Flight (9 page)

Once I’m clear of the office I say a silent prayer in thanks that I got let off without severe persecution, though I have no idea what to say to Darcy when she eventually comes back to find me.

Despite Myra’s advice, I take out my frustrations in the VR room. Suited up with all my weapons, I can feel the cold breeze on my skin as I stride through dark city streets. I inhale deeply, always amazed at how very real the smells are. The pungent stink of black tar mixes with the floating tickle of grilled street meat, making my stomach growl and heave at the same time. My footsteps are soft, barely making a noise so I can hear even the slightest scrape of moving footsteps.

A faint
whoosh
catches me off guard, and I whirl around to see a female Harpy gliding around buildings like a vulture circling its prey. I nock a bolt into my crossbow and take aim, realizing a second too late that it’s a set-up. Another Harpy swoops down on me from behind, her sharp talons digging into my side, opening up large wounds on my abdomen.

Shit. I scramble for safety. I inspect my wounds, and even though I know they aren’t real, my stomach turns from the sight of my virtual blood. The second Harpy gracefully lands, her eyes broadcasting her smugness.

“You haven’t won yet,” I mutter. I toss my crossbow on the ground for some added speed and lunge toward the second Harpy, pulling out my daggers at the last minute. Her eyes go wide as my blades slash through her, the chemical reaction of the mingling blood combusting her before I can even turn to my next target. The first Harpy is on me before I can retaliate, and I wrestle her sharp claws away from my already bleeding wound. This one is a flyer and her skills don’t lie in melée combat, letting me easily force her to the ground. She pushes against me, trying to get free as I wiggle my daggers to stabbing point. However, before I can slice her she spits onto my face, her sluggish saliva temporarily blinding me.

I back off to wipe my eyes, giving her a window to get back into the air. By the time my eyes are clear, she’s already circling me, weaving in between broken traffic lights and crumbling billboards like a delicate paper plane. Instead of running for my crossbow, I study her pattern, avoiding the chunks of building raining down upon me as she pushes off for leverage. Noticing how close she’s getting, I ready my throwing daggers behind my back, letting one go just before she veers back toward me. It sinks into her chest with a sickening thump, and she falls to the ground as her body begins to convulse.

“Let me out,” I call out, and once again the virtual world fades away in messy pixels. Once the room is back in focus, I pull off my helmet and peel off the electrodes stuck to my skin.

“What did you think?” Sandy asks. I trudge up to the mezzanine level, my hair and face slick with sweat. Despite his strange behaviour this morning, my operator is back to his normal, cheery self.

“Perfect. That was your toughest program yet,” I admit. I think of the Temple teachings, about feeling for the right time to attack. This program will be perfect practice for me to hone the new skills set upon me. Reaching him, I can feel my energy dropping, and I crouch to the ground as I pant for air.

“Are you okay?” he asks, giving me a concerned look.

“Just a little tired,” I answer, pulling myself back up to my feet.

“What’s wrong, Piper? You know you can’t hide anything from me.”

I sigh reluctantly. I didn’t want to get into this.

“It’s the anniversary tomorrow,” I say quietly. He places a calloused hand on my back, trying to lend me support. One year since David’s death, and one year since my life was completely flipped around. There’s only so long I can pretend to forget about it.

“Do you want me to call your mom, or something?” he offers.

“No. I don’t need her worrying about me, too. She’s got enough on her plate.”

“And so do you. You’ve got to stop taking everything on like you’re invincible. A few years ago you were unstoppable, but things have changed. You’re older now, and all of that repressed stress is going to catch up with you. You can’t just come down here and work yourself to the bone whenever you’re upset,” he says.

I’m about to argue that I’m perfectly content doing just that, but he warns me with his eyes. “What else am I supposed to do?” I ask instead.

“Talk to someone about it, maybe? Tor would probably like to help, I heard you two are patching things up,” he offers.

I immediately shake my head no. “I don’t think it’s time for us to talk about that yet.”

“Then what about Grier? I read somewhere that girl-talk is the ultimate high for women.”

I catch myself in a harsh laugh. “That’s a definite no. Grier hates me, and I’m not quite sure I like her yet, either,” I say, keeping the anger from my voice.

Sandy sighs. “Ah, don’t be so hard on her. She’s actually pretty talented. I think she’s just used to being top dog around here and doesn’t like being threatened by a famous Hunter from Central. I mean, you do have quite the reputation,” he says.

I roll my eyes, wondering if it’s a compliment or not. “It’s all just a bit much for me right now. Anyway, I should get going. I’m supposed to take the night off because Myra thinks I’m a Ten-head now. Are you working all night again?”

