Nil Page 27

  It took Jillian a long time to answer.

  “I think that we’re all searching,” she said slowly. “That being here has changed us all; I mean, how can it not? But”—she sighed—“is there some deep reason we’re here? And does discovering it help us get home? Sorry, but to me it feels like a stretch. Back home, people disappear all the time and are never found. It’s the mass disappearances that get attention, like ships or planes in the Bermuda Triangle, or entire families that vanish. I believe freak things like Nil exist without any hidden agenda.” Her tone went from apologetic to firm. “Talla worked harder than anyone here to get home, and she didn’t make it. Same for Li. So what didn’t they figure out?” She shook her head. “Sorry, my friend, but I agree with Thad. We’re here because each of us got swept up by an invisible storm. Wrong place, wrong time. All we have to do now is catch a gate to make the return trip.”

  I stared at Jillian, processing her words.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No.” I shook my spinning head. “You said something exactly right. Jillian, you’re a genius!” I hugged her quickly, then dashed to my hut and collected all four of my rubbings. The paper I’d used was thin, more like tracing paper than parchment. I carefully spread out all four of my rubbings on the ground in front of my hut and stared at them. Soon I had an audience. Jillian, Rives, Thad, Dex, Jason, Macy, and Ahmad all peered over my shoulder.

  “Okay, here goes. We know once gates flash, they roll north along longitudinal lines, and they never flash in the same spot—or on the same latitude—two days in a row. And we know the gate sequence starts here. I’m sure this is Quadrant One.” I pointed to the bottom right quadrant, to the spot where the man stood outside the maze on the drawing Ahmad found, the one Thad called Countdown. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. But I’ve been thinking it’s a wave of gates, passing over the island, and I think that’s where I went wrong.”

  Moving slowly, I gently laid one rubbing on top of another, using the number twelve at the top as a constant. The Man in the Maze lay on the bottom; Countdown sat on the top. The remaining two rubbings were sandwiched in the middle. All the number twelves were carefully aligned, their edges sharp. I stepped back, gazed at the rubbings, and like a hidden picture that leaps out after careful study, I saw precisely what I was looking for: the straight lines within the mazes faded, and the circular etchings took center stage. Swirling lines, spinning toward the epicenter, toward the center of every maze. Separately, the drawings were a labyrinth; together they were a guide.

  Behind me, Rives sucked in a breath.

  “It’s not a wave,” I said, my eyes still traveling the rubbings, “it’s more like a storm—like an invisible tornado. Or a hurricane. It swirls around the island, mimicking the circular path of the labyrinth, starting here”—I pointed at the bottom right quadrant again—“in Quadrant One, then moving left, clockwise, hitting each quadrant in turn, no more than four times.” I looked up. “That’s what I was missing—the circular pattern. And I needed all four rubbings together to see it.” I spoke out loud even as my thoughts gelled. “We rarely see the gates that flash first, because so much of the southeast corner is blocked by volcanoes; we usually catch the storm in Quadrant Two, the southwest corner. And I think the rogue gates that don’t quite fit are like outer bands of a storm, slightly off latitude but still within the same quadrant.” I paused. “What do y’all think?”

  Dex spoke first. “It’s bloody brilliant.”

  “I think you’re a hell of a Second,” Rives said, grinning. “I’m glad you’re here, even though I’m sorry you’re here.” He looked at Thad, who was quiet, then to me. “So, you gonna hit Quadrant Two tomorrow?”

  “I have to check with my island guide,” I said, “but I’ll let y’all know. I hear there’s a storm coming.” Smiling, I crossed my fingers; I couldn’t help it.

  Please let my latest theory be right.

  CHAPTER

  52

  CHARLEY

  DAY 84, NIGHT

  The day after I broke out my storm theory, we were riding high. Noon brought a gate, a gorgeous single. Flashing fast and furious across the southern black field, Thad didn’t have a prayer of catching it, but it was there. And then it was gone.

  And so the chase began.

  We chased gates, and we chased noons, and the faster we ran, the faster time flew. Minutes drained like sand through a sieve, too many at once, too fast to stop. Each time I reached out to seize a moment, it was gone.

