Air Born | Generation Icarus #1

Hawk - Bad News

As we moved, stealing glances through the trees, I counted ten large black vehicles of slightly different models. All but one were empty and silent; the other was a large utility van with its back doors wide open and facing the marked entrance to the trail. Inside, a man in black fatigues was listening intently to a set of headphones, staring at a computer screen, surrounded by a large array of technology, including a mumbling radio. I wondered briefly why he had the door wide open on what was obviously a highly professional mission, but saw him pause to wipe sweat off his face. If it hadn't been for his obvious association with the armed hunters currently searching for us in the forest, I might have felt sorry for him. Soon we moved out of his angle of sight, and I picked up the pace.

We were a few yards from the closest point of concealment to the mustard-coloured pickup, when the man started talking, rapidly and loudly. I jumped, but he didn't appear outside the van.

"Go, go, go!" Miguel hissed. "While he's making noise!"

The three of us broke cover and dashed across the gravel. Kestrel ran straight for the driver's door, sliding the key in and popping the locks with a soft clunk.

I yanked open the passenger door and slid into the centre of the bench seat, Miguel right behind me. He and Kestrel closed the doors as quietly as they could, and then she turned the key in the ignition.

"Give me your pack," I said as she tried to shove it further down her chest so she could see over it.

Kestrel slipped her arm out of the strap and crunched the car into gear, then released the other side. Her foot pressed down on the accelerator even as I pulled her pack away and shoved it down by my knees.

"Did he see us?" She glared at the rutted track in front of the pickup, her hands white with tension but keeping the truck to a slower, quieter pace, the powerful engine purring.

Trying to extract myself from my own pack, I twisted to glance through the back window, my folded wings pressing uncomfortably into Miguel's shoulder. "I can't see him. Doesn't mean he isn't calling in reinforcements right now though."

In answer, Kestrel shifted up another gear.

"Bad news, boys," she said, a few moments later. "The warning light just came up for the gas tank." She pulled the satphone out of her sweater pocket and tossed it at Miguel. "See if there are any other stations nearby apart from the one in that little town. Tyl— Hawk, keep an eye out the back, will you? This so-called road is crap."

"There aren't any," Miguel said, after a few moments. "Just the one in town."

Kestrel hissed a curse as we reached the intersection with the main road that cut through the forest.

"I guess we're going into the vipers' nest, then," she said, and turned right.

"It might actually help us," I suggested, trying to keep one eye on the road behind us without jamming my knees into Kestrel, or my wings into Miguel. "They'll be expecting us to run away from all those people, not toward them."

"If there are enough people, then we can blend in with the crowd," Miguel added.

"Hmm. Maybe." Kestrel flinched as another large vehicle passed us in the opposite direction.

I eyed the hardtop of the pickup's tray behind me. "We might be able to find something in the mystery closet. How big is your step-dad?"

Kestrel glanced at me. "As much as I'd love to say he's a fat slob, he keeps himself in good shape. Mom wouldn't have hooked up with him otherwise, money or not."

"How about height?"

"Maybe about the same as Miguel? Slightly taller, even."

"Let's hope he has some nice big hunting coats or something in the back, then."

Kestrel gave me a wicked grin. "I hope his old bomber jacket's in there. He loved that thing. That would do the trick nicely."

"Whatever he did, he must have been a real asshole," I said, wondering if it was okay to laugh.

"That's an understatement, but we can do more back story later. Any sign of pursuit?"

"Nothing."

"Good." She took in a deep breath. "Only a few more minutes and we'll be there. Shall we pull over and see what goodies he's left for us?"

To Kestrel's delight, the bomber jacket was there. She insisted that I wear it.

"But I feel weird with it on," I said, resettling it over the curve of my folded wings.

"It looks good on you," she said.

"Don't you care that it was ... his?"

Kestrel waved a hand. "Gavin might have loved it, that doesn't mean he looked good in it. Mom only let him wear it on his hunting trips, when she didn't have to see it."

"What about this one?" Miguel asked, pulling out a brand-new coat. It still had the price tag attached. I whistled when I saw the amount.

"That's definitely for you," Kestrel said, laughing. "But he was so looking forward to wearing that as soon as it got cold enough."

"Speaking of, I'm starting to sweat in here," I said.

Kestrel frowned at Miguel. "That looks too good on you."

"Thanks?" Miguel said, grinning.

She laughed. "I think the problem is it's too new. It's going to make you stand out."

Sighing, Miguel took the coat off. Kestrel then startled both of us by throwing it on the ground and kicking it a few times.

"There," she said, shaking off the worst of the dust. "No longer brand new."

"Story of my life," Miguel joked, and slid it back on.

With Kestrel's smaller wings hidden by her own jacket, we resumed our cautious reconnaissance mission into the little town.

When we turned the final corner and left the forest behind, we all inhaled sharply.

The little town was seething with vehicles and people.

And we had no choice but to head straight for it.