My own clothes are still soaking. I locate the warmest part of the garage and strip, hanging them up to dry. There's a pile of mostly clean hoodies in the corner, which do for now. I go through the rest of the supplies; basic medical kit, food rations, a stack of credits, lots of tech I can't name. I try turning on one of the computers, but it needs a password. I'm no hacker. I'm locked out.
How am I to get word to the others? Surely Rudy won't just leave us here? He might not be my biggest fan, but he cares about Nick.
Except... no one knows he's alive. The other captives certainly thought he was a goner. And when I lost my earpiece...
Will they think we're dead?
Oh God, Mi, Abi... Ben. Had they reached base by now?
Please, I pray to whatever force might be listening, don't let them think I'm dead. Don't put my family through that.
Nick stirs on the bunk and I fly immediately to his side.
“Oh good,” he murmurs groggily, “I didn't imagine you coming to my rescue.”
Despite everything, I manage to smile. “No, you didn't imagine that.”
He puts a hand up to my cheek, a gesture I first take to be affectionate, but then I realise he's inspecting the graze from the bullet. “You look awful,” he says.
I hadn't given much thought to it, but cheek aside, one of my ears is covered in dried blood, my hands are ripped to shreds, and I'm covered in dirt and lake gunk.
“You don't exactly look like a picture of health yourself.”
Nick doesn't smile. He props himself up on his elbows and starts to cough wildly.
“Nick...” I whisper, “what did they do to you?”
Nick exhales slowly. “I need you to stay calm, while I explain a few things.”
“All... all right.”
He lifts a hand to run it through his hair, and that's when I see it; the beginnings of a purplish rash sprouting at his wrists.
No.
What had Henson said? That he suspected the government would infect them and turf them back out?
No, no, no!
Something in my face must register, because Nick's eyes widen. “Ashe, don't–”
“No, Nick, no!”
“It's all right–”
“How can you say that–”
Nick tries to climb out of the bunk, but he stumbles and crashes onto the floor. I stay where I am, breathing heavily, my mind spiralling. This can't be happening. Not again, not now. Don't let me lose someone else. Don't make me watch.
He crawls towards me, grabbing my trembling arms. “Listen,” he says, “Yes, they infected me with the pax –and a very fast-acting strain at that– but I won't die. I don't think.”
“Why... why would you think that?”
“Because I've had it before.”
“W-what?”
No one catches the pax and survives. No one. But then... it's miraculous he survived when his parents didn't. That alone is virtually unheard of.
“I've had it four times, since it killed my parents,” he explains, “but it's never killed me. Somehow, every time, I recover. Julia's at a loss to explain it. She's ran every test she can think of, trying to create a cure. Nothing. I'm not immune, but I won't die. I will be infectious though, to everyone but chimeras apparently. So it's rather lucky that you're the one that came!”
I pause for a moment to process all of this.
“Who... who else knows? Apart from Julia?”
“Rudy, Harris and Scarlet. We've managed to keep it secret from everyone else. We didn't want a panic.”
“So... what happens every time you get it?”
“As soon as the first symptoms appear, I'd go to the infirmary. Rudy would say I was on a mission. Harris would have to be in on the cover too, and Scarlet–”
“She figured it out?”
“Yeah, she's pretty smart. And unflappable.”
She's more than his friend, I realise. She's his Mi. His person. Someone he can rely on for anything, tell anything to. She must be going crazy with worry. They all will be. I can see them now, back at the base. Ben will be curled up in Abi's arms, and Mi... he's either sitting with his head in his hands, listening to Scarlet pace, or... or they're sitting together with their fingers entwined. I hope it's the latter. I hope they find some comfort in each other.
“Aren't... aren't there any others you want to tell?” I ask. He's been with the Phoenix crew half of his life. They're his family.
“Yes,” he says slowly, “but I wouldn't want to worry them, or...”
“Or have them be afraid of you?”
He nods. “I... I wanted to tell you, but...”
“I didn't give you much of an opportunity.”
At this, he manages a small laugh. “Can... can I hug you now?” he asks. “It's something I've been wanting to do since you appeared in my cell.”
I don't waste time teasing him about jumping off a building together, or me carrying him to the car; I close the gap between us with far more force than I intended. It feels both awful and wonderful to cling to someone like this.
“You're hot,” I whisper.
“Sorry.”
“You should get back into bed.”
“Would you... would you lie down with me?”
I can't imagine sleeping, and I should probably clean myself up and try to force something down me, but I consent anyway. We squeeze onto the narrow bunk together. Nick wraps his arm around my middle. His hot, slightly laboured breath brushes against my neck.
“The hotel bed was better,” I mutter.
Nick murmurs something, but I don't quite catch it, or perhaps he never used words at all.
Somehow, mercifully, sleep comes.
Chapter 35
The following morning, Nick is worse. I manage to get a bit of soup in him, but he balks at the offer of crackers. He's hot and shivery and there's nothing I can do.
