Nil Read online

  The sun—only one, thank heavens—hung high in the cloudless sky. Feeling heat on my bare shoulders, I knew I needed to find cover. Even with my olive skin, eventually I’d burn, especially certain parts that had never seen the sun.

  I looked left. West, perhaps. The ground sloped gently away. No mountains, but I sensed that direction was safer. Follow the lead, my dad would joke as he tapped his nose, his golden-brown eyes twinkling. Along with his looks, I often thought I’d inherited his lead. Heading west felt right.

  I turned and my breath caught. Twenty yards out, the red ground was shimmering. The air lay still. And if it was quiet with the wind, without it, this place was dead calm.

  The shimmer lifted into the air, and then it moved—straight toward me.

  I scrambled right, aiming not to outrun it but skirt around it, likening it to a tornado; we’d had one in Georgia once. Running over the crumbly rocks and leaping to hit flat spots, I missed. Pain slashed across my heel, making me stumble, and when I looked back up, the shimmer hovered fifteen feet away and closing. Not speeding up, not slowing. Just drifting … toward me.

  Kicking into high gear, I sprinted across the rocks, leaving a trail of red on red. A flat portion of rock caught my eye; behind it was a small cave—more like a scoop carved out of the rock face, just big enough for me. I darted toward the opening. Folding like an accordion, I tucked inside the shallow hole.

  Shade dropped like a curtain. I pressed my back against the cool rock, letting my eyes adjust.

  The shimmer approached, silent and sinister.

  Seconds later, the wall of wavering air drifted so close I could reach out and touch it, not that I did. But I couldn’t look away. Glistening like water under glass, a million pinpricks of translucent light winked at me. Every color was there, rippling and moving, filled with an unnatural iridescence.

  Then the shimmer’s edge hung directly in front of me. A razor-thin streak of silver back-lined in black onyx, the air in front and behind was clear and as blue as the sky above. I sat completely still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, terrified the shimmer would suck me in and take me goodness-knows-where.

  The shimmer kept moving, drifting out of sight.

  A second ticked by, then two.

  Outside my hole, the wind was back. It blew fine dust across the landing near my toes, miniature funnels of red.

  I stared at the funnels, thinking of tornadoes and shimmers. Tornadoes were definitely bad. I didn’t know whether the shimmers were good or bad, but I felt I should avoid them. One had obviously brought me here, which was bad, or at least not good. It was like some twisted Wizard of Oz experience, minus the red sparkly shoes to take me home.

  I uncurled myself in time to see a second shimmer form off to my right, in virtually the same place that the first one had appeared.

  Without hesitation, I ducked back into my cave. The dust lay flat. This shimmer drifted farther out than the first, and when it passed, its edge lurked yards away, not inches. Like the first one, the second shimmer passed without stopping.

  Tucked into a silent ball, I watched the dust, waiting.

  The wind stalled; the dust funnels collapsed. A third shimmer swept across the red field in my line of sight, this one farther out than its predecessors, much farther. It, too, disappeared off to my left, shrinking into itself in the time it takes to blink, and then was gone. The shimmers looked less ominous in the distance, less sentient. Most important, they didn’t seem intent on finding me, but they were still as freaky as Dorothy’s tornado.

  And that’s when I thought, If one shimmer brought me here, maybe one will take me back. So when a fourth shimmer appeared, I ran for it. I loped toward the wall of wavering air, ignoring the pain in my heel, feeling ridiculous in my galloping nakedness but hell-bent on catching the shimmer anyway. It moved slowly across the red rock, hovering inches from the ground and stretching ten feet high and half as wide.

  As I gained on the shimmer, I wondered exactly what would happen when I hit the roiling air. Will it burn? Feel like ice? In ten feet, I was about to find out.

  Five.

  Two.

  I was inches away when the shimmer crumpled into a black dot. Then the dot vanished. The wind instantly returned, whipping my hair with a vengeance.

  The shimmer was gone.

  I stood naked on a strange rocky plateau, feeling a sense of failure for something I didn’t even understand. I’d missed it, whatever it was. And with the distance between the shimmers widening, I knew I couldn’t run fast enough to catch the next one.

