Nil Unlocked (2 page)

“How was it, Skye?” Dad called from his office. “Did you sprint at the end?”

I kicked off my shoes. “Yes, Dad, I sprinted at the end. The last fifty yards, as hard as I could.”

“Good girl. How about push-ups? Did you knock those out yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Make time for them, Skye. A strong body makes for a strong mind,” he continued. “Don’t dismiss skills you may need just because you haven’t been called on to use them. And hopefully you never will, but better to plan for the worst and hope for the best.” His voice lightened. “But if you’re not busy with your push-ups, I’ve got something I want you to see.”

“Let me guess,” I said, stretching. “Another video on edible plants of the South Pacific? Or a documentary on rudimentary tool making?”

“At least you remember.” He laughed.

One thing I’ll give my crazy-sweet dad is that he’s one of the biggest optimists I’ve ever met. He wasn’t faking his delight in my comments. He wasn’t totally balanced, either.

It’s why my mom left.

“Seriously, come in here for a sec,” he said.

“Coming.” I sighed. Nothing in Dad’s office ever took just a “sec.”

If possible, the walls of Dad’s office seemed more covered than usual. A new folding table hugged the wall under the window. Paper coated the table like frosting: piles of white, with handwritten notes scrawled everywhere. Yellow Post-it notes containing hand-drawn arrows pointing to other notes lurked haphazardly among the mess.

As I entered, Dad’s eyes lit up like he’d just found leprechauns
and
their pot of gold.

“Skye.” He held up a piece of paper and grinned. “I think I’m close.”

“To what, exactly?” I tried to muster some enthusiasm and failed.

“To finding the original home of my guide last year. Or rather, his grandmother.” He waved the paper animatedly. “According to his stories, his grandmother was relocated from her island birthplace in the late 1940s—a place of secrets and spirits, he said—and that’s the island I need to find.” Paper in hand, he walked over to the huge wall map of the South Pacific. “I’ve narrowed it down to a small cross-section of islands along the equator. I think I’m finally close.”

The secret island
, I thought, my heart sinking.
Of course.

Crazy-obsession number one, the one that pushed my mom over the edge and out the door.

“Dad.” I spoke slowly, careful to keep my tone level. “I understand you think you’re close. But I also love you. And I think”—I paused, making sure he was giving me his full attention—“it’s time to stop. You’ve been fantasizing about this secret island for years. You’ve fixated on something that doesn’t exist—or if it does, it’s not part of our life. And you’re missing out on this life.” He’d gone still as he listened. Maybe that was what encouraged the words I’d been dying to say for the last few years.

“Dad, Mom left because you wouldn’t let this island obsession go. She
left
, Dad. Four years ago. And you’ve been alone ever since. You don’t date, barely have friends, and every free minute you’re not working at the university or lecturing on solar flares or electromagnetism, you’re researching islands or traveling to one. For what, Dad? Where has it gotten you?” I swept my hand around the cluttered office. “Dad, you need to let it go,” I said softly. “As your daughter, I’m telling you: Let it go.”

“And as your father, Skye, I’m telling you I can’t.” No judgment, no resignation, just pure astrophysicist matter-of-fact.

He strode over to his desk and picked up a small, worn black journal. With equal purpose, he handed it to me.

“This is your uncle Scott’s journal. He wrote it when he was seventeen. Your age. Read it and then we’ll talk.”

I didn’t move. “I want you to think about what I said. I’m serious, Dad. It’s time to move on.”

His smile was hard. “I know you’re serious, Skye. So am I. Read.”

“Did Mom ever read this?” I held up the journal.

Dad’s voice softened into a pained tone I didn’t recognize. “Yes, she did. But she never looked into his eyes. She never saw the truth.”

The truth was, I’d never looked into my uncle’s eyes, either. I’d never had the chance. My dad’s twin brother had died in a freak accident at age eighteen.

I went upstairs, took a quick shower, opened the journal, and began to read.

CHAPTER

3

RIVES

DAY 241, AFTER NOON

It was all me, trekking solo.

The last time I’d been this far inland without backup was the day I’d arrived. Just like then, I had zero food, but unlike that hellacious first day, now I had supplies and clothes. Nudity didn’t bother me, but that didn’t mean I wanted to walk around with my junk on display either.

