Volare (Part 1) Read online

  Volare

  (Part One)

  Treyci Kay

  Volare (Part One)

  Copyright © 2015 Treyci Kay

  http://www.treycikay.com

  Follow me on Twitter: @treycikay

  For Deborah and Miguel.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I focus on her shoulders to predict what she’ll do next. My jaw still stings from the last punch thrown and she barely grazed me. In the back of my mind, I hold on to the fact that the Volare may come at any moment. This knowledge helps me to dodge my mother’s next punch. I want to make her proud.

  After a few years of training, I should have her style down to a science, but there is no pattern to the way she moves. I have to be ready for anything. Lucky for me, the empty field in front of our cottage is quiet and void of distractions. I can almost hear the grass break beneath my feet as she swings wide with a right hook. Just as I duck, her arm grazes past the top of my head and immediately after, a left fist connects with my chin. Grimacing, I take a step back, out of her range. Upper cut, I remember. Watch out for the upper cut.

  “You’re slow today Adam,” she says. My mother is beautiful, but I look nothing like her. Her eyes are blue and her skin is fair. My skin is brown, the same as my eyes and if it weren’t for the same dimple on both of our left cheeks, I would question whether or not I was her son. Despite the difference in appearances, her laugh is the same as mine. She chuckles, waiting to hear my excuse.

  “I know fairness is irrelevant in combat, but you’re more experienced than I am,” I say.

  Her smile does not break and I think about how what I said is not just an excuse; it’s a valid statement and fact. Pointing out that she is still slightly taller, faster and maybe stronger than me would be excuses, commenting on the fairness of the situation. Since today is my sixteenth birthday, she tells me these facts will change soon, but her having more experience will forever be a constant.

  Ignoring my remark, she takes a step back and drops into her fighting stance. “Ready yourself,” she says. She glances down to my boots, which have become untied.

  I kneel over to tie the laces. The long sleeves of my body suit tighten as I reach. I know that I must be growing because soon she’ll have to make me a new one. I take my time tying my shoe so I can catch my breath and ready my mind. I focus on the smooth, black material hugging my skin. I am ready.

  We spar for an hour before she allows us a break. “Your stamina is increasing. We need to jump into the next stage of your training now that the Council knows our whereabouts,” she says.

  It’s been about five years since we left Astra, the city I grew up in, and fled to the countryside. Our cottage sits in a small field, surrounded on all sides by woods. It would have been considered less than special a few hundred years ago, but no one lives outside of the floating cities now. I rarely go out past the tree line without my mother and when we do, it’s only to collect food and water from the nearby stream. Being stuck in seclusion, it’s hard to believe that there are few places like this left in the world.

  “Clean yourself up,” she says. “We’ll continue this tomorrow.” She walks toward the cottage, leaving me in the field in front of it.

  I stand there, thinking about what she said. My mother always told me that it was possible that the Council would find us and send the Volare to take us back, but with each day that passed, the threat seemed further and further away. Because of the tech surveillance my mother left in the Council’s headquarters, where she used to work, we were able to stay one step ahead of them. She’s so smart that I let myself believe they would never find us. If I actually listened to her, I would know that all the intelligence in the world would never stop the Council from getting what they want.

  Before I go inside, I walk over to the large barrel that sits next to the house. The barrel collects rainwater; we use it to cook and drink when it is too dark to make it to the stream. It is big enough to sustain us for weeks, but since it hasn’t rained in almost a month, the water level is low. I make sure my mother isn’t looking from a window before I reach into the round barrel, cupping my hands to get to the cool water inside.

  Even though I’m not completely alone, I get homesick. I took so much for granted living in Astra. Remembering everyday things from there, now seems like a dream. Wondering where our food or water was coming from was never an issue. Constant security and surveillance meant, not only an absence of violence, but also an absence of crime at large. The fact that the ten square mile city was floating three miles above the earth’s surface, meant that no threats from below could ever get to us.

  Before we escaped from Astra, I felt like I never knew my mother. She was there for me and always did all of the things that good mothers do, but since we’ve lived in the wilderness, I’ve discovered there were so many other parts of her that went unseen, parts that she kept hidden in a false cloak of mediocrity.

  She made our escape from the city seem effortless. One day we were eating breakfast and she told me we were going to go on a trip. The next thing I knew, we were in a pod, getting ready to fly away from the city. She gave me a serum that knocked me out cold because I have never flown well. Then we were on the surface, in a car, headed to the middle of nowhere. The questions I had were endless at first. Why were we leaving? Pods weren’t able to fly in open air; how did she get one to leave the city? As time passed I realized the answers only created more questions, so eventually I stopped asking.

  The important things came to light later. When I was eleven, I got really sick. It became clear after some time, that I wasn’t going to get better. My mother gave me something that she stole from her lab at the Council’s headquarters and it healed me. Stealing classified technology is an act of treason and punishable by death. So because she chose to save me, we had to leave our home.

