The Phoenix Creation, page 14
The sea around the base of the pylon seemed to swell rather than crash against the side. Hanuel might be buffeted against it, but not viciously, and she had to leave him while she got inside to fetch some rope. She would have to hoist him up to the platform with the rope tied around his upper torso, then she would radio for help. Radio? How did that work? Never mind that now, just get up there.
Alya flew up to the platform, landing next to the main door. She pushed the handle and was met with absolute resistance. Oh Gods, the door was locked! She looked at the keypad entry system and cursed. There was no way she would know the number. Why on Earth would it be locked? She put her shoulder to it and rammed, then winced with the impact.
Don’t panic Alya, there has to be another way in. She ran the perimeter of the pod punching at the glass viewing windows and checking for weakness. The tower had been built to withstand violent storms at sea, be they category ten hurricanes or worse, toxic swirls of a similar even deadlier nature that plagued the Earth.
Alya returned to the main door. If she couldn’t get in, she couldn’t get rope and she couldn’t save Hanuel. The wind was whipping up properly now and Alya’s perfectly, pinned back hair, had come loose. She prayed to the Gods that Ivo, or someone was on their way back to them, realising that they were two boot-campers down at the quarter-way pod. But if they weren’t, and this was one of those catastrophic hurricanes that made the news back home, then it was all down to her to save them.
New plan Alya. She ran and launched from the platform climbing then turning in a tight circle. A short, Death Wish, might help. Feet first through the glass viewing tower windows. She might cut her legs to ribbons, maybe she’d bleed out on the floor but damn it, not before she saved Hanuel!
Alya aimed feet first at the glass wrapping her wings around her body at the last second and barrelling towards the window. Her feet impacted the glass surface and her knees jerked up towards her chest, with nowhere else to go they winded her as she collapsed into a heap on the platform.
‘Uhhh,’ she groaned, aware she’d made a stupid mistake. Of course, the glass would be strong enough to withstand highly volatile weather, let alone a small teenage girl.
She gathered herself together and shook her wings out, walking gingerly back to the main door. It didn’t give at all. So that was it. No way in, and her best friend was floating alone in the sea below.
Alya sighed, exhausted, and then walked to the edge of the platform and tipped off, gliding her way back down to Hanuel. She gently set down in the water next to him and pulled him towards her, hugging him carefully to try to warm him. His head rested on her shoulder and he murmured weakly in her ear.
‘Go, Aly, save yourself. I-won’t-forgive-you-if-you-don’t.’
‘Shhh, Han, save your energy. They’re coming back for us.’
‘No, they’re not,’ said Hanuel, as the storm above them gathered in strength, and the rain pounded down upon them.
They bobbed back and forth the tower providing a bit of respite from the frothing waves. The wind wailed past the contours of the metal stem and Alya couldn’t decide if it sounded beautiful or ominous.
She couldn’t give up, she wasn’t ready to die, and neither was Hanuel!
‘No!’ she shouted, making Hanuel flinch next to her. ‘Damn it, Han, you are going to fly! Now come on!’
Alya didn’t wait for a response she was already in motion. She disengaged from Hanuel and made enough room for her own take-off then when she was free of the water she inverted and once again hooked her arms under Hanuel’s armpits. Straining from the effort she pulled him free of the water and he tried to flap his wings but was too weak to manage. What little he did give to the endeavour was enough to allow her to readjust her position so that she could wrap her arms around his upper torso. Finally, she had a better grip and she beat her wings like a giant hummingbird feeling as if her efforts were producing no reward but as she glanced below, they’d already cleared fifty feet.
To the Gods, they were going to make it! Hanuel groaned in pain and his chest contracted causing Alya to lose her grip momentarily.
‘Hanuel!’ she cried. He was slipping! ‘Hanuel! Help!’ Alya willed her friend through the power of thought to give her some help but Hanuel’s head lolled to the side and he was no longer able to help.
‘Hanuel!’ screamed Alya, as he slipped again. She was losing him and then she felt a downdraught flow across her and someone was there, helping her.
