The Lost Canaries

Chapter 6: One Table from Hell, Please

CHAPTER SIX – JAMES

ONE TABLE FROM HELL, PLEASE

"Because that idiot engineer whacked me with the tail end of the equipment he was carrying!" Mariah shouts.

"But did you really have to shove him to the hangar floor?" Woody counters.

"Yes, absolutely..."

As I tread down the Invidia ramp toward the hangar floor, half the aviation department gapes in shock at Mariah Alvarez standing at the foot of my aircraft. Her serpentine physique, complemented by hoop earrings and scarlet lipstick, stands at nearly six feet tall. "What are you guys all looking at?!" After eyeing the technicians, Mariah's amber eyes find mine, and when we embrace, I receive a face full of her frizzy almond hair. "Nice to see you again, James."

"Only been about two days..." Woody snickers. His smile could light up a town during a power outage with his glittering white teeth set against chocolate skin. "Sorry about her commotion, everyone! Drinks on the house tonight at the Midnight Moon!" he calls to the room with a charming wink.

As Bradley speaks with the aviation technicians, and Woody shakes hands with potential customers on the way out of the Camp Maverick hangar, my eyes find the floor. The questions I knew my friends would toss at me, but that I am not keen on answering, come as soon as we enter the elevator heading down to the second floor of the military compound.

"So how was the home visit?" Woody asks.

When I look at him, Woody's electric blue eyes fade to brown, his nappy hair curls, and his face melts into Luke Butcher's. I stare at my old high school friend for a moment, and my chest feels hollow. I check my Z-Pulse, but Luke never bothers to call back anymore. "Went pretty much as expected."

Mariah, noticing my discomfort, bites her tongue for once as she struts along the hall. "I'm sure everything will be fine." She analyzes the row of fighter jets to our left, and her eyes light up.

"I'm worried about something else a little more..." I lower my voice. "I've been assigned to a mission."

Woody and Mariah exchange a look. Then they burst into laughter. "What a coincidence. So have we. Terra-54th?" Mariah asks, electricity crackling in her eyes at the thought of the Sedona raid.

"Looks like we'll be headed into certain death together..." Woody jokes. "We'll be fine. Just a simple in and out... with the Red Doves' second-in-command." I offer an unconvincing smile and bow my head.

The elevator doors open on the second floor to a white-tiled, spotless hallway which houses the Miners' military offices organized by rank, lowest to highest: lieutenants; generals; department administrators for weapons development, soldiers, intelligence, and aircraft; and then Stripe General Maddox's personal quarters. Some generals and commanding officers were deployed from the Pentagon and other American military base camps to work at CANARY, but most were stationed overseas to contain the Red Dove wannabe rebels. The office we walk past now belongs to Ltg. Reginald Highrun, one of many officials goaded out of retirement with a sky-high salary.

American rebels in the First Revolutionary War united an army across the colonies against the far-off British monarchy. This time around, the Red Doves see themselves as the rebels raising an army within the monarchy itself. Even as CANARY's military grows alongside the Red Doves, the first battle has yet to occur. But when the ice on this Civil Cold War finally melts, we will all be facing down a Second Revolutionary War.

We walk through steel doors at the end of the hall. Our living quarters are a glass dome with rows of cots, each with a chest of drawers and privacy curtains, spread across the massive floor. A view of El Yunque Rainforest dominates the horizon outside the dome. Fans attached to the high ceiling churn the muggy air around. Some U.S. Army reserves staying at Headquarters part-time are playing a hacky sack game near my cot positioned between Woody's and Mariah's.