Authors: Lynne Matson
Nil Unlocked (11 page)
In seventeen days, I’d find out.
RIVES
DAY 243, DUSK
Nil’s unknowns had me jacked.
Tonight was my third Nil Night as Leader in the weeks since I’d taken Thad’s place—but it was the first where I couldn’t relax. The drive to unlock Nil’s secrets was a thirst I couldn’t slake, like the island held the perfect well of answers if I could just find it.
I was constantly
looking.
Constantly paying attention.
It was exhausting.
But I couldn’t stop.
The moon curved overhead, an arc of white sliced from Nil black. Stars glittered; they knit together into familiar constellations that lulled you into thinking you were safe. Black rocks circled the beachside firepit. Lit torches formed the outer ring, pockets of flame burning holes in the night. Black sky, black air. Black rocks. Nil at night was a dark, dark place.
By the firepit, Nikolai and Alexei sat so close their hips touched, heads together as they talked. Alexei smiled. Ahmad joked with Kiera and Raj. Michael stared at the fire, face intense. Other groups of twos and threes stood listening.
Dex played a pair of drums, rocking out with homemade sticks. Sweat glistened on his forehead as his hands moved to music locked deep in his head; he drummed with his eyes closed. Jillian sat beside him, mixing it up with gourd seed shakers; Zane played a primitive ukulele. On his left, Macy sang, deep and soulful, an island Etta James.
Her last note trailed off. People raised cups and cheered; Dex waved a stick in thanks. As the hoots died down, I whistled, hard.
All heads turned toward me.
“We’ve had a big few weeks. First, a farewell. The best kind.” I raised my cup and smiled. “To Thad, who kept us safe and kept us together. And to Charley, who connected lost dots and improved our chances. To T and C.” I lifted my cup higher amid cheers and whoops. “Second, a welcome. To Nikolai, Kiera, and Alexei, we’re glad you’re here even though we’re sorry you’re here. I promise we’ll do all we can to help you get home.”
Alexei raised his cup; Nikolai didn’t move. Kiera’s eyes held mine as she mouthed
merci.
Fresh weight settled on my shoulders where my dreads used to be. So many eyes, all looking to me for guidance and hope and direction in a place where the default was simply
run.
I refocused.
“A few more things. Nil is now a serious cat preserve. Two lions and one leopard are confirmed. No word on whether the tiger is still around. Remember, they usually don’t mess with us if we don’t mess with them, so give the big cats some distance. We also have a rhino and at least one very ugly hyena, so be aware. Stay alert, especially for those going on Search tomorrow. Two teams head out at dawn. Johan, with Jason as Spotter and Miya and Julio as support. Raj has Pari as Spotter and Carlos as support. That’s it.” I raised my cup. “Focus on the good, live in the moment. To now.”
To now
, the City chorused.
The ghosts of friends hung in the evening breeze.
I tilted my head toward the night. Images flickered inside my brain, flashing like falling stars. I fought to grab one; it was a piece of the island puzzle.
“Hey.” Kiera’s voice next to me shattered my mental mojo.
The fragile outline disintegrated. Gone.
I sighed.
“How long have you been here, Rives?” On her lips, my name had a French lilt, a familiar cadence I hadn’t heard in months.
“Two hundred forty-three days.”
“So long,” she murmured in French. “So the Search system. Aren’t you cutting it close? What about just building a raft?”
I stiffened, then forced myself to relax. “Rafts don’t work. The ocean always sends them back. The gates are our ticket home, and the Search system gives us the best shot at finding one. Plus, it keeps us alive until we can catch a gate.”
My answer seemed to satisfy her.
“You’re a great Leader, Rives.” Kiera smiled at me, but her gaze didn’t draw me in. No spark, no heat. I wasn’t looking for an island fling; I never had been. I wasn’t even sure if I was reading her right. All I knew was that her eyes held some form of want and I had nothing to give.
“Thanks,” I said, wanting distance.
Needing
it. I stood. “I’d better go earn my keep.” I smiled casually, the sort of smile that meant nothing. “If you have more questions about Search, you can ask me, Dex, or Jason. Or Jillian. She knows a ton. Probably more than me.”
