Nil (17 page)

Still on the ground, Rory scrambled backward like a crab.

“Get up!” I shouted at Rory; I couldn’t help it. “GET UP!”

His eyes wide with terror, Rory struggled to find his feet. The shoulder strap circled his neck like a noose, and trapped beneath him, the loaded satchel pinned him to the dirt. Rory was still horizontal when the animal butted him with two quick strikes.

Rory screamed and threw his hands up to protect his face; at the same time, I targeted the beast’s side. The animal squealed and thrashed, its tusks flashing like weapons, making it tough to get a lock on its chest.

I lunged and barely nicked hide.

Before I could regroup, the beast charged Rory again, its head down, tusks in play. This time the animal struck Rory with enough force to toss him a meter through the air. As Rory flew backward, I struck the boar’s chest, then hacked down, and when I ripped my blade out, blood spurted from the wound, a weak plume.

Not enough
, I thought, spinning out of tusk range. Not enough to kill, just enough to draw its attention to a new threat: me.

I sprinted sideways, certain the animal would follow, but when I looked back, it hadn’t moved. Torn between Rory and me, its head vacillated erratically, its legs clumsy in indecision. Taking advantage of the animal’s confusion, I ran back, directly toward the animal this time, and drove my blade deep into its chest with everything I had. This time I felt my knife grind on bone.

Roaring, the beast swung to face me. I leaped back, but my knife jerked me to an abrupt halt. Hot pain slashed across my forearm as I wrenched my knife, hard.

Abruptly, the blade released. I stumbled away, bobbling my knife, watching blood gush from the animal’s chest. This time it was a geyser, a fountain of red.

The beast squealed in fury, and turning full on me, it charged. I cut right, moving fast, fighting to grip my slick knife; my hold was dangerously weak, but I was determined to draw the boar away from Rory. I cut right and the animal faltered. It was less than a meter away when it teetered and fell. The ground shook. The beast twitched violently, then lay still.

Silence dropped like fresh snow.

The animal was easily three hundred pounds, maybe more. Definitely more. Resting on its side, its bloody belly was exposed. The thing was female, and a mommy thing at that.

Rory lay on his back, gripping his thigh with both hands and moaning. Scratches and cuts crisscrossed his face and forearms, defensive wounds, weeping blood. His shorts were torn, and near his waist, a dark red spot was spreading ominously. More red ran down his leg. Bright red ran through his fingers, and curses flew from Rory’s mouth faster than the blood. One quick look told me all I needed to know: Rory needed more help than just me.

“Hang in there,” I told him. Moving quickly, I ripped a cloth from my waist, tore it in half, and then wrapped part around Rory’s thigh in a makeshift tourniquet. My hands were coated with blood. Red was everywhere. I’d just cinched the knot tight when a mewling squeal split the silence behind me.

Snatching up my bloody knife, I turned. A small piggy creature crept from the trees and skittered toward the dead boar. It nosed the beast’s belly, trying to suckle.
A baby
, I thought, lowering my knife.

Rory moaned. His hands were back on his leg. “Fuck, it hurts.”

Kneeling, I pressed the extra cloth to Rory’s hip. Red saturated the material and matted the cloth to his skin, making me wish I had something more, knowing I didn’t. I hefted Rory over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, angling his body to put pressure on his hip wound.

“Hang in there,” I said, gritting my teeth against his weight. “You’re going back to the City, at least for now.”

Rory moaned again. “Fuck.”

“A cluster,” I agreed.

The walk back sucked, more than I could have imagined. Each step felt like I was hauling a two-hundred-pound sack of cement. My forearm throbbed, and my quads burned like I’d spent the day boarding. Soon I was huffing like I was high on a mountain, climbing into thin air with my backpack and board, just before it got good and I flew downhill.

Only there was no flying today; no good would follow. My foot slipped in my shoe, sliding on something warm. Sweat, blood, I had no clue. My hands were wet and sticky, too. With my sweat and maybe with my blood. Or Rory’s, or the beast’s. Or maybe all three.

Rory stopped cursing, a bad sign. I picked up my pace.

“Stay—with—me,” I panted.

When I caught sight of the Shack, Sy was outside, stretching pulp out to dry.

“Sy!” I gasped. “Get Rives! Miguel!”

He took one look, dropped the pulp, and took off, shouting. Rives came running, with Johan. Bart trailed behind, with Charley and Talla on his heels.

