid snow leopards. A pair of them. And possibly a cheetah. And, for all I knew, a walrus. After Jenny and I ran into the leopards in the meadow and walked away unscathed, we never went back. Never went close. Even the giraffe knew to stay away from the meadow. He hung around the City until one day he simply disappeared.
But the gliders. The gliders were fucking brilliant, like Hui. The gliders helped us spot danger before it found us.
Hui went back to get some food. I looked toward the City, hoping Jenny would show soon. Her detail was collecting redfruit, but she should be back by now. Maybe we could go eat at the Arches. It was our favorite place to hang, close to the City but far enough away that it felt like ours. I laughed at that. Nothing here was ours. A total joke. I got up, stiff from crouching, and decided to jog to get my blood moving again. I ran by the water’s edge, slowly, above the foam. I’d gone maybe eighty yards north when I saw the gate; it rose from the white sand and flew toward me, like it had my name on it.
I didn’t even realize it was noon. I didn’t even have to run.
One step later I walked into the gate. No fear.
It burned.
I passed out.
That was it. Totally anticlimactic. Arrive alone, leave alone, like I’d come full circle, only the boy who arrived was not the same boy who left.
And when I woke up on someone’s frosty lawn, my first thought wasn’t that I was naked. Or that I’d lived. Or that my time served in Giraffe Land was over. It was that I never told anyone good-bye.
How messed up is that?
So that’s it. End of story.
My name is Scott Bracken, and this is the truth. Every fucking word of it.
The next page was the last one with writing. In simple print, perfectly centered, were three words:
I fear nothing.
The remaining pages were blank.
I wondered if Charley still heard Nil, or if she ever did. I wondered if she was fearless. And I wondered if I’d have the guts to ask her.
