The Only Ones (7 page)

When Felix reached Martin, he grabbed him by the wrist and said, “Wanna see what I’ve been working on?”

Martin shrugged.

Felix started pulling him back toward town. “Yes, oh yes! You will most definitely want to see this. Let’s log on. What do you say? We’ll log on and I’ll show you the finest Internet the world knows.”

T
he door to Felix’s house was painted black. Near the top, there was a heavy iron knocker in the shape of a field mouse. Below the mouse, two words were written in green paint.

Username
Password

“You’ll need to choose a username first,” Felix explained. “It could be anything. Last name and first initial. Maybe people call you Scooter or something. Who am I to judge?”

“Will Martin work?” Martin asked.

“Well, it isn’t exactly original, but it also isn’t taken,” Felix said with a thumbs-up. “What about a password?”

“Alarm clock,” Martin said without thinking.

“Spell it so I get it right.”

“A-L-A-R-M C-L-O-C-K.”

“All as one word?”

“Two words.”

“Any capitals? Do you use a zero for the ‘o’? You can never be too careful.”

“Just alarm clock,” Martin said. “As it’s spelled.”

“Okeydoke. Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Felix retrieved a nub of a pencil and a key from his headband and pulled a small block of wood from his pocket. He hurried off a few quick notes. Then he placed the key in the door and pointed at Martin. “Try it,” he said.

“Try what?”

“Knock on the door.”

“But you’re out here with me.”

“Just knock.”

So Martin lifted the mouse and struck it against the door three times.

“Username?” Felix said in a deep voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Username?” he said again.

“Oh, yes … Martin.”

“Password?”

“Alarm clock.”

“Logged in,” Felix said, turning the key and shouldering the door open.

Felix’s home wasn’t a home at all. There was no furniture or decorations or anything to make one think this was a place to burrow, to sleep, to live. Thousands of strings created jagged checkerboards and drooping nets and twisted vines that covered the bare hallways and rooms. Each string was connected at both sides to blocks of wood that were either set
on the floor or hung on the walls. Writing was scribbled all over each block.

“We only have about five hundred websites,” Felix explained, “but I’m adding more every day.”

“I thought the Internet was something for computers,” Martin said.

“Well, duh,” Felix said. “But do you know any servers that are still operating? Plenty of laptops out there with batteries, but it isn’t like you can go to the café for some Wi-Fi.”

Admittedly, computers were an abstract concept for Martin. He’d read about them. George had told him about them. He imagined picture frames filled with constantly changing text and images, and he imagined the Internet to be the source of all that visual chatter. He never thought it could be something so organic.

“What’s written on the blocks?” Martin asked.

“Ah, more to the point at hand,” Felix said. Then he led Martin into a vast room with a large block positioned in the center of it. Hundreds of strings sprouted from the block, like hairs from a giant square head. Only about one quarter of the block was covered with writing. In the biggest letters, the word
Xibalba
was written.

“Think of this as your default home page,” Felix said. “You have the story of Xibalba here, and there are screws on any word where I made a hyperlink. The string tied to the screw is the link. So if you want to know about … ohh, I don’t know, the peanut roaster … then you grab the string and follow it to another block. In other words, the peanut roaster’s web page. Then that block might have links to lots of other blocks and on and on and on and on.”

“The Internet was once used to find missing people, right?” Martin asked.

“It was used to find naked ladies too,” Felix said, “but this version isn’t advanced enough for either. Apologies if I got your hopes up.”

“That’s all right,” Martin said. “I’m okay with this version.”

“Well, then try it out, why don’tcha?” Felix insisted.

Leaning over the large block, Martin began to read. The writing was small but clear. It appeared to be rendered in black pen, but there were chunks of the wood that had been sanded or shaved away and rewritten on in fresh red ink. Martin ran his finger over the indentations.

“Edits,” Felix explained. “No web page should be static. Certainly not. Certainly not.”

“Of course,” Martin said as he resumed his reading.

The word
was
appeared freshly written in a sanded dent in the wood. There was a screw in the middle of the name Kelvin Rice.

“Is there more about him?” Martin asked.

“Use the string,” Felix said.

Placing the string between his finger and thumb, Martin began to follow its path. It required a bit of patience, as the
string twisted its way around and over and under other strings, but Martin was in no hurry. When he finally reached the block, he found it hanging by a hook on the wall. He took it down and looked at it closely. It was about the size of a fisherman’s tackle box. Three sides of the block were covered in writing. The fourth side was basically a door, with a small handle and keyhole. He began reading.

A knock on the door interrupted Martin’s reading.

“Excuse me for a sec.” Felix made his way around the
strings until he reached the door. He turned the lock slowly. “Username?” he said.

A voice came back: “You know who.”

“Username!” Felix insisted.

“You got island boy in there?”

“Yes I do,” Felix said, “but I will require a username and password. Rules are rules.”

The door flew open, knocking Felix to the ground. Henry stood there with a rifle slung over his back.

“Forgot my username and password,” Henry said. “How ’bout you email ’em to me?”

“M
artin!” Darla exclaimed, stepping into the room from behind Henry. “You’re out and about and surfing the web. Good for you.”

“Good morning, Darla,” Martin said as he hung Kelvin Rice’s block back on its hook.

“That Kelvin’s page?” Henry asked.

“It is,” Martin said.

“Beautiful,” Darla said. “Exactly what we came for.”

Henry hurried around the strings, his rifle dangerously close to getting snagged. Darla put a hand out to Felix and helped him to his feet.

“I cannot let any joker in off the street. Passwords are a requirement,” Felix told her.

“This is important, Fee,” Darla crooned. “Gotta understand that.”

