The Phoenix Project: Book I: Flight

by Katherine Macdonald

  Of course, we could get together, have fun while it lasts, and go our separate ways. But somehow, that seems an unlikely end. If I thought this could be a fling, I wouldn't be so hesitant to start it.

  Nick sinks into another fit, filled with violent coughing and painful thrashing. The sheer terror of being with him is eclipsed only by the fear of being without him. Oh Ashe, what have you done, falling for a boy more perishable than the last that stole a little part of your soul? But another part of me trembles at another thought; that whatever Gabe and I were to each other, this is something else. Some other frightening, wordless feeling, rapturous and shapeless and utterly terrifying.

  And I can't watch him suffer like this. I need to get him to Julia. I need to get him home, by whatever means necessary.

  I reach over and touch his cheek. “Don't hate me for this,” I whisper.

  Chapter 40

  I head back to the downtown area, searching for the curvy woman who secured me the drugs. She's no where to be found, but I do find someone to swap the Nemean with for some morphine. It's a terrible bargain and he comes off much better for it, but anything is worth it for a few days of easing Nick's pain, and mine. I can't take much more of this.

  Which is why I have to get him out of here, back to someone who knows what the hell they're doing.

  I stick around the square for hours, hoping to catch her, mostly trying to stay in the shadows and out of sight. There's a huge screen attached to the side of one of the buildings, playing adverts and newsreels and the occasional cartoon. I don't often have much time for watching frivolous things, but I'd probably enjoy it more if I wasn't so jumpy.

  It's news that plays most often though. Rousing speeches from the mayor about how great the city is. Crime reports –an all time low!– and food production is higher than ever. Great research being done at the Institute in regards to the pax. It'll soon be “a thing of the past”– a statement we've all heard too many times to believe.

  I should have shouted that at the cameras last night. I should have told them what the Institute really does.

  I'm so preoccupied with that bitter thought that I barely notice when the screen switches to an image of a burning building, until I'm watching a dark shape shooting up it.

  Hmm, good moves, is my first thought, before realising that of course they are– those are my moves. A giant Ashe is lighting up the square. People are noticing now, eyes fixed on my image, my superhuman agility, the way I leap out of a fifth-story window without a scratch. They are muttering, muttering among themselves.

  “Did you ever see such a thing?”

  “What is she?”

  “Is she dangerous?'

  “She said she was here to help–”

  I pull up my hood, mess up my hair, and sink further into the shadows. I can't risk being spotted now.

  Some dim hope remains that the report will reach the base and Harris will send someone to fetch me, but I can't rely on that. I have to use my own resources.

  Finally, I spot my mark.

  “Ah, bonjour cherie!” she says as I approach her. “Back for more so soon? I told you not to exceed the dose–”

  “I need something else, now,” I say quickly. “You said before that you could track someone down?”

  “I know a person. What's the name?”

  “I don't have a name.”

  “Then I can't help you.” She turns to leave.

  “I need you to find the relatives of Nicholas Lilywhite,” I tell her. “His closest ones, preferably.”

  I do not know if they will help us. Nick himself had said he wouldn't consider them allies. He clearly doesn't hold them in much high affection, but still... would they let him die?

  The woman narrows her eyes at me. “Why are you after his family, ma chere? Some twisted revenge?”

  “I'm trying to save a life.”

  “There's no sympathy discount. It'll cost you.”

  I reveal my remaining credits. “This is all I have.”

  She sniffs at my offering. “It'll do. I'll meet you back here in an hour.”

  “An hour?”

  “Too long?”

  In truth, I am surprised that such a thing can be accomplished so quickly, but I don't want to seem clueless. I tell her that's fine. I go back to the garage briefly to check on Nick –he's no better, no worse– and then head back to meet her. She hands me a little slip of paper.

  “You could almost have worked that out yourself, cherie. Nicholas Lilywhite, born to Daniel Lily and Dr Eveline White, daughter of Edward Peregrine White.”

  This name should clearly mean something to me, but it doesn't.

  “The governor?” she continues.

  “I'm not very political.”

  She scoffs. “Evidently. Anyway, here is his address. Do as you will with it.”

  No wonder Nick said he wouldn't call his family allies. His grandfather is part of the very government he's trying to overthrow. That complicates things. Is it even worth going to him, especially with my face being plastered on screens across the city? He'll know I'm part of the resistance.

  But then I think about going back to the garage, of trying to pass another night listening to him cough and moan, and wonder if, maybe, this time will be it. Suddenly, it doesn't seem like I have a choice.

  ◆◆◆

  It takes some time, even with the address, to locate his apartment, as I need to be careful who I ask for directions and travelling incognito isn't precisely easy. Then, once I finally locate the place, I'm presented with another problem. It's a swish, expensive building, with a doorman and receptionist. No one I couldn't take out, but not without alerting others, which probably wouldn't give me enough time to locate this guy and convince him to help me before the place is swarming with enforcement. No, it's going to have to be stealth.

  If I was more appropriately dressed, I could try and sweet talk the doorman a bit, at least learn which side of the building the apartment was on, but such questions in my current attire are bound to cause suspicion. Oh well, the hard way it is.

