CHAPTER 5
SCREEE-OOOO-REEE, The sound woke Sarah up, it rattled her teeth and made the very air in her lungs vibrate. It was a piercing, jagged whistle that echoed through the maintenance closet like a siren. Sarah bolted upright, her hand instantly clawing for the plastic shard. Her heart was already at a full sprint, pounding against her ribs.
"Thomas!" she hissed, her voice barely a thread in the wake of the noise.
Beside her, the massive black wings shifted, a rustle of feathers that sounded like heavy silk sliding over stone. Thomas sat up, his eyes immediately tracking the source of the sound. High above, near the skylight at the very top of the warehouse, a common starling was perched on a steel beam. It looked like a prehistoric monster. Its feathers a shimmering, oily armor of green and purple, its beak a yellow spear long enough to impale them both.
"It's just a bird, Sarah," Thomas whispered, going back to sleeping.
"'Just a bird'?" Sarah let out a jagged, sleep-deprived laugh and slumped back against the wall, her face pale. She rubbed her eyes, looking like she hadn't closed them for a second. "Thomas, that thing sounds like a jet engine. I didn't sleep a wink. Every time a pipe groaned or a breeze hit the vent. I spent the last six hours watching if that starling was going to find a way through the grate."
She looked at him, her expression a mix of exhaustion and envy at how rested he looked. "How can you be so calm? We're sitting in an empty pantry, and you look like you just spent the night in a five-star hotel."
"I'm used to sleeping in loud places," he said simply, his wings giving a low, muscular stretch that stirred the dust around them.
Sarah stood up, her joints popping with a series of sharp, dry sounds. She looked like she'd been dragged through a coal mine. "We need to find cloth for our settlement lets get going".
"uhhhhhh", Thomas sighed as he got up.
They spent the next few hours scouring the "wasteland" of the maintenance closet. It was a valley of titanic debris. They passed a discarded screwdriver that lay like a fallen rusted pillar, and a roll of duct tape that looked like a massive, silver circular fortress.
There!" Sarah pointed.
Tangled beneath the legs of a giant metal chair was a scrap of vibrant blue microfiber, a glasses-wiping cloth. To Sarah, the fabric was as thick and soft as a blanket, perfect for insulation and lightweight enough for Thomas to carry.
"careful, we don't wanna attract attention".
"I'm just picking up a blanket, Sarah," he muttered, though he looked at the chair with a hint of confusion. He began to roll the fabric into a tight, manageable cylinder.
"That 'blanket' could cover a dozen of us," she reminded him. She then grabbed two long, thin splinters of wood—likely remnants of a shattered pallet—that were as tall as spears. "These are our tent poles. Grab that blue cloth and let's move toward the…".
She stopped mid-sentence.
They had moved toward the far edge of the Level 4 mezzanine, peering over a ledge that overlooked the main warehouse floor. Down below, tucked between the massive "canyon" of two shipping crates, something was glowing.
The warm, rhythmic amber of a campfire.
"Thomas," she whispered, pulling him back into the shadows. "Look."
Around the fire, they could see tiny, moving silhouettes. But it wasn't just a camp. It was a settlement. They had built walls out of up righted staples and corrugated cardboard. There were "tents" made of shredded surgical masks and a watchtower constructed from a stack of discarded Matchbox cars.
But the most chilling part was the perimeter. Standing guard were three men. They weren't wearing rags; they were wearing "armor" made from the shiny silver foil of snack bags, and they were holding spears tipped with the very same shimmering needle-shards they had found in the closet.
"Those are the people who took the food," Thomas whispered.
"We should go and see what going on".
"Are you crazy, what do you think they'll do when they see you"
"Not everything is sunshine and rainbows".
"Lets just go to the roof top "
Thomas looked at the rolled-up microfiber cloth, then at the distant ledge of the rooftop vent high above them. "I can't carry the fabric and you at the same time. Not safely. If I catch a crosswind, I'll drop one of you."
"Drop the cloth," Sarah said instantly.
I'm taking the cloth up first," Thomas countered, ignoring her. "It's our walls and our floor. If I leave it here, those guards might spot the blue color from below. Stay in the shadows of this chair leg. Don't move until I get back."
Sarah looked at the massive, rusted pillar of the chair leg and then at the distant camp. "Fine. But if you take more than two minutes, I'm building a fortress out of dust bunnies and declaring war".
Thomas smirked and launched himself up placed the fabric and came back.
"Man sometimes I'm really jealous of that guy", she thought to herself as he descended.
He didn't even look winded; he just reached out a hand, his expression as casual as if he were offering her a seat on a bus.
"your turn", he said.
Sarah looked at his outstretched hand, then at the dizzying, shadow-drenched rafters above. She gripped her wooden splinters, her "tent poles",until the rough grain bit into her palms. "I really, really hate this part, bird boy."
"I know. Hold your breath".
He didn't wait for a countdown. Thomas stepped in close and scooped her up, his arm locking around her waist. Sarah gasped as she was hoisted off the metal floor. She felt the incredible, dense heat radiating from his chest.
"Thomas! Too fast! You're going too fast!" she shrieked, though her voice was mostly swallowed by the rushing wind.
"I have to clear the mezzanine before the guards look up!" he shouted back, his chest vibrating against her ear.
Every time his wings beat, Sarah felt a sickening lurch in her stomach, like a lift cable snapping over and over again.
The air grew colder as they ascended, the smell of old grease replaced by a sharp, metallic draft. Sarah dared to peek out of one eye and immediately regretted it. One slip, one stray gust of wind, and she'd be a smudge on a shipping crate.
"I'm gonna puke," she groaned, her fingers digging into his bicep. "I'm actually gonna do it, Thomas.
"Don't you dare," he muttered, though he tilted his body, banking into a sharp left turn that made Sarah's stomach do a somersault.
A moment later, the vertical rush stopped. Thomas flared his wings, the feathers humming as they caught the air, and they glided the last few feet toward a narrow, soot-stained ledge near the chimney base. He touched down with a grace that felt like an insult to her trembling legs.
"We're here," Thomas said, tucking his wings back with a satisfied rustle.
"I hate you," Sarah wheezed, her eyes still squeezed shut as she waited for the world to stop spinning. "I hate the sky, I hate your wings, and I especially hate that you enjoyed that."
Thomas just looked out at the gold of the sunlight hitting the roof, a small, quiet smile playing on his lips. "You're welcome, Sarah."