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Wind blows in my face as we ride through Ayana, my arms wrapped tightly around Archer’s waist. I am so pumped about the idea of a helicopter ride that I grin like a maniac, then press my cheek against Archer’s shoulder and sink into the feeling of being so close to him.
He emanates power without visibly doing so. His presence fills the room when he walks in. When we are outside like this—the warmth in my heart at being next to him fills my entire world. Maybe it’s for the better we only meet so often.
The airport, nestled in the jungle, is a small airstrip with three large hangars.
“Mr. Crone.” One of the airport security guards nods with a smile, slightly bowing, and leads us toward the helicopter.
“Why am I not surprised that you know how to fly a helicopter?” I say as Archer helps me inside, then goes around, and climbs in.
“Did I cease to surprise you, kitten? Shame.” He clicks his tongue, but he knows I’m just teasing him—my smile is a dead giveaway.
My heart pumps with excitement when Archer presses the button to turn on the engine, another to pump the fuel, and the deafening noise of the rotor blades spinning fills the cabin. He motions to fasten the seat belt and put on the intercom headset, then stretches his hand to flip the sound switch on my headset.
“Can you hear me, kitten?” He smiles and I grin back.
“Yeah.” I laugh. I think he likes when I laugh. His smile grows bigger when he pulls the controller and the heli lifts softly from the ground.
“Let’s fly, then.”
We’ve done many things together.
Now we are flying.
This man is a dream.
Zion from above is beautiful, like a Hawaiian island surrounded by endless azure water. It’s an emerald-green mountainous mass with featherlike clouds above it—under and around us.
There is the Ayana resort, with its blue dots of pools and white decks and roofs, the beach next to it sprinkled with specks of boats and yachts.
The heli goes higher and east, and soon, I see the Eastside beach, nestled among the rocks and cliffs.
“Eastside!” I shout and wave as if someone can see me, though you can barely see any huts or cabanas, too small and hidden by the jungle. As of the day before, it’s officially deserted.
South Zion is a long beach strip and a windy dirt road that we took weeks ago, but Archer guides the helicopter higher yet and north, and soon I see Port Mrei.
It’s bigger than I thought, dozens of streets, a port with a cluster of boats and watchtowers here and there. East of the town is a vast area that looks almost like a desert, sprinkled with colors.
“Is that the Ashlands?” I ask, pointing a finger down at Archer’s feet. The floor of the helicopter is see-through, and that makes the ride even wilder.
Archer doesn’t answer.
The Ashlands is a tent camp, or whatever material the Savages use to build shelters. LA’s homeless scene is nothing compared to this. Who knew that paradise can have slums?
I wish I could see the Ashlands closer. It’s sad, really. With all the money poured into this island, some people barely survive.
“Have you ever been to the Ashlands?” I ask.
“I had no reason to.” Archer doesn’t turn to me when he speaks.
“It’s your island. Shouldn’t you know how people live?”
“I have no interest in other people. We give them jobs. They can either work or live like rodents.”
Harsh.
“What about Port Mrei? When was the last time you were there?”
I hear a chuckle. Oh, that’s right. “Before you went to hunt down Kai Droga, that is,” I add.
