The Mission: Part 7

  Miles

  Miles nuzzled his cheek into Emi's wiry hair.

  “We need to talk.”

  Emi didn't say anything, but Miles felt her loosen her grip on his back, and it only made him want to squeeze tighter.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Emi's whisper faded as quickly as she spoke. It came from nowhere. This was supposed to be Miles's turn for his confession. His apology.

  Yet, she's sorry?

  Holding her close, his heart kicked harder. His breath came unsteady, shallow and fast, the sound of it echoing down the empty hallway.

  Huu. Huff. Huu.

  Why?

  What did she do?

  The air between them grew colder by the second as Emi shifted as though she was trying to shake him loose. He didn't let go.

  “Why?” Miles asked her.

  Sighing, she blew wind across his ear, “I just,” she paused, “don’t want you to be mad at me anymore.” Pressing against his chest, she pushed away, stepping back and out of his arms.

  The words buzzed in Miles's head, and his arms fell to his sides, dangling loose as if they were on puppet strings.

  “Mad?” He asked her.

  Emi shuffled backward until she hit the wall behind the door and dropped to the floor, covered in shadow. Thunk. Shffft. Out of sight, except for her feet stretched out, like a doll's.

  Hiding. Because she knew Miles would always come looking. Miles exhaled and approached her.

  Behind the door, Emi was curled up in the fetal position. The same way she usually did when she got upset because things didn’t go her way.

  “Hey,” He said to her. He held the door and let it sway back and forth, tapping it against his boot.

  Tap. Tap.

  Not budging, Emi stared at the floor, unblinking—a statue.

  Miles squatted low to her level, and she hadn't even glanced at him, even when he was right in front of her face. She was just… still.

  “What are you doing?”

  Emi released an exaggerated sigh and slapped her knees, “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just tired, so ignore me.”

  Figures. It was going to be a long night.

  Faking a yawn, Miles stretched toward the wall, plopping himself down on the floor beside her.

  “I’m not going to ignore you. Also, I’m not mad. Do I look mad?”

  She finally looked at him. Glaring. What was that face about?. Seriously. Did he look mad?

  “Why have you been avoiding me, then?...and you said we need to talk.” She dropped her head onto her knee and turned to face Miles. Arm covering half of her face, “I don't… You’re not there anymore. You're always at Pablo’s...”

  What. Pablo’s…

  “And when I look at you…” she paused, then gasped with her voice cracking, “you look away.”

  "Fuck. Hold up." Miles said. He held a hand in front of her to tell her to stop. Need to freaking think... but it was hard to ignore the sobbing and the shiny tear that dropped from her cheek.

  She held her mouth shut to stop the sobs. It wasn't working.

  Miles’s lip twitched, and he tapped his foot on the ground, slightly leaning, distancing himself from her. That never happened. He wasn’t at Pablo’s… he didn’t look away from her either, did he? Not on purpose.

  Emi rubbed her nose on her coat. Not fair. When she got this way, what could he say? She was crying because of him, as if he had hurt her even though he didn't do anything... not that she was saying he did anyway, and expected him to comfort her for it. So stupid.

  "I..." Emi started.

  "Let me think." Miles cut her off and removed his hood to rub his head, pressing his fingers into his scalp where he felt tension.

  But Emi didn't care to give Miles time to think and kept going.

  “I don’t even know… if you still feel the same way about me anymore. It’s like we never see each other, with the planning and whatever you're doing, it just feels like you're avoiding me...Did I do something wrong? Or mess up somewhere?” She sighed and rubbed her knees, “Shit. Don’t listen to me. I should just… go.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “You’re fine,” Miles said, pressing his thumb into the back of his neck, attempting to smile, though it was hard.

  This was not the talk he had prepared for. A big fucked up misunderstanding. It was hard to remember what he wanted anymore—what parts of their relationship he actually missed.

  Creak. With one foot, Emi nudged the door away from her, then kicked it closed. BLAM.

  She wiped her eyes, “It kept bumping into me. That was going to drive me crazy.” Ah. Yeah, that’s the part he’d miss.

  “Hey,” Miles said. Repeating his earlier greeting, he took the ribbon from his pocket.

  “You don’t want this? Just making sure.” He held the crumpled ribbon in front of her again.

  Her fingers grazed his palm as she picked it up, pulling it at both ends to see how long it was.

  “For your hair,” Miles added.

  Emi pressed it to her head as though she were trying to figure out what to do with it. Then her eyes widened with understanding.

  “Oh, favored. I’m sorry, Miles. Yeah, I like it. It’s dirty as fuck, but it’s cute.”

  Miles shifted to his knees, “It would look cuter on you,” and took the ribbon from her hand. Yep. That was all it took. She would still be cute, even red-faced and snot-nosed, as long as she smiled at Miles like that.

