Nil (16 page)

“Not a chance,” I shot back.

He laughed. “Night.” Then he melted back into the darkness.

Inside the hut, Natalie was curled on the bed, smiling like Em. Moonlight seeped in, an island nightlight.

“You should have kissed him,” she declared.

“Were you listening?” I asked, collapsing onto the empty bed. Nat was worse than Em. No, she was
exactly
like Em.

“Of course I was listening. And you totally should’ve kissed him. You only live once, remember?” She smiled broadly. Hope had replaced the earlier shadow.

“Maybe,” I said. “But it seems like if Thad wanted a kiss, he would’ve kissed me. I’m not sure I’m his type.”
And I’m not sure he’s mine
, I thought, remembering Bart’s warning. I had no intention of being one of many.

Natalie’s jaw dropped. “Exactly what type is that? Tall and exotic? Geez, Charley, are you really that oblivious or are you fishing for compliments?” Now she looked annoyed.

“I’m definitely tall.” I reflexively tugged on my skirt. I’d always heard my looks were “unique,” which meant absolutely nothing. Unique’s one thing, exotic’s another.

Natalie stared at me. “Okay, you really are that oblivious. Look, I’ve known Thad since his Day One. You should know that he’s there for everyone, but at the same time, he’s kind of distant. He’s different with you.” Watching me, she frowned. “I’m serious, Charley. Thad’s never paid attention to any girl here. He’s been all business, until now. Until
you
.”

“Really?” I said. “That’s not the idea I got from Bart.”

Natalie snorted. “Ignore Bart. Everyone else does. Listen, just be good to Thad, okay?”

I stayed quiet.

“Is there someone back home?” she asked sharply.

“No.”

“You answered fast. Are you sure?”

“Positive. I have this funny thing about height. I don’t like guys shorter than me, which ruled out most of the school. Plus, most guys had issues with dating a girl who towered over them, especially if I wore heels.”
And the rest looked at me differently after Matt, and I had issues with that.

She snorted. “I bet you just intimidated the heck out of them.” Then her eyes gleamed. “But Thad’s taller than you. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I noticed,” I admitted.

“That’s what I thought.” Natalie grinned. “Like I said, be good to him. Don’t break his heart.”

“Please.” I rolled my eyes, but Natalie didn’t laugh.

“I’m serious,” she said quietly. “He’s a good guy.”

Good guys are dangerous, because you can’t tell when they’re being bad
. I knew that firsthand. Lost in thought, I curled up under my thin sheet, absently wishing I had socks and pulling on my skirt. The micro-mini wrap seemed determined to shrink at every opportunity.

Frowning, Natalie sat up and studied my face in the dim light. “Haven’t you ever had a serious boyfriend?”

“Not really.”

“Either you have or you haven’t.” She sounded Em-direct. “Which is it?”

I sighed. “There was this one guy. Matt Kilwin. He was two years older, and hotter than the sun. I’m talking tall, rocking bod, the whole works. The summer before my sophomore year, we hung out.” I flashed back to buried memories.

“Did you love him?” Natalie asked, curious.

“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t know him well enough to love him. Talking to Matt was like talking to a mannequin. Or maybe he was so good-looking I couldn’t think of anything to say,” I admitted. “Anyway, we didn’t do much talking. Em called it the ‘summer movie-make-out marathon.’” I smiled, but the memory stung. My mind had already leaped ahead—to Stacia. Five feet of cheer captain fury, leveled at me.

“What happened?” Natalie prompted.

“The girlfriend he’d supposedly broken up with came back from her summer in Spain. They got back together, if they were ever apart. She told everyone I’d tried to steal Matt by sleeping with him—which was so not true, all we did was kiss—but the truth didn’t matter.” My sophomore fall was a total nightmare. Clumps of senior girls, whispering in the halls.
Six-foot slut
.
Amazon whore
.
Who does she think she is? Matt Kilwin!
I closed my eyes to the memories. Matt was forgettable; it was the Stacia fallout that was tough to erase.

“Witch. What did Matt do?”

“Played football, got voted Best-Looking.”