“If I get you to a hospital, won't they just dump you outside the gate anyway–”
“No hospital,” Nick insists. “The rash is spreading; I don't want to infect anyone. Or risk a scene like the one at the market.”
I ask him how to contact the others, but he informs me that Harris changes the password for the computer every new mission, just in case the location is ever compromised.
“Henson, then,” I try, “how do I contact him?”
Nick doesn't know, and doesn't seem to want to talk.
“Let me help you,” I plead, “tell me what I can do.”
“There's... there's nothing...” he says. “It'll pass.”
I've never seen the pax up close in full swing. I've heard Mi's horror stories. It'll pass, he assures me, but it'll get worse first.
When he's coherent enough, he tells me not to worry. Someone is bound to make contact at some point, but I'm no good at sitting by. It's not my style and I'm going crazy without daylight. The walls seem to shrink.
Nick spends a lot of time sleeping. Stir-crazy as I get, I prefer this, because when he's awake, it's worse. He's shivering one minute, burning the next, coughing and wheezing and hacking. He turns restlessly in his sheets, biting his lips, trying not to moan. His skin feels like fire whenever I'm brave enough to touch him.
I try to distract him by talking, although he often isn't in the mood.
“One of the other captives said you volunteered to be taken,” I ask at one point. “Why'd you volunteer?”
“Figured I was less likely to die than the others, and it might buy them more time to be rescued.”
“So not a stupid, self-sacrificing thing because I'd left Phoenix and life without me wasn't worth living?” I jest, poking him softly in the ribs.
Nick laughs weakly. “I like you, Firebird, but that's just ridiculous.”
“Firebird?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, it's just this nickname I had in my head, you know, because your name's Ashe... If you don't like it–”
“No, I like it, more than 'Supergirl', I think. If I ever get a call sign,
that's what I want.”
“I'll bear that in mind.”
“What's your call sign?”
“White Knight.”
“Of course it is.”
Nick closes his eyes, but he's still conscious.
“Do you know where I got my name from?” I ask.
He shakes his head, too uncomfortable to speak, and I turn away to avoid having to watch. I stay close, my back pressing against his bunk.
“The day we arrived in the city, I stood before the Phoenix mural, and read what it said there. We will rise from the ashes. That's the moment I chose it.”
Nick smiles. “I designed that mural.”
“You did?”
“I was just a kid at the time. I didn't paint it by myself. But it was my idea.”
“So, you're an artist, like Abi.”
“Not quite...”
Not for the first time, I wish I had some special talent, something pretty or helpful or nice.
“You have a thing too,” says Nick, apparently reading my mind. He smiles a little.
“Why are you smiling?”
“It's just that you're the most amazing person I've ever met, and it amuses me that you think you're lacking in any way.”
“You only think that because you like me.”
“I'm besotted with you, actually. Perhaps irreversibly.” He lifts a finger to circle against the exposed skin on the back of my neck. “I'm still waiting on that conclusion.”
I turn to face him. Our eyes meet, and I worry he's going to press me about my announcement that I was falling for him when I rescued him, but then he starts coughing again, and very quickly the conversation is over.
Chapter 36
At dusk, while Nick is sleeping, I head into the city. I'd stick out like a sore thumb in the day with my black, tight-fitting clothes, but I steal a pair of dark glasses to hide my eyes and lack of face paint and keep to the shadows.
Luca doesn't have a slum, but it has a down town like any other city, no doubt the address Nick gave for picking up his fictional escort. It's easy enough to find for someone like me... it's practically got a homing beacon. It's shiny, awash with bright, neon light, and filled with music and whispers.
I speak to a few people about passage out of the city, but no one has anything to offer there. The next thing I ask for is drugs.
“What you after, cherie?” asks a voluptuous woman in a red dress.
A list of the symptoms I expect Nick to start exhibiting is sure to raise alarm, so I just tell her I want something for pain.
“Want to heal your broken heart?” she says sympathetically. “If you want to get back at him, I know someone who can track him down–”
“Can you help me or not?”
“How much do you have?”
I flash her a handful of the credits.
She pouts greedily. “Give me half an hour. Meet me back here. I'll have something for you.”
I don't like leaving Nick for so long, but I don't see what choice I have. I grab something hot to eat while I wait. It's easily the best thing I've had in days, but it still falls flat in my mouth. Eventually, the woman returns, with three small vials and a syringe.
“Nemean,” she says. “Will that do?”
Nemean is a hard-core medical drug, expensive and highly effective. It's typically used post-surgery. I can't remember the side effects, but the fact that it's legit eases my concerns. I pay up promptly.
“Not too much, ma cherie,” the woman warns. “One vial at a time, never more than one in a day.”
I'm glad for the advice, as I have no idea about dosages, but I do not thank her. I disappear back into the shadows.
Mission accomplished, I head back to the garage. Nick is awake, looking thoroughly relieved to see me.
“Where did you go?”