  Day 331 turned into 332; 332 flew into 333. Sunrise, sunset—334, 335.

  Three hundred forty.

  Three hundred fifty.

  Each dawn broke sooner than the last; each noon came faster still. Stop! I wanted to shout. But we couldn’t stop the clock; we could only hope to beat it. Time only slowed during that excruciatingly long moment when we grasped that noon had passed and Thad was still here. That moment felt like an eternity, until a mix of guilt and regret and worry came to wash it away. Then time sped right back up, like pressure made the minutes fall faster.

  Trying to relax, I focused on the ocean. Usually the waves were a sure-fire cure, peaceful and rhythmic. But not tonight.

  Camped on the north shore, nights here were unnerving, creepier than nights near the City. With clouds to the east blocking the stars, blackness saturated the night, the sky, even the sea. Right now, the invisible ocean crashed incessantly against the rocks, furious and impatient.

  Blocking out the sea, I switched to my charts, mentally reviewing my latest notes. Using the storm theory, our gate sightings had definitely increased. But it still wasn’t enough. I knew it wasn’t enough, because Thad was still here.

  He should already be gone.

  Instead, he lay beside me, one arm slung across my waist, eyes closed, jaw relaxed. Sleep softened his ever-present intensity. For countless minutes, I watched him sleep, forcing the moment to slow, trying not to freak out.

  He’d challenged me, weeks ago. If you really believe in us—that we’ll both make it—it doesn’t matter if we wait.

  I hadn’t brought up making love again; neither had he. But I thought about his words, more often than he knew, because they went so much farther than just the physical. Wait to make love, wait to dream. Wait to plan. Wait to talk about the future, because lately it hurt too much.

  He should already be gone.

  The thought crept back in, persistent and disturbing.

  What are you missing, Charley? Finding a gate was one thing; catching a gate was another thing altogether.

  “We’re doing everything right, aren’t we?” I whispered. Silence answered me, punctuated by waves beating against the rocks, crashing like fear.

  Aren’t we?

  CHAPTER

  53

  THAD

  DAY 351, DAWN

  Using a wooden knife, Charley peeled the rind off a mango in a few slick swipes.

  “Tell me again,” she said, licking juice off her finger. “They say that the best way to memorize something is repetition before you fall asleep and again when you wake up.”

  I didn’t need to repeat it; I had her address down cold. But I knew she needed to hear it.

  “Charley Crowder. Eighteen Mountain Laurel Drive, Roswell, Georgia.”

  “Again.”

  I laughed, and repeated her address. “Now you.”

  Charley said my address, then handed me a slice of mango. “I’ll call you as soon as I catch a gate.” We both knew our cell phones were long gone. Lost, or canceled, or both. But families don’t move, not when their kids are missing. “I promise.” She grinned. “I’ve always wanted to see Canada. I’ve got a tack on Vancouver on my wall map. I just need to move it over a speck to get to your house.”

  “Speaking of maps, did you pack yours?” I asked.

  “Got ’em right here.” She patted her satchel.

  “Let’s pack and roll.”

  She smile
d. “And pray the gates roll, too.”

  My gut clenched. Charley had switched the words from hope to prayers, revealing the desperation behind her casual reply.

  Dropping my pack, I wrapped her in my arms. “They will,” I whispered. “I’ll make it.”

  “I know.” Her voice was fierce. “You have to.”

  For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I didn’t want to let Charley go, but we had around four hours until today’s noon and a two-hour hike, give or take, to get to the meadow. Past the lava fields, past Bull’s-eye, it was the same meadow that I’d woken up in exactly 351 days ago. According to Charley’s charts, this latitude was due a gate, and the meadow was wide open, another hot spot ready to pop in the opening quadrant on the storm track. The only downside was that since the grasses were tall, you couldn’t see the gate rising until it broke above the grass line. But, once it did, the meadow offered room to run. And although I didn’t share the feeling with Charley, this spot felt tailor-made for me. I’d been snatched off one mountain, then landed at the base of another, and to me, it seemed fitting that if Nil wanted to let me go, she’d send a gate there. In the shadow of a snowcapped mountain that I’d never be allowed to climb.

