Plan to Get a Plane

This is Jage's Poin of View

Technically, May isn’t winter in Duluth, Minnesota. But the temperature is still thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit, or four degrees Celsius, which means it’s still too cold for trees to grow normally. The temperature is expected to rise by about 10 degrees in June, but by then, the Sanguinara might have already surrounded us.

The thing is, June is two weeks away, but those creatures already surround Texas.

As I wipe my glasses on the porch while waiting for Orenji and Oliver to finish tying their shoelaces, I hear the trees discussing from a very distant place, whispering terrifyingly about the destruction of humanity.

The only place I’m certain is truly safe is Antarctica. We could get there by flying to Santiago, Chile, the southernmost part of the American continent. Winter starts in June there, which means we’re two weeks too early. But that’s the problem. I’m not sure if we can wait any longer. Moreover, the artificial island in Antarctica is no bigger than Hawaii, meaning it can only accommodate a limited number of people.

Orenji looked at me. 

"First, we need to think about what to do with the car if we leave it in the airport parking lot," he says. My friend has finished tying his shoelaces and is now standing beside me, his gaze scanning the dark and frozen area around us. By the way, he has dark orange eyes like an eagle, with the same sharp gaze. When his eyes briefly meet mine, there’s a small argument in them.

"Anyway, what time is it now, Jii?" I asked, and Orenji immediately lifted his wrist to check his watch. It’s a heavy and fairly expensive watch, a graduation gift from his parents. The edge is made of black gold with a bit of silver engraving.

"It's 2:20 a.m.," he replied. "A few more hours until sunrise."

"That’s good," I said. "The temperature should rise a bit in a few hours."

Suddenly, Oliver coughs, and we both turn to look at him. My 15-year-old brother hurriedly tightens the scarf around his neck and head, then stands up. Thin steam was rising from his lips.

"Do you think we should leave now?" Oliver asked me. His eyes looked worried. "Not wait two more hours when it’s a little... warmer?" His forehead furrows as he says "a little."

"I think by then the streets will be congested, and there won’t be any good seats left on the plane," I said. "Sorry. Here, take my scarf." I hand my scarf to Oliver, who accepts it with a grumble. "You know, cold temperatures always work in our favor. Lucky Orenji woke us up early, right?"

I glance at Orenji briefly, and—whether it’s just my feeling—he seems to be avoiding my gaze. Even if only for a second, because shortly after, his eagle eyes lock onto mine seriously as Oliver wraps my scarf over his, making his head look like a football covered in fur—since my scarf is white with a black pentagon pattern.

"Okay, guys, before we leave, is there anything you want to say?" I asked, my gaze specifically directed at Orenji. I remember he was upset with me this morning because I 'didn’t listen' to his opinion, which I thought wasn’t true.

Orenji sighs deeply and frustratedly. "Listen, Jage, pretending to be a mega-tutor won’t be easy," he says. "They will ask you to show identification, gold coins, passports, or—"

"Shh, I know what to do," I said, smiling reassuringly. "I’ll say I’m a new mega-tutor and haven’t been officially inducted yet. Then, to prove it, I’ll do... this...."

I twirl my fingers as if forming a flower bud, and then, like magic, a sword with a black gleaming blade appears in my hand. My fingers slide briefly along the long blade before reaching the handle, which is made of some kind of comfortable leather that I lazily grip.

"And I’ll also make swords appear in your hands. Now, who would doubt me as a mega-tutor?" I asked.

Oliver is amazed by what I’ve just done. Meanwhile, Orenji isn’t easily impressed when he’s anxious. His mind seems to be made up of millions of dangerous scenarios, but a quarter of those thoughts are even unrealistic.

"You can’t keep doing that, Jage," he says, grimly. "And only God knows where you got those swords and when the supply will run out."

I looked at him with a grin. 

"Oh, come on. They won’t run out because they come from imagination," I replied nonchalantly.

Honestly, I didn’t even think before making the sword appear in my hand. Each sword that appears is beyond my imagination and expectations.

I threw the sword into the air, caught its handle, and felt its weight, then handed it to Orenji. Despite his frustration, he takes the sword from me, and for a moment, our hands touch—my calloused palms from years of fencing and the back of his hands, also calloused from constantly punching a sand bag without hand protection.

He tests the sword for a moment, swinging the handle and then slashing horizontally in front.

