The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter Nineteen

“I go to seek a Great Perhaps.” -François Rabelais

[ C H A P T E R   N I N E T E E N ]

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Raindrops assault my face the moment I emerge from the ground. Shivering, I pull my hood up and tug at the drawstrings so it stays in place. The eerie flashing of blue police lights makes me woozy. My head… Drumbeats rush my brain in staccato bursts. I must have stumbled because Tempest is suddenly gripping my shoulder, holding me steady.

“Are you sure you can do this?” she whispers, her voice overshadowed by the crescendo of rain.

I don’t answer because I don’t know.

Logan presses two pills into my palm. I examine them for a moment, my fingers shielding them from the downpour. They are large and blue, intimidating.

She flexes her broad wings, briefly brushing my back with her rusty red feathers. “It’ll help with the headache,” she assures me before withdrawing and leaping up into the darkening sky.

I brace myself and swallow the pills, grimacing as they tumble past my throat. The pain softens almost immediately.

“Come on, then,” Tempest says, throwing a nervous glance toward the police cars before flapping away.

I make my wings visible and encircle myself with their warmth, forming a temporary umbrella with the gray and black barred feathers. My sneakers sink into the soaked earth. For the shortest of seconds I want to stay like this. I could lie in the dampened grass, curled up in a ball like a lost child. I could let them come. I could let them kill me and end this hell.

It is then that I think of my mother. She has already suffered so much – first the loss of her husband, and now the loss of her only daughter. If I allow myself to die she will have absolutely no reason to live. This fact is the sole reason I haven’t given up yet. I must continue on, for her. Danielle Blake. My mom.

I beat my falcon wings and fall in next to Tempest, forming a shield of air in front of my face to keep the drops at bay. Strands of wet hair are plastered to my cheeks. Logan’s voice invades my brain:

This weather is a blessing. It will hide us.

But the rain, I protest, aching from the strain of telepathy. Head trauma. It does that.

Logan sighs inwardly. Fine. We’ll fly above it.

The three of us rocket upwards at a precarious angle, summoning wind to protect ourselves from the deluge. A single drop would feel like a bullet at this velocity. We pass through the angry clouds, shuddering collectively as the gray tendrils of condensation slide across our skins. It’s funny, flying through a cloud.

We resurface to a calm, unremarkable night sky. Staying low, we glide just over the downpour, not daring to rise too high for fear of being spotted and ambushed. Our paranoia is almost tangible.

Where are we going? Tempest inquires. She reaches down and snatches a handful of cloud, smiling like it’s cotton candy.

Logan mentally shrugs and flaps hard, ascending several feet for a few seconds before declining to our level again. We’re heading southwest right now, she says. You wanna go anywhere in particular? Any landmarks to check out?

Not really. This hardly seems like the time for sightseeing, Tempest mutters, though I can tell there are about a million places she wants to go.

Fair enough. What about you, Ash?

I don’t know what comes over me, but one word tumbles out as if someone is strumming my vocal cords: “Colorado.” I immediately cover my mouth with my hands. Where did that come from?