The Praegressus Project: Part One

by Aaron Hodges

  Chris sat for a long time watching the valley, checking for signs of their pursuers. The broken rocks of the peak would make him all but invisible to anyone below, but even so he felt exposed on the rocky escarpment. He suppressed a shudder, imagining a black-garbed huntsman staring down the sights of his rifle, lining him up, pulling the trigger.

  Closing his eyes, Chris took a breath and shoved the fear aside. He couldn’t afford the luxury of panic now – none of them could. Somewhere out there, Doctor Halt and his people were hunting for them. And Halt had already shown he would do whatever it took to stop them.

  Tears burned Chris’s eyes as he remembered Ashley falling, saw her blood spraying the air and her broken body crumpling to the rocks. And Sam, lifting her into his arms, carrying her back to the torment they had just escaped – on the impossible hope she might be saved.

  Angrily, Chris reached up and wiped away the tears before they turned to ice. Allowing his vision to clear, he looked out over the valley for a second longer. But there was no sign of movement, no hint of life amidst the desolate mountains, and breathing a sigh of relief he slid backwards out of the wind.

  Retreating to the cliff he had climbed, he lowered himself over the side and began his descent. A hundred feet below, the others would be watching him from their ledge, but he did not look down. After the week-long flight through the mountains, his chest and abdomen ached constantly, and sharp pains prickled at the small of his back when he inhaled. It was almost a relief to use his arms and legs for a change.

  Even so, his strength was flagging, starved away by the sparse meals of moss they had resorted to eating in their desperation. Only once in the last week had they eaten well – when Richard had spotted a fish trapped in a frozen pool. The ice had been difficult to break, and they had eaten it raw, but it had given them the strength to continue another day.

  Since escaping the facility they had travelled west through the mountains, as near as they could tell. For the first few days, they had climbed higher into the mountains, up long gorges and narrow passes, until now, finally, they seemed to have reached the peak. Below, a new valley sloped down to the west, its floor falling gently away as it wound its way through the mountains. Beyond waited civilisation, the wide expanses of the Western Allied States.

  Not that they knew what they’d do once they got there.

  For Chris at least, one thought drove him on more than any other – to find his mother, and save her. He had not seen her since that night in San Francisco, so many countless weeks and months ago now, when police had come and spirited them away. His mother had been accused of treason – a death sentence for her and her immediate family. But that didn’t mean she was gone.

  It couldn’t.

  Gritting his teeth, Chris forced his thoughts back to the climb. The rock was slick with ice and the weight of his injuries would have slowed anyone else. But after all they had been through, the depraved experiments, the torture and imprisonment, Chris was beyond the pain now. He moved down the cliff without effort, his fingers gripping to the smallest of cracks, his toes finding the tiniest footholds. Holding his own weight no longer bothered him, the exertion of the climb was no more than a brief inconvenience. The doctors in the facility had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.

  If only it had been worth the cost.

  Unbidden, a boy’s face rose through the darkness of Chris’s thoughts, his features distorted with agony, his limbs flailing as he thrashed on the floor of a padded room. A woman stood over him, a thin grimace on her lips, a metallic jet-injector clenched in one hand.

  The image faded, only for a fresh memory to take its place. He saw again Angela Fallow’s body, sprawled on the laboratory floor, blood oozing from the bullet wound in her chest. And Halt, standing over her, the gun still clutched in his fist. A well of hatred opened within Chris, fuelled by the vile, despicable things the man had done to bend them to his will.

  If not for Angela, they would still be his, trapped in their cages, helpless to defend themselves against his depravity. She had freed them, opened the cells, unlocked the collars, given them back their lives.

  And she had died for it.

  Chris’s stomach lurched suddenly as he missed his next foothold. Cursing, he scrambled for purchase, his weight falling onto his only hand-hold. The sharp rocks sliced into his fingers, and instinctively they loosened. With a shout, he fell backwards into empty space.

