Avians: Asher’s Run
“They’re getting away! After them!”
Sirens shattered the stillness of Trailbeck Woods. I clutched my sister Kendall’s hand and ran. We were exhausted, but stopping wasn’t an option.
After what felt like an hour, the trees thinned. I dared to hope we’d lost them. Kendall slowed, then dropped to her knees, her dress smearing into the damp earth.
“Asher,” she panted, “I’m tired. I want to go home.” A tear cut a clean line down her cheek.
I knelt so our eyes met. “I know. Me too. But we have to keep going—anywhere but the Aurelia Institute.” I brushed a long curl behind her ear and stood, pulling her up.
“I don’t want scary scientists to cut off my wings like they did to you.” She threw her arms around my neck. I lifted her onto my shoulders and started walking.
“I’m not going to let that happen,” I said. “No one is going to hurt you. I may only be fifteen, but I can manage.”
“Asher, why do we have wings? Why did our parents give us up? Are there more like us? Who will teach me to fly? Are your wings going to grow back?”
“I don’t know why we have—well, for me, had—wings. People like us are called avians. Our parents thought we were unnatural. I don’t. We were born this way. When I was your age, they noticed two bulges on my back. The doctor said nothing was wrong. Later, they found feathers in my bed.” I swallowed. “They took us to the Aurelia Institute. We were kept there for years. When the surgeons cut off my wings, that’s where I drew the line. I wasn’t going to let them touch yours. So we escaped. If there were more of us, I figure we would’ve seen them there.” I kept moving through the trees.
Kendall watched the sky blaze toward sunset. “What are avians, really—?”
A twig snapped.
“Shh.” I tightened my grip on her legs, scanned for cover, and scaled a birch. Near the top, I set her on a thick branch and held her close. Through the leaves, we saw six men in dark uniforms sweep into the clearing—Skyward Containment Bureau trackers—bio-sonar nets slung at their hips, canisters of anti-lift foam clipped to their belts, wing-jammer coils humming faintly.
“I think they went this way,” one murmured, crouching. He rubbed soil between his fingers, then lifted a long blonde strand of hair. “They were here.”
The branch under us groaned, then cracked. Instinct took over. I grabbed the branch above with one hand and clung to Kendall with the other, hauling us up. One of the men jerked his head, a net-launcher rising.
“What was that?” he shouted. “Up there!”
Two men started climbing. I snapped off a dead limb and hurled it down. One slipped and crashed to the ground. The other reached us and clamped a hand around Kendall’s ankle.
“Ahh! Asher!” she cried. “He’s hurting me!”
He drew a knife and slashed at me. The blade kissed my forearm—once, twice. Heat bloomed; blood followed.
“Kendall, use your wings!” I gasped.
“I can’t. I don’t know how.” Panic widened her eyes.
“You’re okay,” I lied with a look I hoped she believed.
Her small wings fluttered—once, twice—on instinct. The man snarled, slung her over his shoulder, and clambered down. Tires crunched. A squad car skidded to a stop between the trees, horn blaring. The rear door swung open, and a mountain of a man stepped out—spiked white hair, dragon tattoos curling from neck to thigh, a heavy rifle resting like a toy in his hands.
“Bring me the girl,” he said, voice like gravel. The soldier set Kendall down but kept her arm in a vise.
“Where’s the boy?” the giant asked.
“In the tree. Won’t come down.”
“I’ll take care of that.”
He chambered a round. From the sky, a teenage boy dropped into the clearing, landing between the giant and the soldier. A sharp flick of his right wing sent a slicing gust—Blaze’s wing-shear—that knocked the rifle’s barrel off line.
“Well, if it isn’t Blaze Wright,” the big man sneered. “Long time no see.”
“And if it isn’t Commander Strauss Burns,” Blaze said, easy as a smirk. He placed himself in front of Kendall. “Let her go, or I use force.”
The soldier shoved Kendall into Blaze’s arms. “Take the girl.”
“That was surprisingly easy,” Blaze said, eyes never leaving him.
Up in the branches, I saw Strauss blink twice at his man and start to raise his weapon. Blaze had saved my sister. I had to return the favor.
I swung backward on the branch—once, twice—and on the third arc flipped, landing in a crouch. Blaze was checking Kendall for bruises. Strauss took aim.
I ran.
Time slowed. I hooked an arm around Kendall’s shoulders, pulled her behind me, and shoved Blaze aside, taking his place.
The shot cracked the air. Fire lanced my ribs. I pressed my palm to the wet warmth spreading beneath my shirt.
“No!” Kendall’s scream tore the clearing. Tears streamed down her face.
My knees buckled. The world tilted. Blaze caught me and lowered me gently to the leaves. Kendall lunged for me, but Blaze threw out a hand.
“Kendall, he’s okay—shock,” Blaze said. “We need a hospital.” He slid his arms under me, lifted, and his wings unfurled—seventeen feet of feathered power. A second wing-shear fanned out, staggering the closest trackers and scattering a thrown bio-sonar net.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Strauss snarled. “Did I say you could leave? We finish this here.”
“Whatever, man.” Blaze turned away.
“Drop the boy or I’ll shoot!” Strauss advanced, foam canister hissing in his grip.
Blaze wagged a finger, tsk-tsking. “Derek, take care of Strauss for me?”
Derek and four other winged teens drifted down like falling shadows. Strauss stopped short. “Derek,” Blaze said, “you know what to do.”
Strauss scowled. “This isn’t over. I’ll get you someday.”
The murmuration stepped between us and the guns. Blaze beat his wings once, twice, and we lifted—Kendall clinging to his back—rising above sirens, trees, and threats.
I dreamed the whole flight.
Morning light was a soft square on a hospital wall when I woke. Kendall sat on the bed’s edge with a bouquet of wildflowers. Blaze lounged in a chair, ankles crossed.
“Rise and shine, Goldilocks,” he said, grinning. “Nurse patched you up while your sister supervised.”
“Thanks,” I said, voice gravelly. “What happened to Strauss and his men?”
“Oh, the usual.” Blaze’s eyes danced. “My crew pushed them off a cliff.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
He laughed, scooting closer and resting an elbow lightly on my shoulder. “Kidding. They’re fine. Strauss and his guys are in the stony lonesome.”
He stood and looked out the window. “Until next time, Asher. We’ll meet again.” Then he was gone.
Kendall wrapped her arms around me. “I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t scare me like that again.”
“Okay,” I said, and meant it. But my thoughts were already back in the woods, tracking the shape of a man with dragon tattoos and a grudge, and the birch I’d climbed—my anchor-tree since first molt, the one that always steadied my breath.
—
End.