Flight (12 page)

“I feel like this is my fault,” I half-whisper as I sit beside him.

He swallows and looks at me curiously. “Your fault? You’ve no idea how much you just saved me. If I’d have been alone on the streets…” he trails off. His eyes turn blank as he stares at the wall, then he shakes his head, pushing away whatever thoughts had intruded him. “I’m off it, for real this time,” he says firmly.

“Why now?” I ask.

His lips curl into the smallest of smiles. “I want to feel. I want to know what it’s like to feel. I want to stop running from everything, I guess. I’ve been running for too long,” he replies. I return to the kitchen to wet a cloth with cold water, but when I try to give it to him he shrugs it off. The slight contact I have with his skin proves that his temperature has already turned back to normal, and the colour is returning to his face.

“I know what it’s like to run,” I reply.

He looks at me quizzically but doesn’t ask questions. “If you don’t stop, you can’t stop,” he says. He finishes his drink with a long swig and then furrows his brows. “Do you want anything? I don’t have much, maybe a beer in the fridge or something.”

I shake my head, no. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

He shrugs and stretches his legs out onto the thick wooden coffee table that’s scratched with age and wear. “It comes and goes. Thank you for helping me,” he replies. I lean back into the couch, wondering how it is that I came to be here, in Asher’s apartment, how we’re always somehow thrown together. I study him like he studies me, the casual swagger of his movement paired with intellectually scanning eyes. Every move he makes is concise, controlled, like he’s ten steps ahead of everyone else.

“So what do you do, anyway? I mean, besides being in the band and all that,” I ask.

He chuckles lightly, glancing briefly at his haphazardly placed guitar.
“The band’s just something to do. To be honest I’m a rubbish singer, and I can’t really play that well. I have no idea why they even let me be in the band,” he replies.

I nearly slap him on the shoulder. “Shut up. You had everyone on their feet,” I say.

“That’s just the allure of the guitar. It’s something I’ve noticed about people. You throw yourself up on stage with an instrument and a bit of liquid courage and people think you’re some kind of god. I’ll probably get bored of it eventually, move onto something new,” he says casually.

“So what are you running from, then?”

To this he really does smile, but that secretive smile of
if you only knew
.

“Everything. Myself. My parents. Responsibility. Myself. What about you?”

My gut instinct screams
no, no, no
, but another part of me steps in. “Guilt. My brother’s death. Judgment. Myself,” I say.

“So we both don’t want to be who we are,” he states.

I chew on my lip as I think about it, wondering if it’s true or not. If I were someone else, how different would I be? If I weren’t a Hunter, would my life be any easier, any happier?

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I say truthfully.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to. I mean, that’s the point of all of this, right? To figure out who you are and all of that? There can’t be a constant, it would be too boring,” he replies.

I turn to him, looking straight into his eyes, those bright blue eyes that give away everything and nothing. “You confuse me. I mean that in a good way, I think. I’ve never met anyone quite like you,” I say, shocking even myself with my honesty. Asher holds my gaze, reaching a hand up and brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear.

“You scare the shit out of me,” he whispers. He moves his hand behind my neck and pulls me toward him. Feeling the warmth of his breath, I lace my fingers through his hair as his lips reach mine, and every single thing in the world fades away except for the warmth of his skin, his soft hair in my hands as his other arm reaches around my ribcage and pulls me in closer. I let my hands run up his chest, feeling his strong shoulders as his hands graze along my back.

And maybe it’s the stress or the confusion, maybe it’s just me, but for the first time in a long time everything feels right.

I leave Asher’s apartment just before the big event. When I left he was sleeping peacefully on his bed, the worst of his withdrawal over and done with. My mind is swirling as I waltz my way through the milling crowds, the bright booths selling their wares, and the excited laughter of children on the street. I look around briefly for the young girl with the pigtails, but give up when I see the familiar lavender awning of my favorite cafe. It feels strange coming here to meet Tor so soon after Asher, and the curiosity I felt about him has slowly melted away. Even the memory of his kiss earlier seems foggy, glazed over by the still-warm memory of Asher’s lips.

But I wait. I sit, I wait, I wait, and he never comes.

“Target: Gabriel. Second son of Ciar. Goes by Gabe Owen in human circles. Extremely dangerous.”

We sit at the meeting, Myra chairing for once, and she presses the button in her hand to switch the slide on the wall to a recent recon photo of Gabriel and his pack. The landscape behind the vicious Harpies is budding and green, which means they’re moving closer to the city. The team sits quietly, taking notes as Myra describes any noted activity, but I just stare, lost in the glowing green eyes of the Harpy leader. His skin looks smooth as porcelain even though his face is ravaged with rage, his wings a tawny brown splayed out behind him. But there’s something else about him that tugs at me, something so familiar.