  Taking some of her hair, he tied the ribbon into a tight knot. Emi finished it with a bow that drooped low and didn't look great, to be honest. But it was still his gift to her.

  “Thank you, Miles,” Emi said. And as she did, the bow slid down her head to her shoulders.

  “Fuck. That didn’t work. I’ll try to find you something else.” He reached for the ribbon, but Emi got to it first.

  She slid the ribbon from her hair, “You don’t need to”, and untied the knot Miles made.

  “I’ll fix it,” she smiled again.

  Yeah, great gift. Couldn’t even stay on when Emi tied it, unless she dropped it to the floor on purpose. Freaking favored, maybe she would’ve wanted the clampy scissors instead.

  Miles knelt to get a closer look at it. The knot of the red ribbon stayed put, but the other parts bunched and folded over.

  Huh. He could have easily missed it–Something tiny that reflected the light by the wall.

  What was that?

  At the edge of the carpet’s trim, a bit of blue jutted out enough to draw attention to it. It wasn't just any blue. Plytech blue.

  Was it?

  Pocketing the ribbon, Miles gripped the smooth object to pull it up, but it wouldn’t leave the floor, not without lifting the carpet at least. Dust swept across the room, and the cord Miles held in his fingers stretched at both sides.

  Miles coughed and tried to clear the air by waving his arm. White flecks of carpet dust filled the air and coated the hall as though something had exploded. Damn. How much of the carpet had they walked on with this cord hidden underneath? Where did it start…? Where did it end?

  The biggest red flag was the blue pattern that looked like thin sheets of mesh glued together. Unmistakably Plytech.

  He should tell Pablo. He should tell Emi. Where had they seen both Plytech and steel in the same place? Nowhere… Why was this blue cord in a place with purely old-world technology?

  Someone had been here recently. Hooked up power using Plytech and left everything else untouched. For what…? A setup…

  Standing, Miles lifted the cord, dust fumes clouding the hallway, and followed it down the hall.

  The plytech cord bent around a corner of a small doorway. The hall narrowed to a stretch with a dead end, two rooms on the right, a bare wall on the left. One room was an open closet, while the other had a closed door. Zax must have missed it. Figures. The closet had some rusted paint, a mop, some pans, and a few other neat things if you could sort through the trash.

  The next room contained something remarkable, a buzzing sound coming from inside, making the door vibrate. Had to be the generator. Someone was keeping this building powered, but why was it locked in?

  In Supra depots, the Supremacy usually sets generators on automatic timers. This building was not a depot. It had equipment, steel, things that the Supremacy would have already stripped from the building, or at least wouldn’t have left it unguarded. If the cord was Plytech, someone must have placed the generator here recently, too.

  His arms were suddenly cold, skin prickling. What should he do…? Did Emi know what kind of place this was? What even was it? For a while, he was sure the airport served as a doctor’s office or similar when other places may not have been habitable. Didn't know anymore.

  Hand shaking, Miles checked the handle, turning it, but not budging. Locked.

  Thank fuck. He exhaled.

  Didn’t need to be the man of the hour anymore.

  Goddamnit.

  Miles pulled out his swiper tool and shoved it into the doorjamb.

  Here goes…

  Pressing the tool into the frame, Miles slid it down the gap to the latch. Tik. Tik. Fwish.

  That’s all it took. The door wobbled, swinging open as if it had been pushed from the other side. Miles dropped his swiper tool to the floor, where it landed with a dull thud, then he threw himself at the wall. Slowly, he detached his bow from his quiver. Thump. Thump.

  He peered around the frame, drawing an arrow. A low light from the window allowed him to see the shadows of objects spread across the room. Never fully appreciated how they left lights on until now, since the only light the place had came from windows elsewhere.

  The generator was louder and buzzing. If anyone were in there, would they be able to hear him over that noise? The shadows flickered in the light.

  Thump Thump. Thump Thump.

  God. He’s going to die, isn't he?

  Bow twisted at his elbow, arrow tucked in his armpit, he pulled his phone from his pocket. Might as well let Pablo and Emi know he found this place.

  If he doesn't come out of this alive, he could leave them with some dying words... maybe ones that sounded cool.

  What was that line from Radical Man again?

  VER. The generator kicks up to a tone, sounding like a rattling saw. Freaking favored. Alright. He’s going in. Miles reached into the room along the wall, swinging his arm up and down, hoping to catch–

  Flick.

  The switch. Suddenly, the light from the ceiling gives shape to the shadowy objects. The generator sat in the corner, cords running along the wall and into the ceiling. The rest of the space was messier than any of the ones he’d been in.

