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  “Piper, things are different here. We don’t shoot until we consult Director Elder,” he says.

  My face reddens as Myra nods.

  “It’s a policy that must be upheld above all things. Are we clear?” she asks. I nod, trying to hide my distaste. She moves on, assigning tasks to other members of the team; research, interviewing, archiving, but not a single scout. If we’ve got a possible rebellion happening here and I can’t kill a Harpy who’d like nothing better than to tear me to bits, well, I don’t even want to think about what could happen.

  I spend the rest of the meeting in silence, taking in only half of what’s being said. Finally the meet is adjourned and Myra and her assistant leave. I look around the room, unsure of what my next move should be when Grier approaches me. She gives Sandy a dirty look, then gestures toward the door.

  “Come on now, Ace, we’ve got some VR training before duties tonight, and I don’t want to take all day kicking your ass.”

  I open my eyes standing in a vast field of ice and snow. The chill permeates my skin even through my gear, raising the tiniest of goose bumps. I exhale and my breath forms grey wisps in the air. I flex my fingers, allowing the motion to come naturally, letting my mind forget that the crisp air and gentle touch of snowflakes aren’t, strictly speaking, real.

  Grier stands across from me, eyes closed as she breathes slowly, deeply. Inhale, exhale. She stands for minutes, unmoving as I take in the thick green of the forest surrounding us. Finally she opens her eyes. The grin on her mouth is confident, prepared.

  “You ready?” she mouths. I nod, clenching my fists. No weapons in this fight, we’d agreed. She rushes toward me and I follow suit, keeping my focus on the speed of her run, the bend in her knees. We reach one another and she ducks immediately, sweeping her leg beneath me. At the last moment I jump in the air, flipping upside down with arms ready to grasp her, but she deftly dodges me, barely allowing me to land before throwing an onslaught of quick punches. I block and deke, but every jab I throw her way is avoided like water parting, smooth and fluid. A grin sprouts on her face as we parry.

  “You’re not going to hit me like that,” she says.

  She’s right. My tactics are useless against her defence, but her hits are easy to see, easily block-able.

  “I don’t see you doing any damage,” I retort, teeth clenched. I see her face tighten. “What, you angry?” I taunt. She pushes me away from her and starts combining her moves, punches and kicks with decided force but little accuracy. I laugh aloud as I block each punch, sidle from each kick. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration. She’s thinking too hard.

  I block a kick with my hip and catch her foot with mine, twisting and knocking her off balance. Her eyes widen as I heave my shoulder into her. She tries to melt away using the same mechanism as before, but her mind is scattered. Quickly I lace my arms under hers and about her neck, holding her tight in a classic, but effective submission pose. For a moment she struggles and tries to kick at me, but when I tighten my grip, she goes limp.

  Snow falls around us in a lazy, unhurried glide.

  “Out!” Grier calls, and the grey sky and pine trees flicker away. I let go of her as soon as my vision returns. She doesn’t look at me, but starts peeling off her gear angrily, cheeks flushed.

  “You’ll need to show me that defence stance. It’s effective,” I say.

  She throws her head up and glares. “Why do you mock me?” she spits.

  I look to Sandy, who’s running the mod, for help, but he just shrugs. Figures.

  “I’m not mocking you. It’s a really good technique. You just need to be able to let it go. You don’t fight with your brain, you use instinct and feel,” I continue.

  She laughs sardonically. “Please. I don’t need advice from you. Everyone here sings you praises like you’re some kind of prodigy. Ace Hunter Piper Madden. You don’t even have any loyalty to the Corporation that’s fed and clothed you for years. Why would I take advice from you, traitor?”

  The word hangs in the air and anger flushes within me, maybe even hatred. There are a hundred things I could say right now, but I don’t. I count backwards slowly from ten until Sandy awkwardly pipes up.

  “Grier, there’s a reason Piper has so many fans. She’s been training since she was just—”

  “Oh, fuck off, Sandy!” she yells. She rips off the last electrode from her temple and storms out of the room. I look at Sandy, eyebrows raised.

