The Phoenix Project: Book I: Flight

by Katherine Macdonald

“Well, it is my room...”

  Nick gulps and turns to Mi, who is checking his pulse. “Are you OK with this?”

  Do not ask me how a blind guy and can look at you derisively, but Mi somehow manages it. “She is my sister, this is her room, and I can't see anything.”

  “Right, yes, forgot. Sorry.”

  I wink at Nick. “Don't worry, I'll get changed in the bathroom. Could do with a proper soak anyway.”

  “No, it's fine, you can get changed here–”

  “I'm good.”

  Approximately twenty pans of boiling water and half a bar of soap later, I emerge from the bathroom, scrubbed clean and fresh as a daisy. I attack my hair with a comb, dress in my old clothes, and feel, just for a second, like the goddess of hygiene.

  “You're in a good mood,” Mi remarks, as I prance into the room. He passes me the porridge I forgot to finish.

  “I am clean again!”

  “Nothing to do with the strapping young gentleman we've got stashed in your bed?”

  “How's Scarlet, Mi?”

  “Quite well, thank you.”

  I was hoping to get a rise out of him, but he doesn't even blush. I pout at him instead.

  “How do you know he's strapping?”

  “I've felt his arms.”

  “So have I,” I say coyly. “And yes, I'm very happy he's not dying.”

  “That must have been scary for you.”

  “Just a bit,” I whisper. “I had no idea what I was doing, and I wanted you so badly... but I'm home now, and now, at least, everything is fine. It may not last, but...”

  “Now is good,” Mi finishes.

  I nod. This is one of our things. It was awful after Gabe's death, especially for the two of us. It was so hard to be happy. Eventually, we came up with this little saying, whenever we had just a moment of goodness, of not hurting. Now is good. The past was awful, the future uncertain, but just for a few moments –when we were all sitting around the table together, or playing some silly game, or watching Abi and Ben draw– life could be worth living.

  I feel like I may have a few more of these moments coming, but I don't want to curse them by believing in them too fiercely.

  Mi takes my finished bowl from me and washes it up. I go back to Nick's room. He's sitting up in bed, looking quite bright. Someone –Abi, I assume– has found him a book to read.

  He smiles at me. “So... this is your bed, huh?”

  “That it is.”

  “I really thought there would be an easier way of getting into it...”

  I fight the rising blush and smirk.

  “When I go back,” he continues, “can I tell all my friends how you dragged me in here and threw me down on the bed?”

  “No, you may not,” I tell him. “And Mi helped.”

  “I might leave that part out.” He shivers, hugging the blankets closer to him.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Your place is a little on the chilly side for us mere mortals.”

  “Huh? Oh yeah, guess it is. We don't tend to feel the cold so much as others... uh, Mi? Nick's cold. How do I warm him up?”

  “Crawl into bed with him!” he shouts from the main room.

  “I–! You crawl into bed with him!”

  “I'm not sure I'm his preferred option.”

  “For the record,” says Nick, “he is not my preferred option.”

  “Why do you delight in torturing me?” I holler back to Mi.

  There is a distinct grin in his voice when he replies. “I've just never seen you so flustered, it's adorable.”

  “I'm not sure I like being adorable.”

  “I like you being adorable,” says Nick.

  “Oh, fine!” I drop down on the bed, squirm under the covers, and wrap my arms around him. “Better?”

  “So much better...”

  I smile, burying my face in his back. Nick runs his fingertips across my hands. We stay there for a few moments in complete and perfect silence. It feels like I could press my body into his a little more, and fold into him entirely.

  “If you only had five minutes left to live,” he asks quietly, “what would you do?”

  “Not thinking of shuffling off your mortal coil just yet, are you, Lilywhite?”

  “Not presently, no. I'm just curious.”

  “Grab Ben,” I tell him, “and try to make sure he wasn't scared. You?”

  “Kiss you, obviously.”

  At this, I blush furiously, and pull away from him.

