I stand, feet apart, facing the approaching fire. The heat almost burns my face. My wings spread hesitantly.
For old time's sake, I say, "Up and away."
Luckily, the trees are spaced just far enough apart that I can unfurl my wings completely. With Nick unconscious again and bleeding all over my windbreaker, I take a small running leap to get the momentum needed to lift the extra weight. With the first downward thrust, my toes skim the grass. With the second, I'm a good foot in the air. Instincts kick in, and I fly towards the fire. The heat radiating from the blaze is intense on my wings, but it creates and updraft that helps push me high up into the sky. I break free of the thick smoke in a couple of minutes.
When the immediate danger is gone, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Below me, fire trucks have barricaded the nearby streets, their flashing lights reflecting off pavement damp with morning dew. The moon has vanished from the sky, and smoke and clouds hide any stars there may be. On the horizon, I can make out the first glimmer of morning. My wings flap at a steady rhythm, but I can already feel the first signs of fatigue settling in.
I yawn and shift Nick's weight in my arms to let the blood flow back to my fingers. He moans. I roll my eyes. What a wimp. My fancy mutant sight spots a nice, comfy rock ledge on the outskirts of town, away from the fire and prying eyes. Safe. I shift my direction and begin a gradual descent.
Nick's eyes open sluggishly. He moans again and grabs his head with bloodied hands. "I think. . . sick." Thankfully, he is has enough sense to hurl away from me. He watches it fall, seemingly fascinated. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. Nick's puke is probably caused by the smoke, but it reminds me of the week I spent washing and rewashing sheets after three birdboys had dared each other to eat the green leftovers in the back of the fridge. The smell still makes me gag a little.
A jolt go through Nick's body. His eyes get wide, and he looks at me, at my wings, and then at the ground. He kicks his legs cautiously. He reaches beneath himself and waves his hands around, as if testing for strings. Finding none, his upper body goes rigid in my arms.
Oh, boy. "Nick, don't freak out." All of his movement has loosened my grip around him.
"Not freakin'. Jus' terrified." I dig my fingers into his shirt in an attempt to stop him from rolling right out of my arms. In the process of moving one of his arms, Nick elbows me in the face. I glare at him in annoyance.
"Sorry," he slurs.
"Yeah, you will be if I drop you." He suddenly starts heaving. At first I prepare for more puke, but he instead starts coughing. Lightly, at first, then he goes at it. His torso bends in half, and his entire body shakes with each wracking attempt to rid soot from his lungs. My fingers are pried loose from his shirt, and I scrabble to grab him.
"Nick!"
Too late. With a final heave, he slips from my grasp. I reach down, but my fingers barely brush his reaching fingers, and then he's plummeting through the air. I dive after him, tucking my wings in for more speed.
I catch up with Nick just before he hits the tree line. My arms hook under his and my wings shoot out from my back. They wrench with the sudden resistance. Ouch. I only manage to slow down to non-fatal speeds before Nick and I skid on the rock face. My feet hit the ground with a loud pop, and the relief flooding through my ankle almost distracts me from the all-too-familiar feeling of a grinding emergency landing. Almost.
The cloud of dust settles.
I squeeze my eyes shut to fight the pounding in my head. A groan escapes my lips, and I sit up slowly to avoid, well, moving. My windbreaker is ripped open in several places, revealing deep scrapes that ooze blood. The usual, then. I pick gravel out of my forearms while I experiment with moving my ankle. It's still swollen and stinging, but it rotates without a hitch. Yep, I should be good by tomorrow.
A moan catches my attention. Nick lies a couple feet away, face down. I scoot closer and roll him over to examine his injuries. Scrapes, bruises. He looks about the same as me, but it will take longer for him to heal. The knot on his head is surrounded by crusted blood, but it has stopped bleeding. He's unconscious.
I yawn. Some sleep would be nice, but I know the cost of sleeping unprotected. I crawl deeper into the shadows and pull out my knife to take the first watch. Make that the only watch; it's not like Nick is going to wake up and help. The rock is cool behind my back. It should help me get through the rest of this long night.
I make it an hour before my eyes drift shut.
"Hey. Wake up." A rough hand with bloody knuckles lands on my shoulder. I whip around, snatching the knife and rising to a crouch, ready to pounce. Nick's battered face twists into confusion. He holds his hands up defensively under my glare. Oh, right.
It takes effort to release my white-knuckle grip on the weapon in my hand. I'm trembling. My heart beats fast, even for a mutant. The salt from sweat stings my cuts. I lower my knife hesitantly.
Nick sits back on his heels. "You were screaming," he says slowly, in a hoarse voice. I nod, wiping away the dirt and soot that has stuck to the sweat on my face. Another nightmare. I don't even want to think about it. Or that I fell asleep on watch. Again.
Nick coughs like a life-long smoker. (Which, for all I know, he is.) My throat burns, but I figure it will only take a sip of water to remedy this lingering symptom of smoke inhalation. It would help my parched mouth, too.
The sun is only just starting to peak over the horizon. I scan the surrounding area again in the light. It's hardly more than a mile to the outskirts of town. Even in his current condition, Nick should have no trouble getting home, or at least some help.
Nick works his mouth, obviously trying and failing to find something to say. Frankly, I don't intend to hear any of it. "Town is thataway." I point through the forest. "If you start walking now, you can probably get there in time for breakfast at any fast food joint." He stares at me incredulously.
"Or, if you want to go back to the forest fire, just follow the smoke." I gesture to the lazily rising smog in the distance. Nick's gaze starts to make me uncomfortable.
"Alrighty, then. You can stay here. Either way, adieu." I mock salute him and spin on my heel to trek away from town.
"Wait." My process is impeded by a hand grabbing my arm. I instinctively yank my arm from his grasp and turn to face him.
"'Adieu' is French. It means 'goodbye.''" I stalk away from him. He takes a couple unsure steps towards me and swerves to the right before hitting a tree.
I pause, realizing my mistake. Of course he has a concussion. Mutants get over head injuries pretty easily, but humans can't even ride a bike without a helmet. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose.
A headache. It's all a headache.
I help Nick to his feet. "Where do you live?"
I just know I'll regret this later.
A/N: So, February was crazy because East Tennessee got, like, a foot of snow. (And up in the mountains, snow and ice are BAD.) We were out of school for two weeks. I wrote a lot. However, that time has passed, and finding time to update semi-regularly is going to be difficult. With that said, reviewers are INCREDIBLY appreciated! (Especially you, Majestic Wren!) They kind of remind me why I'm doing this. And tell me what I'm doing wrong. So, do it, why don't ya?