“We’ve noticed there are more Harpies each day joining the pack; if it keeps growing at this rate, we’ll be dealing with hundreds,” pipes up Sully, the aircraft reconnaissance. The room murmurs, each of us living our own private hellish daydream of the ever-impending war. Tor sits at the opposite end of the room. After he stood me up, he gave me excuse after excuse, citing calls from team members and important research as reasons that he didn’t come. I haven’t spoken to him beyond business since. I know that the team took the night off. I know there was no important research. So what was he doing, then? I can’t help but continually notice his addiction to his phone, constantly drilling off messages every few minutes or ducking out of meetings for mysterious callers.

Shelley thinks it’s a woman, but I know Tor better than that. There’s something different in his eyes, like he’s got a secret. Even Myra has been eyeing him in her inconspicuous way. But then again, who doesn’t have secrets? I haven’t even told Shelley about Asher, I don’t really know why. My thoughts are interrupted as Grier stands up violently from her seat, the screech of her sliding chair echoing through the room.

“It’s time for us to take a stand. We can’t just sit idly by while Gabriel builds an army that will destroy us. Can somebody tell me why we aren’t doing anything?” she exclaims. A few team members widen their eyes at her explosion, but my lips curl into a smile. Myra pauses for a minute, looking at Grier with what could be complete contempt or subtle consideration; one can never know what’s going through that woman’s mind. Finally Tor pipes up.

“They’re on Harpy turf, Lan. We don’t want to spark something if we don’t have to,” he says. I roll my eyes, but Myra catches it and her eyes brighten just a little.

“No, I think Miss Lan is right,” she says. Tor whips his face to her, eyebrows raised.

“What?” he sputters. Myra nods and walks slowly through the room as she ponders. “We need more information. The recon we’ve been doing has been helpful, but it’s only giving us an outline for what might be happening. We need a field mission, nothing big, just enough to stir the pot and figure out what they might be up to,” she says. The silence is so palpable you could slice it.

“I’ll lead it,” Tor says, volunteering, but Myra shakes her head.

“No. Miss Madden will lead it, with one other member. This needs to be quiet. You’re a good leader, Mr. Nelson, but we need an Ace for this mission,” she says. I bite my lip as Tor’s face tightens. I look attentively at Myra, waiting for Tor to object, but he drops his head, nodding. Myra turns in my direction.

“Piper, you will choose one team-mate to go with you,” she says. I don’t even look about the room. I know who the best choice will be.

“Grier,” I respond. Grier nods and tries to hide the smile budding on her lips, while the rest of the team looks slightly relieved. Myra nods and switches off the slideshow.

“All of you but Miss Madden and Miss Lan may be excused,” she says. The team starts packing up their notebooks as Tor intervenes.

“Shouldn’t we all be present for this?” he asks. There’s something strange in her eyes as Myra stares at Tor—is it suspicion? Annoyance, maybe?

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I need reports from you based on the most recent documents, Mr. Nelson, so you’d best be off to work,” she snips. He glares at her defiantly for only a second before nodding and packing up. He looks at me as he leaves, looking for some kind of recognition, but I keep my eyes forward. I don’t need him clouding my thoughts right now, not while I’ve got a real mission on my hands.

Myra waits until everyone has left and the door is shut tight to continue. It’s strange to be in the meeting room with only myself and Grier, but it feels right somehow.

“That Nelson is a bit too eager for my taste, I must admit, but Rupert insisted on his being here. I guess I have him to thank for bringing you to me, Piper,” Myra says. I nod only, trying not to betray my thoughts at the knowledge that Tor is here on Rupert’s behalf.

“What are the mission details?” I ask. Grier has moved beside me, her palm-pilot out and ready to take notes.

“You cannot tell anyone the details of this mission. It’s classified level three, so any information is to come straight to me only,” she states, eyeing me closely.

I make a mental note to keep this from Shelley, even though it could help her cause. I almost want to laugh at it, my newfound loyalty to the Corp, but Myra continues, “There’s a small Temple village at the edge of the Ichton boundaries. The Chief has informed me of Harpy activity near there. Your mission is very simple. Go to the town and stake out for the night. Do
not
attack any Harpies unless they are directly about to harm civilians. Is this understood?” she asks. We both nod silently.

“Now, I will give you your weapons, maps, and some anti-radiation tablets just in case you need them. What I want is the pack. What I want to know is what Gabriel is planning and how far he is willing to take it. Do you understand what I’m asking of you?”

Grier replies before I can. “Infiltration. You want us to get close enough to the pack to get hands-on information,” she says, nodding. Myra smiles and places her liver-spotted hands together.