  But unable to help myself, I waited, my eyes scouring the ground for movement.

  No new shimmers appeared.

  Did the shimmers come in sets like waves? How often did they come? I’d no idea. And I had no clue what they really were.

  Without warning, I was totally aware of my vulnerability without clothes or cover. Get out! my gut screamed. Out of this field, out of the sun, and out of sight. Something told me this field was a dead end, and to move.

  I spun, took a step, and buckled in pain. Glancing at my heel, I winced. It was shredded, bathed in blood, and there was nothing I could do—except keep moving.

  The going was slow, and painful. I fell into a pattern of taking several steps, then pausing to get my bearings, not that I really had any. I took two awkward steps to my left, then hopped forward, aiming for a flat spot and feeling like I was playing Stephen King’s version of naked Twister. I was so intent on my footing that I almost missed seeing it: a flash of cream among the red.

  Hobbling over, I found two sandals and some cloth. No, clothes.

  Beside a deep crevasse, a pair of shorts and a bandana lay in a heap. Both were a strange off-white. Giddy with hope, I snatched up the shorts, and something bright went flying; it whistled past my ear, disappeared into the crevasse, and landed with a muffled crack. I wondered what it was, but I wasn’t about to peer into the dark hole to see what fell. At the rate I was going, I’d probably fall in myself. Whatever it was, it was gone.

  I held up the shorts. The fabric was soft and worn. Straight cut with rough stitching and a jagged lace-up fly, they looked like primitive boys’ Bermudas. One side was torn, but they were definitely wearable.

  “Sweet,” I said.

  The word rolled through the open air like a shout. I stopped, instantly freaked out, realizing these clothes belonged to someone.

  Someone who might be watching.

  A fresh jolt of panic made me shake. Clutching the shorts like a thief caught red-handed, I scanned the rocks, every muscle taut as I waited for someone to leap out shouting, “Those are mine!”

  No one did. The land stayed silent.

  This morning I would’ve never picked up random clothes off of the ground and put them on, but then again, this morning I was not stranded buck-naked in a creepy red rock desert. Beggars can’t be choosers, I thought, slipping on the shorts. Then I laughed, because in some weird twist of fate, they actually fit.

  I’d always been skinny, built like a boy, with a boy’s name to match. When all the girls grew curves, I’d just stretched, growing like crazy until I hit six feet. Recently my chest had made a small effort to catch up—the key word there was small—but I still had no hips. The boyish Bermudas were perfect.

  I wrapped the bandana around my chest like a contestant on Survivor. Where the heck’s my tribe? I joked. Glancing around the silent rocks, I realized that if there was a tribe here, I might not want to meet them. They might not be friendly.

  No longer naked, I felt a million times better.

  The sandals were big but better than nothing, and with protection for my feet, I moved quickly through the sea of red. Some rocks slid, others held firm. Soon the back of my right sandal looked like I’d dipped it in red paint. Lookin’ good, I thought wryly, watching my step. These rocks seemed made for snakes. But nothing moved, except me.

  Working my way around another deep crack, I slipped. Shards of red skittered away, lik
e they were running, too. One looked like a dagger. I picked it up, hefted it once to gauge its weight, then whacked it against a boulder to test the dagger’s strength. It held; if anything, the dagger scraped the boulder. Like rock, paper, scissors, I thought. Dagger beats boulder.

  I tucked the shard into my waistband, thinking it might come in handy. Dagger beats snake—or worse. Then, the idea of me engaging in hand-to-hand combat, armed with a piddly rock dagger, was so absolutely ridiculous that I laughed, which was better than crying, but both emotions were so raw, so powerful, like two sides of the same coin, I feared too much laughing might flip me into tears and if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I stopped laughing, took a deep breath, and trekked on.

  But I kept the dagger, just in case.

  Eventually the red rock gave way to wavy black, like asphalt that had been poured but never flattened. Cracks split the black like snakes, but other than the cracks, this rock was fairly smooth. Best of all, it didn’t shift under my feet.

  Scrub brush popped up, dotting the black like dry tinder. As I passed an especially large thicket, a zebra peeked out. Do zebras charge? I wondered. Unsure about zebra aggression, I took a slow step backward.