"It’s a good sword," he murmurs gloomily.

I raise an eyebrow, and then a subtle frown appears on his forehead as he admits defeat.

He sighs. "Okay, fine. You’re clearly great because you have a superpower. But mega-tutors don’t just have superpowers. They can also teach others to have superpowers. What if they realize you’re not a mega-tutor?" he asked. 

"That’s where convincing acting comes in. Don’t worry," I said.

Because in life and death matters, I don’t want worry to stop us from trying to save ourselves.

Anyway, Oliver, Orenji, and I have to survive. We are not going to die here.

I got into the brown Jeep that belonged to my late sister, Heather, and sat in the passenger seat next to the driver’s seat. Oliver sits in the driver’s seat since he will be driving, while Orenji throws our travel bags into the back seat before jumping in with a high, clean leap.

"We’re leaving now," I said. 

*****

A few minutes later, Duluth International Airport looked crowded when we arrived. After parking the car, the three of us join the line at the service desk, which—unexpected but not surprising— is chaotic. A woman is throwing a mad expression because she can’t buy a ticket for the next thirty days, and a big man behind her is supporting her by arguing madly with the administrative staff.

I look at Oliver.

"I thought it would be quieter at 2 a.m.," Oliver sighed. He checks his phone briefly, looking at the flight route to Antarctica.

"Yeah, I’m not the only one who can speak tree's language," I mutter, as I too stand on tiptoe and lean forward like the others who are curious about what’s happening in front. "They’re clearly shocked to hear that Texas is being attacked. Anyway, what's the best route?"

"Mm.... The best route seems to be from Duluth to O'Hare Airport, Chicago; then to Frankfurt, Germany; then to Santiago, Chile; and finally, Antarctica," Oliver reported.

Orenji suddenly tenses, and I immediately follow his line of sight. "Look, that’s a mega-tutor group," he says, as my gaze intersects with the eyes of an Asian girl, who stands very close and slightly bowed next to a man about five-two inch tall. The man’s face is decorated in such a way that his eyes look larger and darker than usual, and there’s a kind of silver powder that highlights his eyelids, cheekbones, and the corners of his eyes. His black, thin wings, like moth wings but as beautiful as butterfly wings, flutter lazily on his back, causing his feet to occasionally hover a few centimeters off the ground.

How do we know he’s a mega-tutor? The answer is simple. He has superpowers and stands in front of his group, all of whom have wings and can fly. A mega-tutor not only has superpowers but can also 'pass on' the magic within them to others they wish.

The man is probably Rory Yamada, one of the few mega-tutors who can fly. While that ability won’t necessarily make him survive the Sanguinara, his survival rate is clearly higher than those without superpowers at all.

"Technically, it’s not a superpower," Oliver whispers as we realize how close we are to the mega-tutor group. "But metamorphosis. He can’t actually fly without those wings."

"No. It’s a superpower. His superpower is metamorphosing him into a half-butterfly human," I said.

Some airport staff who see their presence immediately approach them and escort them to one of the departure gates, without bothering to check their tickets or inspect their luggage.

Seeing the unfairness, I frowned for a moment.

"See, look how conspicuous mega-tutors are? I trust you, but you can’t pretend to be a mega-tutor," Orenji says in a flat tone.

But I shake my head. "I got this," I say. "Let’s go."

Then, I pulled Orenji’s and Oliver’s arms and walked confidently towards the same departure gate as the mega-tutor group.

"Excuse me, Sir," an officer stops us, and I stare at him calmly.

"Is this the correct gate for the route to Chicago?" I asked, even though I know it's the correct gate. I glanced at Orenji and Oliver. Their faces are as calm as the surface of Lake Superior in December.

"No, Sir. Have you checked in and had your luggage inspected?" The attendant extended his hand, asking for the tickets, and for a moment, I put on a puzzled expression.

"Should I? Rory Yamada doesn’t seem to need to do that."

"He is a special exception, Sir," the attendant says, then steps forward to grab our bags. "Let me check your bags," he said.

If he checks the contents of our bags, I’m not sure that it will help him be more convinced that I’m a mega-tutor.

"Hey!—" I protest, panicking, along with the airport staff who says, "No, no, you—"

Suddenly, Orenji steps in front of me with the most rigid and intimidating stance he has. And I nearly smirk when he says in a threatening tone, "Is that the way you speak to a mega tutor?"