  “C’mon.” I kissed her forehead, gently, because I still could. “Let’s hike.”

  As we trekked, dainty Miya was as quiet as Nil. She glided over the ground, walking without a sound, and she rarely spoke, except to Jason. But judging by the way he smiled at her, Jason didn’t mind.

  I’d only been back to the meadow twice since I’d landed, including the sleepless night preceding Bull’s-eye’s discovery. I’d spent my time in the City, or in the arc Charley had identified as holding the best odds. But outside that arc, the meadow sat ready. Today we’d see how Nil wanted to play.

  The hike took longer than expected. As we neared the meadow, I felt edgy and Jason looked worried. Gauging by the sun, noon was close. For her part, Charley looked determined.

  The meadow sprawled like an open target. Tall grasses waved in the wind; trees were scattered to the left, Mount Nil rose to the right. But the rest was wide open.

  “Watch the grass line,” Jason said. His eyes were busy.

  “Look!” Charley cried, pointing.

  For one surprised second, I thought she’d beaten Jason to the punch, then I realized she was pointing to a pair of horses. Running in sync, their brown coats glistened as their hooves trampled the grass. The sound was a dull echo; we were too far away. Oddly ordinary, the sight was peaceful.

  Miya spoke sharply. “Something moving in grass. There.”

  Following her finger, thirty meters out, the grass shifted in waves toward the horses, like ripples in the sea as a shark moves beneath the surface.

  “We need to get over there.” Charley pointed across the meadow. “The far end.”

  She took a step and I threw out my hand to stop her. “No. Something’s in the field.”

  Charley shrugged. “Probably just the hyena going after the horses. Let’s go. We can stick to the side.”

  Charley strode into the thick grass. I lunged forward and grabbed her elbow; at the same time, a massive tiger went airborne, skimming the top of the grass. It latched on to one of the horses’ necks, taking it down in a clean kill. The horse’s hooves swept the top of the grass line, then disappeared. Never slowing, the second horse galloped out of sight.

  “I guess the tiger’s still here,” Jason said.

  “Ya think?” I said. Back in the meadow, the tiger ripped into his lunch with gusto, making his stripes blur.

  I turned away. “Okay, Plan B. We are not hiking around a hungry cat who’s busy with lunch. He might think we’re stealing his snack, and we don’t want to be dinner. Let’s go.” As I started to walk, Charley stopped me.

  “No,” she said. “We need to be there.” She pointed toward the far corner. “I know it.” Her voice had that determined I’m-not-backing-down tone.

  “Charley, we can’t.” My tone matched hers.

  “Yes, we can,” she said, her voice confident. “We can skirt the meadow’s edge. We won’t be close to the tiger. Let’s go. Now!” Her last word was militant.

  I stared at her, trying to figure out how to say Don’t be stupid without sounding like a jerk.

  “We have to go!” she snapped.

  “No we don’t.” Jason’s voice was dull. “Look.”

  “What?” Charley asked.

  “Far end, rolling north.” Jason pointed. “And it’s a racer. A single for sure.”

  I peered across the field, seeing nothing. Then I caught the speeding flash of iridescence, and I knew Jason was right.

  “We’re too late.” Charley’s voice was bleak, and when she looked at me, I felt sick. Her face wore the same look I’d seen for the last two weeks when noon passed. Relief, then guilt, mixed with worry and fear—they swirled through her eyes, dimming the gold—and I hated Nil for that, too.

  Noon was seriously starting to suck.

  CHAPTER

  54

  CHARLEY

  DAY 85, AFTER NOON

  Natalie once said there’s no such thing as luck on Nil.

  She was wrong.

  Luck is personal; we all have our own. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, but it’s yours, and it follows you wherever you go—even to Nil. And luck can change, because as my nana always insisted, luck was a state of mind.

  Chance, on the other hand, is different. Chance is a coin toss, chance is probability. My charts had increased Thad’s chances, but it hadn’t changed his luck.