  “She hates me,” I say.

  Sandy’s face is hopeless as he shrugs. “No she doesn’t,” he replies. I almost want to laugh as his voice squeaks. Always a terrible liar. Now disconnected, I lope up to the mezzanine and take a seat in one of the cushy wheel-born chairs. I want to stay cheerful, but it’s hard.

  “No one really wants me here,” I say after a period of silence. Sandy tsks as he continues to type script into his computer.

  “Where’s the tough girl I always see in you? Don’t let Grier get you down—you know she’s just jealous,” he replies. I sigh and spin myself in a slow circle.

  “I’ve been here two days, Sandy, and I don’t even feel remotely part of the team. Even Tor with his sweet talk to get me here has been short with me,” I whine. Sandy stops typing and looks at me.

  “So quit,” he says, nearly a whisper. I furrow my brows at him.

  “I’m not a quitter,” I say. He turns back to his vid-screen.

  “Then stop feeling sorry for yourself and do the work you were born to do. I know you and the Corp have issues, but you being here isn’t about Rupert or Myra or David.” I inhale sharply at his name, but Sandy continues, “You’re here because you’re a good Hunter. You’re here to save people. Don’t forget that.” I swallow hard, realizing he’s right. I’m better than this.

  “You should start a business with this, you know,” I say, forcing a wry smile.

  “Don’t mention it,” he replies, then turns back to his computer, booting up the training program.

  “I’ve gone through the coding a few times, trying to improve on it, but I’m having trouble with the Harpy. It’s hard to envision something you’ve never seen before,” he admits. I pull my chair closer to him, peering at the screen. It still looks like gibberish.

  “You should come on a hunt sometime,” I suggest.

  “And get killed? No, thank you. I’m perfectly content in my nice, safe lab. I do need some more specifics, though. I thought it would be useful to run the program with an aroused Harpy and one in its natural environment.”

  “The chances a Hunter has ever seen a neutral Harpy are pretty slim, Sandy.”

  “You have to have some information about how Harpies live,” he complains.

  I shake my head. “Usually when we meet up with them, we’re more focused on killing them than finding out their behaviour patterns.”

  “Well, do some digging for me then, okay? I’ve got a performance review coming up and I’d really love to wow them with something new,” he says.

  I give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I have faith in you, Sandy. You’re going to do great. But, I need to ask a favor of you as well.”

  “I’m not giving you your weapons,” he warns.

  I scoff in mock offense. “Come on, I’m not so one-track minded. I want to know a little more about this Harpy group nearby. Can you tell me anything more about it?”

  “I’m not privy to that kind of info, Piper. I heard some of the senior Hunters talking about it, but as far as I can tell, it’s pretty hush-hush beyond what they told us at the meet,” he answers. Damn.

  I was hoping he’d have something good for me to go off of. “Can’t you like, hack into the system or something for me?” I ask, batting my eyelashes in a pretty please fashion. Sandy gives me another mammoth sigh.

  “Even if I could, I wouldn’t. I’m not about to let you go off and secretly work by yourself. It’s dangerous, okay?”

  I nod in response and throw up my hands in defeat. “Okay, I won’t do an
ything more than what’s asked of me,” I say.

  Sandy sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Alright, I’ve got a few hours of coding left in me before I pass out. Can you do me a favor and bring this up to Myra’s office?” he asks. He fumbles around the desk until he finds a thick manila envelope and hands it to me.

  “No problem. Thanks again, for everything,” I say before leaving him in the dark scribbling away at his programs.

  When I reach the office I’m surprised to find it completely empty. The sun’s just beginning to set, sending waves of violet and fuchsia light against the rich wooden furniture. I know I should sit down in one of the plushy chairs and wait for Myra to return, but I can’t help myself as I wander about the room, gazing at all of the pictures hung on the wall. With more time to observe, I see Myra, faded and youthful, her stern brow lifted into a gleeful smile, laughing along with other Hunters, some I recognize, like the legendary Gamma, my own dead idol, and others who are long gone.