Jillian leaned over. “Still a no, Rives,” she said in a singsong voice.
“Eavesdropper.” I laughed.
Abruptly, my spine prickled, like I had eyes on my back. I grabbed a lit torch and turned.
“Where are you going?” Jillian asked.
“Just checking things out.”
Behind me, Kiera whispered, “He takes his job seriously, doesn’t he?”
I didn’t linger to hear Jillian’s response. Because someone blended with the tree line, watching. I felt his eyes; I felt
him.
It was the inked kid watching us, or maybe he was just watching me.
I strode toward the trees, toward the darkest swath camouflaged in night. Unfortunately, my torch telegraphed exactly where I was heading, because when I got there, the dense spot was empty. No one waiting. No one watching. But he’d been here; I sensed it.
I turned back, toward the beach. From where I stood, I had a clear view of the firepit through the trees. Careful not to set the trees on fire, I pointed my torch in all directions, trying to see where he’d gone. Nothing. No broken branches, no tells.
No blazes.
But when I looked down, a pale object glinted in the moonlight. Kneeling, I picked it up. A piece of bleached wood, carved into a crescent moon.
Dropped by accident?
I wondered.
Or left on purpose?
Another question, no answer.
Carving in hand, I strolled toward the water, absorbing every sound, every sight. The booming salt spray, the clear night. The endless sea, leading nowhere I could go. The waves whispered, but too many voices in my head crowded out any shot at personal clarity. Johan urging,
Be wary
. The tatted-up boy warning,
Don’t go back
. Jillian saying,
Don’t be stupid
, and Talla whispering,
Be fearless
.
Kiera challenging,
You don’t have an accent.
You don’t know me
, I thought.
Who does?
the sea hissed.
I couldn’t answer the ocean’s question. The person I’d been 243 days ago was slipping away, leaching from me like my time on Nil. Lately I’d even questioned myself. I questioned my motivation, my insane need for answers driving my moves with a compulsion I couldn’t fight. I didn’t know whether it was selfless, or selfish.
I held the crescent moon carving as the real crescent moon shone high. The horizon was lost to the night. Each wave rolled like a shadow, inky black, toward me. Above the water, stars huddled in brilliant groups.
I closed my eyes and the mental dots exploded into shapes. The waves. The moon. The constellations.
The ink on the boy’s arm.
Lines of black waves, the single crescent moon, the interlocking diamonds. Shapes in the sky, shapes on his arm. Shapes in the cavern. All a crisp match.
Then I had epiphany number two.
I strode to the backside of the Wall, where most marks weren’t crosses or checks, but a mysterious mix of suns, stars, and crescent moons—exactly like the moon I held in my hand.
Get ready, mystery man,
I thought, squeezing the wood.
It’s time to turn the tables. Because I’m not just coming for Nil, I’m coming for you too.
I buried the thought that ever since I’d woken under the Nil sky, time had never been on my side.
And then somebody screamed.
SKYE
DECEMBER 5, MORNING
As I drove toward Charley’s house, I was as nervous as the morning before a final exam. We’d flown into Atlanta last night, and today I’d talk with Charley if all went according to plan.
To be honest, my plan was a little weak.
I’d decided the best way to approach Charley was to catch her on her way home from school Friday afternoon. Dad didn’t teach on Fridays, so he enthusiastically went along with my idea. Suddenly I was the one steering the crazy train.
At least I knew what she looked like.
The international press ran pictures of her with each article, which helped, and having read each one, I had to admit her story was freaky. Star athlete, star student, heavily recruited by major universities to play volleyball, Charley was that girl who had it all going for her, then she disappeared without a trace, only to pop up months later in a foreign country, with no explanation given for her absence. According to the articles, she didn’t even have a passport.
Weird.
Like Uncle Scott weird.
I wondered if she had a journal.
Unfortunately, Charley didn’t have school on Friday, or maybe she just ditched. She never left the house. I lurked in our rental car in a creepy teen version of a stakeout, while Dad hung out in the hotel. I wondered if I’d missed her, guiltily thinking of the few times I’d zoned out. I returned to the hotel Friday night empty-handed except for Uncle Scott’s journal.