  I blinked and the zebra was gone.

  Of course I’d hallucinate a zebra. Why couldn’t I dream up Robert Pattinson or, better yet, a river of Gatorade? My mouth felt as dry as the cracked ground under my borrowed sandals.

  The flat black rock gave way to rocky black earth with strange trees, trees with gray skeletal trunks and crispy green leaves dripping off branches like rain that wouldn’t fall. Odd trees like skinny pines cropped up, and then I heard a familiar sound: the ocean—distant, but real. Before I could celebrate, the ground flashed like a mirror, and for one agonizing second, I thought it was a shimmer ready to rise. I was still conflicted as to whether the shimmers were good, or bad, or both.

  Then I realized I was watching water. A pool of clear water, the size of a Ping-Pong table, nestled in the black rock. I scooped up a handful and smelled it. Fresh, or possibly brackish, the hint of brine could have been from the pool or blowing in from the sea. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I tried a sip. Cold and crisp, it tasted like heaven. I gulped handfuls until I was no longer thirsty. As I sat up, a blur of white glinted in the sky.

  I ducked into the nearby thicket and pressed deep. Keeping completely still, I watched. To the east, two white-winged creatures soared high overhead, too far away to see. Other than the possibly imaginary zebra, these were the first creatures I’d seen. I spied legs—human legs—which totally creeped me out.

  Bird men?

  Where was I?

  *

  Twenty minutes later, I knew. I was in the most beautiful place I’d ever seen.

  I stood at the tree line, gaping at the view. There was the ocean, dappled in late-afternoon sunlight, rolling into a black sand beach tucked into a small bay. Black rocks sprouted near shore, glittering like dark crystal. On each side, black cliffs rose in the distance, covered with patches of green. Close to me, majestic palm trees swayed in the breeze.

  It was the kind of awesome beauty I’d only seen on the Travel Channel, when I’d watched a show about private islands owned by people with more wealth than everyone but God.

  Holy crap, I thought, watching a towering wave roll and break. I’m totally lost.

  I took another step, and my toe hit something hard. My sandal caught and stuck. I looked down, and when I realized what I’d kicked, I screamed.

  It was a human skull.

  CHAPTER

  4

  THAD

  DAY 267, LATE AFTERNOON

  What a waste of a day.

  Despite three solid flyovers, we saw nothing. Make that nothing good, I thought, remembering the black rhino foraging near the groves. Another two tons of fresh Nil fun, complete with a built-in deadly weapon. Lucky us.

  Right.

  I dreaded the look on Nat’s face when we came back empty-handed.

  Shutting down that visual, I focused on the wind. In the first stroke of good luck today, the afternoon gusts blasted onshore, giving us the brakes we needed. Right now I’d take any advantage Nil offered. My arms were spent, and my eyes felt gritty. I was done, and if I had to guess, so was Jason.

  Our landing site stretched less than half a kilometer ahead, sprawled between twin fissures of black. Aim straight, drop nose, hold steady.

  Slowing in the headwind, we glided over the rocks about seven meters off the ground. Jason cruised ahead of me. Landing was its own little rush, not quite like takeoff, but close.

  Then I heard it: a snap; it echoed through the air like a firecracker. A half second later, Jason’s glider dipped erratically and nearly pitched him off.

  “Jason!” I shouted. “Shift your weight!”

  Jason slid right, switched his grip, and landed like a seasoned pro, even though he was only thirteen. And thanks to his cool head, he still had a chance to see fourteen.

  I landed a wingspan away, my adrenaline pumping like I was still fifteen meters high.

  “You okay?” I called.

  “Yeah. Support rod broke.” He held up his glider. One side bar dangled limply, like a broken arm.

  As I stared at the wounded flyer, I had the weirdest sense that the break was a message from Nil. A not-so-subtle reminder of how close death really was—like we could forget. After all, the support cracked high enough to scare, but not high enough to kill. First the dead bird, now a broken glider.

  Message received, I thought grimly. Nothing like a little Nil overkill.

  We hiked back, hauling the crippled glider, knowing Natalie was waiting. Unfortunately, Bart found us first. He ambushed us as we approached the Shack.

