The Birdman Project: Book One

by E. L. Giles

  And the nightmares are more real than ever. They’ve come back full force since they vanished that night I slept in Dolores’s arms on the red couch. They came back slowly at first, not all at once, slithering like snakes before assaulting and constricting their prey. I’m their prey. And the snakelike nightmares only wait for the moment I feel the weakest, the moment it will hurt the most. I’ve reached the point where I can’t handle them anymore, can’t handle the sight of Josh jumping off the cliff, the handsome boy dying before my helpless eyes, as everyone I’ve ever known does the same.

  But this morning, a thought comes to mind and brings with it a sense of relief…as well as an unbearable pain that crushes me under the weight of my desperation.

  Maybe Josh is waiting for me to leave before he’ll come back.

  I spend time thinking about this, convincing myself that this must be the reason, and now, I am sure of it. I can’t see any other explanation for his absence. It pains me to know I’ll have to leave this place I like so much. It hurts me, even more, knowing I won’t see the handsome boy anymore or hear his voice as I sink my eyes into his. I won’t see his feathered features I now see every night in my dreams. We knew each other for, what, two hours maybe three? But it strangely feels like I’ve always known him. I can’t explain why. It is the way it is. What I do know, though, is that it will leave a hole inside of me, like losing Anna did. But I do not belong here. I will at least make this up to them. I will leave. Josh will come back. And their lives will go back to normal. All I have to do is wait for an opportunity, and I will go.

  I wait all day, but Dolores doesn’t leave me alone for even one second, it’s almost as if she suspects my plan. When she goes to bed, I follow her. I know I could have done it after she fell asleep, but thinking about being alone in the forest…I don’t know. I think I’ll be better off leaving during the day than at night.

  A glimmer of hope wakes me from my troubled sleep with a noise from the living room. Dolores is still asleep, her breath steady while mine is racing. Is it Josh?

  I free myself from Dolores’s arms and wiggle my way out of the bed. My ankle feels much better. I can walk on it without too much pain now.

  I tiptoe past the door and step into the dining room. Part of the room is illuminated by a faint light coming from an oil lamp that enables me to navigate my way through the house without hurting myself or crashing into anything in my path.

  Step by step, I inspect my surroundings, searching for the origin of the noise. A cracking makes me jump, and as I turn toward the stairwell, where I suspect the noise came from, I see O’Hare standing there, a wide bag beside him. A deep sense of desperation and disappointment clutches me. I realize that it’s true; I will need to leave. All hope is gone.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asks anxiously. He looks like he didn’t expect to get caught.

  I shake my head and say dully, “I thought you were Josh.”

  O’Hare grumbles and continues down the stairs. It’s evident now that the trouble here is me. I guess he’s the only one aware enough to realize that too. Otherwise, he would have tried to comfort me, like Dolores always does. But even Dolores isn’t immune to her worries, and soon she will come to the same conclusion. I need to go.

  “Where are you going like that?” I ask, pointing at the bag he tries to sling over his shoulder onto his back.

  “Oh,” he says, “I’m just packing up some stuff.”

  “So, you’re leaving too?”

  “Too?” he asks, puzzled.

  Shit. I’m an idiot.

  I feign a frown, trying to look like I don’t get what he said, and he finally shrugs. I guess he doesn’t care much.

  “I got some things to do,” he says, striding past me, the bag bumping my waist.

  “Dolores knows?”

  “Not yet.” He gestures to me to soften my voice. “I’m leaving tomorrow. If you could not…”

  “I won’t,” I say. I’m not the only one who’s going to leave tomorrow then. Here’s the opening I’ve been waiting for.

  “Good.” He half smiles.

  For a second, there’s something that darkens his eyes, like grief or sorrow. I don’t know. But whatever it is, it also fills his voice. It’s been that way from the day he learned about the fate of his friends. I never really noticed it until now, too busy worrying about myself, I suppose. I don’t know what the things are that he must do, and even if I ask, he surely won’t answer me truthfully. I know he won’t. Maybe he doesn’t trust me, or he thinks I am the sole culprit for what happened to his friends. Maybe that’s the real reason behind his departure, and I won’t blame him for that, because that is why I’m leaving too.