‘Hold him!’ the steady brusque voice next to her instructed, and before she knew what was happening a strong arm was pushing her to the side and had taken up the slack that was Hanuel’s body on the other side.
Alya held Hanuel by one arm and an armpit and the stranger on the other side had done the same.
‘Up!’ growled the person next to her and they ascended the remainder of the climb to the platform, coming to rest outside the main door.
The rain had suddenly intensified and Alya couldn’t identify her rescuer but she knew it wasn’t Ivo, or any of the others.
She crawled to support Hanuel’s head and then was shepherded to the side of the door with little ceremony by the stranger, who was extremely tall and broad shouldered.
‘Stay back,’ she was instructed again, and watched as the stranger produced a metal bar from out of nowhere which suddenly became a larger metal bar as it deployed into a lance, gleaming silver as the rain ran across it.
Alya couldn’t help but watch in astonishment as the stranger pitched and threw the lance through the glass door of the tower. With magnitude force, it shot clean through, shattering the glass into delicate fragments on the floor.
The stranger unlocked the door from the inside and then picked Hanuel up from the floor, effortlessly, before carrying him through and into the safe, warm, and dry, pod.
Alya followed and pushed her hair back from her face wiping the water from her eyes with her fingers.
Her apparition was indeed tall, at six-foot or more with blonde wavy hair that was currently stuck to his head. His skin gleamed like honey as the rain ran directly down it to the floor, hampered only by the silvery fish-skin shorts that grazed his hips and hung with tatty hems at mid-thigh.
Alya gasped as she associated the stranger to the V20 warrior, Micah, from the opening ceremony of the Olympics. The outfit was similar, but something told her this was not a performer. Alya was certain that the cloth on the blue-eyed man before her, was indeed made from real fish-skin, and there had been nothing imitation about the spear he’d just used either.
‘Who are you?’ she said slowly.
Her question was ignored as the man assessed his surroundings, he appeared to be looking for something and when his eyes saw the wooden tables he went towards them.
He flipped one onto his shoulder and carried it to the shattered door wedging it up against the newly ventilated space. Then he went for another and wedged that diagonally against the wall and floor to keep the first one in place before closing the inner door.
Alya watched him work, still in stunned surprise by their rescue, before turning her attention back to Hanuel.
‘Oh, my Gods, Hanuel!’ cried Alya. She’d almost forgotten, and she rushed to the sturdy bunk beds and dragged a mattress to the floor. Before she knew it the man had come to help, and he moved the mattress across the floor then kneeled beside Hanuel before gently lifting and depositing him onto it.
‘Hanuel,’ said Alya, crouching on the floor next to him. ‘Hanuel? Are you ok? Hanuel,’ she shook his shoulders and he opened his eyes and looked groggily at her then managed a smile.
‘You did it,’ he rasped, as he became aware of their new surroundings.
‘Er, well, I had help,’ said Alya shakily, as the adrenalin from their ordeal began to leave her body. She brushed Hanuel’s curled black hair back from his forehead and kissed him on the cheek, tears welled in her eyes and she fought hard to contain them. As Hanuel drifted out of consciousness, with a little smile upon his lips, she was suddenly aware that she was unarmed and effectively alone with a stranger, who as far as Alya was concerned was probably not a Continent One resident. So, who the hell was he?
‘What’s your name?’ she said quietly. It was clear the question was intended for him but she couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes just yet, and she wasn’t sure why, even though he was there, right there, opposite her on the other side of the mattress, looking down at Hanuel.
‘Zephyrus,’ said the man croakily.
He sounded like she did, hoarse from shouting, and seawater, and effort.
‘Zephyrus,’ repeated Alya, and this time she forced herself to look up at him.
He sat on his haunches, one hand on his recently retrieved spear. He looked at Alya with a bright blue gaze as if he’d never seen a soul before in his life.
Alya felt his presence encompass her, much like the air that she craved every day that lifted her wings and made her fly. It was the strangest feeling she’d ever had, and she fought to ground it, and identify it, and make it more tangible. He appeared to be staring at her and she didn’t know how to respond because she felt as curious about him as he was about her.