“No, I mean did he stick up for you? No, of course he didn’t; I can tell from your face. What a jerk.” Natalie shook her head, then smiled. “Hey, got you something.” She pointed to the table, where a folded cloth lay beside the gourd pitcher. “Shorts. You pull on your skirt every five seconds, and I figured you’d be more comfortable in shorts.” She shrugged. “Most of us just wrap the skirt tight enough so we don’t flash anyone, and to be honest, after a few weeks here, you really don’t care. But then again, I’m only five foot three.”

A lump had formed in my throat, but Natalie was still talking, in that same rapid-fire pace I’d noticed her use when she was explaining island business. “We’re low on shorts right now, but seeing as you’re taller than most of the guys, I guarantee no one will care. Everyone wears what fits them best.” Now her smile turned mischievous. “And it’s better than a loincloth. They’re worse than the skirts.”

I hugged Natalie tight, so overwhelmed by her thoughtfulness that a thank-you seemed insufficient. But it was all I had.

“You’re welcome. Now go change,” Natalie said, breaking our hug. “I know this pair will fit.” Without pausing, her voice softened. “They were Kevin’s.”

Of course they fit perfectly.

We talked until we grew sleepy. Being with Natalie was like being with Em, like a slice of home on Nil. And yet it was Nil, and Thad was never far from my thoughts. I felt something with him I’d never felt with any boy, ever, even Matt Kilwin. Especially Matt Kilwin.

You do this often?
I’d teased Thad after he’d showed me the green flash.
Never
, he’d answered, sounding surprised himself.

Natalie was right. Thad
was
a good guy.

Dang it
, I thought.
I should’ve kissed him
.

I’d just dozed off when Natalie’s voice crept through the darkness.

“France,” she said quietly. “I just remembered. Sabine was from France.”

CHAPTER

21

THAD

DAY 280, DAWN

I’d risen before the sun, eager to see Charley. But so far, I was the only one up.

It was just me and hundreds of faceless names on the Wall. I thought about the skull Charley had found. Maybe it belonged to someone on this Wall, maybe not.
No necklace, no clue
, Rives had reported last night.
Maybe he was a loner, maybe he was before our time. The skull was as clean as the skeleton in my science lab. I don’t know if he got a cross on the Wall, but he got one back at the Bay
.

My fingers skimmed the wood, tracing my name. One cross above, one cross below, and my space empty, like Nil’s whacked-out version of tic-tac-toe. In eighty-five days, one of us would win. And one would lose.

There was no draw on Nil.

Ramia’s name caught my eye. So did her fresh cross, but I refused to start the day with Ramia. A new name begged for attention: Charley, with an
e-y
.

I wished I’d kissed her. Then I remembered the hesitation in her eyes, the reason I hadn’t.
Damn
, I thought.
I wish she’d kissed me
.

“Thad!”

Talla burst from the trees, her blond hair flying behind her. A red mark on her face stuck out like a burn.

“Rory,” she gasped. “He came in. I had watch at the Shack. Told him what he could take—a spear, a water gourd. A week of food.” Slowing, Talla took a breath. “He told me to eff off, that he’d take what he wanted. He grabbed knives, the last metal ones. I tried to stop him, but—he’s gone.” She looked beyond pissed. “With knives and a net and God knows what else.”

Talla’s words hit home, and the reality cut deep.
The last two metal knives, gone. Knives we can’t replace, knives we need.
The only one left in the City hung at my waist.

“When did this happen?” I asked, already calculating my route. “And what happened to your face? Don’t tell me he hit you.”

“He hit me.” She nodded, her face furious. “Maybe twenty minutes ago? I’m not sure. I was out.” Her hand went to her cheek, which was already swelling.

I wished I’d punched Rory yesterday after all.

“Get Rives,” I told her. “Tell him I’m on it. And lie down, okay?”

Talla nodded, my cue to take off. The clock was ticking.

I took the easy trail out, the one by the Shack, the same one Charley and I had walked yesterday when we went to Crystal Cove. The other paths were narrow and rough, or so open they didn’t look like a trail. Worn and marked, this trail was like hiking for Cub Scouts. Rory looked more resort-coddled than survival-campy. He’d go Cub Scout all the way.

Keeping low, keeping quiet, I jogged down the path, working through what I would say when I found him. Trees came and went. Nil listened quietly as I tracked Rory.

I passed the Cove, and when I was out of waterfall range, I paused, sifting through the stillness, searching for sounds of Rory. Wind whispered, leaving echoes of silence. No ocean now, which was telling. No animal noises, which was neither reassuring nor remarkable. And no human sounds, which was disappointing.