  In that instant, time seemed to slow. His heart beat hard in his chest as he scanned the rock, spying out a fresh set of holds. Twisting in the air, his hands flashed out to catch them, even as his feet settled back into a groove in the rock. He pulled himself close to the rock face and let out a long breath.

  Nice moves, Chris could almost hear Sam’s voice, rich with wry humour. Swallowing, he fought back tears and continued his climb down. When he was still a dozen feet above the ledge, he released the rock and fell the rest of the way. He dropped to his knees as he landed, and then straightened to look around at the others.

  Their faces were pale with cold and exhaustion, their eyes ringed by shadows. They looked at him expectantly. For close to a week they had travelled in near silence, their conversation dimmed by what they had lost, by their own private torments, and the buzz of distant helicopters. He had expected it from Jasmine and Richard – they young couple had been nothing but antagonistic since the day he’d met them.

  Yet even Liz had been distant, as though the weight of everyone they’d left behind hung between them.

  He looked at her now, finding her blue eyes behind the tangles of black hair. They showed the same faraway look of the past few days, and he forced himself to look away as doubts rose inside him.

  Jasmine stood beside Liz with her arms crossed, her brown eyes hard and her straight black hair billowing out in the wind. Her tanned skin matched Liz’s, but at five foot five she was taller than Chris’s feisty cellmate. Jasmine stood shoulder to shoulder with Richard, in stark contrast to his short blond hair and pale skin. Both wore their trademark grimace, their brows creased by scowls.

  Pursing his lips, Chris ignored their animosity and allowed his eyes to search for the fifth member of their little party. His stomach twisted as he found the young girl sitting on the edge of the ledge. They were not even halfway down the cliff here, and her legs dangled out over a five-hundred-foot drop. Her grey hair swirled in the breeze and while he could not see her face, he could still picture her strange multicoloured eyes, one green, the other blue.

  A shudder went through him as he turned back to the others. The girl could be no older than thirteen. He could not begin to imagine how she had survived the facility. But they were no closer to getting any answers from her. For the last week, she had remained stubbornly mute, and they still did not even know her name.

  Letting out a long breath, Chris finally spoke. “There’s no sign of anyone behind us,” the wind howled around them, stealing away his voice. Here in the mountains it never ceased, and not for the first time he wished for more than the thin rags Angela had provided them. “It looks like we’ve reached the top. If we keep heading west, I think we’ll start to descend now.”

  “Good,” Jasmine said. “I’m sick of the cold.”

  Chris caught a flicker of irritation in Liz’s eyes, but she only nodded. “Should we push on further today, or find a place to camp for the night?”

  Chris glanced past them to where the sun still hung between the towering peaks. The ache in his back gave a sharp throb, the pain radiating out into his chest like the threads of a spider’s web. His muscles were stiff and his stomach rumbled with hunger. Silently he wondered how much longer they could last, before their altered bodies finally reached the limits of their endurance. But there were still several hours of daylight left. They could not afford to waste them.

  “Let’s push on,” gritting his teeth, Chris moved past them.

  He paused at the edge of the ledge and glanced across at the girl. She sat in silence,
her strange eyes watching him. Shaking his head, he turned away, trying not to show his discomfort. The new valley stretched away to the west, twisting past the sharp escarpment on which they were perched. The rocky spire made the perfect lookout, though for an ordinary human it would have taken long hours to climb. And when they reached the top, they would have faced only a long, treacherous climb back down.

  The five of them did not have that problem.

  Staring out into the distance, Chris’s keen eyes picked out the distant patches of tussock grass and broken boulders scattering the slopes. Low cloud drifted here and there, but for the most part the air was clear, his view unobstructed. The valley stretched out for miles, finally ending in a distant wall of rock.

  Turning his mind inwards, Chris focused on the ache in his back. A twitch ran through him, radiating out through his back, waking his body for action. Bones ached and muscles stretched as he readied himself.