He whistles slowly, like he’s about to take the blame for me being caught. Thankfully he knows well enough to keep his mouth shut about it. No sense in getting both of us in trouble. In a place like this, you never really know who’s listening.

“I’ll probably nod off in a few hours. I think you’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep, as well,” he says. I wave back at him as I jump down from the mezzanine toward the exit.

“And Piper!” he calls.

I turn back to face him.

“Promise me you’ll talk to someone,” he finishes.

I shake my head and continue walking, pulling out my book and shooting to my dog-eared bookmark. This section is called
Letting Go
. How fitting.

It was his eighteenth birthday the last time I saw David smile. His laughter always filled up the room, almost like the glow of his teeth could warm you up inside. David. His hair was what my hair would look like if I wasn’t dye-crazy: a mousy, half-blond, half-brown. I remember he was growing out a beard, and no one at the party had the balls to tell him his chin hairs were covered in cake. They just kept snapping photos and passing around a salvaged bottle of wine.

That was the thing about David. He was just a nice guy, but his burly form and bulging muscles scared the shit out of anyone not Corp-related. Even if they knew we both had the Hunter gene, there was always an uneasy silence, a layer of eggshells produced by human imagination. Mom was the obsessive hostess, ensuring everyone was fed and that every joke, every moment was documented for her scrapbooks. Nobody could have known that it would be his last birthday.

Tor and I snuck off during presents to kiss and giggle in my bedroom while Shelley bounced around the party with my mom’s camera. Then the phone rang. Rupert.

“We’ve got Harpy activity near the entrance to the old Sunhill metro station. Five counted. We need you now.”

And that was it. The one night we wanted to take off. Our last night stolen. I ran downstairs and whispered the situation in David’s ear. He sighed deeply, and even though I could feel his frustration he kept a smile plastered on his face. He got all the patience when he was born, I’m convinced of it. By the time I came around there wasn’t much left.

“Sorry everyone, but Piper and I have an emergency meeting. Thank you all for being here, and please continue on. I’m sure Mom made enough food for all of Central.” The room swelled with laughter, and no questions were asked. Kisses goodbye were followed by suiting up into Rad-gear, knives, crossbow and guns strapped into loops.

“You ready for this?” David asked me before we exited through the back door. I nodded. He was always more cautious, more prepared. He pulled out a tiny pen needle from his pocket filled with cloudy liquid and I winced as he stuck it into his leg. Relief flooded his face. Turning his glazed eyes to me, he held out the needle, offering it to me.

“Want some?” he asked. I’d seen this vial before, but I didn’t know what it was. Some kind of Corp enhancement drug, probably.

“No. Let’s go before those birds get into the underground,” I muttered. We raced off into the night, a silent question circulating my mind, one that still exists now like a virus. If only I’d thought to dig deeper, to ask him about that needle, then maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe he’d still be alive.

The morning of the anniversary, I don’t want to wake up. Tense balls of anxiety build up in my chest as the Holo-sun begins to rise, signalling that it’s been an entire year since… Well, you know.

Just move on with your life!
I scream at myself, but it’s not so easy. Despite my best efforts, the pain keeps itself firmly planted, never letting go of its strangling hold on me. A sharp rapping sounds on the door, but I ignore it, opting to stay wrapped in my covers.

The door swings open by itself, and I mentally kick myself for not locking it. A few hesitant steps sound throughout the apartment, and then there’s a soft knock on my bedroom door.

“Leave me alone,” I mumble. I lift my head from my covers to see the sharp-edged face of Grier Lan poking inthrough the door. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

“You didn’t show up to work today,” she says bluntly.

I sigh loudly. “What, did Myra sound the brigade thinking I’d taken off? I’m sick,” I mutter in reply. Secretly I’m hoping she leaves, or provides a sarcastic comment or biting remark, but neither of these things happens. Instead I feel the mattress shift as she takes a seat on the edge of my bed.

“What are you—” I start, tossing the blanket off my head, but I’m silenced when I see her sad expression.

“I know what today is, umm, Atwood—Sandy told me. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry, and I’ll tell Myra if you just want to stay home today,” she says quietly.

Shock runs through me at her niceness and the apparent sincerity in her eyes; then again Sandy’s probably behind this. After all of our issues with each other, it’s hard to imagine my colleague actually caring about my feelings.

“I don’t hate you, you know,” she continues, “I can’t really justify the way I’ve acted toward you, I’m not usually such a bitch. Okay, sometimes I am. It’s just…it’s quiet here. We don’t have weapons except for in training, and, to be honest, I’ve never killed a real Harpy. God, I’ve never even fought one,” she says, hiding her face like she’s ashamed.

Pity or something like it runs through me and I feel like such an asshole. “You’re a good fighter, Grier, you’ll be able to handle it,” I say gently.

