Clutch

by JA Huss

  Tier lifts his head. "Darlin', let me ask you one more time. Have I hurt ya?"

  I shake my head. "No, Tier."

  "Have I been honest with ya?"

  I nod and wipe the back of my hand across my face. "Yes."

  "And has anyone here, to the best of yer memory, done the same?"

  I follow his gaze to Slag, who drops his eyes.

  I shake my head. "No. They haven't."

  Tier nods then and looks back at the reporters who have crept up onto the driveway and are barely a few yards from where he stands. He looks at them straight on. "Do ya trust me, darlin'?"

  I take a step towards him when Slag speaks. "Junco, wait."

  Tier's head snaps back around and covers the distance between us in flight. The reporters scramble to stay with him and he lands in front of me.

  I turn back to look at Slag.

  "Junco, you don't have to go with him. I can make it right. You can morph here, I can make it right."

  Tier's hands are wrapped around his throat before I can even blink and I hear a collective gasp from the reporters as they fall back.

  "Let me clarify what happened here tonight, Slag." He drawls out his name in pure disgust. "The girl said stop and I stopped. Otherwise you'd be a bloodstain in the snow like everyone else, understand?"

  I take a deep breath, but this time I sit it out and say nothing.

  Slag gasps and Tier throws him back into the porch stairs where he coughs, but still continues his speech. "Junco, do you want to leave with him?"

  I look back at Slag, then at Tier and let out a sigh as I bring my hand up to the wound on my jaw that has coagulated into a thick crust of blood. The reporters crowd in as I turn back to answer.

  "I think," I start, but hesitate to find the right words as the memories come flooding back to me in a rush, and have to begin again. "I think that we might have been friends under different circumstances, Slag. If I wasn't–" I breathe out and Tier shakes his head at me, but I put up a hand and continue. "If I wasn't just another military experiment turned political pawn."

  I look down at Slag and his eyes are glassy, but there's only one thing left to say to him. "Maybe you're a good guy, Slag. But somehow I doubt it. And maybe you did help me at the end, in your own way. But that's not enough. When I needed a hero, Slag, needed to be saved, you always had the means. And you turned your head with all the rest."

  The reporters are right in front of us now, and I have to give them credit. Tier and I are definitely apexers, yet the vultures think they are safe among their brethren predators.

  I glance away for a second, again sliding my fingers down my wound. "Now that I've got myself a little more in control, I think" – I feel them all, even Tier, lean in to hear my words – "I should have just let him kill you and been done with it."

  My eyes drop down to his face and he draws his mouth into a line that shows no emotion. "I mean, at least he," I point to Tier, "is sorry for what you guys did to me. And he had no part in any of it."

  Tier walks out towards the solitary blue stream of light and turns, then extends his hand. "Junco, if I could, I'd stand here for the rest of my life waiting on ya to be ready. Ya know that, darlin'. I'd wait for you ta choose. I would. Ya have ta know that."

  I nod my head and smile.

  "But it's not up to me anymore and I'm calling ya back. You need to come with me right now."

  I walk out towards him and then stop and look back at the reporters one last time, straight into the blinking lights. "My mother has initiated an invasion of the Mountain Republic on behalf of the Subjectives. And I hope they kill every motherfucker who ever had a part in what they did to us down here. But make no mistake" – my eyes burn into the blinking fingertips – "if she can't quite get them all, I'll be happy to come back and finish the job."

  My hand reaches out and I give him the words he's been looking for all along. "I trust you, Tier."

  And then our fingertips touch.

  I am swept into his arms under the warmth of his wings, and we ascend the shower of blue light together.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Imagine you feel completely safe for the first time in your life. Inside a shower of blue light that fills you up with happiness. And you rise, reaching out for your future, with complete trust in the one who carries you towards it.

  That's me.

  Now.