  “I think you should go to bed,” he finally says as he heads to the couch, where he lies down, resting his head on the armrest.

  “You won’t sleep well like that,” I say, gesturing at the armrest.

  He nods and inches his way down on the couch to rest his head on the cushion.

  I turn and go back into the bedroom. The oil lamp still illuminates my way through the darkness, but I think it will run out of oil soon. Its light is weaker than a minute ago. I enter the bedroom, sink back into the sheets, and wait, eyes open. Wait until sleep finds me? Wait for one last glimpse of hope that I was wrong and Josh will come back so I can stay here? I love it here…when I am not plagued with all this guilt.

  Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. I hate you.

  +++

  I open my eyes to the sound of a squabble coming from the backyard. I distinctly hear both Dolores’s and O’Hare’s voices.

  “It’s sheer madness,” says Dolores.

  “You knew it had to come one day or another,” replies O’Hare.

  I don’t know the nature of their bickering. What I do know, though, is that it’s the best chance I have to leave undetected.

  Without thinking much, I get out of bed, put on my shoes, and head to the door. I know if I lose even a futile second to think, doubt will hold me back and hinder me from making amends to them. I grab a few pieces of dried meat from the table and run outside. I open the door to the front yard. They won’t see me leave through the underbrush here, where O’Hare came back with the two ducks but no Josh.

  It’s been a week. How have I been this quick to conclude that I was the reason he left, but this slow to get that I was also the reason he wasn’t coming back? Why does Dolores refuse to admit the one simple truth, that it’s because of me?

  I sprint to the brush, sink into it, and step onto the trail that will make my journey easier through the unfamiliar woods. I keep a steady pace to put as much distance between the house and me as I can. My ankle stings, but it’s bearable for now. I will rest it later.

  The thoughts I kept at bay since I left the house land in my head, making me realize that I truly won’t see them again—never again—and I will have to live with the guilt of having hurt people there and never being able to apologize to them…to Josh. I should have left a note or something. But it’s too late now, and I can’t go back. It bothers me, because I really liked them—well, Dolores, for the most part. I barely saw Alastair, and O’Hare had muttered in his sullenness since Josh had left. And Josh…Josh. For the short time we had, he made me feel like I’ve never felt before. I don’t know how, but I know I liked it. And it’s why I prefer not to think of him anymore. The memory of the handsome boy standing by the doorframe hurts too much, stabbing at my heart restlessly.

  I can’t tell how long I’ve been walking, but my back is soaked with sweat. The sun is particularly scorching today, and given its position, I would guess it’s about midday. All this exercise leaves me hungry, and I want to rest now.

  I glance through a gap across the brush and trees at what looks to be an opening farther up, only a few yards from where I stand. I divert from the path and sink further into the brush, scratching my skin on the stems and branches until I finally arrive at the opening. The field is covered with tall, wild grass and orange wildflowers, and i
n the middle is a high-rising tree. It’s so tall, and its branches are so wide that it casts a shadow that covers half the field. It reminds me of the tree in the park in Kamcala—the spot Anna and I used to enjoy before she died. Another stab in my heart.

  I have one real regret—no, in fact, I have thousands of regrets, but one seems stronger now—I forgot to bring water. The dried meat doesn’t taste as good in such heat and without water to help it go down. I put the remaining layers of meat inside my pocket. Later, I will light a fire, the way Dolores showed me. I will find a way to boil water. I will survive.

  At the other end of the field, a brown shape runs and jumps around playfully. I wonder what it is. It’s quite small, the size of a dog, all furry. It makes these strange cries as it keeps rolling over. I get a piece of meat out of my pocket and wave it in the air. A few seconds later, the furry brown thing rises on its back feet and starts sniffing the air. I think it’s a bear cub. I’m not sure though. I’ve never seen one before, other than at school on a video.

