Raven's Flight

Chapter 3: Part 1 - Lee

I dig into a heaping plate of mashed potatoes, trying to ignore the drama between Jonathon and Keagan who are seated across from me. The mess hall buzzes with noise, and our fourth cabin mate, Lenard, is clueless as to the strife between the two. It's not that they're constantly fighting—or ever fighting—but rather it's the constant tension between the two of them—the air of uncomfortableness that surrounds them in a thick, expanding cloud. Hence why digging into potatoes is more appealing than focusing on the two of them. The nice part is we all have different shifts, so usually when I'm settling into my room for the night, either Keagan or Jonathon are not around.

"Those mashed potatoes good or something?" Lenard asks.

I look up, the prongs of my fork scratching along my tray. "Huh?"

"You're hunched over so much that you were about to inhale them through your nose."

Jonathon and Keagan stare at me, and I correct my posture.

"Just hungry," I say.

"I've never been a fan of mashed potatoes." Lenard scoops a forkful of my potatoes onto his utensil and shoves them in his mouth. He chews, his face contorting and his eyes looking up to the corner. "They're garbage for lack of a more creative word."

I tear off a piece of my chicken breast. "No one asked you to try them."

"You just made them look so appealing. . ." he drawls with a roll of his eyes.

"Mmhmm." I chug back the rest of my water. My phone buzzes at its spot on the other side of my tray, and the screen lights up with a message.

Report to the Receiving Room within the next twenty minutes.

"What's that?" Lenard leans over my phone.

I shrug. "I guess I have a package."

"Yeah, but there is a timeline on it. A twenty minute one at that."

I stand, pocketing my phone and grabbing my tray. "Excuse me then."

After turning in my tray, I head up to the deck and cross it to get to one of the buildings at the other side of the outpost, the one that houses the mailing department. Inside, the air-conditioning is on full blast, a relief from the harsh sun and humidity. The white tiled floors are slick with water from the rain the outpost received this morning. I avoid the wet patches the best I can as I maneuver the floor to the elevator and ride it to the top floor.

The doors open to the tidiness and organization that is the mail room. Every piece of mail, every package, every container is arranged to perfection. The workers here perform their jobs with synchronization. Anything to keep mail from becoming lost.

A woman in a cargo vest and a tablet in hand walks my way. "Can I help you with something?"

I shove my hands in my pockets. "Uhh. . . yeah. My name is Lee Wilkins. I got a message telling me to come here."

She scrolls through her tablet. "Yes, Wilkins." Keeping her head ducked down to read the screen, she says, "This way." She directs me to a side room where employees of the mail department unload boxes from a pallet. "Marley." She waves her arm at a guy in the process of cutting open a cardboard box.

He sets the knife on top of the box and turns toward us. "Yeah?"

"This is Wilkins."

"Got it." Along the wall in front him are small cubbies, some filled—not stuffed—with envelopes. He reaches into one and pulls out a beige envelope and holds it out to me. "Here you go."

I take it, turning it over to see Ava Robinson's name printed in the corner. My stomach flips. I look up from it to the woman with the tablet. "Is there a reason I was under a time constraint to pick this up?"

"It came with the shipment of GI drones."

I don't wait any longer. I tear open the seal and remove the small rectangular piece of cardstock.

Lee,

I hope life on the outpost is treating you well. I finished testing the drones with my uncle. You asked if I would be showing the crew how to use them, well, I'm still not, but I thought you might be interested in being familiar with them. I've worked it out with your supervisor, and he's agreed to let you train with the drones. No pressure. It's just if you're interested.

I'm currently the contact if anything goes wrong or if there are any questions about them, so I'm more than happy to help you.

Ava

P.S. My uncle said hi.

P.P.S. And not to break the drones

The arm supporting my hand that holds the letter slackens and falls to my side. She went through all that trouble for me. For me, the jerk who didn't support her in her dreams. I've never had much interest in drones—not any more than the average person. Compared to Ava, any interest I had in them would never amount to anything. But maybe it's time to branch out. This would be a way to have contact with Ava. Contact that wouldn't be evasive. That wouldn't scare her off. I know she must still be mad at me. I know I would.

How do I act on this?

"I reckon you don't know what this is about?" I ask the woman.

"I'm just the messenger."

I flip the card over and printed on the back is a phone number. "Excuse me." I head back to the elevator and punch in the number into my phone and hold it to my ear. I wait with breath baited as the phone propels a pulsing sound into my ear as it tries to connect the call to the possessor of the number Ava gave me. Is it her or someone else? My supervisor?

"Hello?"

It's my supervisor.