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  FOR STEPHEN

  I WOULD FIND YOU IN ANY WORLD

  TIME IS THE FIRE

  IN WHICH WE BURN.

  —DELMORE SCHWARTZ

  CONTENTS

  Title page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Acknowledgments

  Author bio

  Copyright

  CHAPTER

  1

  CHARLEY

  AUGUST 10, NOON

  Heat.

  Inexplicable, consuming heat—choking like smoke, burning like fire.

  That was my last memory before the invisible flames spiked into icy nothingness, along with the crazy thought that if I survived this bewildering bonfire, my dad would freak when I was late returning his new car.

  CHARLEY

  AUGUST 10, 11:56 A.M.

  Dang, it’s hot.

  I’d been out of the car for all of one minute, and I was already roasting like a skinny rotisserie chicken. The asphalt radiated heat. Shifting my feet, I fumbled with Dad’s keys, dying to climb back into his Volvo with its arctic air-conditioning and new car smell.

  Instead, I grabbed the plastic bag from the back seat and slammed the door. I had fifty dollars’ worth of clothes to return. Fifty dollars of my hard-earned summer babysitting money, wasted on two silly skirts I never should’ve bought in the first place. The minis were crazy short, and on me, they looked downright skanky. I’d never wear them, and had Em or Jen been with me, they wouldn’t have let me put the darn skirts in the cart.

  But yesterday, like today, it was just me.

  Well, crap, I thought, biting my lip as I stared at the empty car. I hated being alone. I always had, and I hated that I hated it. I mean, I’d never even gone to see a movie by myself and secretly envied people who could. The truth was, I’d never had to be alone. My sister, Em, was always around, or Jen, my best friend since second grade. Or both.

  Until now.

  A fresh wave of loneliness washed over me with the heat; it was the same wave I’d felt when we’d dropped Em off at college last week, and again yesterday when I’d watched Jen board a plane bound for Milan. My two favorite people, gone.

  Not forever, I reminded myself. I refused to pitch a pity party in the Target lot. It’s just a few months, four at the most. Jen’s study abroad program ended in December. By Christmas, life would be good, and our senior spring would rock. Until then, I had volleyball. Practices would keep me busy, and games would keep me focused. And I’d visit Em in Athens every chance I could.

  Feeling slightly better, I locked Dad’s car and faced the open lot. Asphalt as black as coal stretched before me, broken only by lonely white lines. Park in the far corner, Dad had said, tossing me his keys with a wink. Catching the keys, I’d smiled. I love you too, Dad.

  Of course I’d parked in the far corner. No other car was anywhere close.

  Now that I was walking, far wasn’t the word. It was like I’d parked in dadgum Egypt, and I’d swear it was just as hot. Not that I’d ever been to Egypt, but I couldn’t imagine it was any hotter than Georgia in August. The Target bull’s-eye flashed like fire in the distance. Near the lot’s center, the asphalt shimmered in the heat. I watched the ground blur, absently thinking of a desert oasis. It was the kind of shimmer that moves with you … moves away, always out of reach.

  Not this one. This shimmer stretched into the air, rippling like a wall of wavy glass. Then it rolled.

  Swiftly.

  Strangely.

  Toward me.

  In the time it took to blink, the air in front of me melted. It undulated, like a wave of liquid crystal, and before I could breathe, the wave engulfed me in a silent rush.

  Hot air gripped me like a vise, then burst into flames. Every speck of skin screamed; every nerve ending exploded.

  I’m being flash-fried in the Target lot! The thought ripped through my brain as the invisible flames drove deeper. I tried to scream, but choked on the heat; it was in my mouth, in my lungs, in me, like a living darkness I couldn’t shake. Blistering tar coursed through my veins, then filled my chest, stealing my air and slicking behind my eyes.

  A darkness blacker than asphalt rushed at me; I fell to meet it. My last sensation was of icy cold. A biting cold as raw and as painful as the heat had been seconds before, and then—nothing.

  No light. No sound.

  No air.

  CHAPTER

  2

  THAD

  DAY 267, DAWN

  Two days ago, Kevin went renegade, bolting to Search alone.

  Yesterday his clock ran out.

  And today—well, today seriously sucked. Maybe for him, and definitely for us, because one day later, we still didn’t know if Kevin had made it or not. All we knew was that today was his Day 366, and on the island of Nil, no one got a Day 366.

