After seeing 899 on Helix's screen, the only thing I can do is walk. Walk and swear. More than anger, feeling humiliated is what makes me swear. My queue number increased, but there is no one explaining to me why. As if someone is watching from the sky and saying, "Heh, this one laughed; come on, let's ruin his day." While waiting, a person finds things to comfort himself with; he thinks, I got one more day closer, plays with the numbers in his head, makes guesses. Then one morning you go and your number has gone up. No one tells you anything. That is when you understand that what you are waiting for is not really a queue. It is someone's whim. The more I think about this, the faster I walk, but I do not even know where I am going. In the end, when I reach the tents at the edge of the camp, my anger has faded a little.
When I enter the camp, Liam greets me.
"Why are you angry?" he asks.
"I went to Helix," I say.
"I thought you weren't going today," he says.
"That was the plan, but I was bored. When I went inside, I saw that my queue number had increased," I say.
The smile on Liam's face drops for a moment, then comes back. This kid has a strange talent: he can turn even bad news into entertainment.
"I think that's a good sign," he says.
"How is that a good sign?" I ask.
"It means they're watching," he says, winking. "It means they're taking you seriously. It means the beating you gave that guy yesterday hurt Helix's pride."
"Fuck its hurt pride," I say.
Liam laughs, but then becomes a little serious. He looks at me carefully.
"Do you want to get your anger out?" he says.
"I don't want to go to the bar," I say.
"Not the bar," he says. "I'll show you something."
When I hear this sentence, I get curious. Liam is usually more the "come on, let's have fun" type. And when he says "I'll show you something," it is always something stupid but fun. But this time there is a different seriousness in his voice.
"Where?" I ask.
"To the old camps," he says.
I like that side. The old camps usually give good things. Metal pieces, tools, sometimes useful things. Sometimes nothing comes out, but even then it is still fun to go.
"Okay," I say.
Liam smiles with a childlike expression on his face.
"Then come."
We start walking from the path behind the camp. Not many people know these places. The new arrivals usually stay close to the beach. The older ones go a little further inside. But drifters like Liam wander everywhere. While we walk, Liam kicks a stone on the ground.
"Riley got mad at me last night," he says.
"Why?" I ask.
"She said I should spend more time with her," he says.
"She's right," I say.
"I said that too," he says.
"And then?" I ask.
"Then she got even more mad," he says.
I laugh. Walking with Liam is always like this. Even if we are going somewhere serious, there is always a stupid conversation accompanying it. That makes the walk easier. Liam sometimes picks up a stone and throws it far away, sometimes dives into the bushes and comes back out. He acts like he is looking for something, but actually he is not looking for anything. A person does not get bored while walking with him.
After a while, we arrive at the old camp area. This place is made up of half-collapsed tents. Some have been torn by the wind, some have caved in. Metal pieces are buried in the sand. It is obvious that people once lived here, but now it looks abandoned. There are no footprints on the sand. Even if someone came recently, the wind has erased all the traces. The air is a little quieter here. Even the sounds coming from the beach become weaker. As if this place is cut off from the rest of the camp.
"What were you going to show me?" I ask.
Liam takes me behind the remains of one of the tents. There is a metal cover on the ground, buried halfway in the sand. At first glance, it is not even noticeable.
"I found this," he says. He pushes the sand with his foot. The cover comes out a little more.
"What is this?" I ask.
"I don't know," he says. "But it is not something that should be here."
I bend down and look. The metal is rusted, but solid. It is not round, closer to rectangular. There is a handle on the front, and both sides of the handle are attached to the cover.
"Did you open it before?" I ask.
"No," he says. "I didn't want to open it before you came."
"Why?" I ask.
"Because if I opened it alone and there was something inside, it would stay with me," he says, laughing.
"How thoughtful," I say.
Together we start digging around the edges of the cover. Our hands fill with sand. Liam lifts the edges with a metal piece. I realize that the metal under the sand is bigger. As if there is a small compartment under the cover. After a while, the cover loosens.
"Ready?" I ask.
"No," he says.
Even so, we lift the cover. There is a small hollow underneath. Not like a chest. More like a box made into the ground. There is a plastic bag inside. I take out the bag.
"It does not belong to Helix," I say.
"How do you know?" Liam says.
"Helix stamps everything," I say.
A few things come out of it: a rusted key, a broken plastic card, a folded paper, and a small notebook. Liam immediately takes the notebook.
"This is good," he says.
We open the notebook. The writing inside has faded, but it can still be read. There are names. There are numbers. There are dates. We stay silent for a while.
"What are these numbers?" Liam asks.
"I don't know," I say.
We turn the pages. The numbers keep getting smaller. Then at one point I stop.
17483.
I keep my finger on it. There is a date next to the number. The date I arrived. A strange feeling comes, but I cannot figure out what it is. As if I should remember something, but I cannot.
Seeing this number in someone else's handwriting feels strange. As if someone was watching me that day. I remember the moment I got in line and waited. People's conversations, the autonomes moving around silently, those first hours when no one knew anyone. That day I had felt like just someone lost in the crowd. But now, when I look at the notebook, I think it was not like that. It feels as if I was chosen especially from that crowd.
I keep my finger on the number a little longer. The date next to it is correct. Correct down to the day. That means the person who wrote this was there that day. He must have seen me. He must have seen all of us. Even if he did not know who we were, he knew how many of us there were.
This thought leaves a strange weight inside me. When I remembered my first day here, I always thought I was alone. But maybe I was not alone. Maybe someone was watching us.
"Liam, do you remember the first queue number they told you when you came here?" I ask.
"Yes," he says. "18931."
I find the number and look at the date next to it. Liam's arrival date. Two months after me. I keep turning the pages. Some numbers are crossed out. Next to some, little marks were put. Next to some, words like "compatible" were written.
"I don't think Helix wrote these," Liam says. "I mean, they have robots and guns and all. They probably wouldn't write by hand. They would use computers."
"I don't know," I say. "Maybe someone was following people before they went inside."
Liam looks at me.
"Why would they do that?" he says.
I shrug.
"Maybe they were trying to guess the queue," I say. "Maybe they were trying to figure out Helix."
Liam shakes his head.
"Then they must have gone inside," he says.
"Maybe," I say.
I take the plastic card in my hand. One edge is broken. Half the writing on it has been erased. But there is no Helix stamp on it. That makes it even stranger. When we came here, none of us brought anything except clothes. I take the key in my hand. A small key. It could open a locker. Maybe a chest. Or maybe nothing. Liam looks at the key.
"There is something this opens," he says. "Every key opens something."
"Sometimes it opens nothing," I say.
Liam nods.
I put the notebook back in the bag. We do not close the cover. We take the bag and start walking. After a while, Liam speaks.
"Is this Helix's doing?" he says.
I shrug.
"I don't know," I say. "But someone counted people."
Liam looks at me.
"Why?" he says.
I think for a while.
"We're going to learn."
For the first time, when I think about Helix's walls, a different feeling forms inside me. This time curiosity is heavier. Heavier even than my anger. I do not know what this notebook is, but I know this: either this notebook came from inside Helix, or the person who wrote it was trying to understand Helix and maybe failed. This thought does not scare me. On the contrary, it excites me. Because for the first time I feel that Helix is not only a place we are waiting for. I feel that it is something that needs to be solved. And for the first time, instead of waiting for my turn to come, I want to learn how that turn works. As I keep walking with this thought, I feel the weight of the notebook inside the bag. It feels as if I am carrying not a small notebook, but an answer. I like that. Because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I am doing something other than waiting.