by Lynne Matson
“True. But you won’t survive if you don’t eat.”
“I know. But half the time I just feel sick.”
“I hear you. Maybe focus on the other half, all right? Go get a wrap and some redfruit. Johan’s team brought back heaps and it’s all ripe. And listen”—I lowered my voice—“keep an eye on Archie, will you?” I paused, long enough to decide to trust Sy with my suspicion. “I think he’s one of the raiders who stole the nets.”
Sy’s eyes stretched into saucers. “For real? So Archie’s, like, a spy?”
Spy. The word sounded organized, implying a certain level of intelligence and stealth. If Archie was one of the raiders who crushed half the flowers in the field as they fled, he was as subtle as a bulldozer.
“Maybe. Just keep an eye on him, okay? But eat first.”
Sy walked away, his spine a little straighter, his shoulders back. Sy’s motto should be Do more, worry less. Then he might actually be okay.
Zane came over, smiling wide. “Hey, boss—guess what? Raj and crew brought back a chicken and a goat. Sweet, right?”
I nodded. “Sweet.” But I didn’t share Zane’s stoke. Because as twilight fell, so did the goat’s chances of surviving the night. Same for my odds of sleeping. Because I had a possible raider in camp, a hungry predator on the prowl, and fresh meat for the taking.
I sighed.
It would be a long night on watch.
Twelve hours later, I’d realize I was only partially right. The goat turned out to be completely fine.
CHAPTER
32
SKYE
DAY 4, WELL BEFORE DAWN
It was officially the weirdest Christmas ever. I was a stranger in a strange land.
Make that a completely freaky land.
This holiday even beat out the terrible tofurkey Christmas on the freaky meter. That Christmas was the first holiday after Mom and Dad split. We’d still spent Christmas as a family, with everyone acting overly polite and eating the awful organic tofu bird Mom had concocted and all of us pretending the “D” word didn’t exist. Ironically, my parents still weren’t divorced. But they weren’t together, either.
And this year, none of us were together.
The closest family I had here was Uncle Scott. Haven’t you already established he’s dead? my mind scolded exasperatedly.
Yup. I’m connecting with a ghost. Merry crazy Christmas.
I blinked in the dark, wondering what time it was. I closed my eyes like Rives had suggested, filtering the silence, listening for sounds of people moving. Nothing, at least nothing human made.
Breaking waves rumbled through the air like the best sleep machine ever. The air was cool, but Jillian had given me a cheetah pelt as a cover, a lovely yet creepy kindness that kept me comfortably warm. Around me, Macy, Brittney, and Kiera slept. We shared one of the bigger huts, complete with four beds and two tables. Despite the open sides, suddenly I felt cramped, almost claustrophobic.
Outside, I breathed deeply, taking in the space. Overhead, fire lit the sky, each star burning brilliant white in the clearest night sky I’d ever seen: no light, no humidity, no smog—no pollution of any sort to smother the clarity. The firepit’s glow dulled by comparison.
I stared at the night, at the stars my dad loved almost as much as the sun, my throat tightening.
“Skye?” Rives’s voice. Barely audible, his voice came out of nowhere.
“You’re sneaky,” I whispered, turning to face him.
“So I’ve heard. You okay?” Torchlight flickered across his face, cutting his cheekbones with shadows. The dangerous edge was back.
“Yeah. I was just thinking about my dad. He’d love the sky here.” I paused. “He’s an astrophysicist.”
“Impressive.”
It was, I knew. But right now Dad’s choice of profession seemed driven by this place, and I wasn’t sure whether it made his passion more, or less, impressive.
“He loves space,” I said simply. I glanced at Rives, automatically smoothing down my hair and feeling it spring right back. I’d lost my pieces of twine while I’d slept. Lovely.
“What are you doing up?” I asked.
“I’ve got watch.”
“Looking for a sleigh and reindeer?” I pointed at the sky.
“I don’t think Nil’s on Santa’s itinerary,” Rives said.
“Because we’ve been naughty?” Beneath the darkness, my cheeks burned.
