I can’t imagine thinking that anything is more important than Nia.
Her eyes open, and she takes my breath away. We lie there silently for a moment, gazing at each other, and I know she’s feeling it too. Whatever used to be between us isn’t gone. It’s right here. None of the other stuff matters – the things we did. All we have now is this moment. My body is humming for her touch, and lying here, so close but not quite touching, is exquisite torture.
There’s a moment when I’m sure it’s going to happen. That we will close the gap between us and fireworks will explode.
But then I remember Edwin is right there behind me, and it spoils the moment. I rise up onto my elbow and look over my shoulder.
Edwin is not right there.
I sit up properly. The fire is out, and Edwin has gone.
I swear. ‘Little bastard has gone back to her.’
Nia looks around. ‘To Cato Bell? Are you sure? He could have gone to get some more wood for the fire.’
‘No, he’s bolted. Selling our plan to her right now in exchange for his freedom.’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘You want to bet?’
She shuffles to the mouth of the cave and looks out, but I know she’ll see no sign of Edwin. He’s definitely gone.
‘We can trust him,’ she says. ‘Even if he has gone back, can you blame him? He has a broken arm. He needs medical attention. I’m sure he won’t sell us out.’
I don’t agree, but I hold my tongue. ‘You think we should still go ahead with the plan? We wait for the helicopter, then use reason or force to persuade the pilot to help us.’
Nia nods firmly. ‘I trust Edwin. We go ahead.’
I don’t trust Edwin, but I’m almost surprised to discover that I do trust Nia. Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe she’ll betray me again.
Or maybe not.
‘I wish we had breakfast,’ she says, conversationally.
I groan. ‘What I wouldn’t give for a bowl of muesli.’
‘I don’t remember what muesli tastes like, but I think we can do better. What about smashed avocado on toast with corn fritters and fried mushrooms? Although honestly I’d settle for one of Cato Bell’s mystery-meat sandwiches.’
I squash the memory of Paxton and Riley high-fiving over an imaginary breakfast burrito. I can’t think about them today. There’ll be time later on to process all of this. Right now, escape is the only thing that matters.
Nia is shaking her jeans, checking the pockets, her forehead creased in a frown.
‘I think Edwin took Riley’s wristband,’ she says, her voice sinking in disappointment. ‘You were right, CC. He’s going to sell us out.’
I watch her put her prosthesis back on and climb stiffly to her feet, putting her weight on her leg until air is expelled from the socket and the prosthesis is suctioned into place.
‘You sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ There’s a hint of the snappy, angry old Nia in her tone. Then she touches my hand and says, more softly, ‘But thank you for asking.’
Her fingers linger on mine for a moment, and then she turns and heads out of the cave.
…
The sunrise glints pink and gold on the river, and all around us the wet forest is steaming, faint white wisps rising from the earth and creating a soft haze.
‘We should head into the rainforest,’ Nia says. ‘We’re too exposed here. We can keep the river in sight.’
I nod, and we enter the cool dampness of the rainforest. Glowing rays of sunlight penetrate the green canopy, and the whole place feels intimate and secret, yet as soaring and glorious as the most exalted cathedral. Droplets of water glitter like diamonds on drooping leaves, and the air is rich with the scent of green growing things.
‘I didn’t notice how beautiful it was, yesterday,’ Nia murmurs, running her hand down a tree trunk carpeted with vibrant emerald moss.
‘Me either,’ I say, but I’m not looking at the moss.
She turns to me and her cheeks flush. Her lashes lower and she turns her head slightly, as if she doesn’t want me to see her smile.
I can’t wait to get out of here and start our life together.
…
We tramp through the rainforest, keeping the shining ribbon of river visible at all times on our left. We stop every now and then to rest. Nia takes her prosthesis off a few times to cool down and avoid more blisters. I don’t feel weird anymore when she does it. It’s a part of her, so I love it.
I love her.
‘What else was in your file?’ I ask.