  “Thad,” he started, his nasal whine sending my annoyance level off the charts, “we need to talk. I haven’t been on Search in almost a month. Twenty-nine days.”

  “Hello, Bart,” I said, peeling off my fly rig. “No, we didn’t find Kevin. Or his clothes. But thanks for asking.”

  “Sorry,” he said. His eyes flicked over Jason before circling back to me. “But I’m due, Thad, you know I am. It’s not fair.”

  “It’s not fair,” I repeated, working to keep my voice level. “Really?” Sarcasm seeped in, and then for the first time since Kevin bolted, I lost it. “In case you haven’t noticed, nothing about Nil is fair. It’s not fair that you landed here. It’s not fair that leaving is a crapshoot and that every damn day brings you closer to death. And it’s definitely not fair that our past Leader, who spent months working her butt off for everyone else, is sitting by the fire, wondering if her boyfriend is dead, terrified she might never find out.”

  Bart sputtered, waffling between agreement and protest, neither of which I wanted to hear. Why am I wasting my time? I wondered.

  I held up my hand. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But that’s how it is. I don’t pick the teams. So if you want someone to pick you, I’d suggest you pull your weight and then some.” I looked evenly at Bart. “And hey, if you don’t like the City rules, you can always leave.”

  Bart paled. “Fine.” He turned, then spun back. “You know, losing the knife was an accident. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Yes, it was.” Talla stepped out from the Shack, her blond hair tied in a hard knot. “You didn’t secure it. And you lost it. Your fault.”

  “Of course you take his side. Everyone knows you’re after his job. Or maybe you’re just after him.” Bart smirked.

  Talla nearly snarled. “All I want is to get home. The sooner the better. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Enough,” I snapped. I was too drained from sweeps to handle much more. “Drop it, both of you. I need to talk to Natalie.”

  “Too late,” Talla said. She pointed to the fire, where Jason stood beside Natalie, his arm wrapped around her shoulders and her head hung in defeat.

  God, I hated this place.

  CHAPTER

  5

  CHARLEY />
  DAY 5, LATE AFTERNOON

  I should have been a Girl Scout. Or a ninja. Or better yet a Girl Scout ninja with a black belt in self-defense.

  That was my latest epiphany as another juicy fish darted past my outstretched fingers. I could forage through the local Kroger and cook up a mean feast of shrimp and grits, but I’d never caught a shrimp or ground a grit in my life. I’d never fished, camped, identified edible plants, or learned how to start a fire without matches. And I sure as heck had never taken karate.

  Volleyball camp suddenly seemed lame.

  Exhausted, I flopped down on the sand. This morning I’d collected bamboo and palm fronds to craft a shelter at the tree line, something to give me much-needed shade from the midday sun. I’d remembered my geometry teacher rambling on about triangles being the strongest shape in nature, and it turned out he was right. Using bamboo as scaffolding and fronds as coverage, construction had taken most of the day, but the result was pretty awesome, not that there was anyone to see it. The effort had turned my arms to jelly. I was bone tired, and I was hungry. And I was still totally freaking out.

  The last five days had been the longest of my life.

  I didn’t know where I was or how to get home. I’d seen no ships, no planes, and most disturbing of all, no people. At least none alive, I corrected myself reluctantly. The human skull was never far from my thoughts. A bleached-white skull, half buried in dirt, with my sandal wedged in the empty eye socket. I’d yanked my foot out and run away, and I hadn’t gone near it since.

  What happened to the dead-skull person? Did he starve to death? Was he killed? If so, by what? None of these thoughts brought me to a happy place, but then again, right now nothing did. It was like I’d fallen into my own personal Twilight Zone episode, and I had no clue how to get out. It had everything to do with that shimmer; I knew it. But I hadn’t seen any shimmers since the red rock field. And believe me, I’d been looking.

  At least I’d found food. Strange green fruits hung on trees to the north. I’d watched a bird eat one, so I figured it wouldn’t kill me. I’d picked and peeled two. Although they were as sour as lemons, I’d devoured the green fruit anyway, eating everything but the rind.