Rives raised his eyebrows. “Something you want to tell me, Skye?”
“Funny.”
“You started it.”
“You first,” I dared.
He tipped his head, making his light eyes catch the firelight. “I stole a tricycle once.”
“No way.”
“I was seven. We were in London, and I’d never learned how to ride a bike. I saw this kid park his trike across the street. His whole family went inside a café, leaving the trike outside, and I thought, Hey, I can ride that. So I grabbed it and took off. My dad caught up with me, lectured me on the spot, and made me return it with a huge apology. The poor kid was crying. I felt terrible. Never forgot it, actually.” A smile pulled at his lips. “Count it as a lesson learned.”
“You’re definitely in trouble. No presents for tricycle stealers.”
“Look who’s talking. You stole a canoe.”
“Borrowed,” I said. “I borrowed a canoe.”
Rives grinned. “I thought we agreed on commandeered.”
I rolled my eyes. “So tell me about watch. Something tells me you’re not looking for reindeer after all.”
Rives’s face hardened. “I don’t know what I’m looking for, but it’s not friendly. Lately something’s been snacking on City livestock. We’ve lost two goats and a chicken. Odds are it’s a hyena or a big cat.” He paused. “We know there’s a leopard hanging out nearby.”
I thought of the tiger, and the snow leopards, melding my uncle’s Nil with mine. “My uncle’s journal spoke of the meadow. It was full of big cats. And”—I paused, hesitating to throw my uncle under the crazy bus—“there was a girl. In his first few days. She brought him clothes, and a gourd of water. She warned him to stay clear of the meadow, then she pointed him toward the City.”
“A familiar MO,” Rives murmured. “What else did she say?”
I pictured her, this girl who’d saved my uncle only to vanish as if she were an apparition. “Nothing. He never saw her again.”
Rives swept the perimeter with his eyes, even as I knew he’d heard every word I said. “That must’ve been a hell of a read,” he said. “Your uncle’s journal.”
“It was. So what’s with all the cats? Jillian gave me a cheetah pelt. It’s really warm,” I admitted.
“Want to hear a story?” Rives asked.
I nodded.
“Walk with me,” he said.
We started walking, mainly because I think it was killing Rives to stand still. He held the lit torch like Prometheus holding fire, his entire body tense. He didn’t relax until we started moving, and by “relax,” I mean the muscles rippling across his shoulders stopped twitching. Not that I was looking.
“There’s a story Natalie told me. She was the Leader when I got here. Kind yet tough and a get-it-done Leader, day in and day out. She taught me a lot. Anyway”—Rives exhaled, like he was mentally directing himself back on track—“one day she and Kevin and a few other people were sitting around, chilling out by the fire. Up walks a blond kid, streaked with dried blood, wearing a loincloth, and carrying a gutted cheetah around his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Then he says, ‘Anybody missing a cat?’”
Rives paused, smiling. “That was Thad. And you’ve got the cat.”
Another Nil moment, another Nil time. Uncle Scott’s journal only told one story: his. I was slowly realizing how little I knew. “That’s crazy,” I said.
“That’s Nil,” Rives said. “And Thad.” He looked away. I could almost hear his thoughts. He made it.
I
hoped for Rives’s and Charley’s sakes that he did.
Rives stopped, tilted his head toward the darkness, which I noticed now was slightly less dark. Apparently satisfied, he turned back to me. “So why are you up? Didn’t care for the accommodations?”
“Oh, the Nil Inn was fabulous. Five stars. The cat quilt put it over the top.” I smiled briefly. “It’s just—” That I don’t belong? And yet I do? That I’m here to do more than just escape? That sounded pretentious, which I wasn’t, or at least I didn’t think I was. But I had an urgency, a feeling, that I couldn’t quite put into words.
Rives waited patiently, for which I was grateful.
“I feel restless,” I said finally. “Like I’ve got something big to do, and sleep is wasting time. It’s like the night before a big test, and I’m cramming, only I don’t know if the test is tomorrow or the next day or next week.” I sighed, feeling I sounded like cray-cray Brittney. At least I hadn’t asked about giraffes. “That made no sense. Sorry. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep.”