She rolls her eyes and leans back. “To be honest, and I’ve never told anyone this so keep your mouth shut, but I’m scared. We’ve never had a breach until now. They found more evidence of attacks, you know, even closer to the city. What am I going to do if they get into the underground?”

I’m feeling a little hopeless as I watch her wringing her hands. I’m not exactly in the best at making people feel better about things. “If a major breach happens, we’ll be working as a team, and we’ll do what we’re trained to do. It won’t just be you out there, all of us will be helping each other out,” I reply. Then my mind flashes with a great idea. “Tell you what, what would you say if I suggested we hunt down a Harpy and have it be your kill?” I ask, trying to gauge her reaction. I’m ready to wince as she yells and threatens to tell Myra, but to my surprise, she smiles.

“Do you think it’s possible?” she asks.

“Of course it’s possible, but let’s wait a day or two so we can run proper recon and have a secure plan,” I say, and then it happens.

Grier smiles and says, “Thank you.” And then something weird happens. It’s like a weight is suddenly lifted off of our shoulders, as if the negative feelings we’ve had toward each other suddenly don’t exist anymore. With one small act of sincerity, what made us rivals has made us, what exactly? Colleagues?

“You should probably get to Headquarters,” I mention. She gasps as she looks at the clock.

“Yeah. You sure you’re okay?” she asks.

I nod. “I wouldn’t to be able to focus on work today, anyway.”

“Okay, try to stay positive,” she whispers, then leaves the room, abandoning me with my thoughts once more.

But life moves on. You have to keep breathing, and with every inhalation time moves forward; first slowly, then quickly. Eventually the holes inside you start to repair themselves, and your days return to their usual repetitive turn. I settle in at the Corp, and the nameless faces become Grier and Sean and Sully and Kate. Our team of six becomes a unit with every practice VR session, led by Tor and seconded by myself. At first a few were resentful of my intrusion, but when Grier backed down, so did the rest of them. I become comfortable, maybe too comfortable.

“The pack’s moving quickly. They’ve staked out a few of the small nomad villages in the wasteland, but no humans have yet been harmed,” Tor says at our next meeting. He stands in front of the room, all eyes on him. I sit beside him out of duty, surveying the team and going through the recon documents that either I’ve prepared myself, or some of the other sects have gathered. We know that the pack is on the move, but their motives are still unclear. He continues. “Our objective is to cut their path off from Ichton, and wait until they strike before we make our move.” My expression remains blank. So we wait until they kill someone, maybe hundreds, before we strike. Where is the
attack first, ask questions later
mentality of the Corp I once knew?

Grier asks for me. “So we do nothing until someone dies?” she says.

Tor nods solemnly. “If we strike first, we could upset an entire war that might not have happened otherwise. It’s not the best scenario, but we need to value the lives of the larger populace over the miniscule chance that we can avoid war by attacking first,” he replies. The room remains silent as each of the team ponders this idea, each with a tell-tale grimace of distaste.

Tor continues with his strategy plan and the map we’ve been using to mark out sightings, but I’m distracted as I pull out a file I’ve never seen before. It’s only one page, and the subject line reads “UNCONFIRMED”. It was produced by Tor, and details accounts from smaller villages of people going missing and being found mutilated in the woods. It screams Harpy attack to me, but the file has been closed and discounted. I shuffle it behind other papers when Tor looks down at me, and at the end of the meeting I slip it into my bag, making sure no one notices. As the team packs up to continue their duties, I glance at Tor, who’s jotting down some quick notes from the meet.

“So you really think the pack won’t launch any assault on the villages?” I ask quietly.

He shakes his head, but seems uncertain. “They’re just trying to scare us into action right now. Gabe might be a bit of a wildcard, but he knows what he’s doing. If we attack first, then by their nature they have the right to launch a full assault on the underground, and to be honest, I don’t know if the Corp has the facilities to handle that kind of pressure, at least not here in Ichton. We need to play it by ear and try to figure out what they’re up to first,” he replies.

“Do you really need to guess at what they’re up to? It’s pretty obvious they’re preparing for an assault. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? To end it? So why don’t we push on and end it before it begins?” I state, eyes focused on organizing my papers. Tor sighs deeply. Why can’t we look at each other? What is it about eye contact that’s so intimate that it frightens me? I feel as though I have a secret buried deep within me, and if I let him even glimpse it, my world will unravel.

“This is protocol here. We don’t strike first. I know that this goes against everything you’ve known before, Piper, but I need you to be on board here, okay?”

“Okay,” I say finally. As I’m packing up the rest of my files he takes my hands lightly and twists me toward him. He smiles and mutters some kind of thanks for my help, but I can’t seem to focus. With his eyes on mine, something shatters.