  “I'm sorry,” Nick, flusters, “I didn't mean to–”

  “No, no, it's all right, I just wasn't expecting... that.”

  “I'll put a warning on my flirting, in future.”

  My lips burn. I am painfully, agonisingly aware of how much I want to kiss him. It seems ridiculous that we haven't yet. But I don't want to kiss him like this, when he's trapped here and a little bit helpless. I want to kiss him when he's fully him and I'm fully me.

  I want to know what it feels like.

  Right before we put our escape plan in motion, Gabe grabbed me. He placed a hand on my cheek. There was almost nowhere on my body that Gabe had not touched at some point in our lives together, but there was something different about this touch, this look.

  “In case we don't make it...” he said softly, and then he placed his lips on mine.

  I didn't know what to do. I'd never even seen a kiss before. Looking back, I'm surprised that he had any inclination.

  It was the most gentle of things, soft as a butterfly, but I stood there as if I'd been hit with a hammer. I was utterly confused.

  “I've always wanted to do that,” Gabe said.

  Then we had to move.

  It was the one and only kiss of my entire life. I'd never been curious enough to try it with anyone else, or been willing to risk getting that close to anyone else before. I wonder how many people Nick has kissed...

  “How many women have you kissed before?” I ask him.

  Nick, who has apparently grown used to my bouts of blunt questioning, barely blinks before replying. “A few,” he says, “Never had this much build-up up with the rest of them, though.”

  “I see,” I say tartly. “And... how many women have you been with?”

  “Two. One woman on a mission, one girlfriend of about six months. Her name was Allie. It didn't work out, but we're still on friendly terms. No need to be jealous.”

  “I wasn't... I'm not... I just like knowing–”

  “It's all right,” he says. “Can I then deduce that you...”

  “Am a little inexperienced in that department? Yes. Although...” This next part is difficult. “Gabe kissed me. Once. Right before we escaped. That's all.”

  I've never told anyone that. The other three were there. Ben was too little to remember, Mi was only just blinded and likely not paying any attention. Abi must remember. But someone seeing a thing is not the same as telling them.

  Mi knocks on the door.

  “While I’m hesitant to interrupt Ashe actually bonding with another human being for the first time ever,” he starts, “our food supplies have been running a little low in your absence...”

  Of course they have been. With him taking less shifts at Baz’s, me not bringing in any work from Abe, and no hunting, there’s precious little to put on the table. I hadn’t even thought of that while I was trapped in the city. Foolish, selfish Ashe.

  I leap straight up, grabbing my jacket and bow.

  “You’re going hunting?” Nick frowns.

  “No time like the present!"

  If I don’t go now, I won’t be back in time to collect Ben from school, and finding food is always a priority, especially as I daresay I won’t be getting any more jobs from Abe again. If he hasn’t seen the footage of me in the fire, he will soon. He’ll know where my allegiances lie.

  I buckle my quiver to my hip, zip up my jacket, and pull on my boots.

  Nick turns to Mi. “Is she always like this?"

  “Sudden
and changeable and dedicated to the well-being of her family? Yes.”

  “I’ll be at least three hours,” I say, tumbling out of the door. “Take care, bye!”

  Out in the corridor, I hear Nick turn to Mi. “So... are you climbing into my bed now, or...”

  “I'll get you a hot water bottle.”

  Chapter 45

  It feels good to be out in the wilderness again. The weather is colder now; a crisp air fills my lungs. It’s like drinking after being stranded in the desert. I’d wander in further, away from the noise of the city, but I’m conscious of keeping to my timescale. Instead, I stay closer to the gate, soaking up whatever autumnal rays of sun I can. I’m in the mood to be still, which suits my agenda, so I climb to the top of a rock, ready my bow, and wait for whatever game comes my way. I’m rewarded for my patience with a couple of fat birds and a rabbit. Enough food for a couple of days, with one to use for bartering.

