Flight (7 page)

“The chances a Hunter has ever seen a neutral Harpy are pretty slim, Sandy.”

“You have to have some information about how Harpies live,” he complains.

I shake my head. “Usually when we meet up with them, we’re more focused on killing them than finding out their behaviour patterns.”

“Well, do some digging for me then, okay? I’ve got a performance review coming up and I’d really love to wow them with something new,” he says.

I give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I have faith in you, Sandy. You’re going to do great. But, I need to ask a favor of you as well.”

“I’m not giving you your weapons,” he warns.

I scoff in mock offense. “Come on, I’m not so one-track minded. I want to know a little more about this Harpy group nearby. Can you tell me anything more about it?”

“I’m not privy to that kind of info, Piper. I heard some of the senior Hunters talking about it, but as far as I can tell, it’s pretty hush-hush beyond what they told us at the meet,” he answers. Damn.

I was hoping he’d have something good for me to go off of. “Can’t you like, hack into the system or something for me?” I ask, batting my eyelashes in a
pretty please
fashion. Sandy gives me another mammoth sigh.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I’m not about to let you go off and secretly work by yourself. It’s dangerous, okay?”

I nod in response and throw up my hands in defeat. “Okay, I won’t do anything more than what’s asked of me,” I say.

Sandy sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ve got a few hours of coding left in me before I pass out. Can you do me a favor and bring this up to Myra’s office?” he asks. He fumbles around the desk until he finds a thick manila envelope and hands it to me.

“No problem. Thanks again, for everything,” I say before leaving him in the dark scribbling away at his programs.

When I reach the office I’m surprised to find it completely empty. The sun’s just beginning to set, sending waves of violet and fuchsia light against the rich wooden furniture. I know I should sit down in one of the plushy chairs and wait for Myra to return, but I can’t help myself as I wander about the room, gazing at all of the pictures hung on the wall. With more time to observe, I see Myra, faded and youthful, her stern brow lifted into a gleeful smile, laughing along with other Hunters, some I recognize, like the legendary Gamma, my own dead idol, and others who are long gone.

There are countless other photographs, framed and spotlighted on the wall, happy memories of earlier days. I’m drawn towards a smaller shot sitting on the corner of Myra’s desk. It’s her and a man, obviously a lover, embracing and looking into each others’ eyes like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of them. I feel my heart beat louder, crying for emotions that don’t exist, and resist the urge to flip the picture face side down. I’ve heard the rumors of Myra’s husband. How she was supposed to be president and he had aspirations to change how the Corp was run, make it better. He died soon after Rupert took over: radiation poisoning, or so they say. You never know when Rupert’s involved. Then I see it. A pile of papers with my name lining the top of the page.

I scan my eyes over the paper, feeling my stomach sink as I realize it’s my file. No one is ever supposed to see their file; it’s confidential information. But no one’s around, and my will-power isn’t so great that I can stop myself. Listening for any indication that someone’s coming, I scour the papers, only getting past the first line.

Subject seems to be recovering without any side effects. No signs of confusion or temporary brain zap. Subject seems to be traumatized from a personal accident that was omitted from the procedure.

I stop myself, my mind reeling, my lungs beginning to hyperventilate. I back away from the desk, unable to comprehend what it was I just read. I feel like I should call Rupert in Central, or my mother, or go find Shelley underground, but instead I collapse into an armchair just as Myra saunters into the office.

“Hello, Miss Madden,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. I need to act calm. I force out a smile and flash the envelope Sandy had given me.

“Atwood’s report,” I say quickly. She takes it from me and places it on her desk. I see her eyes flash from my file and back to me, but she says nothing.

“I understand you had a training session with Miss Lan earlier. How did that go?” she asks. I lean forward and rub my hands together.

“Well, I think. She had some interesting defense techniques,” I say. Myra nods and searches her desk drawers until she pulls out a small, worn book. She holds it out for me. I my hands I can feel its flimsy, worn pages, and can just make out the title,
The Flow of War
. I look up expectantly.

