Mystery of the Nile

My eyes opened just enough to peek at the numbers on the digital clock on the dresser. It read: 7:38 AM. On any other day of the week, I would be rushing around getting ready for my first appointment, but one morning a week I reserved for myself. Being self-employed, that day was Monday, and I loved my Monday mornings. I stretched and reached for my phone, automatically opening my email to check for urgent messages. I paused. No, this was my morning; email and business could wait until after lunch. The morning was mine. I smiled and sighed indulgently as I allowed my phone to drop onto the rug. I rolled over and stretched my legs to the cool spot on the bed as I snuggled my head into the blankets to block out the sunlight leaking through the curtains.

I was dreaming so deeply, that I was mostly confused when I awoke. That disorientation gave way to severe annoyance almost immediately. My eyes focused on the clock: 7:54 AM. Dammit. What woke me on a Monday? If it was the neighbor's kid revving his motorcycle...My face automatically rage-squinted as I lay there listening for the sound of a crappy bike being abused by a dumb 17-year-old high-school dropout trying to impress whatever one-night stand was doing her rock-bottom walk of shame.

I heard the Ring chime on my phone and I rolled my eyes so hard, my head bounced on the pillow. Well, the neighbor kid wasn't getting his tires slashed today, at least, not by me. But someone was getting a glare that would rival Medusa. I grabbed a robe as I shuffled to the door, my hair and morning breath was punishment enough, no need to subject anyone to my cottage cheese thighs and stretch marks. Even a Monday morning visitor didn't deserve that.

I inhaled deeply as I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. I was all set to blast someone with the Care-Bear-Death-Stare, but instead, I found myself facing down some kind of hovering, alien machine. I took an involuntary step backward, tripped over the hem of my robe, over-corrected, and ended up on one knee before the...helicopter thing. It was carrying a small cardboard box sealed with the familiar eco-friendly packing tape marked with the emoji-like logo of the popular online shopping mega-corporation, Nile.

My annoyance was fading, my confusion...Drone! That was the word! Drone, it was a drone! I'd heard that it was just a matter of time before drones would be delivering packages, but I'd never actually seen it. I'd actually never seen a drone up close before at all. I briefly wondered if I could catch it. No, stupid, my mind snapped at itself, someone is controlling it, even if it's automated. It would probably just break it and you would get charged for some $10,000 Nile toy.

I wondered if it had a camera watching me. I waved timidly as I stood back up slowly like I was approaching a strange dog. Then I froze in an awkward half-crouch with my hand still extended, as the drone suddenly zipped right up to me. What is happening? All at once the drone released the package, I instinctively caught it, and when I looked back up the creepy little machine was zipping away into the sky.

I chuckled at the weirdness of it as I shut the door. I was already thinking about how I would word this when I described it to my followers online. It would make a funny story I thought as I turned the package over looking for the address and a clue as to what it might be. Hmm, that was odd, other than the packing tape, there wasn't anything on the box. It also felt super light, almost like it was empty. Maybe this was just a test program for Nile's new drone delivery service? I hadn't ordered anything online in years. I made a point to shop locally and I lived a pretty minimalistic life.

A strange thought popped into my head: What if it's dangerous? Maybe I shouldn't open it. But that was silly, right? Is it silly? Don't people send bombs and anthrax and stuff in the mail? Why would anyone target me? I'm just a wedding photographer and part-time dog groomer. Bad people target random people too. My mind fretted at me.

If I don't open it, what do I do with it? I can't just throw it away if it might be dangerous. Do I call the police or bomb squad or something? My face quirked into a sarcastic grimace. Bomb squad? Who am I kidding? It's weird, but the only way to find out what's inside is to open it. Maybe it was like, some kind of prize or a ticket for something, like for a Nile promotion.

I shook the box. Nothing.

By this time, my curiosity had bullied my vague fears into submission. My rational mind whispered that it was probably empty, some kind of test or even an error, but I had already reached into the kitchen drawer for scissors to cut it open and solve the mystery. I smiled, I really loved Mondays.

It only took a few seconds to open the small box, but the inside was as empty and featureless as the outside, except for a little packing slip wedged into the bottom. Oh well, I didn't really expect a check for a million dollars or something. It would have been so awesome to find something exciting though! I shook my head, telling myself, Crazy good things don't happen to you, that's why you don't play the lottery anymore, remember?