Johan and Rives lifted Rory off my shoulders; the abrupt loss of weight made my legs buckle. “Need line,” I managed, watching them lay Rory on the ground. “For stitches.”

I collapsed, wishing we had Sabine or Natalie or anyone else with a clue about island medicine. At least Miguel could string line for fish. “Where’s Miguel?”

“Fishing,” Charley said, kneeling beside me.

“Who else can stitch?” I directed this question at Rives and Johan. They were taking Rory’s pulse and assessing the damage. Rory was out cold.

“Li,” Bart offered.

“He meant who’s around,” Talla snapped.

“The City’s pretty empty right now,” Charley said softly. “I think it’s up to us.” Eyeing Rory, she took a deep breath. “What can I do?”

“He needs blankets,” I said. “And bandages. I think he’s in shock. And we need Miguel or someone else who can stitch.” I looked at Bart, who hadn’t moved. “Now!” I barked.

Rives leaned back on his heels. “Thad, I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

“Who? Miguel?” I said, confused.

Rives shook his head. “Rory. He’s gone.”

“Gone?” I was stunned. “Check for a pulse. Again.”

“I did.” Rives’s light eyes were shadowed. “There’s nothing. He’s dead.”

“Check again,” I said, feeling sick. Feeling responsible. For chasing him. For interfering. For doing too much and for not doing enough.

“Sorry, bro.” Rives didn’t move. Johan was making the sign of the cross over Rory, then he crossed himself, his lips moving in silent prayer.

“Are you sure?” I asked Rives. “He’s dead?”

“I’m sure. Whatever got him ripped him wide open. He just bled out.”

I stared at Rory, thinking he should look worse, thinking there should be more blood. The ground around him was pristine. Green growth, brown dirt. No red. But Rives was sure, and I trusted Rives.

He’s gone.

“What was it?” Sy blurted. “What got him?”

“I don’t know,” I said, knowing he had to ask but still feeling like it disrespected Rory. Rory, who lay a meter away, a fresh Nil kill, his satchel slung uselessly across his shoulder. Silver knives spilled out, glinting with accusation.

He’d never tried to pull one out.

The knives winked at me as I spoke. “Some kind of wild boar. At least three hundred pounds of ugly, with two set of tusks. And it was female.” I paused. “I think it was protecting its baby. Or babies.” Who knew how many more little beasties were growing up on Nil? More fun for the future.

“A pig did this?” Bart asked, his voice an annoying mix of amusement and disbelief.

Charley’s golden eyes flashed. “Thad didn’t say a pig. He said a ‘wild boar.’ With tusks, two sets, and mean. That doesn’t sound like a pig to me.” Even her sugary accent didn’t warm her words.

Bart blanched. “Right,” he mumbled.

Rives ignored Bart completely. “Where was this?” he asked.

“A couple kilometers past the Cove. The boar jumped from the trees and charged. It was fast.”

Rives frowned, looking thoughtful. “Fast and ugly, two sets of tusks. Sounds like a warthog. They’re bad news; kill lions and shit in Africa. Did it take off?”

I shook my head. “No. It’s dead.”

“Are you hurt?” Charley asked, gently turning over my hand. Her skin looked incredibly clean against mine. The blood on my hands and forearms had started to dry, making it blacken and crack, and fresh red oozed from a gash near my wrist. More blood coated my legs in sticky rivulets, mixing with sweat and dirt, a hideous collage of Nil death.

“Thad?” Charley’s voice was worried.

“Huh?”

“Are you hurt?” she repeated softly, her eyes searching.

“Not really.” Suddenly I couldn’t wait to wash off the blood. I pulled back my hand; I didn’t want Charley to touch it. To let any more of Nil’s blood touch
her
.

Getting to my feet, I addressed Rives. “Two things. First, we need to bury Rory. Second, we need to salvage that hog. It’s too much to waste. I’ll help with the burial, then a team can go get the hog.”

“No.” Rives shook his head. “You’ve done enough. Go get clean. We’ll take care of Rory, then the hog.”

I hesitated, torn between wanting to help Rives and wanting to be rid of the blood.

Rives’s voice was soft. “We’ve got this, bro. Now go.”

As I started away, Rives threw out an arm to stop me. “Not the sea. With all that blood, you’ll be chum. Go to the Cove.”

You’ve done enough,
Rives had said.