  Mission accomplished, I head back to the market and sell the fattest bird. I get a decent price for it, so I purchase some grains. With the winter coming, we need to make sure our stores will last. I’ve seen many a person starve in winter for lack of preparation. I’m done in just enough time to pick Ben up from school. He’s delighted to see me, wrapping his arms around me in a tight squeeze.

  “I made Nick a card!” he announces, proudly holding out a flimsy drawing of a clumsy man covered in purple splotches. I really hope his teacher doesn’t realise we’re harbouring a pax fugitive in our home and has just taken this as the over-active imagination of a child.

  “It’s very... detailed!” I say. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

  Nick actually does a very good job of pretending to be delighted by this rather unflattering depiction, and even consents when Ben offers to teach him how to play chess as I pluck the bird for dinner.

  Abi comes back late afternoon, with some of Nick's things from the base. Mi takes over with dinner duties shortly afterwards and tells me to go and sit down with them. They are all piled on the bed, which is covered with brightly-coloured images and panels.

  “What are these?” I say, reaching down to grab one.

  Nick hastily stuffs a couple of them under the covers. “Uh, nothing!”

  “They're Nick's!” Ben declares, brandishing one in my face. “He draws comic books, look!”

  The style is very different to Abi's, more block colour and less fine lines, but they're very good. I just can't quite find the words to say so.

  “I thought he might appreciate something to do,” Abi explains. “Wouldn't want him to get bored.”

  “I wouldn't get bored,” says Nick, glancing at me. He starts coughing suddenly, and I learn forward to steady him. Abi steers Ben out of the room.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, “Do you need another transfusion–”

  “Mi hooked me up with his when you were out.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I'm sorry, I should have thought before I–”

  “It doesn't have to be your blood–”

  “I know, I just...” it kind of feels like it should be.

  “I know how much you hate needles.” His hand curls around mine, which is still fixed on his chest. “I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I don't mind being a bit uncomfortable, if it makes you a bit better.”

  It would be so easy now, to reach across and close the gap between us. I can almost see it unfolding, feel the steady droop of my eyelids and the pull of his face towards mine. I tingle in anticipation of the warmth–

  “Dinner!” says Ben proudly, appearing in the doorway with a tray. “Mi says you can eat in bed, but I'm not allowed to.”

  “That's because you are messy, and not sick.”

  “If I ever get sick, can I–”

  “Sure, but for now– table.”

  Ben sighs, and sets the tray down. There are two bowls. “Mi says that you're allowed to eat in here too.”

  “Fancy that.”

  “Why are you allowed to–”

  “Ben, your dinner will be getting cold.”

  “M'kay,” he says. He glares at me and shuffles off.

  I hand Nick a bowl and take another for myself.

  “Not quite how I imagined our first date...” Nick admits.

  “This is our first? We spent the night in a hotel together!”

  A bit of colour rises in Nick's cheeks. “Yeah... that we did. If my cover's not completely blown, I should take you to another, less scary hotel, one day.”

  “I think I'd like that.” I pause. “Is there any chance your cover isn't blown?”

  Nick shrugs. “Harris could find out for sure. They never properly processed us. I suppose they figured we probably wouldn't have proper ID chips anyway and when they decided what they were going to do with us... what would have been the point?”

  My fingers crunch against something underneath the bed sheets. Without even thinking, I pull them out. They're a couple of Nick's drawings, sketches of a girl robed in flame, with gold-green cat eyes. I stare at the image, at this striking, imposing, beautiful me.

  “They're not my best–” Nick tries to cover them, “I haven't quite got the–”

  “The cat eyes don't match the fire bird theme.”

  “The eyes,” Nick says resolutely, “are perfect.”

  “I'm... I'm not this pretty.”

  “You are to me.”

  It sounds stupid and foolish and not at all like me, but I almost feel like crying. I don't care about being beautiful. I've never cared how I looked. People did reckless things in pursuit of beauty, and the idea of it always seemed like much more trouble than it was worth.

