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?
WherewasI?
***
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.
