Chrys

“Dad, why do I have to go?” I yell. William James Johnson, head of the CIA, also my dad (not biological, of course), glares at me. “Chrysanthemum, I told you already.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” I huff, my shoulder length black hair falling in my face. “ ‘for science’ I still think that's fucked up. And don't call me Chrysanthemum.” I stretch my black wings, glaring.

A knock sounds on my bedroom door. “Come in” dad says. Two military officers and Dr. Turow enter my room. 

“Chrysanthemum, you will be going to a small town called Rypel, California.” the doctor says. “You will be attending Monarch high school. We are going to give you $250 and we can replenish that as needed. Any questions?”

“Yeah, where am I going to live?” 

“I trust you can figure that out.”

I snort. 

The researcher hands me a camo duffel bag. I stuff in 4 changes of clothes, extra arrows, a phone, and an extra dagger. I survey my room, once a research lab, to see what else I could bring. Nothing. 

“Alright” Dad says. “Time to go.”

*★*

I fly beside the helicopter, just out of reach of the blades.  Dad signals for me follow as the vehicle descends. 

I hold back for a minute. The copter lands. I fold in my wings and fall, spreading them just in time to land safely. 

Dad, four military officers, and Dr. Turow exit the helicopter. “Rypel is about 6 miles from here. As a safety precaution, we cannot take you the rest of the way there. Go south, and when you reach Lake Kane, turn east. Pass the first town you come too. The second is your destination.  When you arrive, go to the police station and ask for Officer Abbot. She will help you.” Dr. Turow says.  

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An officer hands me my bag. I Nod, and run off, taking to the sky.  I find the forest and continue south. 

A town appears on the horizon. As I near it, my keen senses pick up on laughter and music. Strange smells waft up to me. 

I see parked trucks, which I can tell are the source of the smells. People are lined up outside the truck, though no one goes in.

There are a few games people play, but most just sit and talk.

“Shit” I say. I can NOT be seen. It’s a clear sky, no clouds to hide behind. I can’t fly up higher and risk losing my sense of direction. I also can’t risk keep going and drawing attention with movement.  

“OH MY GOD!!!!!” I hear from down below. “IT’S AN ANGEL!!!!!” everyone looks up. I can hear the rumors passing through the crowd. 

“Shit.” I say again. I analyze the wind conditions. Pulling out my bow and arrow, I shoot the man who noticed me square in the throat. He drops to the ground, dead. 

I glide gracefully to the ground, landing behind the dead man’s body. He looks young, probably in his early twenties, with sun tanned skin and a mop of brown hair the color of wet sand. 

He would have been handsome, aside from the arrow in his throat and  the pool of blood surrounding him. 

Everyone cowers, some pulling their young away from me. I take my dagger out and pass it idly from hand to hand. I flare my wings. “Tell absolutely no one you saw me.” I say, just loud enough for my voice to carry and deathly calm. “Or I swear, you WILL be next.” 

  A man shoves through the crowd. “What the hell are y-” I shoot im in the thigh with an arrow and take off, saying “homo alatus” over my shoulder. His scream follows me as I fly away.

Homo alatus what im called, meaning “winged man” in latin.

I arrive at Lake Kane and turn left. The first town is directly next to the lake, not even half a mile away. As i'm flying over the town a little girl tugs on her mom’s hand. “Mommy look at that girl! She’s flying!” luckily, the mom ignores her. 

I breathe a sigh of relief. I pass the town without being seen. 

A hawk flies up to me and I outstretch my arm for it to land on. I have a way with raptors. Don’t ask me how. 

The hawk is beautiful, with black-tipped wings and tail, otherwise brown with a tan belly and chest.

He flies away as I near the town. I land outside the police station and walk inside. The lobby is empty. 

A middle age, dark skinned police officer walks into the room, a round, sweet smelling treat with a hole in the middle in his hand. His jaw drops. 

My hand instinctively goes to my dagger. In a split second I analyze exits, entrances, and threats. 

The officer aims his gun at me. “Get on your knees and put your hands where I can see them.” he says.