by Ally Condie
“Not all of it, apparently,” Logan muttered. Mrs. Cartwright blinked at him.
Opal smiled gamely at their underutilized host. “If I have any questions, we’ll definitely come find you.”
Mrs. Cartwright’s gaze turned a few degrees cooler. “It goes without saying that you will respect the sanctity of this landmark, young lady.” She broadened her frosty regard to include Logan as well. “Both of you. This is not a place for silly dates.”
Opal felt her cheeks burn. A date? Was this woman serious?
“Not a problem,” Logan mumbled, suddenly eyeing his shoes. “Come on, Opal.” He darted deeper into the building, forcing Opal to scurry after him. Mrs. Cartwright climbed back onto her stool, folding her hands in her lap.
They entered the main chamber of the old mill itself, and Opal’s breath caught. She hadn’t visited this place in years, not since the fourth-grade field trip. She’d forgotten how high the ceiling was, and the way the old stone walls and wooden rafters made the building feel almost like a cathedral. The heart-pine floor was polished to a glossy sheen, though scars and divots from its years as an active lumber factory were still visible.
Logan barely seemed to notice. He was staring up at a black-and-white family photo that had been blown up into a wall mural. “It’s pretty ironic. Whole galleries dedicated to the glorious Nantes clan, but my dad couldn’t care less about our real history.”
Opal nodded at a display memorializing the illegal crackdown of a workers’ strike in 1935. “Don’t be so harsh. If your father didn’t care about the past, he wouldn’t have this exhibit here, for example. That history isn’t flattering for the company, but he didn’t brush it under the carpet. He made sure future generations knew that what happened back then was wrong.”
“My grandfather assembled most of this stuff. Dad hardly ever visits. He just pays the bills.” Logan crossed his arms. “What exactly do you expect to find here? I’ll bet my dad scrubbed the building of anything Torchbearer related.”
“We need to explore every possible avenue,” Opal said stubbornly, knowing that she sounded like a Scooby-Doo kid. “Your dad rejected the Order before learning all of its secrets. Maybe he missed something important, or didn’t know what to look for.”
“And we do?”
Opal ignored the jab, wandering into the hall. She began examining displays for any trace of a Torchbearer symbol, or maybe a name they recognized. Opal thought back to the field trip here as kids. Logan was a grade ahead of her, so he hadn’t been there. Where had Nico been that day?
She and Nico had stopped being friends before fourth grade, but Opal realized she’d usually stayed aware of him, either at school or around town. Not constantly or anything, just in sort of a oh, there he is kind of way. A holdover from the days when they’d been inseparable.
Opal definitely noticed when he wasn’t around now. She … missed him. Sometimes more than made sense. What was that about?
“Look at this garbage.” Logan was glaring into a display case packed with eighteenth-century lumberjack mementos. “There’s nothing important here, just a bunch of old junk people used to carry around.” He pointed to a timeline on the wall that circled the whole room. “All those dates, and none of them matter. Zero to do with the Rift, or the Darkdeep, or any of it.”
Opal knew it wasn’t the museum that was driving Logan nuts. It was his father’s rejection of their family history. “Your dad did what he thought was best.”
Logan spun, eyes angry. “He cut me out of my legacy!” He flung a hand at a row of exhibits lining the center aisle. “Table-saws. Joists. How to fell an oak. Who cares about that stuff? I never learned anything that mattered.” Logan sniffed suddenly, color rising in his cheeks. “And it’s not just my father. I thought I knew Grandpa. He used to take me fun places all the time. Why didn’t he tell me our secret? Or show me the houseboat?”
“We were still little kids when he passed,” Opal said quietly. “He couldn’t put that on you. Plus, Roman Hale was alive back then. Your grandfather probably thought there’d be time to tell you everything later. Or maybe he was hoping your dad would come around.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.” Logan scuffed his shoe against the hardwood, making a basketball-court squeak. “My dad’s never been a wimp,” he grumbled sullenly. “What could scare him so badly that he didn’t even try? And now look at him. He’s a basket case.”
