The night air whipped over the helicopter and disappeared behind them in the darkness. George sat with his head against the glass and felt the vibration of the flight in his skull. Once, when he was a boy, his father had flown him and his mother up to an environment dome in Canada. He'd sat in his mother's lap, clutching her skirt tightly in his little fists. His father, the pilot of the small plane, had ruffled his hair, but George wouldn't look up. He didn't like the lurching feeling in his stomach when he looked up and saw the ground so far away. He wanted to be safe, but some instinctual part of him had known that he could never be safe in the sky.

He'd long since grown over his fear of flying. He no longer feared the ground hidden in the shade of night below. Now he feared the future and what he and Monica would find when they reached the compound he'd rescued her from. He turned his head to look at Monica whose eyes were glued to the windshield in front of her. Her pupils were wide in the darkness and a feint sheen of sweat glistened on her skin.

"Monica?" George lifted his head at the window and leaned towards her. "Are you okay?"

"I--no--what would I have to be afraid of?"

"Well, it is pretty dark out there...either that or I've gone blind. Which given my luck these past few days..."

"I'm not fond of the dark...no...but Hammond didn't leave much room for fear in me."

"What then?"

"Well, it's nothing really..." She licked her lips. "I've been trained to operate machinery of all kinds, but I may not have...exactly...gotten hands-on time with all of it..."

"Wait, wait, wait..." George found himself involuntarily gripping his armrests. "Are you saying you've never flown a helicopter before?"

"No." She shook her head. "No, I've flown them dozens of times. Just...those were simulations and this is..."

"Real life!" George grabbed her arm. "As in, if you run us into the ground we'll be really dead."

"Well, if you're not fond of being a spot on the ground I'd recommend you let go of my arm."

"Right...right...definitely not a good idea to shake the arm of the person WHO HAS NEVER FLOWN A REAL HELICOPTER."

Outside the moon followed them as they cut a dark shape through the night. George leaned his head back on the glass and found himself again remembering that trip. He remembered well the feeling of his mom stroking his hair, but he'd continued to shake in her lap. He kept thinking of playing with action figures on the cliff top during a camping trip. He'd tossed one of them over and watched it bounce on the rocks and finally shatter apart far below. He hadn't even been able to hear the sound of the plastic breaking apart. The seams coming undone. What held him together he wondered? What would happen if he was thrown from this plane?

"You know..." Monica's voice cut into his remembrance quietly. "It's still there, deep inside me."

"What?"

"Fear." She whispered. "I used to stay awake at night with the lights on, because when I closed my eyes it was so dark. Sometimes...sometimes I think I've never left that crawl space under the floor. Sometimes I pray that I haven't. I pray that my father will open the trap door and take my hand...

"They did lots of things to me, to my body, to my mind, to my soul...but no matter what they did, it seems they can't wash that moment from my life. There are some things not even science can change...some things that can never be made better.

"Yes...I'm afraid...I wish the sun would rise."

"The sun will rise,

and light will come even

from the darkest nights,

even in the darkest places."

George's uneven voice cut into the darkness. But in his mind he heard his mother as she sang to him. He felt her hand around his and he saw her eyes. Monica started and stared at him, her attention for the first time turned from piloting the helicopter.

"Be not afraid of the shadows,

or of the monsters you fear

for night can not hold off day

forever, nor the shadows sway

the turning of the earth."

Monica's voice joined Georges, but she heard her father singing her to sleep. She felt his beard on her face as his kissed her good night. Together the two of them sang, each living in the past.

And in the night behind storm clouds gathered. Rain drummed from the sky onto the trees, washing the dirt away. Clearing the air around. And disturbing the slumber of eight great beasts. Taking wing, they lifted as shadow cut-outs into the sky and fled the storm and the rain. Their wings thumped against the air and sped them towards the small helicopter that held George and Monica and a song they both knew from childhood.