I casually tossed the empty box onto the kitchen counter and grabbed the kettle to boil some water for my tea. I made my morning tea into an indulgent art, especially on Monday mornings. I carefully poured a few loose green tea leaves and dried fruit mixture from the tea canister with the handwritten label "Sunrise Sensation" into the tiny tea strainer and slowly poured the freshly boiled water over them exactly like my father had taught me. Then I added a few dried stevia leaves from my garden to sweeten the brew, even though I knew I would add honey to my cup.

I covered the teapot to allow the tea steep and opened the pantry to get some bread to make toast. Where was the bread? It was so dark, almost like...Oh, I never turned the light on. I leaned over and flipped the light switch. The light and the ceiling fan came on. The bread was behind the chips. I need to eat healthier, I thought futilely. I put my bread in the toaster and grabbed a large coffee mug for my tea. Dad wouldn't approve of drinking tea out of a mug, oh well, it wasn't for him. As I poured the tea and listened for my toast, I noticed something on the floor, fluttering in the breeze created by the fan. I set down my cup and picked up the small square of white paper. It was the packing slip from the empty box.

My toast popped up, but I didn't even hear it. I was reading the hastily scribbled note on the packing slip. I couldn't make out most of it, but I could read the first word clearly: HELP.

I snatched the box up and looked again. Still nothing. Maybe there was some other clue. I rushed to the door where the drone had been and searched my front porch and entry. Nothing. My eyes landed on my Ring doorbell, and I fumbled my phone out of the pocket of my robe. I replayed the images of the drone at my door, my stumble, the package dropping, and the drone speeding away. I froze the image of the drone and zoomed in. Nothing there either.

Maybe this was a prank? Pretty elaborate prank. Well, if it's not a prank, then what? My mind raced. Someone was asking for help. The message had arrived in a box rather than the traditional bottle, but it was a desperate cry for help just the same.

I turned the note over and over, there was another line and several numbers. Did the numbers mean something, or were they just packing slip numbers? I tried with no success to read the second line, then had an idea. I snapped a picture of the note with my phone and uploaded it to the "No Stupid Questions" sub-reddit. I titled it, "What does this say?"

It was nearly 9 AM and my relaxing-turned-exciting-turned-mysterious Monday morning wasn't going anything like I would have expected. I stuck the note into the front pages of a young adult fiction novel I was reading. I don't like heavy reading, I like a good story, and I won't apologize for reading what I like. I carried the book into my room, laid it on my unmade bed, grabbed a towel, and took a shower.

When I was dressed and my hair and breath were no longer terrifying, I carried the book back to the kitchen where my toast was now stale and my tea was sad and cold. I started to clean up the breakfast I had allowed to go to waste when my phone alert chirped at me. I picked up the phone, but my mind was still on the HELP note. I had thought through every possible option while I was in the shower, but still had no idea what I should do or even how to interpret the handwriting.

The alert on my phone was Reddit. I had almost forgotten my first attempt to find out what the note said. I opened it up to find 32 responses to my question. Several were jokes and a few were attempts to translate the note, but one response from 2TurnTablesNaM1K3 simply said, "I can HELP." Okay, cryptic, but nothing else seemed useful. One poster insisted it was an extra-terrestrial script. I genuinely couldn't tell if that one was joking, the name was Truth11011, so it seemed plausible they were serious, but I didn't have time to go down that rabbit hole.

Hoping I wasn't doing something stupid, I sent a message to 2TurnTablesNaM1K3:

"How can you help?"

There was an immediate response, "I have the other half of the note."

My mind reeled. Was this guy messing with me? The note was perfectly square, with no indication it had anything missing.

"Where did you find it?" I asked

"It was delivered in a Nile package by a drone."

"A box?"

"No, an envelope. The kind that is made of bubble wrap."

That threw me for a second. How many packages and notes were out there? What if there were hundreds? Or what if they were spread all over the world?

2TurnTablesNaM1Ke continued, "I'm near Tulsa, OK. Where are you?"

I hesitated. I was also in Tulsa, OK. Was this cosmic fate or an elaborate scam? Pushing aside my better judgment, I replied, "Same."

"I've been trying to figure this out all morning, when I saw your post, I realized it lined up perfectly with what I have. I think someone is in trouble. Would you be willing to give me your note, so I can try a few things?"

I glanced at the clock, 10:49 AM. My free morning was nearly over. My first appointment was at 12:30. If someone else wanted to figure this out, I was more than happy to let them.

"Sure. I can meet you at the Quik Trip on 21st before noon, or I can mail it if you want to give me an address."

"No mail. I can be at Quik Trip in 30 minutes."

"I'll be there."

Well, I'd wasted my whole morning on this, but at least I wouldn't waste any more time. I set a timer for 20 minutes, grabbed my book and the bag of chips out of the pantry, and settled onto the couch to read for a little bit. Maybe I hadn't wasted the whole morning yet.