“I get it.” The intense air around Rives when I’d seen him walk out of the surf was back. “This place makes you want things you didn’t even know you wanted, makes you crave answers to questions you didn’t know existed.” His eyes slid to me. “Nil got to you earlier than most. But then again, the island had a head start.”
Abruptly Rives snapped his head toward the darkness. “Stay here,” he whispered.
Not a chance.
I followed Rives as he walked toward the darkness, casting his torch out in front of him. I eased my sling off of my shoulder and untied the rock I’d secured with twine. Weapon ready, I had Rives’s back.
Twin eyes peeked from the darkness, faceted and glistening and still. Tufts of white perked above them. I made out a familiar outline of brown and lowered my sling.
“It’s just a deer,” I murmured in Rives’s ear.
He jumped. “Merde!”
The deer bounded away, spooked.
Rives’s eyes flamed green. “I told you to stay back.”
“And I chose not to.”
“I see that. Let me guess: On your report card, the teacher checked ‘needs improvement’ next to ‘listens and follows directions.’”
“I heard you just fine,” I snapped. “But it was an unnecessary direction to follow.”
“Was it?” Rives’s calm tone was dangerously cool.
“Yes.” I fought the urge to cross my arms. Did he seriously think he could tell me what to do?
Rives’s jaw ticked.
From my right, Dex said, “Rives? We’ve got a situation.”
CHAPTER
33
RIVES
DAY 280, BREAKING DAWN
No shit we have a situation.
Skye had just waltzed up to the tree line without a torch. Small in size not spirit, she may as well have told the potential predator, Hey, I’m breakfast. Hungry much?
I didn’t care that she didn’t listen. I cared that she was reckless. And it made me ballistic.
Dex’s eyes darted between Skye and me before settling on me.
“That bloke Archie? The one who showed up yesterday? He just left the City from the south end,” he said in a low voice. “He’s walking like he’s out for a stroll, but it feels dodgy. Want me to follow? Or let him go?”
“Is he carrying anything?”
“Nothing I could see.”
“I’ll go,” I said. Archie already knew I had his number. I handed Dex my torch, trying to focus on Archie, not Skye. Lines of pink and gold lanced the air. Archie had timed his departure with dawn.
“Want company?” Skye asked.
Not really. Absolutely.
“Up to you,” I said crisply.
I took off at a slow jog, going as fast as I could without making any sound. My gut said he’d go toward the Flower Field, taking the same flight path I’d seen the raiders take before.
I didn’t have to turn to know Skye had followed me.
She’s quiet, I grudgingly admitted. I didn’t hear her as much as I sensed her. I gave the deadleaf plants a wide berth, hoping she’d do the same. She must’ve, because as I approached the field, she was still behind me.
I raised one hand and stopped, hoping this time she’d listen.
She did.
It took me three seconds to assess the situation. In the middle of the field, Archie strode quickly. He carried three satchels slung over his shoulders, each bulging with stolen supplies. In the distance, two boys were running toward him, smiling. A raider meet-up in the making.
Now I ran.
When I got within hearing range, I yelled, “Archie!”
He spun around, wide-eyed, then turned and sprinted away, moving impressively fast given his stolen load. He handed off a sack to each boy in seconds. As a team, they spun and took off at a full sprint. Archie paused long enough to flip me a slick salute and wide smile, then spun back and hauled ass.
I kicked it up a notch, sprinting all out.
Within minutes, I was gaining ground on the trio. To my surprise, Skye hung with me; she paced me well. The trio’s tight group spread out into a line, with Archie at the rear. They were still a solid fifty meters out.
“What’s the plan?” Skye asked, her voice breathless.
Get our stuff? Follow them? Find out where their stash is? I was still framing the plan when Archie collapsed.
Swiftly, violently, as if grabbed by the ankle or tripped, he went down without a cry. The boys in the lead never looked back, never stopped running. Soon they were gone, consumed by color and brilliant rising light.