‘Nothing fun. I had a minor arrest before I met you for unlawful protest. A transcript from my trial. Debt collection notices.’
‘Did you learn anything about your family?’
She shakes her head. ‘I wonder about them a lot, though. Did I have siblings? Were we close? Do they know where I am?’ She swipes a hand across her brow. ‘What about your family?’
‘I don’t think I’m missing much.’
Nia laughs, and there is a kind of carefreeness to it. She’s relaxed around me. Her guard is down. Even though we’re hungry and probably in mortal peril, this feels like an exciting adventure, and I’m so glad I get to be here, with her.
We stop to admire silvery lichen clinging to a fallen tree, a beetle with iridescent green wings, yellow fungi as big as dinner plates. Birds and butterflies flit and dart around us. It’s magical.
Every now and then our fingers brush together as we walk, and at each moment of contact I feel little shivers of lightning streaking through me.
I should feel more nervous about what’s to come. I should be thinking about ways to overpower a helicopter pilot. But instead I’m thinking about Nia’s fingers. I’m feeling happy.
‘I’m thinking Venice,’ I tell her. ‘Or Paris. A little apartment. I’ll make coffee on the single burner in our tiny kitchen, and you’ll run out to buy fresh bread every morning.’
‘Only millionaires can afford little apartments in Venice or Paris,’ Nia responds. ‘What about a cute little village in Thailand or Vietnam?
I smile and picture it. ‘We could ride our bicycles through rice paddies to teach English in local schools.’
Nia fondly rolls her eyes, and it says a lot about our strange new relationship that she doesn’t make a cutting remark about colonialism. ‘Can we have a cat?’ she asks instead.
‘I’d prefer a dog.’
‘Maybe one of each.’
I imagine arriving home in the afternoon to a house, decorated with fresh flowers. The dog would come out to greet me, tail wagging. The cat would wind around my ankles. I’d prop my bicycle by the front door and go inside. I’d make a honey, I’m home joke, and we’d kiss. We’d make dinner together, then watch the sun go down, curled up on the back porch with no one to tell us what to do or who to be.
It’s perfect.
The next time our fingers touch, I curl mine around hers. She doesn’t pull away, and we continue, hand-in-hand through the forest.
‘I don’t know how we’ll get there, though,’ she says, after a while. ‘I mean, we’ll need some money to start with. Maybe we can get work on a nearby island, waitressing or something.’
I hesitate. Nia’s fingers are warm in mine. I guess I have to start trusting someone.
‘I have money.’
She stops, pulling me to a halt beside her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Cato Bell showed me another file. It was … your witness statement. About me. About us.’
Nia looks uncomfortable and I feel her fingers stiffen away from mine. I grab them tight.
‘One of the things you mentioned in it was that you invented this piece of software called CATCLOUD.’
Nia frowns. ‘There was a file on the bus called CATCLOUD.’
I nod. ‘It was a kind of encryption. You could encode anything – data, images, files – in a cat photo. Nobody could tell that the encoded stuff was there, not to the human eye anyway. But if
you have the right piece of software, and the right key, then you can decrypt it.’
‘It sounds cool.’
‘It is cool. You’re cool. The thing about it is, you can get the app to encode the image, print it out, and the encoded material can still be read by CATCLOUD.’
‘I’m very clever, aren’t I?’
‘You are. And it doesn’t have to be an image of a cat.’
‘Obviously.’
I gaze at her, waiting for her to piece it together on her own.
She shakes her head. ‘I’m missing something.’
‘Those text messages we sent each other – I designed your tattoo, Nia. It was a surprise birthday present. And I used the digital tattoo kiosk that my parents own. There’s no tattoo artist – you upload a file and the kiosk recreates it exactly, pixel for pixel, on skin.’
Nia blinks. ‘You think you used the CATCLOUD software to hide your decryption key in my tattoo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Without me knowing?’
I waggle my fingers. ‘Surprise!’
‘You used my own technology to hide your money in plain sight on my body?’
‘I’m very sneaky.’