But not enough
, I thought, glancing at his eyes full of pity. I’d failed Rory, and now I’d brought back a dead body for Rives to bury. I couldn’t bear to look at Charley.

Like I’d told Rory, it was a total cluster.

Whipping around, I broke into a run, back up the same bloody path I’d just carried Rory down. Blood on the ground. Blood on me.

Bloody hell
, cackled Nil.

There would be no escape today.

CHAPTER

22

CHARLEY

DAY 14, MID-MORNING

I sat on a rock, waiting.

So far, Thad had been behind the waterfall for at least an hour. I knew he was alive and long since clean, but just needing that quiet space, that quiet time. I pictured him sitting on the slick black ledge, breathing crisp air, hearing only the roar of the water cascading down in front of his face. A wall like a shimmer, but just water. A wall that was exactly as it appeared to be.

I wondered if Thad was cold. I would be freezing under there. Inside the A-frame at night under thin covers, I no longer shook, but I was still cold. The only time I felt warm was in the sun, like now.

When Thad emerged, he looked exhausted.

“You pruney yet?” I asked.

His head whipped to me. “What are you doing here?” His voice sounded strange. Vacant, and distant.

“I thought you might like some fresh clothes and a towel.” I pointed to the Cove’s edge, where Thad had left the same offerings for me. “I’ll turn around. I promise I won’t peek.”

“It’s okay. I won’t mind if you do.” Thad’s tone was detached, like his thoughts were anywhere but here.

I turned around and studied the trees. Light crept through the branches, making each leaf pop with color. Nil was breathtaking, no question, but there was ugliness, too. The beauty was everywhere; the ugliness subtle. But it was there all the same. I’d never been more aware of it than when I’d seen Thad stumbling back with Rory, covered in blood. Despite the sun, I shivered.

“I know those trees are riveting,” Thad’s deep voice came from behind me, “but you can turn around now.”

Wearing a clean version of the shorts that had been soaked with blood, Thad stood there, drying his hair with the thin towel, which was more like a cloth. Because, as I’d figured out, every bit of cloth was some version of the same, all made from the paper trees.

“How long were you waiting?” he asked.

“Not long.”

“Liar,” he said, almost breaking into a smile.

“How would you know? Were you watching?” My voice was teasing.

“Actually, no,” he said, and the light left his eyes. “I was just thinking. And trying not to think.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Not so great.” Thad sat beside me. The gash on his forearm looked raw. It would leave a scar, but at least it had stopped bleeding.

“Your arm looks better,” I offered.

“Yeah. That’s what washing off blood will do, eh?” He clenched and unclenched his fists so hard I wondered if it hurt.

“Thad, I know I just got here and that I’m way behind the curve. But I’ve figured a few things out.” I paused, watching his knuckles turn white. “One is that everyone looks to you. For help. For advice. It’s why you won the hand vote for Leader. It’s why Talla came to you today. It wasn’t right that Rory stole stuff. You went after him because it was the right thing to do, and then everything went to hell in a handbasket. It’s not like you knocked him out, took the stuff back, and left him there.” I stopped, feeling like I was rambling, but needing to finish. “So you can’t beat yourself up over what happened.”

Thad studied his hands. “I didn’t like him. From the get-go. But I didn’t want him dead.”

“Of course you didn’t. That’s why you carried him back. You did all you could.”

“Did I?” Thad lifted his head. His eyes were tortured. “I missed, Charley. I had a shot, but I missed. If I’d gotten it the first time, maybe Rory would have made it. I’m pretty sure it was the animal’s last strike that killed him. And what if I’d just let him go? Not gone after Rory in the first place? He went ballistic. I think the noise drew the hog.” He looked away. “I think our fight triggered the attack.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I said, my tone purposefully no-nonsense. “You can play the what-if game all day, but it won’t change what happened. You aren’t responsible for Rory’s death. You tried to save him, in more ways than one. And you tried to protect the City. No one blames you, so stop blaming yourself.”

Thad didn’t reply. I could tell he didn’t expect me to say anything, which was good since I had no clue what else to say. The waterfall echoed like rain through the silence.

“Do you know that he didn’t use any of the knives that he took?” Thad said finally. “Not one. He didn’t even try to fight back.”

“But you did,” I said, refusing to let him wallow in self-doubt or, worse, self-hate. “Don’t you see? You fought for him, and that means something. And you could’ve gotten killed. Wild hogs can be really mean.”