  The first three months at the cottage were the hardest. All of the sounds from the wildlife prevented me from sleeping at night. The vegetation of the area caused me to have allergic reactions for what seemed like weeks. There is a certain beauty in it though; the way the trees contort and make room for one another; the leaves that seem to be alive, just to die when separated from the branch that holds them.

  I go inside and get myself ready for dinner. In the kitchen my mother is preparing fish that we caught from a nearby stream, earlier that morning. Saying the cottage is small would be an oversell. From the kitchen, you can see the rest of the common area, which consists of a tiny living room. A small dinning table sits next to a chair in front of a fireplace. In the back, are our two separate rooms, which are just slightly bigger than the beds inside of them.

  As she takes the fish out of the oven, I reach for some spices in a nearby cabinet, I know that she’ll be wanting to use them soon. She smiles and takes them from me.

  “After dinner we have to finish making the new program,” she says.

  I smile. Tech is something that I do well. It comes more naturally to me than combat, but that’s because she encouraged me to it from a young age. The program that we’ve been working on is a miniature replica of the system that allows the city to float. We’re trying to harness the natural magnetic currents in the atmosphere and use them to create energy; this can propel objects. When I was younger, she taught me about objects called compasses and how early explorers used the magnetic currents to help them navigate. She also taught me that if the earth’s magnetic field were to ever falter, all life on the planet would cease to exist. My mother likes to be dramatic at times, but she manages to do it in a way that makes people laugh.

  She readies the table for both of us and sits down. The table has three chairs; one for my mother, one for me and an empty one that she keeps in remembrance of my father. On occasion, I wonder why s
he refuses to move on. I never knew him, but as painful as it is to let go, I can only see how her life would become easier. Sometimes when she thinks I am sleep, in the middle of the night, I will walk out to the living room and catch her staring out of the window as if she is waiting for him to come home. This can only be torture for her, considering he passed away when I was an infant.

  I grab two forks and knives from a drawer, pick up the plates and take them all to the table. I set one plate in front of her with the knife and fork on either side, just the way that she would have done it for me. Then I make my place setting and sit across from her. She holds my hands and gives thanks for the food before we eat.

  When I first came to the cottage with her, none of the food seemed good; without the conveniences that we had back in the city, everything tasted bland. Today however, the salmon tastes good. My mother claims it has something to do with the fact that I got to play a part capturing it and serving it at the table for us. She says that when we do things for others, it makes us feel better ourselves. Whether or not that is true I am not sure, but today the salmon is delicious.

  My mother stops eating and clears her throat with some water. “I have been thinking and since the Council may send the Volare any day now, I want you to start doing more of the hunting and things independently.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  She sits up straighter. My mother is not used to me questioning her in this manner. “Because I believe that it would be wise,” she says.

  I know that this is not an answer. She is not being completely open about her intentions. “I’m sixteen now, you don’t need to sugar coat things anymore,” I say.

  Her eyes cut through me. “Because if the Volare come and you know the woods well without me, you have a better chance at escaping,” she says.

  “But I wouldn’t leave you,” I say.

  “You might not have a choice,” she says. I can tell by her tone that it would be wise not to say anymore, but I know that regardless of what she says or any promises she forces me to make, I would never leave her behind. Obediently, I simply nod and continue to eat.

  “I don’t want you to think for one second that I question whether or not I did the right thing,” she says. “I don’t question it. Any choice that I made for you is a choice that betters our family’s future.”

  I study her eyes knowing that she is telling the truth, but I wait for her to glance at the empty chair next to her. Instead, she picks up her fork and continues to eat.

  Back in the city my mother was a respected scientist. Her work was focused mostly on biotechnology. It’s because of her research that we were able to come up with an inner ear device that can translate any language into the user’s native tongue. She was so neurotic in her research that they were even able to translate it into the dialect most frequently spoken by the user. She has walked away from her life’s work and given up her reputation, just to save me.

  I look out a nearby window, the sun is beginning to set behind the trees. By estimating the distance between the tops of the trees and the sun, I know that I have two hours to program in the study. Tricks like this, along with lessons like self-defense, are things my mother teaches me that were once taught to her by my father. Technology and science were her natural disciplines, the same as I.

  Only two hours left to program after dinner means the seasons must be changing and winter is coming. Just as I think about this, I notice something moving near the tree line. It takes me a moment to think of what it looks like. I once saw a hologram of a feline- a cat is what they called it.

  Now I study this animal in the tree line and remember what I knew about it. Long ago people had these animals as pets. Some even considered them to be members of their family. I squint to scale the size of bushes compared to the feline and I quickly realize that this is not some type of pet. My mother starts to talk again, but I can’t hear her. My stomach sinks as I realize that the creature near the tree line is easily twice my size. Whatever words my mother is saying, fades into the background as white noise. I turn toward the plate in front of me and continue to force food into my mouth, remembering that there is no way a carnivore that large can sustain itself when meat is so hard to come by. The more I think about it, the more anxious I become.