  There are countless other photographs, framed and spotlighted on the wall, happy memories of earlier days. I’m drawn towards a smaller shot sitting on the corner of Myra’s desk. It’s her and a man, obviously a lover, embracing and looking into each others’ eyes like there’s nothing else in the world but the two of them. I feel my heart beat louder, crying for emotions that don’t exist, and resist the urge to flip the picture face side down. I’ve heard the rumors of Myra’s husband. How she was supposed to be president and he had aspirations to change how the Corp was run, make it better. He died soon after Rupert took over: radiation poisoning, or so they say. You never know when Rupert’s involved. Then I see it. A pile of papers with my name lining the top of the page.

  I scan my eyes over the paper, feeling my stomach sink as I realize it’s my file. No one is ever supposed to see their file; it’s confidential information. But no one’s around, and my willpower isn’t so great that I can stop myself. Listening for any indication that someone’s coming, I scour the papers, only getting past the first line.

  Subject seems to be recovering without any side effects. No signs of confusion or temporary brain zap. Subject seems to be traumatized from a personal accident that was omitted from the procedure.

  I stop myself, my mind reeling, my lungs beginning to hyperventilate. I back away from the desk, unable to comprehend what it was I just read. I feel like I should call Rupert in Central, or my mother, or go find Shelley underground, but instead I collapse into an armchair just as Myra saunters into the office.

  “Hello, Miss Madden,” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. I need to act calm. I force out a smile and flash the envelope Sandy had given me.

  “Atwood’s report,” I say quickly. She takes it from me and places it on her desk. I see her eyes flash from my file and back to me, but she says nothing.

  “I understand you had a training session with Miss Lan earlier. How did that go?” she asks. I lean forward and rub my hands together.

  “Well, I think. She had some interesting defense techniques,” I say. Myra nods and searches her desk drawers until she pulls out a small, worn book. She holds it out for me. I my hands I can feel its flimsy, worn pages, and can just make out the title, The Flow of War. I look up expectantly.

  “Teachings of the Temple. Grier is a very devoted student, and I think having a skilled fighter such as you will be good for her. She needs a challenge to help her improve, though I do realize she can be a bit difficult sometimes,” she says.

  That’s an understatement.

  I tuck the book under my arm, promising myself that I’ll give it a good read. There’s something about that water-like technique that has me intrigued.

  “Thank you. It’s getting late, I’d better start working,” I say. Myra nods and waves me away. As I walk through the halls my head spins, the papers on the desk continuing to haunt me. Subject. Procedure. What the hell’s going on?

  Chapter Eight

  I go for a walk to clear my head. The sun is performing its final yawn, leaving the sky a soft, dusky purple. The buildings on the outside are ravaged from war; broken down, pilfered, and infected by newly growing weeds and ivy wrapping itself around broken glass windows. I take a deep breath of the cool, fresh air and it feels like it’s the first real breath I’ve taken in years, not indoors or underground, even if muffled by a radiation mask.

  I stride slowly through the burnt-out city, taking time to observe the smallest details; the growing cracks in the faded concrete, the shambles of metal girders and crumbling steel hanging from the edges of buildings. It’s these details that make all the difference in the end. In battle; in life. It’s not the name or shape of someone that holds fast to our minds, it’s the breath, the embarrassed blush, the uncontrolled laughter at an inside joke. The smells, even the arguments about nothing, these are what we remember. The details are all that remains of David.

  I exhale as I brush my boots through the scattered ruins of what was once a house. Even with everything else going on, I still can’t chase these thoughts out of my head. I’ve run halfway across the country, and still the past follows me. My head shoots up at the peal of a high-pitched giggle. I look around and see nothing, but then I hear it again; the laughter of a child. I crouch low and follow the noise, trying to remain as silent as possible.

  Turning the corner of an old street, I’m stuck still momentarily at the sight of the little girl with pigtails. She nearly glows in the moonlight, a bright grin lining her face.