‘And you?’ he said eventually, his head cocked to one side.
‘Oh me? My name you mean?’ laughed Alya nervously. Had they just been staring at each other without saying anything, for hours, or just seconds?
‘Er, my name is, Hanuel. I mean, this is Hanuel, and I’m, Alya.’ She nodded acknowledging her sleeping, unconscious friend, on the mattress.
‘Are his ribs broken?’ said Zephyrus.
‘Yes,’ said Alya surprised. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because his lung, or lungs, are punctured,’ said Zephyrus, looking down at Hanuel’s shallow laboured breaths. ‘Do you hear the gurgle?’
Alya couldn’t hear anything, not that she was really listening anyway as she tried to process Zephyrus’s shocking revelation.
‘What?’ she declared. ‘What does that mean? How do we fix it?’
Zephyrus looked down at her with a small frown. ‘We don’t fix it. Are you a doctor?’
‘I’m sixteen. Of course I’m not a doctor!’ snapped Alya fearfully.
‘Well, I’m eighteen, and I too have no clue how to fix a punctured lung.’
‘Then how do you know it’s punctured?’
‘I’ve seen it before. Several times.’ Zephyrus stood up, he was nowhere near as concerned as Alya, in fact, he seemed to have resigned Hanuel to his fate which Alya sensed, and responded to, in her usual dismissive fashion.
‘Well, you haven’t seen it like this! Hanuel won’t die. He’s not like that. He’ll be fine.’
Zephyrus glanced over at her, bemused much to Alya’s annoyance. Why wasn’t he taking this seriously?
‘I didn’t say he would die. I said I’d seen it many times before. He’ll be fine if you can get him medical attention straight away.’
Alya huffed as if Zephyrus had missed the point entirely. Had he noticed the blackness encompassing them outside. Had he seen the flashes of lightning drawing closer?
‘And how will we do that?’ she snapped again, but she couldn’t help it. She was tired and almost tearful which wasn’t like her at all. Crying helped no one and it was a waste of time and energy, and the last time she had cried was when she was seven, before yet another operation, and she had vowed back then never to cry again.
‘We?’ said Zephyrus.
‘You have to help me,’ said Alya incredulously. He had better not start playing games. She already had a hit list, with Raiden at the top. If one more person got in her way of helping Hanuel then she wasn’t going to be held accountable for her actions.
‘You’re from Continent One, aren’t you?’ said Zephyrus curiously.
‘I’m what? Aren’t you?’ frowned Alya.
Zephyrus appeared to grin which subsided the moment he glanced back at her widening gaze.
‘No, I’m not,’ he said levelly. ‘I’m from The Island.’
‘What? What island?’ And before he could say any more Alya’s mind brought the diagrams she’d seen at the museum careering back, just like a photographic memory. ‘Oh,’ she said. She took a quick breath. ‘You’re from The Island?’
‘You know about it?’ said Zephyrus quickly. He seemed alarmed and his grip tightened on his spear.
‘Now hold on,’ said Alya, glancing at his whitening knuckles. ‘Who are you exactly, and what do you want?’
‘Who are you exactly?’ retorted Zephyrus. He had begun to step towards her and Alya felt a chill creep over her damp skin. ‘Are you Patrol?’
‘Gods no,’ said Alya. She had to stay calm. He was becoming agitated and worried. What was the matter? Who was he and why did he perceive her as a threat? She was half his size and unarmed. What was he scared of?
‘Zephyrus,’ said Alya calmly. ‘I’m clearly not Patrol. I’m a sixteen-year-old school girl, and Hanuel is also sixteen. We’re not here to cause a problem. We were training that’s all. We wanted to get fit so we joined a boot-camp, a club,’ corrected Alya, when she saw the frown across Zephyrus’s brow. ‘He’s hurt, and I’m incapable of doing anything to harm you,’ she nodded as if trying to get his agreement.
His grip on the lance loosened and he retracted it as Alya watched, fascinated, as the sections slid down automatically, creating a much smaller, compact metal bar.