  Tier hugs me close and we climb the scattered molecules of air until they drop into the depths. Then it is just us. I gasp as I try to pull oxygen into my lungs but it burns. And then Tier's mouth delivers a kiss of precious life and I let go, into blackness.

  Somewhere, someone is carrying me. The jerky motion of my body and the pattern of curt boot steps on a metal surface echo in my brain and tells me we are moving quickly. All around me there are voices yelling, panicked. A mask covers my mouth and nose and then my lungs expand out in a burst as they fill with oxygen.

  I come up swinging.

  And coughing.

  Hands restraining me.

  Voices all around me.

  "Not gonna happen, Tier–"

  "– like shit, you sure–"

  "– done it this time–"

  "– don't know what it's–"

  "– off! Now!"

  But only one voice matters and I catch all of it.

  "Junco, I've got you."

  My head rolls back and my eyes open to the world that bobs around me. I can't make any sense of where I am until I spy the metal grates that serve as a spacecraft ceiling. I try to smile and say thank you, but the darkness looks pretty sweet so I let my eyelids fall and follow the call that beckons me.

  Finally, my world is truly silent.

  The voices come back eventually, but fewer.

  Two.

  I only recognize one.

  "... telling ya it looks worse than it is, Layla."

  "You think so?" The voice has a slightly different accent from Tier's. "Let's see," –I hear the sound of tapping on a screen as she talks – "more bruises and talon punctures than you can personally count, a hunk missing from her calf, a repaired rotator cuff, broken nose, a hairline fracture in the occipital lobe, some avian neurotoxin metabolites in her blood, a ten-centimeter gash down the side of her head, possible irreparable inner-ear damage, a ten-centimeter SEAR wound down the side of her jaw, plasma burn on her back, two fucking fingers missing?"

  "Calm down, OK. Most of those are old, she's already healing–"

  "Calm down? You've got to be fucking kidding me! These are only the recent injuries, Tier! She's one long battle scar from head to toe!"

  In my head I wonder if he yells at her for swearing, too. Somehow I don't think so. A sound escapes my mouth and the screaming stops.

  "She's waking up," the Layla voice says.

  "See? I told ya. Junco, can you hear me?"

  I cough.

  "Junco, can you open your eyes?" A flash makes me squint and I force my lids up. The light flickers at them and reflexes take over, closing them tight. The light disappears and I try again. Layla's face is way down in my personal space and my arm instinctively comes up and pushes her back.

  A laugh from Tier. "Told you, Layla. She's fine."

  Layla looks to be a little older than Tier, which puts her at least half a dozen years older than me. She's got long black hair pulled back in a pony and is wearing what is apparently the universal uniform of doctors and scientists. The long white coat. Her dark wings are pushed up a little bit, the tips hovering just above her shoulders and the ends jutting outward past her waist. In Tier, I recognize this as an expression of unease, but who knows what it means for her. She steps back and crosses her arms in front of her, a severe scowl on her face. I cough again, then turn my head towards Tier and manage to croak out some words. "What happened?"

  "Low oxygen on the ascent, Juncs. No big deal, right? Yer fine now."

  "Tier, don't sell her that shit! She's not fine! She's also dehydrated and malnourished. Borderl
ine starving, in fact!"

  "Junco, when's the last time you ate, darlin'?"

  I crinkle up my face and think. "Dunno."

  Layla nods her head at this, vindicated. "She can't go under like this, Tier. She'll fucking die."

  "Well, then goddamn it, Layla, fucking feed the girl! Hook her up with a line and push some fucking nutrients in her! We've got fifteen minutes to get her under and it will happen or so fucking help me God I will kill the fucking pilot and take us back to fucking Earth!"

  I've never heard Tier string together so many profanities in one breath and even Layla takes a step back. She shakes her head at me and turns away, busy getting things to pump up my condition.

  "Junco, did ya eat when you went home?"

  I shake my head.

  "Have ya eaten since the dinner we had?"

  I shake my head.