“Teachings of the Temple. Grier is a very devoted student, and I think having a skilled fighter such as you will be good for her. She needs a challenge to help her improve, though I do realize she can be a bit
difficult
sometimes,” she says.

That’s an understatement.

I tuck the book under my arm, promising myself that I’ll give it a good read. There’s something about that water-like technique that has me intrigued.

“Thank you. It’s getting late, I’d better start working,” I say. Myra nods and waves me away. As I walk through the halls my head spins, the papers on the desk continuing to haunt me.
Subject. Procedure.
What the hell’s going on?

I go for a walk to clear my head. The sun is performing its final yawn, leaving the sky a soft, dusky purple. The buildings on the outside are ravaged from war; broken down, pilfered, and infected by newly growing weeds and ivy wrapping itself around broken glass windows. I take a deep breath of the cool, fresh air and it feels like it’s the first real breath I’ve taken in years, not indoors or underground, even if muffled by a radiation mask.

I stride slowly through the burnt-out city, taking time to observe the smallest details; the growing cracks in the faded concrete, the shambles of metal girders and crumbling steel hanging from the edges of buildings. It’s these details that make all the difference in the end. In battle; in life. It’s not the name or shape of someone that holds fast to our minds, it’s the breath, the embarrassed blush, the uncontrolled laughter at an inside joke. The smells, even the arguments about nothing, these are what we remember. The details are all that remains of David.

I exhale as I brush my boots through the scattered ruins of what was once a house. Even with everything else going on, I still can’t chase these thoughts out of my head. I’ve run halfway across the country, and still the past follows me. My head shoots up at the peal of a high-pitched giggle. I look around and see nothing, but then I hear it again; the laughter of a child. I crouch low and follow the noise, trying to remain as silent as possible.

Turning the corner of an old street, I’m stuck still momentarily at the sight of the little girl with pigtails. She nearly glows in the moonlight, a bright grin lining her face.

“Hey, kid!” I shout, bursting into a jog toward her. She giggles again and hops off through the rubble. I spit in frustration and run in pursuit. There’s something strange about this girl, something not quite right. I need to know who she is and why she’s stalking me. I run until I no longer see or hear her, until all that’s left is the ghost of the wind weaving throughout the city.

I take my bearings and note that I’m standing beneath what used to be an apartment building. It’s fairly small in stature and is mostly intact. Each segment features a tiny balcony that seems like it’s just for decoration. Really, sometimes I question the sanity of the people before the war. Then, I gasp as a light flicks on in a room on the upper level of the building. There’s no way someone could still be living out here. The radiation levels alone are enough to cause serious illness, if not death, and who would want to be out here anyway?

Maybe it’s the girl. I know I should probably radio in to Grier or Myra, but I decide to keep matters to myself. If it’s the girl, I want to know what’s been going on, without any bureaucratic interference. I walk through the front door—which is really just an opening since the door’s been blasted away—and locate the top apartment on the fire escape map. Of course, the elevator is out-of-order, so begrudgingly I sprint up the stairs, huffing for air by the time I reach the top floor, face to face with the door that leads to the lit room.

I open the door hesitantly, unsure of what I’m going to find inside. In my mind I’m picturing a variety of outcomes, from teenagers making out to a bloody axe-murderer licking his chops. It’s like that old game show. Behind door number one is a brand new car, but the other two doors swarm with man-eating locusts. At least in my game show, those are the outcomes. I hold my breath as I push the door open, and am surprised when instead of my worst nightmare, it’s Asher Owen inside, sitting placidly on a battered old couch, reading.

His focuses on me as I enter, blue eyes narrowed in contemplation and his body hunched forward in a fight or flight stance. I throw my hands up in a gesture of peace.

“Uh, sorry,” I mutter, standing awkwardly at the door. He looks me up and down, like he’s sizing me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice smooth and lilting. He’s not dressed in the grungy, messy attire I’m used to, but instead dressed in a long-sleeved navy blue shirt and plain black trousers.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I reply, realizing that I’m dressed in hunting gear—black leather pants and a thick tank top lined with belt loops and pockets for weapon storage. I must look like an idiot.

