by Aaron Hodges
Chris was still a few feet away when Halt looked up and saw him coming. He drove a final kick into Sam’s chest before turning to face the greater threat, his grey eyes flashing with rage. A wild grin spread across his lips as Chris leapt.
At the last second, Halt twisted away, and his fist flashed out to catch Chris in the stomach. The breath exploded between Chris’s teeth as he staggered back. But he straightened quickly and went for the doctor again.
Now Halt leapt at him, and through sheer instinct Chris turned, shifting himself from the doctor’s path. As Halt barrelled past, Chris flicked out with his foot and caught the doctor square in the stomach. Halt crumpled beneath the blow, and grinning Chris stepped in to finish him.
An awful growl rattled up from Halt’s throat as he straightened suddenly. Before Chris could jump back, a fist caught him in the side of the head. He reeled away as stars flashed across his vision. Staggering, he felt the strength flee his limbs. Then a second blow caught him in the chin and hurled him backwards.
Chris gasped as he crashed down on the hard tiles. Bones creaking, he struggled to sit up, before a heavy boot crashed down on his chest. He collapsed back to the ground, ears ringing as his head struck.
With a blood curdling scream, Liz appeared from nowhere and slammed into Halt. Wings flashing, the force of her attack lifted Halt off the ground and sent him hurtling through the air. Heart pounding, Chris struggled to sit up, to find the strength to help Liz.
But she didn’t need it.
Liz stood a few feet away, her lips drawn back in a snarl, wings extended, fingers clenched like claws. As the doctor staggered back to his feet, she sprang, her hand flashing out to catch him by the throat. With inhuman strength, she hauled him above her head and held him there.
Halt growled as he struggled in her grasp. Then his eyes bulged, and a short, sharp shriek rattled up from his throat. Liz’s eyes flashed blue and grey as she lifted him higher, watching as his feet kicked helplessly at empty air. His flesh paled and veins bulged in his forehead, his skin turning an angry red where Liz held him.
Chris shuddered as Halt began to moan, the low, pitiful sound of a dying animal. He couldn’t imagine the pain, the pure agony sweeping through the doctor’s body. He had only felt Liz’s touch for an instant, but it had been enough to take his feet out from under him. This… this could only be infinitely worse.
Purple lines spread up Halt’s neck, radiating out from Liz’s touch. His struggles weakened, the whites of his eyes now stained red. A low whine hissed from his mouth, but Chris could see the life fleeing his body, suffocated by Liz’s touch.
Then he was still.
With a casual shrug of her shoulders, Liz tossed Halt’s lifeless body aside.
Chris swallowed as she turned towards him. Grey speckled eyes stared down at him, and for a moment he wondered who was looking out – Liz, or the Chead. Then she blinked, and the grey faded away, the blue swelling to replace it.
She shuddered as her shoulders sagged. Chris found his feet and stepped towards her, and then froze as memory of her touch returned.
Hurt flashed across Liz’s face as she saw him hesitate.
Without speaking, she turned away.
CHAPTER 36
A dagger twisted in Liz’s chest as she saw the fear flash across Chris’s face. She sucked in a breath, fighting back the sting of tears, and turned away from him. Across the hall, she saw Ashley and Sam embracing one another. The collar that had been around Sam’s neck lay on the ground beside them, the key she had passed Ashley earlier still in the lock. Beside them, Jasmine had staggered to her feet. Mira huddled under her arm, her cheeks streaked by tears.
Pushing aside her pain, Liz moved to join them. She heard Chris’s footsteps as he followed her, but did not look back. In that moment, she could not face him, though all she wanted was to bury her head in his shoulder. Glancing down at her hands, despair rose in her chest, threatening to drown her. Would anyone ever hold her again?
Artemis was dead, and with him the hope they’d had of exposing the government’s corruption. No one would believe them without proof, without the Chead that had witnessed it all, the supposed monster who spoke like a human. No, the secret had died with Artemis.
But against all chances, they had found Sam and Ashley, had rescued them from the clutches of the government. They just had to make it through the front door, and they were free. The last of the crowd had fled through the revolving door, leaving them alone in the hall.
Her eyes drifted beyond their little group, and found Richard still on the far side of the hall near the elevators. He was crouched over the strangers he’d been fighting, trying to remove their collars. Sam and Ashely were too preoccupied in their reunion to have noticed, but wearily she moved towards Sam’s collar to retrieve the key.
Before she could reach it, a bell dinged from the direction of the elevators. Looking up, she saw the metal doors slide open. A woman stepped into view. Her gaze swept the hall, and lifting her arm she pointed at them. Men stepped from the elevator behind her, lifting their rifles to take aim.
Then there was no more time for thought.
On the far side of the hall, Richard looked up as the first of the men stepped from the elevator. His eyes turned towards Liz, and she saw the fear that flashed across his face. Their eyes met, and Liz saw the fear fall away from him. He nodded across at her, and turned away.
“No!” Liz screamed.
But it too late; Richard was too far away. He was closer to the elevators, already cut off from the exit by the men and their heavy guns. Straightening, he spread his wings and roared. The guards swung round at the sound, and Richard charged.