  "The fuck's the matter with ya, Junco? Why didn't ya eat?"

  "Well, there was kind of a lot going on, Tier. It just never became urgent."

  Layla's back with a line and a bag. She pushes the needle in my arm without asking and starts a drip. She looks down at my shirt. "What's that mean anyway? Snipers do it from behind?"

  "Don't answer her, Junco, she's being an asshole."

  "You mean I'm sticking my ass out for you two, don't you?"

  He shoots her a look that would scare the shit out of me, but she sends one right back that is even more terrifying and I break a smile. "I like you, Layla," I say with a small laugh.

  Her scowl melts and she smiles. "Everyone likes me, Junco. It's my natural charm." Then she reaches down and squeezes my arm.

  My hand goes up to my jaw and I feel for the crusted blood, but it has been cleaned and a smooth membrane has been placed on the wound. Layla's eyes follow my motion.

  "Was it coded for you, Junco?"

  "I'm not sure. Probably."

  Tier takes a deep breath. "I've seen the aftereffects of a non-coded SEAR wound, Layla. It begins immediately. She's coded. It's built into her." He slides my shirt up and then slides the rim of my pants down to reveal the SEAR knife on my stomach. "See?"

  "What the hell is that?" She pulls back a little. "Is that the SEAR? Docked on her body?"

  "Meet the United Republics' most discreet biological weapon."

  Layla stares a lot longer than is polite and I pull my shirt down and push Tier's hand away.

  "I'll have to recode her collagen gene to make sure. No sense taking chances."

  She leaves to do that, I figure.

  "What's really going on, Tier?"

  He smiles, but it's thin. "Yer going into morph as soon as Layla gives the word, Junco. It'll take a few weeks to get to the Band, until then I'm still in charge of ya and they can't stop it. By the time we get there you'll almost be half through. They won't mess with ya until yer ready to come out. Then..."

  I take a deep breath as he pauses.

  "Then we'll have to wait and see. Junco, it might be a little rough at first, but I promise ya" – he places his hands gently on each side of my face – "it will be OK and they will not kill ya. So don't even think that is a possibility. It's too far along even now. They won't kill ya."

  I nod, but he's talking himself up now. He can't say that for certain. I turn away and then feel guilty for my doubts. He put his neck out so I decide to trust him. Let him worry about it. Someone other than me, for once.

  Layla yells from across the room. "Get her prepped, Tier. I hear boots shuffling outside."

  His fingers begin unlacing my boots and he slips them off, dragging my socks along for the ride. Then reaches down and takes my hand and pulls me up on the bed until I am steady. He yanks the tucked-in shirt a little so the ends are all free and lifts it off over my head and lets me fall back slowly to the pillows. "Sorry, no clothes in the tank, Junco."

  I stop his hands at my pants. "I can do it, Tier." I unbuckle and start squirming out of them. He grabs the legs and pulls, then grabs a sheet from the next bed and drapes it over me as I slip off my shorts.

  A door chime diverts his attention as I fix the sheet around me, suddenly cold and shy of my body. He's at the door before I can even register that he's moving and I see it open a crack, then wider as another avian guy is allowed in. They talk in low whispers and every few words their eyes look over at me.

  Layla is back with a tray of vials that she expertly attaches to the drip and pushes into the line. "You'll feel a little funny now, Junco. It won't last long, this is just the code we're gonna use to get things started."

  "What will it do?"

  She looks at me sideways. "Turn ya into one of us, hopefully."

  "Is that a difficult thing to do?"

  She laughs. "Impossible, for any other human. But for you, it should work. It's like they've been preparing you for this your whole life – hedging their bets, maybe. Almost all the sequences are already there, just turned off – if that makes sense."

  I shrug and look back over at Tier and the other guy. His face registers now. He's the one who covered me during the fight on Earth. That thought shocks me, to think that we're not even on Earth right now. My sight starts to get a little dizzy, but other than that I don't notice anything weird. "Now, what happens?"