‘Fair enough,’ said Zephyrus, nodding at her. ‘I wouldn’t say you were incapable though; you just pulled a man almost my size out of the sea.’
Alya looked at him and wanted to smile for the first time since meeting him, how on Earth did he think Hanuel was his size? Hanuel was a least half a foot shorter and slender by comparison to Zephyrus’s muscular form. Alya wanted to tell him to put a shirt on, but she couldn’t help but look at his chiselled physique and thought it might be a shame if he did, but still, he couldn’t possibly think it was ok to walk around like Neptune himself, risen from the sea, complete with trident.
‘We need to get help, Zephyrus,’ said Alya eventually. She’d been reluctant to say the words because Zephyrus was so nervy, and she needed his trust first and foremost, since he was currently her only ally as the storm outside gathered pace. The lights inside the pod had begun to flicker which she’d expected. On the rare occasion that a level five storm reached landfall, the lights were the first indication of its arrival. She noticed that Zephyrus seemed wholly unfazed by the impending storm as if it weren’t happening.
‘What do you suggest?’ said Zephyrus, pointing sarcastically to the darkness outside.
‘I know they can’t come now,’ slurred Alya, ‘but I don’t know how to use the radio to contact the mainland.’
‘The radio won’t work,’ said Zephyrus shortly. He was pacing which unnerved Alya. She wished she knew what his motivation was; why was he here, and what did he want?
‘But you know how to work one then? The radio?’
‘Sure,’ nodded Zephyrus, ‘and I will, as soon as the storm passes. How far are we from the mainland?’
‘One-hundred-miles. Don’t you know that? Aren’t you from Continent One?’
‘No, I just told you where I live. I’m from The Island. One-hundred-miles? Is that all?’
‘That’s quite a long way,’ insisted Alya. He would know if he were in boot-camp. Not many people could make a one-hundred-mile trip out to sea.
‘It’s not a long way, Alya,’ said Zephyrus, using her name properly for the first time in a manner like they were old friends. ‘In fact, it’s a lot closer than I was expecting.’
‘Well how far have you flown today?’ said Alya pertly.
‘Er,’ Zephyrus reached inside a leather pouch attached to a leather belt around his waist and pulled out a pencil and paper wrapped in plastic.
Alya observed as he appeared to make calculations on his paper. He stopped and smiled to himself then locked eyes with Alya. ‘One-thousand and three-hundred-miles,’ he said confidently.
Alya made a little hfftt sound as if he’d miscalculated and Zephyrus frowned at her.
‘I’ve been flying for nearly two days,’ he said bluntly.
‘Oh, I, I’m sorry,’ said Alya, apologising for being so rude. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him but he seemed to think that flying that distance or that length of time was normal. ‘It’s just. It’s just it’s a really long way, Zephyrus, that’s all.’ Alya’s surprised expression turned into a smile. ‘It’s a really long way. Many of our best athletes couldn’t fly that far.’
Zephyrus appeared to be pleased with her analysis and he pulled up a chair opposite her, looking down at Hanuel and watching him breathe. ‘It is a long way,’ nodded Zephyrus, ‘but it had to be done.’
Alya sat quietly and studied his face. He seemed sad all of a sudden, this apparition that had saved her and Hanuel from certain death. Why would he be this far from home, if indeed what he said was true and his home was like the metal island diagrams she and Hanuel had seen at the museum. Obviously a secret metal island, at least in the eyes of C1 residents who had no clue it existed.
‘What’s going on, Zephyrus?’ said Alya gently. ‘Why are you here?’
Zephyrus looked up at her with a gentle gaze and nodded.
‘Call me, Zeph, it’s what my friends call me.’
10
Ocean Rescue
Alya awoke with a start. Unbelievably she’d managed to sleep through the storm that raged outside. The doorway that Zeph had patched up allowed the wind to whistle through the gaps and buffet the inner door somewhat, but Zeph had proactively cut chunks of spare mattress with a large serrated hunting knife stashed in a leather strap which crossed over from his shoulder to hip, and had managed to plug the gaps at the top and bottom which helped.