  Looking down at the five-hundred-foot drop, Chris tried to suppress the old tingles of fear that rose in his chest. Even after all this time, he still struggled to suppress his terror. But heights held no sway over him now, and clenching his fists he sucked in another breath.

  Movement came from Chris’s left, and he glanced across to see Liz step up beside him. Her eyes caught his, and she flashed him a quick grin. No more than a brief twist of her lips, shy and uncertain, but it was more emotion than she’d shown him in days. He smiled back, feeling warmth seeping back into his heart, pushing back the terrors of the last week.

  Turning back to the edge, Chris closed his eyes, and stepped out into empty space.

  His stomach lurched into his chest as he began to fall. Icy air roared past his ears, and opening his eyes, he saw the barren earth rushing up towards him. He turned his head as a wild scream came from beside him, and found Liz nearby, a mad joy dancing in her crystal blue eyes.

  Together, they plummeted towards the rocky ground.

  Grinning, Chris returned his attention to the ache in his back. His whole body burned now, the rush of adrenaline lighting up every fibre of his being. He could feel the ache spreading, tingling outwards into the foreign flesh and bone that sprouted from his back. With an eager laugh, he willed them to life.

  With a sharp crack, his wings snapped open. His stomach lurched again as twenty-four feet of feathers caught the air, and sent him soaring into the sky. The earth fell away as the wind rustled his tawny brown feathers.

  A surge of joy filled Chris’s chest as he looked out over the valley floor. Boulders and cliffs flashed past, as from his right came the thump of another set of wings. He looked across as Liz fell into formation, her jet-black feathers stretching out towards his own. Warmth spread to his stomach as they touched.

  From behind came the familiar crack of unfurling wings as the others followed.

  CHAPTER 1

  Sam groaned as the first tingle of consciousness tugged at his mind. He fought against it, clinging to the dark cloud of oblivion, desperate for its cold, numbing comfort. But slowly the light trickled in, casting out the black, dragging him back to reality, and the agony of his body.

  He winced as lances of fire twisted in his muscles, and another groan tore from his lips. A low gurgle started in his chest and made its way up his throat, until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Rolling onto his side, he spat it onto the concrete. He swallowed hard, and felt the cold steel collar pressing against his throat.

  Lying there with his eyes closed, his memory started to return. He saw again Ashley’s fall, her wondrous white wings folding in on themselves as she plummeted to the snowy ground. He remembered lifting her broken body into his arms, his whispers as he begged her to fight, to live. Then the short flight from the cliffs, his wings straining hard to keep them both aloft, the ground rising up to meet him.

  And the guards waiting, their rifles held at the ready, watching their approach.

  They had taken Ashley from him the moment he landed. Sam had made no effort to resist – the doctors in the facility were the only ones who could help her now. After securing Ashley, the guards had turned their attention on him. The hulking captain had stepped forward and slammed his rifle into Sam’s stomach, driving the air from his lungs. As he crumpled, something hard had struck the back of his head, toppling him to the ground. Steel-capped boots had descended on him then, smashing him in the face and ribs, slamming into his back and crunching the fragile feathers of his wings.

  Unable to defend himself, Sam had curled into a ball and waited for death. Finally, a blow had caught him in the side of the head, and he’d gladly given way to the darkness that rose to claim him.

  Hours later he had woken in this room, to a group of hard-faced men in suits standing over him. At his first signs of movement, two guards had sprung forward and pulled him to his knees. His head still spinning from the beating, Sam had met their questions with stony silence.

  Who was Angela Fallow working with?

  How did she free you?

  Where are they going?

  His refusals to answer had been answered by fists. A blow had caught him in the forehead and sent him reeling sideways. But as he tried to roll free of the guards, the collar around his neck had pulled him up short. Only then had he noticed the short length of chain connecting his collar to a bolt in the ground. Helpless, he had looked up in time to catch a hard boot in the side of his face.