  Swallowing bile, I realized my brutal beach run had done absolutely nothing to clear my head. If anything, I felt worse. Now I was exhausted and edgy. Not the way to start a Nil day.

  One meter from the tree line, I stopped, and in a move that would’ve stunned my coach back home, I forced myself to breathe. To consciously take in air. Focus the breath, focus the mind—it was my coach’s classic send-off before we hit the mountain, not that I’d ever really listened. I inhaled through my nose, breathing from my gut. Breathe in … hold … breathe out. Coach always swore that if we were doing it right, our breath would sound like a roaring ocean. Ironically, all I heard was a roaring ocean. Behind me, potent liquid avalanches crashed into shore, crumbling one after another.
/>   Breathe.

  A black streak flashed on my right. Instantly amped, I pulled my knife and spun, fully aware I might already be toast. The blur dropped something near my toes, and my adrenaline rush died on the spot.

  “Nice.” I stared at the dead bird at my feet. “Burton, you shouldn’t have.” Of all the cats on Nil, Burton stood out the most. A jet black cat, his paws were pure white. They looked like they’d been dipped in snow.

  Sheathing my knife, I nodded at Burton. “Really, you keep it.”

  Now the cat looked annoyed, like he’d hoped for more. Burton and I had come to a truce months ago. I tossed him fish scraps, he hissed in return, and occasionally he brought me dead stuff to show he actually cared.

  Nothing like starting the day with a corpse, even if it was just a bird.

  Abruptly, I felt like the bird. Dead on my feet, like I’d spent the day shredding fresh powder, but here on Nil, the day had barely begun. And thanks to Nil, I hadn’t touched a snowboard in exactly 266 days.

  Dwelling on snow and corpses and breathing exercises not worth a crap, I trudged down the path, the one that led to the Wall.

  I found my name and touched the letters like a blind man reading Braille. I did this every morning. Part of me knew it was borderline obsessive; the rest of me didn’t care. After nine months on the island, I’d earned the right to a few whacked-out rituals. The Wall was a memorial, our memorial, even for those of us still here.

  The longer I traced, the calmer I felt, and by the time I finished my name a third time, I was almost Zen. Then I glanced at Kevin’s name and my near Zen shattered: five letters, then a blank space. His empty space screamed at me, begging to be filled. But to fill the space, I had to know what to carve; the ugly void was a cruel reminder that I did not know. I closed my eyes. My head felt ready to explode. And if I felt this crappy, I couldn’t imagine how Natalie was holding up.

  Not so great, I thought, picturing her face as she lurched into the City last night. Both hopeful and hopeless, she was a different kind of lost. And the worst part—the part that made me want to slam my head against the Wall—was that there was nothing to do but wait. Wait to grieve, wait to celebrate, wondering if Kevin’s fate was a sneak peek at our own. This was Nil’s favorite game, the one where she messed with our heads.

  I prayed Kevin had won. But either way, he was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. There was no overtime on Nil.

  “Thad!”

  Hearing my name, I turned away from the Wall. Rives was walking toward me, his dreads tied back, his face all business. A sleek wooden board rested against one hip.

  “Any word on Kevin?” His eyes darted over my shoulder.

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe today.” Rives looked as frustrated as I felt.

  “Maybe.” We might as well have been discussing the weather. Think it’ll rain today? Maybe. Meaningless small talk about something over which we had no control.

  I glanced at his board. Remembering this morning’s monster swells, I frowned. “You going out alone?”

  “You know it,” Rives said, breaking into a grin. “Unless you’re game.”

  For a half second, I actually considered it. Then I sighed. “I can’t.”

  Rives gave me a long look. “You sure, bro? I’ll wait.”

  “Thanks, but I’m out. I promised Natalie I’d do sweeps.”

  There was no way Rives would argue with that. As he walked away, I called, “Rives!”

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  “Be safe. Watch your back, eh?”

  “Always.” Grinning again, he threw me a quick salute.

  Rives vanished into the trees. The sky was clear, and the clean air smelled like salt. It was like every other morning for the past 266 days—and yet it wasn’t. A cagey vibe hung in the air. More than just the anticipation of the verdict on Kevin, it was something else. Something new, something I couldn’t quite nail. But it was there; I felt it. And it was something to do with me.

  What are you cooking up now, Nil? I wondered, stifling a twinge of dread. Looking around, I saw nothing but leaves shifting in the wind.

  Nil says wait, she giggled in the breeze.

  Like I had a choice.