The others turned as the first gunshot rang out. Still several feet from the men, Richard lurched as the bullet took him in the shoulder, but he did not slow. He ploughed into the first man, baring him to the ground as he tore the weapon from his grasp.
He was up again a second later, already charging at the next guard. A gun roared again, and blood blossomed from Richard’s chest. He stumbled, almost went down, before reaching out and smashing another man off his feet.
Then he spun, his eyes meeting theirs from across the hall. “Go!”
Another gunshot tore through the room, and then they were sprinting for the door, half-dragging Jasmine with them, even as she pleaded for them to go back, to leave her behind.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Liz winced with each gunshot, but she did not look back. Every step she expected hot lead to tear through her body, for a hail of bullets to bring them all down. They raced towards the exit, wings spread and beating hard, half-sprinting, half-flying.
They shoved Jasmine through first as they reached the revolving door, and crammed Ashley and Mira in after her. Chris and Sam followed, as Liz cast one final look back.
Richard was still on his feet, swaying as he looked around at the ring of guards. His wings slumped to either side of him, torn and broken by bullets, and blood stained his shirt. He staggered for a second and then straightened, his green eyes looking up to catch Liz’s gaze. A smile tugged at his lips as he lifted his arm.
Liz turned away as the roar of gunfire filled the hall.
EPILOGUE
Hecate drew to a stop at the edge of the empty stream and looked back, checking the others were close. They trickled in one by one, picking their slow way across the plains. The harsh sun beat down from overhead, burning at their pale skin, even as the orange globe dropped towards the distant peaks. Their shadows cast long silhouettes across the grass.
As the seven Chead drew up around them, Hecate’s thoughts drifted back to the strangers they’d left behind. In his mind’s eye, he saw again the explosion that had erupted from the side of the mountain, engulfing the buildings in which the group had been hiding. Out on the empty plains, Hecate had watched the flames, waiting to see whether anything had survived.
But there had only been the flickering of the flames, and as dusk fell, he had fin
ally turned away.
Now, days later, Hecate still felt the pang of regret.
Such a waste.
The boy and girl had been talented, strong. The Chead could have used their strength. Still it didn’t matter now.
For days they had raced across the grasslands, their powerful legs carrying them easily across the flat ground, following a distant scent. They had rarely stopped to sleep, and ate as they moved, slaughtering chickens and other livestock when their hunger demanded it. They revelled in their freedom, in the touch of the breeze over their skin, the sun on their faces.
Though they had been born within the facility, each of them possessed a rugged endurance, an ability to run for endless days and nights. Their imprisonment had not lessened them – the doctors had been sure to keep them healthy and fit, the better for their experiments.
Now, Hecate could sense the wind changing, carrying with it fresh traces of the scent they followed. A delicious sweetness filled the air, familiar and at once alien. It was close now, its source at hand.
The others smelt it too. They shifted around him, faces lifted to breathe it in. They growled and Hecate nodded. Tensing his legs, he leapt down onto the streambed.
Starting upriver, he listened to the crunch of gravel as the others followed. His eyes scanned the riverbed ahead, searching for the source, but finding only plain grey stones. There was no water in sight, only the empty bed of what had once been a great river. Perhaps as Spring set in, the snow on the distant peaks would melt, and return the waters to the dried-out river.
But for today, the river remained dead.
Ahead, Hecate’s keen eyes alighted on a dark shadow amidst the stones. Drawing to a stop, he allowed the others to gather around him. His lips twitched as he looked down at the entrance to the cave. The worn bedrock around the entrance suggested the river had once plunged underground here, falling down to depths unknown. Now though, with the waters gone, the entrance to the cave stood open.
The sweet scent of the Chead hung thick in the air.
Grinning, Hecate dropped down into the darkness.
RETALIATION
BOOK 3 OF THE PRAEGRESSUS PROJECT
PROLOGUE
Maria Sanders let out a long sigh as the alarm sounded in the darkness. Stretching out an arm, she pressed the snooze button, silencing its shrill buzzing. Somewhere outside a cricket was chirping, but outside the windows the world remained dark. Lying back on her bed, Maria stared up at the ceiling, struggling to find the will to move.
She had barely slept all night – but then, that was hardly unusual. These days she was lucky to get a few hours sleep, even on a good night. In the darkness, she tried to recall how long it had been since the insomnia began, but she’d long since lost count. All through winter she had struggled on, but even the promise of summer’s return did nothing to ease her suffering.
Nothing would, not now.
Her daughter was dead, and she had all but given up hope of seeing her grandson alive again.
Cursing herself for her weakness, Maria pushed back her despair and willed herself into action. Climbing from the bed, she lugged herself across the room to her dresser. Her joints popped as she moved, stiff with old age and sleep, and she sighed. For all her long life, her body had never let her down. Yet now, when she needed it the most, she found herself trapped in the body of an old woman. If only she were still young, then maybe she could have done something, could have saved them…
Maria shivered and pushed the thought aside. Cursing under her breath, she struggled into the old uniform she had left folded on the dresser. It was a poor fit – the pants were too baggy, and the shoulders dwarfing her thin frame. But then, it had never been meant for her.