  I climb onto one of the neighbouring buildings and fix my gaze on the windows. I spot two kitchens per row, which likely means two apartments per row, four per floor. Edward White lives in apartment twenty-two. Fifth floor.

  I scan both options. One has young children in –unlikely– and the second a middle-aged couple, too young to realistically be grandparents. I hop onto the next building, and the one after that, trying to glimpse the remaining two. A young woman in one, and the fourth... no one visible.

  It has to be it.

  I leap across to the private terrace and peer inside. It is a smart, elegantly furnished residence, all smooth lines and sleek curves, largely colourless apart from the occasional splash of paint on a canvas. There's a desk by the door covered with pictures of grandkids. None look like Nick, but a few look enough like him to be cousins.

  I try the door. It's open. I guess when you live high up in a fancy city with a low crime rate, you probably think you're safe.

  By the door, I find a package with the right name and address. This is the place.

  I scan my senses about, listening for life. It's a little tricky in a building like this –it's not always clear to me who is in the next room, or the next apartment, or the next floor– but I think I'm alone. I do a quick search for weapons. I don't get very far before I hear someone coming along the corridor and dash into the kitchen. A few moments later, a man enters the apartment. He is tall and grey, somewhere in his sixties, clean-shaven, polished. Handsome, really, in a mature kind of way. He has high, defined cheekbones... like Nick's. Little else about him, though. He is too sharp and manicured.

  I wait until he moves away from the door. It wouldn't do to have him startle and run for the corridor before we've had a chance to talk.

  I slip into view. “Edward White?”

  His hands fly immediately inside his coat, and he whips out a pistol. He barely has time to aim before I've flo
wn across the room, wrenched it from his grasp, and pushed him up against a wall. I clench my hand over his mouth.

  “I'm not here to hurt you!” I say shortly, “I'm here on behalf of your grandson.”

  White's saucer eyes shrink just a little, and I let him slide to the floor, taking a step back and unloading the weapon.

  “He needs your help,” I add.

  “Oh yes? Which one?”

  “Nick.”

  “Nicholas?” he looks baffled. “What on Earth... is it money? Does he need money?”

  “Has he asked you for money before?”

  “Well, no, but... what else could he want from me?”

  At least it looks like they've spoken some time in the years since Nick left the city. At least they have some kind of relationship.

  “Well, you can tell him to forget it,” the old man continues, “I'm not giving him anything. He'd just squander it on some other lost cause.”

  So he knows something about what Nick does, and yet... he's a governor. If he truly knew what Nick was doing, he could report him. Have him properly exiled or... executed. Either he doesn't know the whole truth, or he cares. Tread carefully, Ashe.

  “He doesn't want your money,” I say, “although... although what I need might cost you.”

  “Then you can forget it too. What's the meaning of this anyway, breaking into my home?”

  “I didn't break in. You left your terrace unlocked.”

  “I– it's five stories up!”

  “I'm a good climber.”

  His gaze intensifies as he searches my face. “You... you're her, aren't you? The girl from the news?”

  I do a mock bow. “In the flesh.”

  “You're from the Chimera Institute. One of their little escaped projects.”

  I freeze. He must be very high up indeed, to know the truth of the place, or else the whispers of what I am have grown far more dangerous indeed.

  “What... what do you know of the Institute?”

  “Just what it does. It's not really my area. I heard rumours a few of them escaped a few years back. Most of them fly under the radar, but you... my grandson must have gotten to you, hmm?”

  I swallow, narrowing my eyes, hoping they don't betray the extent of quite how much Nick has gotten to me.

  “Yes.”

  “With just two calls, I could have you on your way back to that place.”

  “They wouldn't catch me.”

  “Then why aren't you leaving now?”

  I inhale sharply. “Because I need your help.”

  “I won't give it.”

  “It's for Nick.” The lump in my throat grows harder. “I think he's dying.”

  “What?”

  “I need to get him out of the city–”

  “Get him to a hospital–”

  “They won't be able to help him.”

  “What do you mean?” His eyes widen, and his voice falls quiet. “Oh, I see.”

  “If I can get him out of the city–”

  “He'll die anyway!”

  “I don't think so.” I don't want to reveal Nick's immunity, because I'm not sure what he would do with that. I don't want to risk him being hauled off to some secret facility and poked and prodded like a lab rat... Nick can't run anywhere at the moment, so I put myself on the line instead. “There's... there's something I might be able to do, but there's equipment that I need to have, people I need to help me. But they're on the other side of the gate and I can't get a message to them.”

  “You... you truly think you can save him?”

  I nod.

  The old man crosses the room to the bureau, his gaze drawn to a photograph right at the back. Smaller than the others. Secretive. A fair-haired woman holding a grinning four-year-old. Nick.

  White's fingers twitch, as if he wants to reach out and touch him. “I might disapprove of my grandson’s life choices,” he says quietly, “but I don’t want him to die. If only he’d listen to reason–”

  “I imagine he feels the same way about you.”