  For days now his captors had tormented him, until he no longer knew whether it was day or night. Time lost all meaning – only the presence of his tormentors mattered. Sometimes they left him alone for long hours – at others they seemed to reappear within minutes. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Sam found his senses crumbling, his sanity falling away.

  Images flashed through his mind, some faster than thought, while others lingered, tormenting him. He saw Ashley standing in their cell, the familiar smile on her face, her movements lithe and graceful. Then he would see her lying still, her face a pallid grey, her eyes empty.

  Other visions followed, filling his mind, tormenting him with the horrors of the past. He watched again the boy convulsing on the training field as Halt stood over him, smelt the stench of death and decay in the medical room, saw the blood staining the walls of the padded room.

  Saw the blood on his hands, and his friend, lying still on the ground.

  Saw the accusing stares of Jasmine and Richard.

  Gritting his teeth, Sam pushed away the memories and pulled himself to his knees. He winced as the chain went taught, causing the collar to cut into his flesh. The chain was so short he could not stand – only crouch on his hands and knees. His muscles ached from disuse and a constant pain ran down his spine. A sharp twinge came from his ribs with each intake of breath. The air whistled through his broken nose, and his stomach cramped with a ravenous hunger.

  Sam’s heart started to race as he caught the faint click of the door handle. His left eye was so swollen he could barely see through it, but he forced his right to open and look around. The harsh light burned, but slowly the room came into focus. Other than a plain steel chair that sat just out of reach, the room was unadorned, the plain white walls and concrete marked only by his blood.

  Beyond the chair, the only door stood open, as two guards pushed their way into the room. Sam watched them approach, and take up stations on either side of the chair, before turning his attention back to the doorway.

  His stomach lurched as Doctor Halt stepped into the light. He shrank back as the doctor’s cold grey eyes found him on the floor. Days without food or sleep had stolen away his strength, and now even the brief task of sitting up left him gasping. He sucked in a mouthful of air, and faced the doctor.

  “Samuel,” Halt’s voice slithered through the air, “you disappoint me.”

  Stalking across the room, Halt lowered himself onto the chair and crossed one leg over the other. His long black pants and white lab coat were immaculate – a stark contrast to the filthy rags that covered Sam. The
doctor’s brow creased and his thin lips pursed as he looked down at Sam.

  Looking into Halt’s hard grey eyes, Sam failed to supress a shudder. There was no hint of compassion in the doctor’s expression.

  Finally, Halt leaned back in his chair. Tapping one finger against his elbow, he spoke. “Fallow has caused us a considerable setback, Samuel,” he looked around the room, slowly shaking his head. “The President wants answers – answers we do not currently possess.”

  Sam bit his lip and looked away. An image flickered through his mind – of Angela Fallow sprawled on the laboratory floor, her life blood pooling around her. He tasted bile in his throat and swallowed hard.

  “Samuel, you must see the folly of protecting her,” Halt whispered, his voice cutting through Sam’s thoughts. “The woman is dead. Just tell us who aided her, and this torment will cease. You will be moved to more comfortable facilities, provided with regular meals. Just give us what we want.”

  Closing his eyes, Sam almost wished he had the answers Halt wanted. But in the scant minutes they had spent in the medical room, he had never asked how Angela had freed Chris and Liz, or why. He’d been too preoccupied with other things – like why wings had suddenly sprouted from his back.

  Sam looked up and forced a smile. “Look,” he coughed out the word, then turned his head and spat out a gob of bloody spit. “I wish I could help you, Halt. The woman called me fat. Believe me, I’d sell her out in an instant, if I could.”

  A weary look passed across Halt’s face. “So you say,” he turned his head, staring at the grey wall, as though there was more to its plain surface than met the eye. There wasn’t – Sam had spent enough time staring at the blank walls to know that. Shaking his head, Halt went on, talking almost to himself. “The survivors of the A-strain will have to suffice. They’re all we have, for now.”

  Sam’s heart lurched. “Ashley,” he wheezed, his fingers clawing at the concrete. “She’s not…”