The path narrowed, snaking inland through clumps of trees, toward the mudflats. I was at least two kilometers from the City now, maybe more. I was about to turn back when I heard him—crashing along like a hippo, which initially I thought he was.

Rory was lumbering along, swinging both arms, a bulging bag slung across one shoulder. Occasionally one of his arms would strike a branch, whacking it away, only for it to snap back, like Nil wanted to whip his ass, too.

I padded up the path, careful to avoid twigs or anything that might crack under my feet. I was only four meters behind him now. He’d never make it alone, I realized, not if he let me get this close without turning.

“Rory,” I said.

He spun. Seeing me, his eyes narrowed, and one hand flew to his satchel. “Whaddya want?”

To kick your sorry ass as payback for Talla
. Restraining my temper, I tried diplomacy first. “Five minutes,” I said.

“Two,” he snarled.

Whatever
, I thought, already tired of his tough-guy routine. “Fine. Two. So here it is. I know you want off the island. I get it. But you can’t steal, dude.” I pointed at his bag. “Not the net, and not the knives. So cough ’em up.” My voice went hard. “Now.”

Rory’s sunburned face sparked like an angry tomato. “I don’t think so. I’m not in your little island cult. I can do as I please.”

It took all my restraint to only use words. “You can’t knock girls out and steal crap that’s not yours. You can take clothes, a water gourd, a week’s worth of food. And a spear. Basic survival gear. But not the knives. They’re City property. Same for the net.”

Rory’s face went nuclear; his thin smile was gone. “Who the ’ell do ya think you are, telling me what I can and cannnot do? If ya think I’m gonna dodder around and sing campfire songs with ya, you’re out of your fucking mind. Do you
know
who my dad is? He’s George O’Whirley, of O’Whirley Enterprises, a fucking Fortune 500 company. A
transportation
company. If there’s a way to get me out of here, my dad’ll find it.” He looked smug. “And he didn’t make his bloody fortune lolling around singing ‘Kumbaya.’”

Fury welled in me like lava, ready to blow. “I don’t give a flying
fuck
who your dad is. Because he’s not
here
, and no matter what you think or how much money he has, he’s not gonna get
here
. All that matters is what goes down between us, right here, right now. And right now you’re going to give back what you took.” I paused. “Now.”

Rory looked amused, then his face slid back into a condescending sneer. “No can do, Holy Joe. I’m taking the knives and—”

A muffled noise at one o’clock caught my attention. Behind a pile of black rocks just past Rory, something rustled, then scratched. Something weighty. Listening intently, I tried to gauge what it might be, but it was hard to filter the sounds through Rory’s rants.

Rory was shouting now. “I don’t give a bollocks, you hear me?” A vein had popped out on his neck, and his flushed face splotched white.

“Whatever,” I said, wholly focused on Rory again. “Hand over the knives. Then you can go. I won’t stop you.”

“No.” Rory gripped the bag harder.

“Seriously. Don’t do this.” It was like a bad junior high moment when the kid says
make me
. “Give me the knives.”

Rory laughed. “Fuck you.” He spat at my feet, then turned and crashed up the path.

“Rory!” I yelled, dreading the coming fight. “Last chance!”

“Go to hell!” he roared over his shoulder.

“Already there,” I muttered.

I’d taken two steps when a massive creature exploded from the trees and landed on the path in front of Rory. Snorting and squealing, with two sets of stained tusks, bristles for hair, and patches of bare skin, it was the ugliest beast I’d seen on Nil.

Thing
, I thought, pulling my knife. A mutant, scary Nil plaything.

As Rory skidded to a halt, the beast lowered its head. With a surprising burst of speed, it charged.

Yelping, Rory backpedaled, arms wild. I raced forward, angling right, gunning to intercept the beast from the side before it reached Rory. My attack window narrowed; Rory’s feet were slow.

Then Rory tripped and fell. The beast kept coming, barreling forward like a wild boar on ’roids. Too close to Rory, too far from me. Rory lay sprawled flat on his back, his legs at odd angles, but at least they were moving.

Get up
, I willed Rory silently as I arced around the beast’s side. It’s impossible to fight when you’re not on your feet.