  And I couldn’t understand why.

  As we left the meadow, I pondered luck and chance, labyrinths and personal journeys, island mazes and carvings and the eternal question: Why are we here?

  But mostly I pondered the most disturbing question of all: Why is Thad still here?

  *

  The next morning, I woke before Thad, a rare event.

  By the fire, Miya sat alone, sewing a pair of shorts, her nimble fingers working the thin twine in an easy rhythm, her shoulders relaxed. I was struck by the change in her bearing. No more wounded bird, tucked in a ball. The most fragile soul on Nil had been saved by one of the strongest, and now Miya emanated a quiet strength reminiscent of Talla’s inherent confidence. I wondered what Miya’s future held for her once she escaped. Her gift for spotting gates rivaled Jason’s, and my gut said she would make it. Talla’s bravery had secured Miya’s future, but the cost was huge. I wondered if Talla’s cross haunted Miya or inspired her. It was not a question I’d ever ask.

  Past Miya, Rives sat near the Wall, like he was meditating, only his eyes were open. Lately he’d become as obsessed with the Wall as Thad, but while Thad traced the carvings, Rives just stared, and never at the same place twice.

  “Find anything new?” I teased, walking up to him.

  “Actually, yes.” Rives stood, grinning too broadly for this early in the morning. “Okay, what do you see when you look at the Wall?”

  “Is this a trick question?” I asked, instantly annoyed. Now was not the time for games, not when Thad had only thirteen days left. “I see names.”

  “Exactly. Thousands of names, if you count both sides. And I have.” Rives began to pace. “We know gates flash once a day on our end, at noon. So if we assume that gates flash once a day back home, that leaves three hundred sixty-five chances for people to show up per year. But we know that some inbounds have no riders, others pick up whatever happens to be there—chipmunk or cheetah, or a person. So I’m guessing worst case, one person gets snatched per week. That’s roughly fifty people a year. Now, if you do the math and count backward, this Wall was built in approximately 1859.” Rives raised an eyebrow at me.

  “O-kaayy,” I said, fighting impatience. “So it’s old.”

  Rives shook his head. “Do you know what happened in 1859?” Before I could say no, he said, “The biggest solar flare in history. That superflare sent a bunch of junk toward Earth, causin
g the largest geomagnetic storm ever recorded. Scientists call it the Solar Superstorm; I know because we studied it last year. All kinds of crazy stuff happened after the superflare. Telegraph machines caught fire; others kept typing after being unplugged. Weird stuff. And get this”—Rives paused, clearly for effect—“according to the British astronomers who observed it, the superflare happened just before noon.”

  Only slightly less dramatically, Rives continued. “Obviously, it wasn’t noon everywhere, but the only dudes who saw that superflare—the only two, Charley!—both saw it at noon. How crazy is that? Two scientists, totally unrelated, working at two different observatories in the same time zone, and both record the superflare at noon. So, just like there’re different quadrants here, there’re different time zones back home, and the gate storm had to start somewhere, right?”

  He stopped, his face animated. “I remembering you asking Macy why we’re here. Well, I think it’s possible we’re here because of that massive solar storm. Maybe something happened back then, something cosmic that created this place or ripped open the gate to it. We’ll never know, but it’s possible it’s related. And it was your storm theory on the gates that gave me the idea.” Grinning, Rives waited for my reaction.

  I wanted to scream.

  Maybe that’s why the island is here, but it’s not why we are here. Different question, different answer, and Rives’s answer didn’t matter, because it didn’t help Thad. Like I’d told Dex weeks ago, all that mattered was survival and escape, and for Thad, time was running out.

  “It’s a cool idea,” I said, fighting not to snap, “but like you said once yourself, it doesn’t help get us home.”

  Rives’s expression softened. “I know. But it makes the place less freaky, at least for me.” Stepping close, he wrapped his arm around me like he used to do with Natalie. “Keep the faith, girl,” he whispered. “Thad’s gonna make it.”

  He has to, I thought, biting my lip. For both of us.

  CHAPTER

  55