Saturday morning I woke with a new plan. Okay, “plan” was generous; it was more like a default. I’d just walk up to her house and introduce myself. Lay it all out and hope for the best.
I’d just pulled onto her street when Charley blew by; she wore tights, a long-sleeved shirt, running shoes, and a fierce
I-will-take-you-down
look. Her long ponytail whipped behind her as she passed.
Crap.
At least I was dressed similarly, for stakeout comfort rather than running, but still. I parked, grabbed Uncle Scott’s journal, and took off after Charley.
Holy cow, the girl was good. It took me four blocks to catch her.
“Charley!” I called.
She whipped around, wary. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“Do I know you?” Her light eyes were sharp.
“No,” I said, catching my breath. “And I know this is weird. But please”—I held up both hands, one of which held Uncle Scott’s journal—“just give me five minutes.”
She glanced at the journal, her entire body tensing. “Are you a reporter?”
“No. My name is Skye Bracken. My dad is an astrophysicist at the University of New Hampshire, and this is his brother’s journal.” I waved the worn black book. “My uncle wrote it when he was seventeen.” I paused. “Here’s the thing. Back in the eighties, my uncle claims he was biking down the street and hit a wall of shimmering air. He called it a gate.”
Charley’s eyes widened, but to her credit she stood her ground, looking down at me. The newspapers hadn’t mentioned she was so flipping tall.
“According to his journal, my uncle passed out and woke up on an island called Nil.”
Charley sucked in a small breath.
“This island,” I continued, “was a freaky place. First he saw a giraffe, then a walrus, then finally some other people.” Inwardly, I winced. It sounded more unbelievable when voiced out loud. I kept going, keeping my voice calm and, hopefully, sane.
“My uncle only met teenagers, and he figured out pretty quickly they all had a year to escape or they died. Some kids died, but my uncle made it back home, through another gate. Well, not exactly home. He ended up in Boston. Anyway”—I waved the journal—“he’d been missing for ten months. When he told his parents his story, my grandparents thought he was crazy, and they made him go to therapy, where he wrote this journal. But my dad believes everything in here is the truth.” I took a deep breath. “And, after two decades of searching, now my dad thinks he can find Nil and rescue all the kids there.”
A million emotions flickered across her face, but the greatest one was grief. Crushing grief. Suddenly I felt awful. Like I was rubbing salt in raw wounds, wounds I couldn’t see but that were tearing her apart from the inside out. Pain wrapped Charley so tightly it was a miracle that she could breathe.
“I’m sorry.” I took a step back. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know where you’ve been, or what you’ve been through. And I know this all sounds crazy. I don’t know what I thought you could tell me, but my dad, he’s got this wild idea that he can find this island and save everyone—” I stopped, aware I was rambling. I never rambled. But the hurt and loss emanating from Charley was so thick it choked all rational thought.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I turned.
“Wait.” Charley’s soft voice stopped me.
I looked back to find Charley staring at me, a tear trickling down her face. She made no move to wipe it away.
“If this place did exist”—her drawl stayed soft—“Nil, what makes your dad think he can get there?”
“His brother graphed out the stars—the constellations—and my dad believes he’s narrowed down an area in the South Pacific where he’s convinced the island is located. It’s a long shot, but my dad, well, he’s determined. He thinks there must be a direct route to the island no one has found. Yet.”
Charley pointed to the journal. “Did your uncle ever mention anything washing up on the island?”
I thought carefully. I’d been through the journal a dozen times already. “No. According to my uncle, everything on the island was made there or came through the gates.”
She didn’t flinch. “So why does your dad think he can access the island any other way?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “If you knew him, you’d know he’s prone to wild ideas. Even if he is an astrophysicist.”
Charley stared at me intently. “How old are you, Skye?”
“Seventeen.”
“If there is another way on the island, your dad won’t be the one to get there, because he’s too old. You already know that, don’t you?” She tilted her head at me. “But you could.” Charley closed her eyes, a long, slow blink. The she sighed. “But if you’ve read your uncle’s journal, you also know it’s not a place you want to visit. Right?”