  “Hey, kid!” I shout, bursting into a jog toward her. She giggles again and hops off through the rubble. I spit in frustration and run in pursuit. There’s something strange about this girl, something not quite right. I need to know who she is and why she’s stalking me. I run until I no longer see or hear her, until all that’s left is the ghost of the wind weaving throughout the city.

  I take my bearings and note that I’m standing beneath what used to be an apartment building. It’s fairly small in stature and is mostly intact. Each segment features a tiny balcony that seems like it’s just for decoration. Really, sometimes I question the sanity of the people before the war. Then, I gasp as a light flicks on in a room on the upper level of the building. There’s no way someone could still be living out here. The radiation levels alone are enough to cause serious illness, if not death, and who would want to be out here anyway?

  Maybe it’s the girl. I know I should probably radio in to Grier or Myra, but I decide to keep matters to myself. If it’s the girl, I want to know what’s been going on, without any bureaucratic interference. I walk through the front door—which is really just an opening since the door’s been blasted away—and locate the top apartment on the fire escape map. Of course, the elevator is out-of-order, so begrudgingly I sprint up the stairs, huffing for air by the time I reach the top floor, face to face with the door that leads to the lit room.

  I open the door hesitantly, unsure of what I’m going to find inside. In my mind I’m picturing a variety of outcomes, from teenagers making out to a bloody axe-murderer licking his chops. It’s like that old game show. Behind door number one is a brand new car, but the other two doors swarm with man-eating locusts. At least in my game show, those are the outcomes. I hold my breath as I push the door open, and am surprised when instead of my worst nightmare, it’s Asher Owen inside, sitting placidly on a battered old couch, reading.

  His focuses on me as I enter, blue eyes narrowed in contemplation and his body hunched forward in a fight or flight stance. I throw my hands up in a gesture of peace.

  “Uh, sorry,” I mutter, standing awkwardly at the door. He looks me up and down, like he’s sizing me.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice smooth and lilting. He’s not dressed in the grungy, messy attire I’m used to, but instead dressed in a long-sleeved navy blue shirt and plain black trousers.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I reply, realizing that I’m dressed in hunting gear—black leather pants and a thick tank top lined with belt
loops and pockets for weapon storage. I must look like an idiot.

  “You’re not some kind of secret police, are you?” he asks skeptically. I resist the urge to laugh at the irony.

  “No, not at all. I just couldn’t sleep so I came for a walk,” I lie.

  He raises an eyebrow. “You came for a walk in a dead city with an anti-radiation mask strapped to your face?” he asks.

  My cheeks flush as I struggle to come up with an excuse. “Well, what are you doing here, anyway?” I retort finally.

  He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, placing his book onto the couch. Looking around the room, it seems like it was custom-furnished for relaxation. Besides the old couch, there are numerous bookshelves lined with hard-covers, as well as paintings hanging from the walls, their colors enhanced by the moonlight trickling through the windows. What is this place? Does anyone else even know about it?

  “This is where I like to come to be alone,” he answers.

  I wonder if he’s hinting something at me.

  “Sometimes you just need a few hours to yourself to contemplate everything, do you know what I mean?”

  I can’t help but nod, knowing it all too well. Alone time is very cherished time, a time when the only intrusions into my thoughts are the subtle noises of the world around me.

  “So, Piper Madden, right?” he asks.

  I nod my head and twist my lips in contemplation. “Wow, you actually remembered,” I muse with disdain. His lips curl into a wry grin.

  “I still prefer Red,” he adds. I nibble my bottom lip awkwardly, the realization dawning that he isn’t wearing a mask.

  “How are you breathing this air?” I ask abruptly. For a moment his eyes brighten and I feel a smart-ass comment coming on, but he keeps it in. Instead he inhales and exhales deeply.

  “I’d imagine that during your ‘night walk’ you saw the beginnings of new greenery growing about the city,” he says.

  I nod, eyeing him to continue.

  “If the rad levels were dangerously high, life wouldn’t be able to exist. But it does, so the rad levels can’t be nearly as high as the Elders claim it is. Try it. Take off your mask. What’s the worst that could happen?” he says.