“It’s always important with you, Darla,” Felix moaned.

“I’m an important girl,” Darla chirped.

“And, Henry,” Felix went on, “I’ve told you time and again, no guns in the Internet.”

“No guns in the Internet,” Henry mimicked in a high-pitched voice. He stepped past Martin and pulled Kelvin Rice’s block off its hook.

“We’ll need to get into Kelvin’s personal page,” Darla said. “With Martin showing up outta nowhere, we gotta see if this is another thing he kept to himself.”

“No can doozy,” Felix said. “Need a password and authentication in the form of a signed note. You know this.”

“He’s gone, and he isn’t coming back,” Darla said. “Besides, he gave up his rights to privacy when he lied to us.”

“Yeah! And like you’re not peekin’ inside all the personal pages when you’re here all alone.” Henry snorted. “Puhlease.”

“It’s called a code of ethics,” Felix said. “Something I work hard to maintain.”

No one had been watching Martin this whole time, but Martin had been watching Henry’s rifle. Its muzzle was nearly brushing against Martin’s cheek as it angled from Henry’s back. Martin knew what was happening here. He had read about this type of situation. A gun was in the room. Before they left the room, that gun was going to be fired. It was inevitable. He surely didn’t want anyone to be hurt. With the exception of Henry, whom he was beginning to wonder about, they seemed like reasonable people. So he did what he thought was the best thing to do.

Martin punched Henry in the face.

Henry wobbled, stunned into submission. Martin grabbed for the rifle. When he yanked it away, it sent Henry spinning and the block of wood sailing across the room.

Felix and Darla watched, speechless, as Henry fell into a web of strings and Martin pointed the gun to the ceiling and fired off five rounds.

Blam, blam, blam, blam, blam, click …

The rifle was empty. Holes the diameter of Martin’s fingers decorated the ceiling, and debris flurried down. As the echoes from the gunshots faded away, Martin sighed in relief. Of course, no one could hear the sigh over Henry’s screams.

“Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!” The pits of Henry’s elbows shielded his eyes, and his stubby hands covered his ears.

“It’s okay,” Martin said calmly. “I was making sure we were all safe.”

Felix stared at him. His right eye held the stare for a moment, then seemed to lose its nerve, turning away. His left eye, however, stayed fixed in place.

“We do not hit!” Darla stepped forward and yelled. “We. Do. Not. Hit! And we do not shoot! We do not. Shoot. Guns. Near people! What kind of place do you think this is?”

“I—”

“What were you thinking?” Darla said.

“I—He had a gun. I wanted to make sure nobody was shot,” Martin said.

“Turkeys,” Darla barked. “Deer. Rabbits. He uses it to shoot animals. I was going to cook you dinner tonight, Martin.”

“Oh,” Martin said. “I guess I misunderstood.”

“Friggin’ right you did,” Henry grumbled as he pulled himself up and quickly ran his sleeve across his cheek.

“Sorry,” Martin whispered as he handed the rifle back to Henry.

Darla tilted her head and pursed her lips. Then she
flicked her fingers out like she was displaying claws, held them there for a moment, and slowly lowered them to her sides. “We will accept your apology,” she said through her teeth, “because I honestly think that island folk such as yourself probably have different rules. But here, in civilization, we act civilized.”

“I understand,” Martin said softly.

“Goody,” Darla said, then rescued the block from the floor and flipped it over to reveal the small door and keyhole on the back. She gave Felix a playful but insistent push on the shoulder, knocking him back to attention. “Gonna need that key, lazy eye,” she said. “High time we get inside Kelvin’s mind.”

Felix closed his eyes and nodded. He was not going to fight this fight. He reached into his headband. From inside he pulled a tiny key with a series of intricate teeth. He handed it to Darla.

“Thank you very much, sir,” she said. “The honorable choice.”

Bracing herself with her free hand, she carefully got down on the floor and sat cross-legged with the block in her lap. She wielded the key. The slip, the turn, the click, the creak of the door hinges came next. Then she reached inside.

She held a small green marble up in the air for all to see.

“That’s it?” Henry asked.

“That is indeed it,” Darla said with a crooked smile.

“Don’t let Lane have it,” Henry sniped. “She’ll send it rollin’ in one of her whirligigs.”

“Lane does not worry me,” Darla said, sliding the marble into the front pocket of her jeans.

“Who’s Lane?” Martin asked.

“Pudgy girl,” Darla said. “No consequence.”

“Is that really necessary?” Felix said.

“What?” Darla giggled. “Lane’s zaftig. That’s a
thing
for some people, apparently. And I’m being truthful. I think Martin is the type of guy who appreciates the truth.”

“I am,” Martin said.

“See?” Darla closed and locked the little door, stood up, and handed the block and key back to Felix.

“What are you going to do with it?” Felix asked.

“I’m not sure,” Darla said with a shrug. “But it’s gotta be important if Kelvin was hiding it, right?”

“People hide plenty of things for plenty of reasons that I don’t understand,” Felix said.

“And you’re so good at helping them, aren’t you?” Darla teased, thumbing Felix on the cheek.

“We all do what we do,” Felix said plainly.

“Ah!” Darla remarked. “Speaking of which, let’s get Henry some bullets and Martin some solar panels. We’ll be eating rabbit and watching DVDs before the night is out!”

She threw her arm around Martin and pulled him in close. Then she grabbed Henry by the collar of his T-shirt. Reluctantly, he sidled over to her, and she threw her other arm around him.

Squeezed tightly against her, Martin could feel the curves of Darla’s body. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Yet pressing into his thigh was the marble in her pocket. Its round, hard coldness had penetrated her jeans and Martin’s pant leg.