Opal tilted her head. “He was fine until recently though, right? I wonder what changed.”
Logan gritted his teeth. “Dark Halloween. He’s been on eggshells ever since that night. I figured it was just monster hysteria like everyone else. But now …”
Logan pushed away from the display case, taking a deep breath. Opal gave him some space. Her eye caught on a battered metal lunch box inside the enclosure. It was nearly identical to the one she’d found on the houseboat, right before the Rift crisis. The one Thing led me to.
Logan was still fuming. He reached into his jacket pocket, removing the small album of old photographs from inside the lockbox. Logan absently flipped to one of the photos, staring down at his grandfather’s smiling face. His other hand fiddled with the Torch necklace he wore every day. “Grandpa is the one who told my dad the end of the world was coming. I finally got it out of him last night. Worse, Grandpa said it would happen during my father’s lifetime. That’s what my dad didn’t tell us yesterday—the thing that scared him so badly. He … he never got over it.”
Opal felt a pit open in her stomach. “Wow. He said that to his own son?”
Logan nodded curtly, frowning down at the picture in his hands. It was a nature scene—Thomas Nantes was standing between two towering trees with crisscrossing branches, smiling as he held something round and metal in his fingers. Behind him, a giant spout of frothing water was bursting up into the air.
“Did he say, like … when?” Opal found that her arms were trembling.
Logan shook his head. “My dad said the Torchbearers never had a date or anything. At first he doubted any of it was real, but then something happened that changed his mind. He still won’t say what that was.”
“The Rift exploded halfway to Jupiter three weeks ago,” Opal quipped, attempting a joke. “That might’ve done it.”
“There’s more, I’m sure of it.” Logan slapped the album down on top of the display case. “But he won’t explain! I think something in the news also spooked him. He canceled our newspaper subscription, and some websites are blocked on our computer—Lily found out when she was trying to do homework last night.” Logan growled in frustration. “But he won’t say, or even come out of his study. He’s like an ostrich with his head in the sand!”
A chime sounded. Someone else had entered the exhibit hall. Opal heard Mrs. Cartwright’s delighted greeting. This was probably the busiest she’d been in years.
“Oh great,” Logan mumbled. “More of the Timbers Historical Society.”
Opal glanced back at the battered lunch box inside the glass. An etching caught her eye. She knelt and stuck her nose close. Scratched into its side was the name TOM NANTES. The lid was flipped open, with a folded-up red handkerchief nestled inside. Scattered on the fabric were a handful of old coins.
She moved closer. The coins were the souvenir kind, like you got at tacky stores or in theme-park booths. One was slightly larger than the others. Opal squinted, trying to make out a semicircle of letters running in an arc across its face.
YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK.
The park name was stamped above an etching of a geyser. “PUMP GEYSER” was printed at the bottom. Two giant trees loomed at both edges of the coin, flanking the central image.
Opal stooped closer to examine the engraving. Something about the coin was gnawing at her mind. The geyser’s eruption was hauntingly familiar. Like what the Rift had done right before it blew apart. What the Darkdeep keeps threatening to do.
Footsteps sounded. A familiar voice echoed across the room. “Hey guys.”
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Opal straightened. Nico was standing with Mrs. Cartwright a few steps behind Logan. “One of your friends is here?” she announced uncertainly. The look on Nico’s face was considerably less than friendly.
“What are you two doing?” he asked, fixing Opal with an unreadable gaze.
“Learning,” Opal replied. Then she winced inwardly at how cheesy that sounded. “I think I found something,” she added under her breath, trying to attract Nico’s attention without tipping off the overeager curator.
“Does anyone need anything explained?” Mrs. Cartwright asked loudly.
“No, ma’am.” Three voices at once. The elderly woman huffed once and retreated to the lobby.
Nico waited until her clomping heels had receded, then tapped an impatient finger on the display case. “You mean that lunch box?” he snapped, sounding skeptical as he swept up one of Logan’s pictures and looked it over. “They don’t seem unique. Every logger in Timbers probably had one.”
Logan stood a little apart from them, saying nothing. He was staring at Nico, who began paging through the other Nantes family photographs while pretending Logan didn’t exist.