  It gets a little heated over by the door and both Layla and I exchange looks. "Let's get you in the tank, Junco."

  She helps me out of bed and walks me and my IV drip over to a cylinder tube that looks a little too much like the clone vats in Dale's lab for my comfort level. The goo inside is green, not red, but still.

  She takes the sheet from me and holds it up like a little screen to shield me from the guys and nods her head at the tank. I shake my head back at her. "I don't know, Layla."

  She smiles, but I can tell by her backwards glances that she's getting nervous. "Junco, I get it. It's weird. Shit, even avians have trouble accepting the morph sometimes, so I don't expect this to go easy for you. But" – she glances back at the door – "Ashur is telling Tier that they are planning on storming in here to stop this, so if you want to live, get your fucking ass in the tank."

  I step in.

  It's warm, and that makes it a little easier as I slink down into the goo. Layla bunches the sheet up and throws it across the room to get it out of the way.

  "Good, now for the hard part." Her hands reach down and grab some tubing that is hanging off the machine. "Unfortunately, Junco, this is going down your throat."

  She waits, probably to see if I will overreact, but my attention is diverted as Tier comes back, leaving the other guy standing at the door.

  He forces his smile this time. "We ready then?"

  Layla and I both answer at the same time, but we say vastly different things. The three of us stare at each other in silence for a few seconds. Then the tubing is coming at my face and I put my hands up to stop it.

  Tier leans in and pushes my hands back down to my sides, thrusting his arms into the goo up to his shoulders. "Tier, I'm not–"

  "Junco, we're doing this, there's no discussion, no out clause. It's happening."

  "But–"

  Layla stuffs the tube in my mouth and I begin to gag. She switches the machine on and it comes alive on my tongue, small fingers reaching out and crawling down my throat, spewing out goop in my windpipe as I feel it travel into my chest. I panic and begin thrashing, but Tier's arms hold me steady. I calm down a little as I realize I can still breathe and Tier smiles. A real one.

  Their hands are on me, pushing a mask over my face and forcing my body under the green goo that covers my eyes and glues them shut. I lie still for several moments. Feel the grip ease up. And then I burst up and fight to pull the tube out.

  I give it my best shot, but I go down anyway.

  What can I say? If I have to go down, well, then I'll go down the only way I know how.

  Fighting.

  Page forward to read the first chapter of Fledge, Book Two of the I Am Just Junco series.

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  I burst out of the tank and the desperate gasp for air is like a prairie devil sucking up a farmhouse. My fists latch on to anything that will prevent me from going back under as waves of thick goo slosh around my body. Only the whine of plasma charge snaps me out of it and I allow a multitude of hands to grasp my arms and keep me still as the voice booms next to my head.

  "Don't make me regret letting you live, Junco."

  I cough and somewhere deep inside my vomit reflex is triggered. Shit comes up, clogging my airway and making me struggle against the firm hands. Since my eyes are still glued shut, I have no idea what comes out.

  They pull me up out of the tank – completely out of the tank – so that I'm in mid-air for a few seconds, and then my feet hit the cold tile floor. My legs know what to do, but it's not happening. They drag me and I count six pairs of boots as we travel. Damn. Six fucking avians for me. I'm about to feel special when I'm dumped on the floor. A door snaps shut and I know I am alone.

  A hydraulic click makes me twitch as my heart pounds in my chest. I take a deep breath and Tier's words come back to me. Trust no one. Show no weakness. I count to five to calm myself, breathing in and out, up and down, and then scoot on the floor until I bump into a wall. My hands flail out, finding a rail, then I pull myself up and force my legs to stand. My whole body shakes with fear, atrophy and cold, but the legs hold and I straighten my back, let go of the railing, and lift my chin.

  And wait as the thick, sticky tank goo crusts in the ventilated room. My body feels lighter than normal and I realize that gravity must be less than one-G.