  And yet... and yet I like Nick seeing me this way. I like him thinking I'm beautiful.

  Slowly, ever-so-carefully, I lean across and kiss his hot cheek. I am incredibly close to his lips, so near I almost brush them.

  “I'd kiss you properly,” I say, “but I'm not sure I'd be able to stop.”

  “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

  I smirk at him. “You can’t handle me right now, trust me. Just... eat. Rest. We’ve got time.”

  Chapter 46

  I wake in a bed that's not my own. It's moving. Not a bed, a gurney. I'm belted in and it's moving at speed down a concrete corridor. I want to scream, but I don't. There's no point in struggling. I learned that lesson young.

  The gurney slides into a surgical suite. Needles appear in my arms. A mask covers my face.

  The Director appears in the observation deck. He smiles at me. “It's for the good of the world, Eve,” he says. “Bear it. We are making you stronger. We are making you the best.”

  What does that even mean?

  The lights flicker. Thunder rumbles outside. The scientists pause in their experiments. For a moment, there is blackness.

  When the lights come up, Archer, Forrest and Moona are standing beside me, bearing the wounds that killed them.

  “We weren't strong enough,” they say in unison. “Are you, Ashe? Are you strong enough to free us?”

  ◆◆◆

  I am on the floor in my own room, breathing rapidly, half-asleep. The air is sucked from my lungs. I can't breathe.

  “Ashe!” Nick appears above me. What's he doing here? Why's he in my bed? “Are you OK?”

  I'm not there. I'm here. I'm not there anymore.

  My body doesn't seem to understand that, though.

  Nick's hand reaches down and strokes my hair. “You're dreaming,” he says gently. “You're safe now.”

  Slowly, my breathing shifts back to normal. “What... what am I doing here?”

  Nick's brow wrinkles in confusion. “You... you live here?”

  “I meant... what am I doing... in bed with you?”

  I assume I was in bed with him, before I fell out of it.

  Nick smiles. “You gave me another transfusion and you fell asleep. None of us had the heart to move you.”

  “Oh.”

  I stand up, checkin
g myself for any injuries. I've been known to scratch and cut myself during particularly violent nightmares. I appear to be fine in this instance, though.

  “I... I didn't hurt you, did I?” I ask Nick. “Sometimes I... lash out a bit.”

  “No, you just suddenly jerked yourself off the bed...” he pauses. “Does this happen often?”

  “Less often than it used to.”

  It used to be endless. Every night when I slept, I was back at the Institute, fighting to get out. Every night, I heard the bullet that ended the other half of my life. Every night my former comrades, friends, victims haunted me, offering their advice.

  Then it was every other night, every few days, once a week.

  I've never gone a month without them.

  “You could talk to Julia,” Nick suggests. “She's really good with things like that.”

  “I thought doctors just fixed bodies?”

  “Good doctors can fix minds. And Julia's the best.”

  “She's helped you.”

  “Well, my parents did die in a somewhat traumatic fashion when I was a kid. Not a thing easily brushed off.”

  I tried not to think too much, what that must have been like for him. To watch your parents die... I had nothing to truly compare it to, but it must have been awful. It would be perfectly right, perfectly normal, not to be either of those things after. But Nick is right, he is normal. Could Julia really help me achieve something of the same inner peace?

  I sit back down on the bed, turning to face him. He brings the blanket up to my shoulders.

  “What were your parents like?” I ask.

  “You really want to know?”

  “I really want to know.”

  “Well, I told you mum was a doctor. She cared just as much about her patients as Julia, but she was... a lot louder. A lot more blunt. Forceful. She didn't... what was it dad used to say? She didn't 'suffer fools gladly'.”

  “I like the sound of her.”

  “She had an immaculate desk but was otherwise incredibly messy, and a terrible singer. Dad used to tease her about it a lot.”

  “What was he like?”

  “Calmer. Quieter. He was a professor of Classics at the university. He spent a lot of time reading to me.”