Because of Charley’s escape, I even hauled an extra pair of shorts.

I’d taken for granted that I’d have Charley beside me on the return trip. Taken for granted that she’d be my Second, maybe even the next Leader. Taken for granted that she’d help me decode the rest of Nil, uncovering the secrets that made Nil tick.

Because I knew that Nil was holding back.

Memories flashed, a million fractured mental pixels.
Talla laughing, her blue eyes fierce. Talla whispering, “Be fearless, Rives.” Talla silent, lifeless in my arms.

I needed to stop taking things for granted. Like time, and people.

Got it, Nil
, I thought.

I guess I was just a slow learner.

I glanced around, and struck by fierce island d
é
j
à
vu, I laughed. I was retracing my steps from my Day One. Same solitary hike, right down to the afternoon arrival. I’d woken in this black rock field months ago and made it to the City by nightfall; I’d now spent 241 consecutive days in this deadly arena, more consecutive days than I’d spent in any place ever. Staying in one place so long implied roots, at least to me.

But I damn sure wouldn’t call Nil home.

Nil was more like purgatory, a place trapped between Heaven and Hell, with heavy doses of both. Maybe Nil was the devil’s playground, maybe it was Heaven’s testing ground. Maybe it was both. Or neither. Nobody stuck here had a clue.

But lately I was desperate to find one.

Surviving wasn’t enough anymore; I had to know why I was here. Why we
all
were here.

Focus, Rives.

Daydreaming was a dangerous pastime on Nil. Then again, daydreaming was risky anywhere. Daydreaming was what landed me here in the first place, that and blowing off my dad’s advice.

Memories ripped through my head, moments I hadn’t replayed in months.

Landing in Phuket. My dad laughing, my mom kissing his cheek. The slowing whir of the plane’s engines, the lazy wink of the hot flight attendant. The sleek feel of my sick new Canon with a telephoto lens. The annoying weight of the mandatory books on Thai history and culture.

Part extended vacation, part work trip for my dad, it was the three of us, as always. Dad was researching a Thai crime ring, a massive operation with international ramifications and disturbing political ties, or so he’d said. The engine’s drone faded, and my dad had seized the vacuum of that moment.
Look around,
he’d counseled as the plane taxied to a stop.
Watch the people. Watch the cues. And watch your back. Never forget you’re a foreigner. Never take your security for granted. Inattentiveness means missed chances and lost opportunities. But, worse, it puts you at risk.
Then his eyes had softened.
Got it, son?

Sure, Dad,
I’d said.

I wondered if he’d known then I was all talk.

The next day, I’d gone to Freedom Beach to take pictures. I was checking out some girls chilling on the sand, watching their butts and not my own. A gate caught me from behind; I never saw it coming.

Got it now
,
Dad
, I thought grimly.

On Nil, inattentiveness could get you killed.

I shifted my full focus to my surroundings, to the general postquake status.
Clear sky, solid ground. No movement.

A kilometer away, a black rhino marked the intersection of the red and black flows, his head swung toward me. Sweeping wide, I gave him all the space he needed, opting for the “I won’t mess with you if you don’t mess with me” approach.

The rhino didn’t budge.

Win for me, but the closer I got to the City, the more uneasy I grew. No people, no animals. No movement at all. Enough
nothing
to put me on edge.

Stillness on Nil was like the calm before the storm; stillness here felt weighted.

Every muscle tensed, the island’s weight pressing on me.

Then I saw it: two skinny boys, dressed in City garb, sprinting barefoot through the Flower Field, running away from the City, carting nets.
Our
nets. The ones Miya just finished last week.

“Hey,” I shouted, taking off in their direction. “Stop!”

Of course the boys didn’t stop; they didn’t even turn. And then they were gone, lost in ribbons of color.

I’d never gotten close.

My concern for the City jacked up to panic level.

I spun back around and stopped. A boy built like a man stood at the edge of the field. His skin matched mine, only his upper left arm and shoulder were laced with lines and swirls of crisp black ink. He wore a ring of flowers around his neck and a brown loincloth low on his waist. A homemade spear in his hand flowed like a deadly extension of him. Facing the field, he studied the raiders’ retreat.