She closed her eyes and pictured her late husband’s face, forever frozen in his youth. He had always been smiling, his hazel eyes alight with a love of life. How he would rage now, to know what had happened, to hear how they’d treated his daughter. Margaret had been the light of his life, his special girl, his legacy to the world.
And now she was dead, executed by the very nation Charles had given his life to defend.
Reaching down, Maria picked up the last piece of the uniform. She held the medal in her hand, remembering the day it had been presented to her. She had stood with the other widows of the American War, and received her husband’s honours. Her chest had swelled with pride as they presented her with the silver cross. Now, her hands shook as she pinned it to her chest.
My shield.
She closed her eyes and sent out silent thanks for her husband’s courage. His sacrifice had saved them all – his wife, his child, his nation. He and a thousand others like him had stood together against the wrath of the United States, and won. Even now, Charles protected her still, granting her respect and admiration in a society desperately short on both.
Moving into the kitchen, Maria prepared herself a pot of oatmeal. Her appetite had gone the same way as her sleep, and food no longer held any pleasure for her. Still, she needed the sustenance. It would be a long day.
The sun was starting to shine between the curtains as she sat down with her oatmeal. Her thoughts drifted as she ate, and she found herself wondering how everything had gone so wrong. They had started with such noble ideals, this young nation of hers, but somewhere along the line they had lost their way.
She guessed that was the nature of war. The conflict between the Western Allied States and the United States had been long and bloody, only coming to an end when the WAS ignited a nuclear fuse in Washington, DC. Millions of innocent lives had been lost, but with their leadership shattered, the USA had finally crumbled.
After almost a decade of war, peace had returned to the American continent. Yet even then, there had been those who questioned whether the cost had been worth the victory.
Twenty years later, Maria knew the truth. In the end, the WAS had become the very evil it had sought to escape. And now that same evil had come for her family.
She had been the first to discover the break-in. As she often did, Maria had wandered over to her daughter’s house for breakfast. But instead of a warm greeting, she had found the front door hanging from its hinges, a house in darkness, and a pool of blood in the kitchen. Struggling to control her panic, Maria had stumbled to the phone and dialled the police.
Yet despite the operator’s reassurance help was on its way, it had been two hours before a single police officer appeared. By then she was struggling to breath from her panic, and a sharp pain was beginning in her chest. She had followed the officer through the house, watching as he made a cursory inspection of the kitchen. She’d been desperate to hear they could find her daughter and grandson, but at the end the man had only shrugged, and told her they would follow up with the appropriate departments.
Afterwards, Maria returned home in a state of shock, terrified for her family, and unable to understand why the police had treated her so coldly. The next day she had called the station again, then when that failed, her local Elector. She had even tried a private investigator, but after listening politely to her story, they had all given her the same answer – there was nothing they could do.
It wasn’t until a week later that she finally received her answer. A letter had arrived in the mail, addressed to ‘The parent(s) of Margaret Sanders’. Tearing open the envelope, she’d read the fateful words and then slumped to the floor in despair.
Guilty of treason.
Even now, the words continued to ring in her ears. She had tried to petition the government, to convince them of her daughter’s innocence, anything that might clear her name. Their response had been silence. In desperation, she’d begged them to at least spare Chris’s life, to grant him a pardon as they had done for her. Why should she be spared for her age, she had argued, when Chris had barely had a chance to live?
When even that failed, Maria had begged just to be able to see them, to have one last chance to hold her daughter and grandson in her arms.
But the ne
xt time Maria had seen her daughter was during the New Year’s celebrations. Sitting alone in her lounge, Maria had watched, listless, as the President gave his state of the nation address. At the end, he had read out a string of names. She’d known it was coming, but Maria still winced when she heard her daughter’s name.
Margaret Sanders.
Tears had spilled from Maria’s eyes as her daughter walked out onto the stage. Margaret stood bound hand and foot, chained to her fellow prisoners. Her arms and legs were as thin as bone, her face shrunken to a shadow of herself. Her eyes were distant as she stared into the camera, and her hair hung in greasy tuffs, doing little to conceal the purple bruises that marked her face.
Maria had sank to the floor as the prisoners stopped in front of a line of soldiers. In desperation, she’d clung to the television, as though by will alone she might reach through and pull her daughter to safety. The President was still talking, his voice raised and ringing with passion, but Maria didn’t hear a word of what he said. All she could do was watch as her daughter fell to her knees, as the soldiers lifted their rifles, as the roar of gunfire filled her lounge.
Groaning, Maria tore herself from the memory. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she stood and placed the half-eaten bowl of oatmeal in the sink. As she scrubbed the dish clean, she forced her mind to other thoughts – to the one hope she had left.
Chris had escaped. It was all over the news. Men had even come to question her, but she had gleefully told them to go to hell. Even under the threat of arrest she’d refused to speak. They’d torn the house apart searching for him, but in the end they had left her alone.