  “Did you hear me? Adam, do you understand?” Some of the words finally register, but I know I missed the bulk of what was said.

  “Mom, look at the tree line,” I say.

  She stares and me for a moment and then she glances over. “What, there’s nothing there,” she says.

  I look out to see that she’s right, the cat is gone.

  “Adam, what did you see?” She says.

  I know if I tell her the truth, she would never believe me. I am unsure if I believe it myself. “I thought I saw something but it was just a squirrel, or something.”

  “Must have been a big squirrel for you to spot it at the tree line,” she says. “Adam, I was saying that even though things out here been peaceful, I need you to be aware that all things are temporary.”

  I try to give her my full attention, but I can’t help but to think about how a cat that large could easily rip human flesh clean off the bone.

  She continues. “It could be today, it could be fifteen weeks from now, but make no mistake. They are coming for us. I just hope that enough time passes and that we’ll be ready.”

  Instead of responding, I go over the chances of the feline getting to us. The cottage is secured. Stadium lights hidden on the field would flash if it got to close. Anything of significant size would trip the alarm and we have weapons hidden throughout the cottage to defend ourselves. The cat would have to catch us outside the house in order to have a chance.

  The thoughts bother me so much, I realize that my appetite is gone. “I am done with dinner, can I go get started on the project?” I say.

  She smiles. “Of course you can.”

  I get up and start to walk away, before she stops me.

  “Adam...” She says.

  I turn around to see she’s still at the table. “Happy Birthday,” she says.

  The next day I find myself looking out the window of my room, staring at the edge of the field and thinking about what I saw the day before. It’s a couple of hours before my combat training and I’m still debating if I should tell my mother.

  I consider more facts to help me make a decision. A large cat would be an apex predator and most of those went extinct when the war wiped out much of the life on the planet. As the thought passes it becomes obvious to me that I must find evidence of this creature or kill it myself if she’s going to take me serious. That is, of course, if this creature is even real. If the creature is real and I don’t kill it, it is likely that it will try to kill us if it becomes desperate for food.

  I check my belt and make sure I still have my knife. I reach under my bed and grab the rifle that we occasionally use to hunt. I grab an extra box of bullets and put it in my back pocket. Taking all of these with me will be helpful, as I can use the excuse that I was hunting, if I take too long. Besides, she says she wants me to start learning the woods better without her. This is basically her idea.

  Before I begin to talk myself out of it, I make sure my mother is busy in her room; then I leave the cottage and run across the field. I make my way past the first row of trees, into the forest. This is the first time I have ever gone hunting without my mother. I wonder if she’ll be mad that I didn’t tell her first.

  The air has a different feel to it in the forest. The field back at the cottage is quiet, but when you enter the forest everything becomes alive. The birds in the distance make more noise than seems necessary and the wind blows the trees, moving them as if they had a soul.

  I notice a small footprint in front of me and quickly recognize it to be a deer’s. I can tell by how long the print is and how deep it is in the mud that the animal was not fully grown and is probably not too far ahead. I move forward and follow the tracks, pulling my rifle out,
senses on high alert. A few years ago, I did not even know what a deer looked like, but now I know that catching one could mean dinner for at least a week or more.

  If my mother were here, she would tell me to get behind her and above all else, to move quietly. I think of this advice and dodge branches on the ground as I move forward. Between every few steps, I take a brief moment to listen to any changes in my surroundings.

  After a few moments, I hear the sound of a bush rustling in the distance. I know by the direction of the tracks that this is likely the deer. When hunting, if my mother and I lost any of our catches, we would wait out by the end of the stream. The stream is to my distant right, but the noise is coming from my far left. I decide to head to the left, thinking that if I’m quiet enough it will run into me if it doesn’t see me approaching first. If I can catch a deer on my own, my mother would be happy and this whole trip to the forest alone would have been justified. Still, I hope that I spot the cat and kill it for my own sanity and both of our safety.

  I walk a little faster as to not let whichever animal is making the sound escape from me. I come to a small clearing in the woods, barely big enough to fit our cottage. In the middle of the clearing, I see a young deer. I kneel lower to the ground so it won’t spot me. I ready my rifle and steady my elbow on my knee as I take aim. The deer turns its head toward me and for a moment we are both frozen in time. Even though I have the gun, I feel fear. I place my finger over the trigger and wonder if right now, somewhere in the woods, the cat is looking at me the same way I’m looking at the deer.

  Just as the thought enters my mind, I hear a loud sound from a nearby bush and in a blink of an eye, the large cat tackles the deer to the ground. Powerful jaws lock around the deer’s throat. I watch as blood fills the cat’s mouth and oozes out of the deer’s neck.