“I understand that, Nico,” Opal replied, trying to keep her voice calm. Tension crackled like lightning between the two boys. And, weirdly, between Nico and herself. Is he mad at me? Why? Shaking her head, Opal soldiered on to make her point. “But check out the coins inside.”
Logan moved to stand on Opal’s opposite side, putting her between him and Nico. He peered through the glass, but a moment later he grunted dismissively. “Worthless tourist stuff. I never understood why Grandpa thought these coins were worth displaying.” He paused, scratching his chin. “It’s probably sentimental. Yellowstone was his favorite place in the world. He went there all the time, even called it his second home.”
Logan began to step away, but froze instead, eyes narrowing. “No. No.” He put a finger to his lips. “Actually, he called Yellowstone his second office. Grandpa said it was a place to be protected at all costs. I always thought he just meant, like, because it was a famous national park, but …”
Opal’s gaze shot to Nico. “That Yellowstone article you showed us earlier. What was it about again?”
Nico bit off clipped words. “Geysers. They’ve gone haywire, or something. I’d have to pull it back up.”
Something clicked in Opal’s head. She snatched the album from Nico, turning to the picture Logan had been staring at earlier. Suddenly it was clear. Thomas Nantes was standing near Pump Geyser, basically recreating the image stamped onto the coin.
Feeling a wave of adrenaline, she slipped the photograph from the album and waved it in the air. “You mean this geyser?”
Logan frowned. “Okay. So what? My grandfather wanted to capture the same shot from the coin he bought. Not sure why it matters.”
“No, Logan! Look. You too, Nico.” She held the photo up so both boys could see it clearly. “He’s actually on the opposite side. Those big trees are behind him, see? He’s in the woods somewhere.”
Nico made an annoyed sound. “The man really liked Yellowstone. Logan already said that.”
Opal didn’t answer him. She was staring in astonishment at the back of the photo, which was mere inches from her nose. “Guys,” she whispered. “There’s writing on here!”
Opal heard two pairs of sneaker squeaks as the boys wedged close.
“Whoa,” Logan breathed. “How did I miss that?!”
“It’s very faint,” Opal whispered back. “In pencil. I barely noticed it.”
“What’s it say?” Nico urged from over her other shoulder. Three sets of eyes strained to make out the words. Opal tilted the photo, catching the light well enough to read the words.
T. Nantes outside the Y.R. All is well underground.
R.H. - June 1977
Opal nearly squealed. “Roman Hale must’ve taken this picture! He and your grandfather were on a trip there together. Which could mean Torchbearer business!”
“The Y.R.?” Logan muttered in a puzzled voice. “What could that be?”
“And what’s underground?” Nico mused. “Sounds like they were checking on something.” Then he realized how close he and Logan were standing and stepped back quickly, glaring at the older boy. For his part, Logan was carefully removing other lockbox pictures, searching for any other inscriptions.
Opal licked her lips, a terrible suspicion brewing in her mind. She reached out and gripped Logan’s arm. “Y. probably stands for Yellowstone. That just leaves the R.”
Logan glanced at her with widening eyes. “Wait. You don’t think—”
“What I think,” Nico interrupted, “is that I’ll let you two have your playtime together. Sorry to intrude.”
Opal blinked in surprise, then felt her temper slip a notch. “Nico, what the heck? We’re trying to solve this!”
“Well, keep trying without me.” Nico turned and stormed toward the exit, calling back acidly over his shoulder. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
Opal heard the door slam shut behind him.
11
NICO
Emma was waiting on Nico’s front steps.
He spotted her before she noticed him, wrapped up tight in a pink scarf, hat, and gloves. Emma’s tongue was wedged between her teeth as she tapped on her phone. A light snowfall was blanketing the ground with fat white flakes that covered the sidewalk.
Nico reached the third riser before she even looked up.
“Oh, hey!” Emma shoved her phone into the pocket of her parka.