Friend or foe?

Like he’d sensed my thoughts, our eyes met, and I’d have sworn his held pity. He turned away first. Away from the City, away from the field, moving toward the southern tip. And then he disappeared into the island like he belonged.

My grip on Nil wavered in the wake of today’s noon.

Charley always joked that I was Thad’s wingman, but he’d also been mine, and his absence felt like a hole in the fabric of the island itself. Possibly a tear in the fabric of
me.
I’d never realized how heavily I relied on Thad’s guidance, or his friendship. Nil was different now. More dangerous, with more variables, and fewer people to lean on to work it all out. Now I had confirmed raiders, a loner, a new Second to appoint, and a City to hold together in the quake’s aftermath.

At least I had brought good news back.

The deadleaf plants at the City’s edge greeted me first, their bright green leaves broadcasting danger. Green usually meant go, but with these plants it meant death. One plant was trampled, its cracked leaves limp and weeping. I noticed it even as I avoided it, my dad’s training instinctual.
Pay attention, Rives. Notice what others ignore.
It’s what made him an Emmy-nominated journalist, and it’s what made me notice the small things. The odd things, the things out of place—even people. People in the wrong place at the right time, people with tells, tics giving away truths.

Eyes wide open
, Thad used to say. I’d smile, even as I’d think,
Always.

Inside the perimeter, the City was organized chaos. I slowed, relieved to find that no one seemed hurt and all huts were intact. The chicken coop was already reinforced with fresh hemp twine and new logs. By my count only one chicken was lost. The goats roamed loose. One currently nosed around the firepit’s edge, scavenging the last of the fish wraps.

Thank God for Dex.

He stood on a black boulder directing salvage teams, his tattoos adding an air of tribal authority to his gestures. Ink was the one accessory that made it to Nil, and Dex’s was impressive. Skulls and words paired with flaming crosses and bloody daggers wove together across his torso like a painted shirt, one jacked with color.

Now that I’d seen the kid by the Flower Field, Dex’s tats screamed hard-core rocker rather than tribal statesman. To Dex’s credit, he held the City’s attention like a lead act.

Seeing me, he raised his hand, his expression hopeful.

“He made it.” I gave a double thumbs-up. “Thad’s gone.”

Jason covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking. My heart twisted. He’d seen more death than any fourteen-year-old should ever see. Miya gently rested her small hand on his shoulder, as if passing on her quiet strength to him. As I watched her, my heart twisted again, for a different reason.

Because of a different person.

Around Jason, people hooted; Ahmad hugged Jillian; Julio threw his fist in the air as Johan crossed himself, smiling. Macy beamed. Zane, Michael, and a few others clapped, almost politely. They’d barely known Thad. A dark-haired girl with a purple flower tucked behind one ear stood quietly, shoulders back, chin lifted, no clapping. Sy looked relieved.

Dex hopped down and strode over. “Where’s Charley?”

“Gone,” I said. “Nil sent a triple. Charley caught a ride home, too.”

Dex’s eyes widened. “A triple? And both Thad and Charley made it? Blimey. Did you go for the third?”

“Never had the chance. Thad missed the first one, so they took the next two.” I smiled. “Not my noon, bro.” I glanced toward the Flower Field. “Or the City’s. I just saw two raiders sprinting east, and they were hauling our nets.”

Dex groaned. “Tell me they weren’t the new cast nets?”

“Yup.”

“Bloody bastards,” Dex fumed. “We need those nets.” He ran a hand through his half-bleached hair, frustration written all over his face.

“We’ll need to set up watch on the Shack again.” I sighed. “We can’t afford to lose supplies to raiders.”

“Maybe.” Dex looked thoughtful. “But the nets weren’t at the Shack. They were hanging by the firepit to dry.” He mumbled a string of expletives, all starting with the word
bloody
.

By the firepit. Near the trampled deadleaf bush.

I dropped my gear and took off at a full sprint, retracing my steps to the Flower Field, but this time I went farther. This time I went
into
the field, starting at the point closest to the City, tracking the trail of crushed flowers.