Flight - By Lindsay Leggett Page 0,2

they’ll do it, and they’re good at it.”

Sandy nods, absorbing every word.

“And I love these gloves,” I add, peeling them back from my chapped knuckles.

“You can take the Hunter out of the Corp, but you can’t take away the hunt,” Sandy replies.

“David would have loved them,” I say, almost a whisper.

David.

I don’t want to think about him right now, or ever, so I reach over the couch end for my bag and toss it over to Sandy. “Three hundred,” I say. He takes his keys and unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk, grabbing a few plastic bags filled with tiny green capsules.

“Your price is getting steeper,” he says dryly. I can only chuckle. In our world no one has just one job, even Corp employees. Behind the equipment and a secret wall, there’s a small laboratory where Sandy manufactures the valuable little tabs he’s placing in my bag. In the underground Ten is just as good as money, maybe even better. He tosses the bag back to me and I haul myself from the couch and head toward the door past the stale, unused kitchen and rotting bathroom.

“Till next time then?” I say before I reach the door.

“Three days and I’ll have something ready for you,” he calls. I weave my way from his apartment through the dilapidated low-rise building and out into the underground, patting my bag as I whirl out the door and into the streets with enough Ten to feed me for a week.

The streets of Ichton are usually bustling, but this early in the morning only the occasional straggler wanders them. The Holo-sky mirrors a morning sunrise, the deep violet of night blending with soft pinks and oranges. The cities used to be dark all the time, the ceiling that protects us from the radiation above the surface made of pipes and steel beams. But the citizens of the underground couldn’t handle it, too many taxpayers falling into the hole of depression, so they made us a sun. There are no plants or animals down here, just dirty cobblestone streets and tall buildings plastered with ads and graffiti.

Ichton is even worse. Anyone this far west of Central has a secret, be it a criminal record or membership in a gang or the Valhalla resistance. My secret? That’s a pretty long story, and my reason for living in Ichton is because this is the only place I can stay hidden from the Corp. Rupert Elder wouldn’t just let one of his ace Hunters out of the Corp. I know they’re looking for me, and I know they’ll eventually find me. My goal is to keep that eventuality as far away as possible.

I hop on a streetcar, gripping the metal bar as the train lurches forward. Ads are plastered above the seats: Elder Corp keeps you safe from the Harpy invasion. Only underground can you escape the threat of radiation; Elder Corp makes this possible. It goes on. Every facet of my life is filled with reminders that I’ll never be free. The train unloads at each stop, adds more, and every block I share with a new group of residents. Most are loudly painted with colorful hair, uneven cuts, tattoos on hands and faces, and piercings of every variety. The rest are low key: swathed in dark, neutral fabrics, faces hidden and eyes on the sticky floor. My stop is still a few blocks away. I dip my face into my bag and quickly swallow a Ten. I’m not usually a user, but today seems as good a day as any to just let it all go. Ten minutes and the outside world fades away. Ten minutes and my life is no longer filled with stress and repressed emotion. There’s nothing but the present, nothing but now, and I can’t deny how good it feels.

The streetcar reaches my stop and I stand by the back doors until they swing open. Seeing my chance, I rush across the street, avoiding the odd hover car speeding along. My head is foggy as I trudge toward my building, my mind filling with the tunes of old songs and the voices of ghosts I wish would stay dead. My past as a Hunter, that rare blood type that had me recruited as a child to serve as a soldier, and David, always David. People on the street stare at me as I hobble by, and I can’t help but wonder if they know who I am and what I’ve done.