  The old man scoffs. “A child's answer.”

  “Will you help us?”

  “Yes. You just need passage out of the city?”

  “Safe passage. And... and no one can see Nick. Do you understand?”

  “I think I can arrange something. Give me two hours. Where shall I meet you?”

  I can't let him come to the garage. I can't compromise the safe house. But transporting Nick anywhere will be difficult right now.

  “Do you have a map?”

  White draws out a handheld device and clicks on a little icon. I carefully scroll to Nick's current hiding spot, looking for a place nearby that's covered, far from crowds. It's a fairly industrial area, and I notice a parking structure close by. It'll do.

  “There,” I point. “Two hours, right? Don't be late.”

  Chapter 41

  I head straight back to the garage and dose Nick with the morphine. He's in a terrible state, seizing and trembling and conscious, horribly conscious. He's crying when I return, but he can't speak, and I feel awful for leaving him for so long like this, for leaving him at all.

  “Not much longer now,” I tell him, stroking his matted hair. “I'm getting you home. You'll be home soon, I promise...”

  I do not know if he can hear me, and time seems to slow down to an agonizing rate.

  Eventually, the time comes. I load Nick into the car, wrapping him in a blanket inside a tarpaulin. I take very little else with me.

  The drive does not take long. I am the first to arrive, and as the minutes tick by, I am convinced it's a trap. White doesn't care about Nick, or else he's decided to right him off anyway. He's just using his grandson to get me to the proper authorities. I'm going to get hauled back to the Institute and Nick...

  Well, perhaps they will just throw him back into the slums. Perhaps he'll be OK after all. Maybe something good will come of such a thing–

  I'm just about to impart some last words onto Nick when a sleek silver vehicle pulls up alongside me. White gets out. There's no one else with him.

  “Did you get what we need?” I ask, climbing out.

  He holds up a blue jacket and cap, similar to the style worn by the hotel staff. “Put these on.”

  “What are they?”

  “A chauffeur's uniform. You'll be driving us out of the city.”

  It seems incredibly bold and daring, but I don't argue. “Pop the trunk,” is all I tell him. “Nick can't be seen.”

  He does as instructed, and hovers curiously close as I lift Nick out. Most people give pax patients a wide berth.

  “Don't get too close.”

  “You're immune?”

  “Lucky me, eh?”

  I fold Nick carefully into the trunk, wrapping the blanket around him. He does not seem to know I'm there.

  “Are you sure... are you sure you can save him?”

  “I know I'm going to damn well try.”

  I close the lid, and climb into the driver's seat. White slides nervously into the passenger's side. “Are you... his girlfriend, or something?”

  I'd like to say, 'he wishes!' but instead, all that comes out is a trembling, “Or something.”

  Girlfriend doesn't come close. It won't ever be close enough. Which is, of course, what scares me. If it were that simple I would have given in long ago.

  White taps an address into the console. “I take it you don't know where you're going?”

  “Not by car.”

  He laughs a little at this. His laugh sounds like Nick's and I hate it.

  We drive on into the city, me clunkily stopping and starting at every traffic light and junction.

  “You... are not a good driver,” White says eventually.

  “Well, you're not a good person,” I respond, stopping narrowly short of a 'so there.'

  “Do you really think all Lucans are bad?”

  No, clearly not, because I'm falling in love with the one I've got stashed in the trunk, idiot.r />
  “Not all,” I whisper, “but I've seen the cost of living as you do. I've seen the consequences of your great city. Also, not a big fan of you supporting the Institute. Just... putting that out there.”

  “The Institute was designed to help people.”

  “Well, it didn't help me,” I hiss. “It didn't help Forrest or Moona or Archer or Beta or Gabe–”

  “Friends of yours?”

  “Most of them. All of them victims of the Institute.”

  “But without that place... you wouldn't exist.”

  “Great, then I wouldn't be alive to be so miserable.”

  “You wish you were dead?”

  “I wish sometimes I hadn't been born,” I admit, “and I'll always wish I hadn't been born there.”

  This is a hard thing for most people to understand. I don't object to being alive. I don't want to die. I more or less like who I am. But I wish I could be me with a different background. I wish I could be who I am, with Ben and Abi and Mi, and not have to be their sister because we were cooked up together in a lab.

  White can't think of anything to say to that, so we carry on in silence. Eventually, we reach the checkpoint. I'm still hoping to see Henson, but no such luck. Another guard, one with narrow, suspicious eyes, knocks on the door. I roll down the window, avoiding his gaze, certain I'll be recognized.

  It's a trap, it's a trap, cries the frightened bird inside me.

  But the guard doesn't look at me. He looks straight across at my passenger. “G-governor White,” he stammers, “I–”

  He stops there. It can't be good to question why a politician might be heading outside the city walls. There are two gates into Luca. This one leads to the slums, the other to the high road– the main route to the next city. Anyone going this way... it is likely for some nefarious purpose. Suddenly, I understand a little of what Nick's grandfather is risking.

  White says nothing. He hands the guard something; documents, I think, and credits. Keep your mouth shut. You saw nothing.