My Alien Beast (Draci Alien 3)

But there won’t be any peace if we don’t get to Shak and everyone else before the rebel Draci do.

So I stand up straighter, extend my wings to their full span, something I’ve gotten more and more comfortable with over the past few hours, and nod. “You’re right. I can do it. Just tell me how to get there.”

He does, and he’s right, it’s not a complicated path. The end bit sounds a tad intimidating, but just thinking of Juliet and the baby being attacked without forewarning is enough for me to stand tall and nod every time First asks me if I truly think I’m ready for this.

He comes out with a small satchel that holds a bottle of water and leftover rice in a Tupperware from lunch. I take a drink from the water bottle, then sling it over my shoulder.

First kisses me hard, then I back up and lift off.

“Don’t linger,” he says. “Just get the device and return immediately. You should be back in plenty of time before sunset.”

I nod, my wings stirring the desert dirt and gritty sand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.

Then, wanting to face my fear and get on with it, I wave one last time and then start off.

Using my new wings feels entirely bizarre…but also completely natural. It’s like flexing any other muscle. I don’t think about telling my leg muscles what to do when I want to run. It’s the same with flying. I know I want to go higher so I flap harder until I’m going higher.

Not that there isn’t a learning aspect to it. When I run on my feet it’s not like I can glide, a trick I’m learning to do as I fly. After practicing for just a few hours I’ve started to get a feel for the wind and how when I hit certain pockets just right, I can really let go and let the wind carry me.

I’d say it feels magical except I’m entirely too focused on where I’m going, terrified I’ll miss some marker First mentioned in his directions and screw everything up and get lost.

But his directions are surprisingly easy to follow. That, and out here in the desert with everything so flat and spread out, especially from up here with a bird’s eye view, it’s easier to see the landmarks he mentioned. It’s all flat with scrubby little plants and the occasional cacti. I fly straight across the desert. Endless sand and slight scrub brush. Occasionally I see desert rabbits running below me.

I’m covering a lot of ground quickly though, and it’s not long before I see the higher ridge up ahead that First described as my end destination.

I fly toward it when an updraft suddenly hits, sending me spinning crazily end over end. I feel lightheaded, suspended in air for a moment before I start tumbling back toward the ground.

Shit, shit!

I throw my wings out as far as they’ll go, but my left wing is caught in the updraft again. And again, I’m yanked forward and spun out.

I barely manage to pull my wing in again and streamline my trajectory to avoid banging into a big outcropping of boulders as I get closer to the ridge.

I only have a few split seconds to figure out what to do next. Trying to climb the height I’ll need to get to the top of the ridge would be easiest if I still have some momentum rather than setting down on the ground and starting from scratch. So I flap harder than ever now that I’ve finally hit calm air.

It takes every ounce of energy I’ve got, but I use the momentum I have and the breeze that’s now pushing from behind. Up, up, up I fly, my torso inches from the almost sheer face of the ridge.

It’s not a pretty landing when I get to the top.

I’m aiming to land on my feet, but skid to a stop and collapse to my knees instead. At least I have on the thick jeans from the cabin so it doesn’t scrape up my knees.

I sit there huffing for breath, adrenaline still pumping on max through my veins. It takes a few moments before I finally look around.

I don’t see anything, but First said I wouldn’t. I take one more deep breath and then get to my feet. Holding my hands out in front of me, I walk tentatively forwards. The whole ridge is made of what looks like sandstone or limestone—the rock is a light orange color, and as sparse of life as the desert below. A few scrub brush and short, stubby trees are all to be seen.

I take a few more tentative steps forward. First said the ship was thirty kronons away from the edge of the ridge. I furrow my brow and try to remember the translation. One kronon is how many feet again? A foot and a half, I think?