“Precisely. It won’t be an easy task, but I believe the both of you to be the most capable. Meet at the VR room at sundown. Be quiet, stealthy, and above all, tell no one,” she states again. We both nod and pile our things together, but as I’m about to leave, Myra calls out to me,

“Forgetting something?” she asks.

I sigh, and realizing that she’s brought the blood-kit with her, I look at her begrudgingly. “Just stick me already,” I mutter. I’m not even sure if the needle penetrates my skin before I black out.

We’re in the clearing again, the one place that has always been ours. David is pacing back and forth, his hands nearly tearing out his hair in distress.

“Have you even thought about what this could do to everyone around you?” he snaps at me, the glare from his eyes breaking my heart. I’ve been here before, I know, but it suddenly seems so much clearer.

“You don’t understand, David. I love him!” I protest, feeling the tears spilling over my eyelids.

“You can’t love him! He’s… … …” he shouts, the static filling my ears, even though his lips are moving.

“You’re still not making sense. Please, just tell me what you’re trying to say. I need to know!” I scream back at him. He advances on me, and for the first time ever, I’m afraid of him. The rage in his eyes seems so palpable; I feel I might crumble just from his gaze.

“I can’t believe how selfish you are! He is my enemy, our enemy!” he shouts, grabbing my wrists and squeezing as hard as he can. I feel my skin bruising at his contact, and let out a squeal of pain.

“David, stop it! You’re hurting me!” I scream. He doesn’t let up, instead grips harder and tries to drag me away with him.

“I’m not going to stand by and let this happen. I’m not going to let you kill everyone we love!” he says. I rock back and kick him hard in the chest, cringing as he stumbles backwards and grips his hand to his heart. His eyes widen and he coughs up blood.

“Shit! David, are you okay?” I ask, rushing toward him. He doesn’t answer me, only looks toward the sky, his body trembling as blood streams from his lips.

“Don’t trust them,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. He collapses to the ground, and his body starts to crumble away like every Harpy I’ve ever killed.

It’s nearing nightfall when I awaken, still dripping with sweat. I’m lying on a stiff couch in the VR room, Grier flipping through a magazine beside me.

“Hey,” I whisper. She nearly jumps when she hears me, and then places her magazine on the table beside her.

“You okay?” she asks. I nod, sitting up, grimacing as my sweaty shirt sticks to my back.

“Yeah, I just had a nightmare. How long have I been out?” I ask.

Grier glances at her watch. “About two hours now. Myra said we can postpone the mission if you’re not well enough to complete it.”

I shake my head, no. “I’m good. I’ve been waiting for this since I came here,” I say. I jump up from the couch and frown at the clothes I’m wearing. I don’t have time to go home and change. I also notice there’s a plate of dinner on one of the side tables.

“Tor brought that for you,” Grier says when she catches me eyeing it.

“Oh, that was nice of him,” I say, leaving it untouched. As a rule, I never eat when I’m about to go on a hunt. I’ve seen way too many seasoned hunters vomiting after battle to chance it.

“Yeah, he seemed really worried about you,” she muses. I ignore her, completely focused as I stride to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water.

“I don’t have my gear on me,” I state, relishing the fresh water on my face as it rinses the grimy sweat. Grier peeks in through the open door.

“I’ve got you covered, don’t worry,” she says, and tosses me a bundle of black clothing. She grins before leaving me alone. I strip quickly and pull on the skin-tight black full bodysuit she’s given me. I stretch and flex, loving the freedom of movement I have in it. Stuffed in the sleeves are the spiked gloves Sandy designed, and a stream-lined utility belt.

“Where’d you get this?” I ask when I emerge from the bathroom. I notice Grier is wearing a similar suit, though hers is a deep navy.

“Your friend designed it, Shelley? She’s the talk of the Rad-gear department,” she says.

I smile inwardly, making a note to congratulate her when I get home. Like clockwork Sandy pops into the room, his arms filled awkwardly with a plethora of weapons. He lays them out on a table and motions for us to choose. Right away I grab my crossbow, crimson-tinted with etched swirls on the handle, and my throwing knives. Grier grabs her pistol and a machine-gun with a string of ammo.

“You ready?” I ask. She smiles and nods, loading her pistol with a twirl of the barrel. Sandy looks at her, stares at her, really, and when she turns to him he mutters in a half-whisper,

“Be careful out there.”

The mark is a few miles from the city, and once we’ve got our slim Rad-masks on and our boots laced, we set out for the long hike through the real sunset. I stop when we first see it, marvelled by the blended hues of fuchsia and orange painted across the sky. There really is nothing like the wonders of the real world.