Air Born | Generation Icarus #1

Hawk - Numero Uno Bad Guys

Joining the scatter of people, we hurried down the street, turning several corners and losing sight of the black cars. But I could feel them behind us, slowly closing in.

"I think we just walked into a net," I whispered.

Kestrel's face was pale and tight. "They can't trap this many people."

"What if they're the military? The government could arrest every single person just to find us!"

It was getting hard to hear each other over the noise. Kestrel squeezed my hand, and we followed Miguel to the end of the street.

Carefully, the three of us peered around the corner to see the back of a massive crowd. I climbed onto a nearby trash can to see over them, steadying myself on the edge of the storefront awning by my head.

In the centre of the noisy horde was a large group of people in those weird white robes, waving signs and placards in time with the drum someone was banging, chanting and enthusiastically praising God. Occasionally a sign would rotate as it was waved around, and I caught glimpses of more 'Welcome Angels!' and something about God's messengers I couldn't quite make out.

"It's the Angelists," I said to the others. Kestrel's jaw tightened and Miguel's eyes widened in hope, as I continued reporting what I could see.

It looked like the local sheriff and team had blockaded the Angelists from moving any further down the street. Flashing red and blue lights bounced off the windows of the buildings on either side, and cops were trying to disperse the people off the road and onto the sidewalks. But no one moved far — they were too busy aiming their smartphones at the scene to take much notice of the bewildered local police.

Then a deep truck horn blasted from the other end of the street. The far side of the mob finally parted to allow several big black vans through to the police cordon. A large group of people in black combat gear jumped out. They were armed, dangerous, and definitely not amused.

The local sheriff sagged in relief, and tried to hurry toward the man who was obviously in charge of the new arrivals, but the armed soldiers blocked the way.

As I described the scene, Kestrel cursed and Miguel fingered his cross, muttering a prayer.

"Seems extreme to call out the SWAT team," Kestrel said.

"I don't think they're the cops," I said slowly.

Then the Angelists' songs and drum stuttered to a halt as they began to yell angrily, pointing at the new arrivals. Specifically, at the vehicles.

I focused in on the company name and logo printed in silver on one of the vans.

Evolutionary Corporation.

The hundreds of shouting voices seemed to jump up several notches in volume, and my head pounded.

"That doesn't sound good," I muttered.

Kestrel and Miguel couldn't hear me. "What?"

The Angelists pushed forward until they occupied the no-man's land right in front of the police cordon. Most of them promptly sat down, held hands and started having a sing-along. As they sat, they revealed the tall figure of the Reverend, who remained standing and appeared to be haughtily lecturing the cops, gesturing angrily at the windows of the nearest store.

Through my rapidly-developing headache, I began to pick out words from the crowd in front of us. Something about bird kids and a bookstore.

Realising that was the store where the Angelists had just formed a human shield, I relayed the revelation to Miguel and Kestrel. They leaned further around the corner to see.

"Look!" Kestrel gasped as half the crowd did the same, hands and phones shooting into the air to point at the upper windows of the bookstore. A head jerked back into the depths of the dark room.

My wild gaze dropped to meet Kestrel and Miguel's. With our magnified sight, we'd easily seen the face of the person inside.

He had eyes with huge mutant irises.

"There are more of us," Kestrel said, dazed.

The brief glimpse of the 'angel' inside the bookstore had energised both sides, while the delighted and slightly-crazed crowd looked on with phones and cameras held high. The Evolutionaries began advancing on the sit-in. The Angelists jumped up and waved their signs and fists defiantly in the Evolutionaries' faces. The sheriff, who apparently had a death wish, dashed between them with a bullhorn and some regulation tape, which didn't seem enough but made both groups pause for a few more minutes.

Then, from one of the black vehicles, an athletic blond man in an expensive black suit appeared. He looked around disdainfully. The noise and heat didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.

When I described him to Kestrel, she frowned. "He sounds familiar."

I let her up on the trash can in my place, and she eyed him over the heads of the crowd. "Uh oh ... guys, that's the CEO of the Evolutionary Corporation. I recognize him from the TV interviews. I think that's the company that announced the reward for Tyler, although they tried to keep it quiet."

"So, presumably, he's the one who has been sending all these hunters after ... uh ... the angels?" Miguel said, having to raise his voice.

"That makes him Numero Uno Bad Guy," I said, eyeing him, and trying to somehow tune in like a laser on what the man was saying to his attending minions, while the sheriff tried to get control of the crowd. There was a lull in the babble just long enough for me to hear, "... Goldberg's ick-are-eye don't have any options and so ..."

"What's a Goldberg ick-are-eye?" I asked the other two.

Kestrel frowned, mouthing the word as she thought. "What would be the plural of Icarus? Icari? That can't be right ..."

"Goldberg sounds like a name," Miguel said.

"Goldberg's Icari." I screwed up my nose. "I guess it's better than 'angels'."

Miguel looked upset but Kestrel frowned. "Who's Goldberg then?"

"It doesn't matter right now," Miguel said. "The point is that there are at least two more people like us currently trapped inside that bookstore, and we don't have a plan."

My hand touched the tail pieces I had hidden in my jacket, gripped under my wings.

"I do," I said.