I slowed, watching the spot where Archie went down. Skye slowed with me. The two of us watched, waiting for movement.
Nothing.
Just the breeze, batting the flowers around in waves. Nothing dangerous there. Yet that meant nothing. Nil’s dangers often lurked out of sight.
“I’m going to see if Archie is okay. The safe thing to do would be to stay put.” I raised one eyebrow at Skye, willing her to sit tight.
I tracked diagonally toward the spot where I’d seen Archie collapse. Raider or not, if he was hurt, he needed help. But if he’d broken an ankle or leg or been bitten on his leg, he was royally screwed. Because winning a ticket home usually meant a sprint to the finish, and if you couldn’t run, you weren’t even a contender.
I reached the place where I’d seen him fall and frowned. Nobody in pain, nobody hurt.
No body.
Maybe I’d misjudged.
“Where’d he go?” Skye asked. She stood four meters back, her head shifting slowly as she scanned the field. Of course she’d followed. Her other motto was No fear. Or maybe it was I’ll do what the hell I want. Either way, it was a little hot, but more than anything else it was extraordinarily frustrating. She was rolling the dice with her number one motto: Stay alive. I’d had enough Nil funerals to last a lifetime.
“Rives?” Skye said. “Which way?”
“I don’t know.”
I took a few steps forward, scanning the flowers, and caught a color out of place: a few meters away, a slick of crimson smeared across a swath of summer yellow. I eased closer, every smart cell in my head screaming, BACK THE HELL UP.
The blood on the flowers glistened, wet. More blood stained the ground.
Fresh blood, too much blood.
My stomach sank, my gut telling me that Archie’s hourglass had just run out. Still, I crept closer, ignoring the voice in my head, tracking until I saw drag marks. They pointed east, toward the meadow, away from the City.
The blood trail was gone.
So was Archie’s shot at leaving Nil.
“What took him?” Skye’s voice, a whisper on my left. Her arms were crossed like personal armor.
“No clue.” I’d been so focused on the raiders, I hadn’t caught a glimpse of the predator. And if I was completely honest with myself, I’d been slightly distracted by Skye. I needed to get my shit together, and fast.
�
�Should we go after him?”
“No point. Based on the blood trail, Archie’s lost too much blood for us to help him now. The trauma center here doesn’t even stock Band-Aids.” I sighed, wholly sick of Nil.
Archie may have been a thief, but the offense didn’t warrant death.
Skye hadn’t moved, her expression looking like she had all the numbers but couldn’t add them up. “So he’ll die?” Her eyes were locked on the blood trail. “On Christmas?”
“Birth, death. Arrivals, departures. All Nil cares about is balance, Skye. The day, or holiday, doesn’t matter to Nil. It all comes down to some invisible list, some master plan, with factors only Nil has access to, with scales only Nil can see.” My voice sounded tired, even to me. “But balance reigns, always. That’s Nil truth number four.”
Skye stared at the drag marks. “How can someone just disappear?”
Suddenly I had the thought that Skye would follow the tracks anyway, surprising the beast during its holiday feast, which wasn’t just stubborn; it was dangerous.
“Let’s go,” I said quickly.
To my relief, Skye listened without argument, her cheeks pale. Seeing Nil’s dark side had rattled her, denting her tough exterior. Not good. I wanted her sharp, not skittish.
Buck up, Skye, I thought, glancing sideways at her. First a dent, then a crack. Nil will force its way in, taking all you have to give. She’d better regroup before Nil found a chink wide enough to blast Skye’s armor to dust. Then we’d all be screwed.
After taking a few steps, Skye spun and doubled back.
“Skye, don’t!”
Ignoring me, she went another meter, bent down, and when she stood she held up a satchel, the one Archie had carried. It was spattered with fresh blood. “I thought we might need this,” she said, striding back. Her tone cool, challenge gleamed in her eyes.
“Thanks,” I said. And thank you for using your head.
Maybe she wasn’t as rattled as I’d thought.
Then again, maybe she was. She was quiet as we walked through the flowers. I carried the satchel. Twice I caught her looking at it, staring at the bloodstains.