“You’re not some kind of secret police, are you?” he asks skeptically. I resist the urge to laugh at the irony.

“No, not at all. I just couldn’t sleep so I came for a walk,” I lie.

He raises an eyebrow. “You came for a walk in a dead city with an anti-radiation mask strapped to your face?” he asks.

My cheeks flush as I struggle to come up with an excuse. “Well, what are you doing here, anyway?” I retort finally.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, placing his book onto the couch. Looking around the room, it seems like it was custom-furnished for relaxation. Besides the old couch, there are numerous bookshelves lined with hard-covers, as well as paintings hanging from the walls, their colors enhanced by the moonlight trickling through the windows. What is this place? Does anyone else even know about it?

“This is where I like to come to be alone,” he answers.

I wonder if he’s hinting something at me.

“Sometimes you just need a few hours to yourself to contemplate everything, do you know what I mean?”

I can’t help but nod, knowing it all too well. Alone time is very cherished time, a time when the only intrusions into my thoughts are the subtle noises of the world around me.

“So, Piper Madden, right?” he asks.

I nod my head and twist my lips in contemplation. “Wow, you actually remembered,” I muse with disdain. His lips curl into a wry grin.

“I still prefer Red,” he adds. I nibble my bottom lip awkwardly, the realization dawning that he isn’t wearing a mask.

“How are you breathing this air?” I ask abruptly. For a moment his eyes brighten and I feel a smart-ass comment coming on, but he keeps it in. Instead he inhales and exhales deeply.

“I’d imagine that during your ‘night walk’ you saw the beginnings of new greenery growing about the city,” he says.

I nod, eyeing him to continue.

“If the rad levels were dangerously high, life wouldn’t be able to exist. But it does, so the rad levels can’t be nearly as high as the Elders claim it is. Try it. Take off your mask. What’s the worst that could happen?” he says.

“Brain aneurysm,” I respond automatically. He rolls his eyes and a tiny smile involuntarily grows on me. I dig through my small side bag until I find my rad-level unit. I haven’t used it in forever, since the Corp opted to just keep everyone in anti-rad gear all the time. Sure enough, when the reading comes through, the levels are scarce; the air is breathable. I pull the mask from my face, allowing the air to caress my face.

“Isn’t that better?” he says. He gestures toward the open end of the couch, “You might as well sit down. I’ve learned that the best thing to do when you can’t sleep is to keep yourself busy until you’re tired again.”

Immediately I hesitate. There’s always the chance that there could be an attack on the city while I’m in here. Then again, I’m not entirely excited to spend another few hours letting pervasive thoughts of doom run my mind or running into Grier, so I take a seat on the couch, marveling at the situation. Am I actually enjoying this?

“So, what’s with the hair?” Asher asks.

I turn to glare at him forebodingly. “What about it?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It’s a bit bright, isn’t it? Are you looking for attention or something?”

“No,” I retort immediately, annoyed, “I happen to like it like this, actually. Why, do you have an issue with it?”

“Even if I did, would you care?” he replies.

“Probably not. Definitely not,” I say truthfully.

“Good,” he says, “Because I like it.”

I smile self-consciously, pulling a loose strand behind my ear.

“So tell me, Piper Madden, what do you like?” he asks.

I look at him pointedly and laugh. “What do I like? I don’t know. Long walks on the beach?”

“No, I mean really, what do you like? What do you do? Whatever, tell me about yourself.”

I pause for a moment. “I don’t know what to say. It’s not a very entertaining story. I’m from Central, I’m good at math, I like to dye my hair,” I say.

I like the crisp morning air of winter. I wish I was stronger. I hate when people keep secrets from me, but keep enough secrets from others. I miss David more than anything in the world. I blame myself.

“Mysterious, and yet bland for a Ten dealer,” he replies, raising his eyebrows.

I scoff at his sarcasm. “Alright then, you do it. Tell me about yourself,” I challenge.

His eyes roll upwards as he ponders momentarily. “I’m too handsome for my own good. I legitimately care about others. I like thunderstorms. I hate liars. I dream of a house by the sea away from it all. I think you’re very pretty,” he says.