  A bookshelf with actual books, glass bowls and bottles, some domed with long necks. Pens, papers. A ton of shit. The room was so cluttered that the floor was barely visible. But there was nowhere that anyone could hide, unless they could somehow fit in a desk drawer.

  Crunch. Miles stepped over broken glass and plastic shards, and some rubble that seemed to pile from the ceiling that was falling apart.

  A table by the window held more of the scissor-clamp things, a clipboard, and a bright blue piece of plastic that sat on a pedestal just out of reach. He leaned over the table to grab it.

  Big fucking mistake.

  Outside the window, there was one person. She wore their coat, black hair past her shoulders. Everyone else was inside doing something for the mission, but Cass must have been told to wait. And she did.

  Miles had his arm stretched out, which she must have thought was him waving, because she waved at him. Damnit. And of course, she knew it was him. He took his mask off. This is why you never take your mask off on missions.

  Actually…

  Miles pointed to the ground, and it was hard to tell while she was so far below, but it looked like she nodded. Hopefully, she understood. Then she waved with both hands, hopping up and down. Cass… Can’t believe she came.

  Miles waved at her one more time and backed away from the window, clutching his chest. He hesitated before leaving the generator room. Lights off.

  *** Character-specific extras included in post author's note*

  [Extra] Miles in: Sleep Hazard

  So cozy… Miles’s bony arm had never been softer than it was right now. Even the table he was resting his head on was oddly comfortable. He could almost sleep, except his shirt kept riding up his back, letting a draft in that chilled his skin. And a couple idiots didn’t seem to care that he was trying to get some shut-eye.

  Freaking Pablo and Sansi.

  “Hee hee… stop. I think Miles is trying to sleep.”

  Yep. You bet he is.

  “He is, right Miles?”

  Freaking favored.

  Pablo was up too dang early lately. The sun was just starting to rise. Miles nuzzled his head into his arm until it blocked the light, then lifted a hand to show Pablo he was awake. Seemed he already knew. Who could sleep with them flirting so loud?

  “See?” Pablo got louder, voice coming from the fire pit, “The tyrant kick you out?”

  “Pablo!”

  Pablo’s laugh was annoying. If he really wanted to know, he would’ve come closer so Miles didn’t have to yell. Miles raised his hand again and let it fall back to the table, shifting his head for the second time.

  “Poor Miles,” Sansi said to Pablo, like Miles wasn’t even there.

  The table shook as someone took a seat, lifting Miles’s head from his arms.

  “Hey, Frey,” Sansi said, then giggled obnoxiously like Pablo was tickling her.

  The table shifted again. Miles didn’t need to look to know Frey was resting her arm and waving quietly. Respectfully. Thanks, Frey.

  “You’re not going to be able to sleep out here,” Frey said softly. “Have you tried putting another mat down in the tent so both you and Emi have a place to sleep?”

  Another day, another reminder that Miles’s business was everyone’s business.

  “Tried it,” Miles muttered, rubbing his face into his arm and turning toward her. Frey’s brown hair was pulled into a big puff on top of her head. She was wearing that stiff purple Vocate dress they’d found at the last outpost.

  “She takes both mats,” he added. “I end up on the edge.”

  Frey frowned. It was nice that someone seemed to care.

  Looking at her sideways was giving him a headache, so Miles pushed himself upright, still hunched over the table.

  “It sucks. I have to wake her up to get her to move, and she just yells at me.”

  “You okay, Miles?” Sansi asked from the fire pit.

  Both she and Pablo were staring at him now. Hated how they looked at him like that. They sat on a log, Sansi in Pablo’s lap, his arms around her, chin resting on her shoulder. Pablo looked bored.

  “I’m alright,” Miles said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

  Pablo smiled with that dumb, smug grin and pressed his cheek into Sansi’s like he was about to kiss her—still watching Miles the whole time. Like he wanted to say ‘Told you so’. Miles was probably going to hear it next time they were together. Whenever Sansi wasn’t there.

  “You sure, hun?” Sansi asked again.

  Miles shook his head. He was done with these two.

  “You can use my tent if you want,” Frey said, patting the table to get his attention. “It’d be better than sleeping out here.”

  It was obvious he wasn’t getting any rest. Pablo was his best friend and he was being a total dick. If Pablo and Sansi were really worried, they’d take their disgusting affection somewhere else. Miles and Emi didn’t kiss in front of people. This was why.

  “Nah,” Miles said, rubbing the ache out of his scalp. “I don’t sleep well in other people’s beds. But thanks.”

  When the pain eased, he stood and scraped the chair across the dirt behind him.

  “I’m going to try to get back to bed.”

  The fire flickered. It was empty at the pit with just Pablo and Sansi there taking a single space. Pablo squeezed Sansi like he was protecting her from Miles as he passed by.

  Too tired for this.

  “See you later,” Miles said, waving without looking back.