Nia shakes her head with a half-smile. ‘So … we can access the Blue Fairy money, using my Blue Fairy tattoo.’
‘Bingo.’
‘How much do you think there is?’
I shrug. ‘Cato said she thought it would be at least five million. Maybe more.’
‘And it’s untraceable.’
‘Completely. We can access it whenever we need to, and nobody will ever know.’
The half-smile turns into a grin. ‘I think we can work with that.’
The cottage by the rice-paddies just got an upgrade. Maybe an ocean view would be nice.
…
The temperature climbs as we trek through the jungle. The humidity is so high that I feel as if I could wring water from the air like a wet sponge. We get scratched by branches and bitten by what I sincerely hope are not malaria-carrying insects. Our clothes are filthy with mud, and soaked with sweat. We take regular breaks to sip the water from the river, and for Nia to take off her prosthesis and allow the sweat to dry, although it’s hard to dry anything in the heavy mugginess.
As we near the ocean, coconut trees start popping up in the jungle. Nia finds one fallen on the ground, and we gather rocks to bash the husk off and split the tough shell open. She is much better at it than I am, and I stand back to watch her work, admiring her upper body strength, and the sheen of sweat on her skin.
The coconut gives way and we greedily drink the water and scoop out the flesh. It’s better than any food I’ve ever tasted, even if the only food I can remember tasting is mystery meat and microwaved stew.
Nia is uncharacteristically quiet. There’s something she wants to say, and after she finishes her half of the coconut, she says it.
‘How does it feel?’ she asks. ‘To be the Blue Fairy?’
I hesitate, trying to come up with an honest answer. ‘I wish I knew my origin story,’ I reply at last. ‘I wish I knew why I started the whole thing. Did I do it for the money? Did I have noble intentions? Was I jealous that there were kids at my school who were richer and smarter than me? Did I just want to cause chaos?’
Nia scrapes a nail along the empty inside of the coconut. ‘You want to know if you’re a hero or a villain.’
I nod.
‘You’re probably a bit of both. I mean, causing chaos at an elite boarding school is pretty badarse. I think you probably started out with good intentions – help even the score, a bit of civil disobedience. But … it went too far.’
I think of Cato Bell. Her raw hunger for kleos – the fame that does not decay. Her unshakable belief that she is right, even when presented with evidence to the contrary.
Was I like that?
Am I?
‘I don’t know how to think of myself,’ I admit. ‘It all feels so hypothetical. The Cecily who did all those things – the Cecily who killed Paxton – is she me? Should I feel guilty? How can I feel guilt for something I don’t remember?’
‘You’re not that person anymore.’
‘How do you know?’
Nia reaches out to take my hand. ‘I just do.’
…
Another half-hour, and we spy the ocean glinting through the trees. The river spreads wide and shallow as it empties into the sea, and we reach the pitted old road that circles the island. We dash over through the last curtain of trees, over the road, and throw ourselves onto the soft white sand.
I kick my shoes and socks off and wiggle my toes into it, the warm surface cooling and dampening as I push deeper. It feels so good. The ocean laps gently at the shore, crystal-clear and achingly blue. I remember being on the bus, staring at how perfect it was, and longing to leap into it.
‘I want to go in,’ Nia says, as if she’s reading my thoughts.
I laugh. ‘Really? After the river, you want to get your clothes wet again?’
‘Who said anything about clothes?’ she replies with a wicked grin.
The idea of skinny-dipping in paradise with Nia is almost too much for me. I’m on the brink of tearing off my clothes and racing down to the shore, but I know I can’t. The beach is too exposed. We’d be spotted for sure.
I know Nia agrees, because she gives a regretful sigh. ‘Maybe next time.’
I nod. ‘Consider it a date.’
‘So which way do we go?’
We look up and down the beach. I can make out the wreckage of an aeroplane in one direction. It looks like it’s a long way away. Then the beach curves into rocks. There are no cliffs to be seen, but I remember that wrecked plane. If only I knew where it was in relation to the promontory.
