Flight

Chapter Eight





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.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks sternly, hands on her hips.

“Just making sure I know all of the routes in the city,” I try, keeping an eye on the window in case I suddenly see a falling body.

Grier scoffs loudly. “The rules apply to you, too. You can’t just do whatever you want, you know,” she huffs impatiently.

“I’m not doing whatever I want. It’s important to know everything when scouting out an area, including hiding places and possible escape routes,” I retort.

“Just like little miss top of the world, acting like you own the place. I don’t care if you get in shit for this, we don’t need someone like you here poking through our business,” she spits.

“You think I want to be here? I’m completely useless at a place where you barely need talent to be stationed at,” I growl back. For a moment I think she’s going to attack me, her stance immediately turning aggressive. I stand up, eyeing her, ready to take her on and at the same time scolding myself. Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?

“You know what? I don’t have time for this,” she mutters. She spins around, hair flying behind her and stomps back down the stairs, leaving me alone in the room.

“All clear?” Asher asks as he ducks back into the room.

“I think I’m in shit,” I reply, slumping back down on the couch. Asher shrugs as he pulls himself through the window, his pale cheeks flushed from the cold air.

“You should have come out with me,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Yeah right,” I mutter. “You’re completely insane for going out there.”

“Maybe. Come out with me,” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively and holding out his hand.

“That’s crazy,” I say, eyeing him wearily as he stands by the ominous window of doom.

“A little afraid of heights, are we?” he taunts.

“When it leads to certain death, I have every right to be afraid,” I reply.

“You need to live a little,” he says, “come out here with me.”

I look from the window to the door. One opening leads to safety, a warm bed and a crappy morning tomorrow. The other leads to adventure, release and the possibility of a fifty foot fall and a broken neck.

I stand up, biting my lip nervously as I turn in my direction of choice.

“I can’t,” I say quietly before I turn and leave.