“Please tell me you weren’t posting another video,” Nico grumbled. A terrible mood had dogged him all the way back from the museum. He was still red-hot at seeing Opal and Logan alone together, conspiring without him. Nico actually remembered more about the Yellowstone news stories than he’d said, but he’d wanted out of there immediately.
I never know what’s going on. Never feel the slightest bit of control.
Emma stuck her tongue out at him. “I was just editing a picture I took of the mountains. I can’t believe how fast this storm came on. Looks like we’re in for a white Thanksgiving tomorrow.”
Nico slumped down beside her and blew into his hands. “It’s freaking cold, too. I hate when the weather gets all weird.”
“What have you been up to? Opal texted me and Tyler last night, about the big news that the world is doomed. I’ve been trying to reach you, but your phone is off.” She sat back with a look of disbelief. “I cannot believe the Torchbearer Order was originally a Nantes family production.”
“Don’t call it that,” Nico snapped, but he softened his tone at the frown on Emma’s face. “I’m still getting used to the idea myself. And sorry about my phone.” He hadn’t felt like talking or texting with anyone, and had shut it off to wallow in the unfairness of the universe. “But get what else we just learned.”
Nico hesitated. Why did he say we? Opal and Logan had found the clues. If they are clues.
Emma made a do-go-on gesture with one hand.
He sighed. “I just came from the Nantes Timber Exhibition Hall.”
Emma snorted. “Exploring the axe-throwing history of our fair town?”
“Ha ha.” Nico kicked a stray pebble off the porch with his sneaker. “Opal had mentioned wanting to snoop around in there, so I went by her house earlier to see if she was up for it. Her mom said she’d already gone, and that she’d stopped by Logan’s on the way. They went together without telling anyone.”
Emma put a hand on his shoulder. “It makes sense, Nico. He’d know the most about the museum, right?”
“I guess.” Nico scowled. “Whatever. The point is, there’s another lunch box in there like the one from the houseboat, only this one’s inside a glass case as part of an official display. It’s filled with cheap souvenir coins from Yellowstone National Park, and one in particular shows something called Pump Geyser. Then Logan remembered his grandad was way into Yellowstone, and he has this tiny album of photos fro
m the lockbox. One of the pictures showed Tom Nantes at the exact same place as what’s stamped on the coin, and the shot was taken by Roman Hale. The inscription says they were checking on something called the Y.R. that’s underground.”
Emma’s foot began tapping excitedly. “Tyler told me about the geysers going crazy! With sulfur, maybe. Do you think there’s a connection? And what the heck does Y.R. mean?”
“The inscription didn’t say.” Nico gave an exaggerated shrug. “But maybe there are more Torchbearer secrets hidden there.”
Emma’s eyes got big. “Whoa.”
Nico stood abruptly and hunched his shoulders. “Not that we’ll ever know. This is what I hate most—having all these stupid pieces, but no way to put them together. It’s maddening.”
“Why can’t we know?” Emma asked, her tone one of honest curiosity.
Nico snorted. “Emma, Yellowstone National Park is like two thousand miles away. You wanna hike it later tonight?”
Emma popped up beside him, a devilish gleam in her eyes. “No. We should take a plane.”
Nico’s father was sitting in their kitchen, reading about the mating habits of whales. Classic.
Nico strolled into the room, trying for casual and failing horribly at it. “Hey Dad? Remember how, when you first took this job, you said we could visit other national parks?”
Warren Holland looked up with a frown. “Yeah. You and your brother showed zero interest.”
“What if I was interested. Say, like … now.”
Warren Holland put his book aside and crossed his arms. “Out with it.”
On cue, Emma bounced into the room, beaming a megawatt smile. “Hi, Mr. Holland! Is it true? Can you really get us there for free?”
Warren’s gaze flicked between the two of them. “Hello, Emma. Good to see you. Can I get you where?”
Emma’s eyes widened in excitement. “To Yellowstone! Nico said that with your job, you can book free seats on a government shuttle the Park Service runs, and we could hitch a ride for Thanksgiving. My parents already said yes! I can’t imagine how cool it’ll be to see Old Faithful. I bet we can even find a restaurant that serves turkey!”