I close my eyes and picture myself back on the bus, the jungle on one side, the ocean on the other. What happened after I spotted that old plane? Did the bus climb the cliff and pass the promontory?
Suddenly I remember. I imagined putting a restaurant on it. Having dinner with Nia there. Even that early on, I was fantasising about her. I can’t believe I was such an idiot, fooling around with Paxton when Nia was right there. Paxton, who wasn’t even Paxton.
I feel a twist of something – grief? Guilt?
I open my eyes. ‘It’s this way.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
Nia hesitates for a moment, then follows me.
We stay in the rainforest, but close to the road, just as we did with the river.
…
I’ve stopped having flashbacks. I don’t know what that means. Maybe they were only coming because I was trying so hard to remember. Maybe they’ve stopped because for the first time since I woke up on the bus, I feel at peace.
I know we’re going to be alright. Nia and I are a team. Our plan may be the flimsiest plan in the history of plans, but we are both smart and strong. We can do this, and then this nightmare will be over and we can live in peace for the rest of our lives.
The hunger that must have consumed Bad Cecily is gone. Her longing for power, for success, her need to win at all costs. I wonder why it ever meant so much to her. All I want is to be happy. And possibly for the first time in my life, happiness is within my reach.
I want to kiss Nia. I’m painfully aware that we haven’t kissed yet. Not this version of ourselves, anyway. I have wanted to kiss her every single second since we woke up in the cave. If I’m honest, I’ve wanted to kiss her every single second since we woke up on the bus. But for once I don’t have a clever plan.
I should just walk up to her and do it – grab her by the shoulders and go for it. But I’m still hesitating. I want it to be perfect, to happen naturally, organically. Our first kiss feels important, like a real second chance. I don’t want to catch her off guard. I don’t want it to be contrived. But how can it not be contrived, when I’m constantly thinking about it?
I need to stop obsessing. Let it happen.
But Ce
cily Cartwright isn’t very good at letting things happen, so I continue to fret and worry and overthink it.
We reach the rusted shell of the plane on the beach, half buried in the sand. Nearby is the crumbly remains of a jetty, little more than limpet-encrusted sticks protruding from the shallows. Two of the sticks have fallen against each other, and there’s an ancient dinghy trapped between them, half-submerged in the water.
‘Maybe we could use that to escape,’ I say, half-joking. ‘Skip the helicopter.’
Nia snorts. ‘We’d be sleeping with the fishes before lunchtime.’ The sun is starting to hang low over the ocean, and we decide to set up camp for the night, using the skeleton of the plane for cover. We gather limpets from the jetty, prising the flesh from their shells with the hunting knife and eating them raw, wrapped in fresh seaweed.
‘This is disgusting,’ Nia says, holding her nose and wincing as she swallows a slimy mouthful.
‘Are you kidding?’ I say. ‘People would pay a fortune for this in New York or Tokyo. Fresh sashimi. Couldn’t be fresher.’
‘So fresh it’s still alive.’ Nia shudders.
We split another coconut for dessert, and sit with our backs against the plane, watching the sun set over the ocean.
‘How do you reckon it got here?’ Nia asks. ‘Do you think it crashed?’
‘Maybe. Cato Bell said the winds could be very unpredictable. It’s why the helicopter pilot will only land on that one strip. It’s probably why they abandoned Camp Eleos.’
I glance up the coast to where the cliffs rise above the sea. I hope I’m right about exactly where that strip is.
Nia removes her prosthesis, and I feel my heart sink. The purple spidery veins are worse this time, the orange blisters larger and angrier. Nia turns her face away as if to prevent me seeing how much it hurts.
She can’t go on much longer. She needs rest, and disinfectant, and who knows what else.
The plan must work.
I put my arm around Nia, and feel her fit herself into the curve of my body. This would be the moment. Draw her gently around to face me, and kiss her. This would be the perfect moment that the two of us could remember forever, something new being born in the rusted shell of something so very old.
The Erasure Initiative Page 25