“I had to get out–”
“It's not safe out there–”
“I think I've demonstrated quite aptly that I can take care of myself.”
“I didn't mean like that,” says Nick, “but I think we both know this city isn't exactly your comfort zone.”
Neither is this.
“I got you something,” I say, to avoid confessing just how awkward I am here. I dig my hands in my pockets and bring out the vials of clear, colourless liquid.
“Nemean?” Nick guesses.
I nod. “It should help, if –when– things get worse.”
Nick shakes his head. “I... I can't take it.”
“Why... why not?”
“You know how addictive that stuff is?”
“I've only got three vials, it's not that easy to come by. You can't become addicted to it if–”
“I have pretty easy access to the city, I'd find a way.”
At this point, he starts to cough, great hacking, lung-crunching coughs. His entire body spasms.
“But you're in pain–”
He clears his throat. “Do you know what the side effects are?”
“No–”
“It can make you completely impervious to pain, amongst other things.”
“That doesn't sound too bad.”
“Says the girl who can barely feel pain anyway,” he snaps, far more harshly than I have ever heard him.
I know that our pain threshold is much higher than normal people's, but that doesn't mean I don't understand it. That doesn't make this any easier to watch.
“I know pain,” I whisper.
Nick hangs his head. “Just... don't make me take it. Don't let me take it. Even if I beg.”
I'm not sure I'll have the willpower to refuse him if he asks for it.
“I'm going out again,” I say shortly.
“Ashe–”
“We're running low on food.”
A complete lie; there must be a week's worth, but Nick is unlikely to check, and I have to, have to get out of here. I can't sit in this place and look at him and listen to him and do nothing to help.
This is probably why I avoid caring about people, and definitely why I avoid caring about society, because it can destroy you to watch them suffer.
Chapter 37
I climb the nearest building I can find. It feels better to be up here, above the whir of the traffic, the noises merging together into one. Less cameras this high up, too. Less things to hide from. I can see Luca's great wall. Behind that, home. There are one or two high rises tall enough to see over it. I could probably see my own apartment on the outskirts. If only the Institute had thought to make me part bird, I could be home in thirty minutes. Less, possibly. I do not know how fast I can hypothetically fly.
Pretending, just for a moment, that I can, I do a running jump and leap onto the next building. The feeling of being unattached to anything is exhilarating. I pick up the pace, running up the next one, launching and vaulting from one rooftop to the next.
Eventually, I reach the gate. I did not notice coming in, but this part of the city is almost as grim as the slums. It's cleaner, there's less graffiti, but it's still coated with the same dark grime. The few shops nearby look a little worn, and everything sits in the huge shadow of the wall.
I turn my attention to the guards at the gate. None of them are Henson. He could be on the other side, of course. Or it might just not be his shift. Or... or something could have happened to him. His superiors could finally have clocked onto the fact he's always on duty when someone gets into the city that isn't suppose to. One of his colleagues could have turned him in–
I'm so fixated on that thought, that I don't notice the gun until after it's fired. The world shifts into slow motion. I drop to the floor just as it passes over my head.
“She's there!” I hear someone cry.
Suddenly, the guards are everywhere, filling the streets like ants. They're lined up on the wall, taking aim–
They've been waiting for me.
I need cover. I bolt for the door to the building, break it open and stream inside before another bullet can catch me. I'm in the hall of some
apartment block. The guards will be in the building at any moment. The stairs might be too risky–
I knock frantically on one of the doors. A short, rotund man answers. “Can I–” he starts.
I barge past him into the room. He stands there flabbergasted as I hurtle towards the window. There's a small balcony. I jump down to the next one, briefly hoping to stay there until the guards have cleared the building.
“Up there!” some helpful civilian yells, and a second later a guard is taking aim.
I roll into the apartment –helpfully the door is already ajar– and a stream of bullets enters after me. Someone starts to scream, multiple people. I wheel around and see a woman crouched in the corner, desperately shielding two small children from the chaos.
“I won't hurt you!” I assure her, holding up my hands. A lot of good that will do when her own goddamn people are firing on her.
I glance around the apartment, searching for cover, ideas, anything. It's really little better off than the slums. I'm sure they have hot running water, but they've got a super-old gas hob. Luca is virtually all hydro and solar– clean, renewable stuff. We don't always have access to that; we use what we can get. Clearly they do too.
There's noises in the hall. No time to run.
“Get down!” I shout at the mother.
A heavily-armed guard bursts into the room, his rifle raised. He freezes momentarily when he spots the cowering occupants behind me, giving me just enough time to disarm him and empty the weapon of its rounds.
“Are you guys crazy? There are kids in here!”
I slam the weapon into his head and race out into the hall. I try to span out my senses, but there's too much going on. Too many people are running about, up and down stairs, inside of apartments. I kick open another door. This one's empty, used for storage. There's boxes and crates, broken furniture, rolls of supplies and spare gas canisters.
The Phoenix Project: Book I: Flight Page 17