I can’t stop the blush rising on my cheeks. “A house by the sea sounds nice,” I reply. I shut my eyes and I can nearly taste the fresh ocean air. I’ve only been to the sea once, but it’s a memory too vague and distant for me to tap into. All I can recall is the tender kiss of the sun on my skin and the soothing roll of white-peaked waves. A smile involuntarily curls on my lips.

“It’ll be a simple life. Trips to fresh markets, relaxation, swimming every day,” he continues. His eyes change as he envisions his dream, a sort of dreary calmness taking him over.

“You should come with me. I have a small bungalow in a fresh air zone. We could fix it up together, make it our own. Take those long walks on the beach you mentioned,” he says.

It takes me a minute to decide whether or not he’s joking. I let out a stifled giggle.

“What?” he asks, a perplexed look on his face.

I compose myself before continuing. “It’s just, Asher, we barely know each other. We can’t just run off and live some nomad life. We have lives and friends and jobs,” I reply as calmly as I can. Not to mention I have Harpies to hunt and a corporation to figure out.

He shrugs and that raw, crooked grin returns to his lips. “A guy’s gotta try, I guess. What’s so wrong with being a little impulsive? Who knows what might happen?”

I sigh deeply. “Exactly. That’s why it’s better to plan things out, make a living. You know, the way things are supposed to be,” I say.

“You need to live a little, Red. Take some chances. Sometimes life doesn’t always go according to plan,” he says, wisdom oozing.

I think of David and frown, knowing that he’s right, but I can’t help but feel that without structure and control there would be chaos. Shaking my head, I know I need to change the subject. Why can’t I just have a real conversation without shutting down completely?

“So what are you reading?” I ask, gesturing toward the battered paperback open in his hands. He flips the cover over so I can see it, a beat-up science fiction novel.

“Have you read it?” he asks.

“Ah, a classic,” I reply, sinking further into the couch. I’ve never read it.

“Definitely before its time,” he agrees, dog-earing the page he’s on and setting it on a table beside him. “Who would have known that not too long after the guy wrote it, the world would settle into some of the same routines he speculated about?”

“I still don’t think people realize that we’re in the future now. The technology is here, just waiting for us to exploit it,” I answer. I don’t know how I come up with this, but it seems right. Maybe a line from one of Sandy’s diatribes about techy stuff.

“People will always be ignorant, I guess. Then you’ve got people who over-do it, resulting in the shitty, air polluted world we live in,” he says.

“Does your family live up here?” I ask him, looking for any way to change the subject.

He shakes his head. “We’ve got an estate a bit farther north. The air’s still clean though.”

“Estate. Sounds swanky,” I reply.

He laughs. “I’m not too sure that’s a good thing. There are a lot of expectations,” he says.

“You’re lucky though. Where I’m from there aren’t as many opportunities, and forget going outside without anti-red gear,” I say.

“I guess so. I’ve never been to Central, so I don’t know what it’s like. All we hear over here are horror stories.”

“Tell me about it. Everyone here stares at me like I’ve got two heads or I’m contagious or something,” I reply.

Asher lets out a quick laugh, blue eyes shining. “Or, maybe that’s because your head looks like it’s on fire,” he points out.

“Jerk,” I grumble.

“Hey, I’m just kidding. It’s pretty, like the sunrise,” he says. He reaches toward me to stroke a strand of my hair and I immediately recoil, sighing in frustration at his confused expression. Good move, Piper.

“Sorry. I’ve got a thing,” I say, but I’m not really sure what it is. Something in me seemed to scream
danger
when he came near me. My heart is still beating wildly.

“It’s cool,” he says quietly, “things are—”

I hold up my hand to silence him when I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. My eyes open wide, unsure of who it could be.

“Hide,” I whisper. He gathers himself up and makes his way toward the window.

“Not outside!” I say, but within moments he’s out the window, leaving a cold breeze floating toward me. Shit. If he falls, it’s all my fault. I cringe as the door swings open and Grier pops her head into the room, a fierce glare in her eyes.