  “Hey, cutie! Come here,” I say.

  It starts moving toward me the moment it catches sight of the dried meat. Still playful, it comes to me, and when it gets about thirty feet away from where I stand, I hear a loud growl. Before I understand what’s going on, the bear cub has stopped, ears dropped and curved back, and a giant black-and-brown bear starts running straight toward me. How can such a massive thing run so fast?

  It stops by the cub, growls again and then rises on its back legs. The wrenching terror freezes me. But the big bear is not like the cub, which was playing and having fun. No, this bear stands there, ears pointed up, front legs swiping at an invisible opponent while grunting and showing its sharp fangs. I can’t believe how tall it his, surely seven feet. I stand no chance against it, that’s for sure. I step back, and that seems to trigger the bear to start moving right in my direction again. I don’t know what to do.

  Maybe if I speak to it, it will calm down, so I try. “Calm down. It’s all right. I’m your friend.”

  Bad idea! It pushes itself into a run toward me. I try to soothe it again, but it comes at me even faster. I turn and run. I’m not that far from the trail, but before I can even get there, I trip over something that lies at my feet and smack my head on what feels like a rock. The sharp ache over my right brow is instantaneous, and as dizziness takes over, blood pours into my right eye. The world around me wobbles, even behind the full darkness of my closed eyes. It only gets worse as the ground feels like it recedes under me.

  Or am I flying? Does the bear have me? I feel no claws tearing my skin, no teeth impaling me. In fact, the only thing I feel is the lack of resistance between my feet and the ground, my body, and my environment. It’s like I weigh nothing. It reminds me of when the convoy exploded, though this time there’s no explosion, no gunshots. Could it be that I’m dead? Is this what that feels like then? It’s quiet, comfy, but at the same time, my head still aches, and it’s that pain that lets me know I’m still alive.

  But what’s this feeling of weightlessness? I wipe the blood from my face and open my eyes. I see the treetops—but the treetops are beneath my feet? Straight ahead is a vast landscape that stretches out of sight. I grit my teeth but can’t restrain my scream. I feel a grip tighten around me, under my breasts. It cuts off my breath, and I’m absolutely sure I’m alive now. My scream vanishes to a faint hiss. I look down. What is wrapped around me? Arms. But whose?

  “JOSH!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The muscles of his arms are tight with his efforts. The veins in his arms are popping out, and I feel his heart pumping into them under my hands. Faint tremors run through him. I squeeze my eyes shut and grip him, digging my nails into his skin. He grunts at the pain but says nothing. I should release my hold a bit, but I can’t. What if he drops me? What if I slip out of his arms? The fall would surely break every bone in my body, bend every limb at impossible angles, and kill me in an instant. My throat is tight; I can’t swallow.

  But slowly, as gales of air whip my face, I start to enjoy this new sensation of freedom. It’s me and Josh and the void beneath us. No restraints, no rules. It makes me feel better in a way I can’t explain, and for a time, I forget about everything and simply let the moment surround me.

  The air is chillier up here, and the cold creeps into my burning skin. The flapping of wings fills my ears, and as I concentrate, I notice the breathing that mimics this rhythm. Up and down—up and down—breathe-in, wings up—breathe-out, wings down. It calms me even more to focus on that, and I’m no longer afraid of the height.

  I think I’d like to see the skies again. I try a quick peek straight ahead first, for a second; I should be able to sustain this. I open my eyes, and they are instantly dried by gusts of air. This brings involuntary tears. I blink rapidly and contemplate the world before us.

  I see the silhouette of a mountain far away, and the blue of the sky and the green of the ground. I can’t imagine how big the world is, how little I am—insignificant compared to such enormity. Where does it end? I don’t know. I can’t see any borders. Even from the top of the highest tower in Kamcala such a sight doesn’t exist. Wherever I look, there are only trees and fields and lakes. And far away, I think I see Kamcala, its fumes climbing sky-high, its silhouette threatening. I gasp, thinking that not so long ago I was there, in that black-and-gray filthy place I used to call home—but what home wants you dead?