When my timer went off, I grabbed my keys with mace on the keychain and drove to the convenience store. I could have walked, it was so close, but I didn't want 2TurnTableNaM1K3 to know that. It wasn't until I was pulling up that it occurred to me that I didn't know what car to look for. I grabbed my phone to send the question, but there was already a message that read: "I'll be in the silver minivan with the handicap placard."

Questions popped into my mind like bubbles in a glass of champagne, but I was preoccupied with looking around for the van and couldn't really think about them. There! Silver van, handicapped placard. I pulled up to a gas pump nearby, I wanted to stay in a place I knew the security cameras would be focused on. I sent a message identifying my location, but I didn't get out.

After about 10 minutes went by with no response and no sign of 2TurnTablesNaM1K3, I was thinking this was a mistake. I couldn't figure out what sort of scam I'd fallen for, but it was clear no one was meeting me. When someone tapped on my window, my heart nearly exploded from surprise. I rolled down my window saying, "Don't worry, I'm moving." My final word trailed off as I laid eyes on a frail-looking man in a wheelchair. "Oh, the placard." I breathed with sudden realization followed by immediate embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry," I said as I rushed to open my door, bumping his wheelchair in my hurry. "Oh, wow, I'm sorry again. I'm just, well, I didn't mean to..."

"Did you bring it?" he cut me off in a surprisingly deep, strong voice. I nodded, "Uh, yeah. It's here."

"Good, I don't think they have much time. I hope you don't mind if I drive."

I was thrown off once again by his assertiveness as well as his assumption I would go anywhere with him. I felt like this whole morning had just been tossing me back and forth, and I hesitated trying to think of a response.

"Well, you can't leave your car parked by the pump, it will get towed. Pull up next to my van, it should be fine for a few hours." He turned and wheeled away toward his vehicle. He clearly expected me to obey. I just stood there with my mouth open. When he realized I wasn't moving, he turned and looked at me. "I'm going to need you to hurry, please. I don't think we have much time."

Mechanically, I got into my car and pulled into the spot he had indicated. My mind was racing, bickering with itself, and I felt a little crazy. I was just sitting with my hands on the steering wheel, when 2TurnTablesNaM1K3 called out, "A little help, please?" His voice had the gentle tone one might use with a fussy child or an elderly dementia patient. Great, he thinks I'm stupid. I thought as I climbed out of my car. He's not wrong. My cynical mind snapped back at me. I slammed my car door, frustrated with myself.

The van had a lift that 2TurnTablesNaM1K3 used to enter through the side, then buckles and straps that held the wheelchair in place where a driver's side seat would have been. He was having difficulty reaching a strap, but once I understoodwhat he needed, I handed it to him.

"Well, get in." he said, "Sorry I didn't even ask your name. I'm Mike."

"Uh...nice to meet you." I replied with a nod as I settled into the passenger seat. "Piper." I shoved all my mental rantings about serial killers and me being stupid down and smothered them.

As he drove Mike told me about recieving his note at approximately the same time as me, but instead of making breakfast and showering, he had immediately contacted authorities, who dismissed his concerns as a prank. When that hadn't worked, he began searching for clues online, where he found my post and a trail of innuendo that led him to the dark web.

"So, when I put that together with everything else, it became obvious." He finished and then waited expectantly. I knew he expected a reaction, but his conclusion was anything but obvious to me.

"The shoppers!" he exclaimed, when I continued to sit in confused silence, he said, "Soylent Green is made from people?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

He took a deep breath like he was trying not to swear at me. "There have been rumers for years about Nile's working conditions, right?"

"Yeah, that's one reason I don't use them."

"Me either, but many people do. Too many people. I think how they treat their employees is just the tip of the iceburg. If what I found is true, there is a secret Nile credit program. All employees are automatically enrolled, but Premium Plus members can opt into it too. It gives people a discount if they use the products and services enough. All you have to do is spend a minimum amount annually and agree to the terms and conditions."

"I never read those." I said

"No one does." he whispered cryptically.

"Okay, so what does this Nile discount program have to do with anything?"

"It's not a discount program, it's a credit program." He corrected. "If your credit score falls, you belong to Nile. If your productivity isn't acceptable, they process you."

"Okay..." he said that in such an ominous way.

"Their 'eco-friendly packaging?' It's made from people."

I gasped, it was a horrible idea, it couldn't be true.

"And they agred to it when they didn't read the terms and conditions."

"So our notes are..."

"A last cry for help from people who will probably be processed before we can find them."