  CHAPTER

  3

  CHARLEY

  DAY 1, TIME UNKNOWN

  A sharp pain in my hip woke me. When I opened my eyes, I saw red.

  Literally.

  Jagged rocks the color of rust stretched as far as I could see. Boulders as big as buses, small chunks like cars, and a million smaller rocks the size of balls—golf balls, baseballs, volleyballs, you name it. All were uneven, with weird serrated edges, and all were the same exact shade of burnt red. I lay on a raised outcropping, on my side.

  And I was naked.

  Outside, in a creepy rock field I’d never laid eyes on before in my life.

  I scrambled to my feet, and brushing off grit, I stumbled toward the edge. Spiky gravel covered the rock like sprinkles on a cupcake. That explains the pain in my hip, I thought randomly. I slipped twice but didn’t fall.

  My rock, shaped like a mushroom with a fat stem, was mashed against a clump of smaller rocks masquerading as petrified red cauliflower. Using the smaller rocks as stairs, I worked my way down, moving as fast as the prickly rock would allow. At the bottom, I scrunched into the wisp of shade.

  Frozen against the rock, I listened.

  The only noise came from me. Air whistling in and out of my lungs, blood slamming against the chambers of my heart. The surrounding silence was so vast, so complete, it had a presence all its own: it was eerie, almost otherworldly. And with the desolate red landscape stretching for miles, I felt like I’d woken on an alien planet.

  An. Alien. Planet.

  I began shaking, violently, with the kind of icy fear I’d felt only once before, when Em and I were T-boned by a drunk driver and I’d seen Em sandwiched behind the wheel, bright red blood running down her forehead into her closed eyes. She’d turned out to be fine. I couldn’t say the same for myself right now. Stark naked, goodness knows where, wherever here was. My last memory was of scalding heat, burning cold, and pain.

  Jerking my head down, I expected my skin to be fried, but it looked fine. All of it, which I could see, because I was naked.

  Slowly, I pressed my head back against the rock. The red rock landscape stayed silent, and still. At least the sky was blue. Brilliant, clear blue.

  Maybe I’m dead.

  I thought I’d passed out, but maybe I had actually passed. Did that awful heat mark the entrance into death? Absorbing my God-forsaken surroundings, I abruptly thought, Hell. Hell was a red rock desert, where you woke up naked and alone. I’d always thought Hell was an underground cavern teeming with the moaning damned, but maybe we all got our own personal Hell, crafted just for us, because mine sure looked a lot like this: no clothes, no people, and definitely no clue.

  But it didn’t feel like Hell. And even though I’d skipped church lately, I was a pretty good kid. Sneaking out at night to drink beer on the local golf course with Em was the worst thing I’d ever done, and that really wasn’t so bad. Not bad enough to wind up in Hell anyway. My gut told me I was alive, then my gut told me I should be afraid. Very afraid.

  My Em-bleeding-behind-the-wheel fear was back. Was the air thinner here? I couldn’t seem to get enough air.

  Around me, nothing moved.

  I swept the area, looking for something to tell me where I was, or wasn’t, but all I saw was rock. It coated the ground, hunkered in clumps, and giant piles of it blocked my line of sight. If I wanted to see anything, I’d have to climb. But I knew if I could see past the rock hills, then anything lurking out there could also see me.

  Trapped, I thought humorlessly, between a rock and a hard place. Revealing myself seemed like a really bad idea. On the other hand, I couldn’t stay plastered against this rock forever.

  Hunching over, I crept toward the largest pile and started up. Scaling the rocks was like walk
ing barefoot over spiky balls from our giant sweetgum tree—uncomfortable, but doable, as long as I watched my step. Near the top, I peeked over the edge. All I could see was more rock. I hesitated, hearing my volleyball coach’s voice in my head. Use your height, Charley. Make it work for you. Okay, well, on the court in a uniform is one thing, outside stark naked was another.

  I took a deep breath—and then I climbed. On the summit, I stood, but I couldn’t help covering my chest with one arm and my privates with the other. Feeling like an idiot, I surveyed the broken landscape.

  A blue haze rose in the distance, speckled with green. Mountains, I thought, feeling a spark of hope. Green meant life, and more importantly, water. Are there mountains on Mars? I wondered. Then I wanted to slap myself. I didn’t—because that would mean flashing more of my already overexposed self—but I wanted to, because mountains or not, there was no oxygen on Mars, and I was definitely breathing oxygen-filled air. This wasn’t Mars.

  But that didn’t mean it was Earth.