  Suddenly, the treetops start to get closer, and the skyline disappears. Then the ground arrives at our feet with alarming speed, and seconds later, we land on the grassy ground. Josh absorbs most of the shock, at least it seems that way based on the grunt that escapes him, as I slump and roll over onto the leafy ground. It instantly brings a wave of pain to my wounded arm. I fear it has reopened again, but thankfully no. There’s no blood soiling my bare skin, and soon it’s only an annoying throb that matches the rhythm of my heart. I stay as I am for a moment, lying on my back and trying to catch my breath. Did I forget to breathe up there?

  I turn my head in every direction, but all I see is the thick foliage that covers the entire field. I then hear Josh cough, and my brain instantly clutches on the thought that it’s really him and I need to see him. My body moves of its own accord, and I stand up, but then the swaying world forces me to kneel again. As I gaze around for him, I notice Josh a few feet away, wings loosely stretched out, down on all fours. Wings…

  I may have seen them once—and Delores confirmed they were real—but the sight of them still brings astonishment that prickles every part of me with excitement. They are all I can see for a moment. But then my eyes drift across him, and I notice that Josh is having a hard time catching his breath. Violent tremors shake his arms, his legs, and his whole body as he continues coughing.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, concerned.

  He nods but stays in this position, his forehead resting on the ground to where I can only see half of his face beneath his stretched-out arms and feathers. I think I see tears wetting his cheeks. I don’t understand why though. I may have tears confused with sweat. It must be that, yes, because his back and his arms are all shining wet under this scorching sun.

  After a moment, he gets back to his feet and turns to me with narrowed eyes. He doesn’t say anything. He stands there, his chest pumping up and down as he breathes, closed fists and red eyes. He looks wild, and I wonder if I should run. I try to get to my feet again—which clearly puzzles him—but I still feel too weak to stand, and I plop back down to sit on the ground. His demeanor eases considerably, and his hands uncurl.

  We stare at each other for several moments before he moves toward me, looking concerned. In no time, he stands by me, leans over, and reaches a hand to my head. His fingers run along the throbbing spot on my forehead, where I hurt myself, and I release a hiss of pain. As much as adrenaline had dulled it, now it hits me full force.

  “Sorry,” he says before he turns around, watchful, and jogs to a bushy area a few yards
away where little white flowers grow. Where is he going? Is he abandoning me here?

  I lose sight of him for a moment. Then he hurries back to pick up a bag I never noticed he had until now. He jogs over to me, stems of white flowers clenched between his teeth and the bag in his hands.

  He drops the bag and starts rummaging through it, bringing a brown leather pouch out of it and pouring its contents over my head. Water! I stick out my tongue and try to get some drops into my dry mouth. It tastes metallic, like blood. And blood is what soils the cloth he uses to clean my wound. I gasp at the sight of it.

  “It’s not that bad,” he says. I notice he’s looking at me with gentle and caring eyes.

  I drop my head and look down at my feet. Why is he looking at me? Why that way? Wasn’t he upset?

  Josh puts a finger under my chin and gently lifts my head up, and says, “Don’t move.”

  He puts some of the white flower herbs he gathered into his mouth, chews them up, and spits them back into his hand. He then molds them into a paste and brings it to my head, pressing it against the wound until it sticks there. It smells weird. I recoil at first. This is disgusting. But Josh insists that I remain quiet. I do. Surprising myself.

  “Yarrow,” he says. “It will help heal the wound.”

  “Yarrow?” I repeat, like it will remind me of something, but it doesn’t. I didn’t even know such a thing existed. “Never heard of it.” I turn my head up slightly to him. “Thanks, by the way.”

  He smiles, and my stomach knots. I frown. Why is he this kind to me now? I really don’t get him. Why is it all so complicated with him—or maybe it’s me who’s complicated?

  “You left,” I accuse him.

  “And I was coming back,” he replies dryly.