  “Good luck,” Frey called.

  “Good night, muffin,” Pablo added.

  Guess Miles would try again.

  Flup. Miles flicked a beetle from the tent wall and pressed the final button through the door, sealing it closed.

  Emi had shifted since he left. She wasn’t sprawled across both mats anymore. The thin blanket lay over his side like it was waiting for him. Underneath the blanket, she was a human-shaped mound, turned away from the door, legs curled in a way similar to how Sansi had just been sitting…

  Miles lifted the covers carefully to not disturb her and slid in. The blanket slipped from her face, exposing her bare neck, her hair bunched above her head.

  He rubbed his thumb with his forefinger, heart kicked unevenly.

  Then he scooted closer, chest pressing lightly to her back.

  Softly, he embraced her from behind, curving around her and folding his arm over hers in a loose cuddle.

  She was warmer than his arm, heating him in ways he didn’t want to think about right now. He pressed his chin into her neck, breathing her in, tasting salt on her skin.

  SMACK.

  A sharp jab hit his chest as Emi pushed his arm away. “Stop.”

  She scooted to the edge of her mat, leaving cold air between them.

  She loves him. She loves him. She loves him.

  Miles exhaled a sigh and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. It suddenly felt a lot closer than it probably was.

  She’d wanted him before. She’d want him again. That’s how it went.

  Light seeped into the tent, dirt spots blurring on the ceiling, and he closed his eyes.

  Thwap.

  “Shit.” Miles touched his face, heat rising where it stung.

  “Can’t you go one freaking night without hitting me?”

  Emi was already sitting up.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, unbuttoning the door. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Emi, wait—where are you going?” Miles sat up, the ache in his head coming back.

  “I’m going to let you sleep.”

  “I’m fine. Come back.” He patted her mat beside him even though she wasn’t looking.

  She stepped outside and closed the tent from the outside. “Get some sleep,” she said, ending with the last words like she always did.

  Miles threw himself back onto the mat. “Augghhh.” Shouldn’t have said anything. Damnit. If he hadn’t, would she still be here?

  How was he supposed to sleep while she was out there mad over something stupid?

  The thoughts circled in his head way too long. It was probably already time to get up and he’d wasted all this time thinking about Emi.

  “Emi!” someone shouted outside.

  “Put it back! Goddamnit!”

  Put what back?

  Miles bolted upright, blanket sliding to the ground.

  “That’s Trent’s. You can’t do that!”

  “He’s not using it.”

  No. Emi wasn’t—

  “Damnit! Miles! Are you in there?”

  “Yeah—hold on.”

  He fumbled with the buttons and stepped out to see Trina standing there, yellow hair matted, face red. Trina didn’t usually come to Miles for anything when she was upset. But if Emi was doing what he thought, she had every right.

  “I’m using this tent,” Emi said before Miles could even see what she was doing. But he already knew.

  Beside their tent, another canvas lay spread on the ground.

  “She can’t use Trent’s,” Trina said.

  “Yes, I can,” Emi snapped. “He’s not here. It’s going to waste.”

  Trina planted herself in the middle of it so Emi couldn’t stand it up.

  “Move,” Emi said.

  Miles ran his fingers through his hair, “You can sleep in our tent.”

  “Yes,” Trina added, “you can sleep in your own fucking tent.”

  Emi straightened, rubbing her face the way she did when she was upset. Then she came to Miles.

  “I want you to be able to sleep. I want to sleep too.” She gestured at their tent. “This isn’t working for us.”

  Miles swallowed. “But—”

  “I still want to spend most of my time there,” she said, twisting her lips, “I just think we should sleep separately. So you’re not feeling bad. And I’m not hitting you.” She paused, and looked away, cheeks growing pink, “It’ll be good for us. So we’re not mad at each other.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  Emi took his hands, her thumb pressing into his knuckles. “Please.”

  “Fuck, Miles. Don’t listen to her,” Trina hissed, “Goddamn pussy-whipped idiot.”

  Thunk.

  “Ow.” Emi said and they both watched the rock Trina threw at Emi roll away.

  “I’m done with you assholes.” Trina flipped them off and started down the hill.

  Well… Trina is definitely not getting the tent back now.

  “…Alright,” Miles said.

  “Thank you,” Emi replied. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, breath cooling his face. He lifted his hands to catch her face, to kiss her properly, but she’d already stepped away.

  She picked up a hammer from the ground beside Trent’s tent… which she was now wanting to be hers…

  Both of the tents sat side by side, but they still had walls. It was still distant.

  Emi pressed a nail into the dirt and hammered it deep into the ground, like she never wanted it to come back out.

  ***Note from author:

  The Mission: Impact will be published March 8th, 7PM EST.

  Thank you for reading!