Rebellion (The Praegressus Project Book 4)

by Aaron Hodges

  “All the more…dangerous,” Hecate growled and shook his head, “You do not know…the things they are…capable of.”

  Talisa stilled. Face impassive, she stepped towards Hecate. Before he could move, her hand flashed out and caught him by the throat. He yelped as she lifted him into the air, and Susan stumbled back as Hecate’s legs kicked uselessly at empty space.

  “Do not question me,” Talisa snarled.

  With a flick of her wrist, she sent Hecate tumbling across the cave. He landed with a crunch of gravel near the entrance. Talisa did not move as he slowly climbed back to his feet, his lips drawn back in a snarl. His eyes darkened, but before he could speak, Susan stepped between them. Reaching out, she placed a hand on Hecate’s naked chest.

  “Enough,” she said softly, her eyes drilling into his.

  He stared back at her, and she saw the madness flickering there. She pressed back against his chest, holding him in place, and waited until the madness died. When he finally sighed and nodded, Susan stepped aside.

  Bowing his head, Hecate approached Talisa. “Forgive me, Talisa,” he murmured. “This is your…domain. You are…master here.”

  “Yes…” Talisa murmured, wandering across to them, “When I first came here, we were nothing. Only my strength has brought us together, has saved us from the hunters,” she stared off into space, as though seeking out each of the Chead she had gathered here beneath the earth, “Soon I shall die, and the fate of my children will pass to another. But not before I have carved them a nation from the bones of this earth.”

  “How?” Susan asked.

  “With fire and fury,” Talisa replied.

  Chapter 19

  Chris slumped against the wall and watched as the guards marched back out the door, leaving Ashley and himself alone in the icy room. Looking across at her, he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, relieved to see she was still alive. Her face had softened, losing the tightness of pain, and she seemed to be sleeping now.

  What were you thinking, Ash?

  He shivered, recalling the look in Ashley’s eyes as she stalked towards the Director. In that moment, she had seemed unstoppable, as though no force on earth could stop her from tearing out the woman’s throat. He wondered what it had taken, how much electricity had coursed through her body to finally bring her down.

  He still didn’t understand what had happened. Her eyes had not turned grey, and when she’d spoken, it had still been Ashley. Yet there was no denying there had been a change, a shift that had allowed her to resist the collar’s bite like none of them ever had before.

  A moan from across the room pulled Chris from his thoughts, and he watched as Ashley rolled onto her side and sat up. The thick chain rattled, pulling her up short as she tried to stand. Blinking, she looked around, taking stock of their surroundings.

  “What? Were we grounded?” she croaked, her throat sounding raw.

  Chris scowled. “This is hardly the time for jokes.”

  Ignoring him, Ashley crossed her legs and lay back against the wall. Her eyes closed as her forehead creased, her lips drawing back in a grimace. “Ahhh… That hurts.”

  Reaching up, she touched her throat. The skin beneath her collar was inflamed, and she flinched as her fingers made contact.

  “Are you okay?” Chris asked, his voice softening.

  Ashley shrugged and took her hand away. “Better than those kids.”

  Chris bit his lip and quickly looked away, unable to face the accusation behind her words.

  “I’m glad you’re alive,” he said softly.

  “For now,” he looked up at her words, and she shrugged, “I doubt she’ll want me around after that.”

  Chris started to argue, but she spoke over him. “I’m glad, really,” she murmured, glancing at the door, as if expecting death to come marching through at any moment, “I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted, screaming in the darkness, alone. Days, weeks, it doesn’t matter, she would have broken me in the end,” she looked at him as she finished, her eyes sad.

  “It doesn’t have to end like this, Ash,” Chris choked out the words.

  To his surprise, Ashley smiled. “It does, Chris,” tears shimmered in her eyes, “Don’t you see? Death is my only way out now.”

  “But it’s not,” Chris cried, his voice growing loud. He gestured at the door. “Aren’t you tired of putting everyone else first, Ash? Of sacrificing everything for others?”

  He stared at her, waiting for her to reply, but her eyes remained fixed on the ground, her scarlet hair hanging in greasy tangles across her face. He shook his head and continued.

  “What does defying her achieve, Ash? When has anything we’ve ever done changed things, for that matter? Every sacrifice we’ve made, everything we’ve given up, it’s all been for nothing. Those students still died, the President is still in control, our parents, our families, they’re still gone. Yet here we sit, in chains, suffering every night, not even allowed a bed to sleep in.”

  As he spoke, Chris felt a weight lifting from his shoulders, his guilt and regret falling away. He looked across at Ashley, at her haggard face and her sallow skin, her red-stained eyes and moulting feathers, and shook his head.

  “Look at what you’ve done to yourself, Ash, and for what?” he whispered.

  Ashley stared back at him, pity in her eyes. “The Chris I knew would understand.”

  Chris stared right back at her. “That Chris died with those kids at the university.”

  She closed her eyes at that, and he watched as a tear dripped down her cheek. Regret twisted in his stomach, but he couldn’t take back the words. After all, they were the truth. Ever since they’d escaped, he’d been punished again and again for helping others. He couldn’t do it any longer.

  A long silence stretched out then, as they both sat and stared into space, stewing in their own private misery.

  “You know what comes next, don’t you, Chris?” Ashley asked softly.

  Before he could respond, the door clicked and swung open. They looked up as the Director entered, her face a carefully blank mask. Her eyes travelled around the room, lingering on Chris, then Ashley, before she let the door swing closed behind her. Her long legs carried her across the room until she stood over Ashley. Arms folded, she looked down at her prisoner and slowly shook her head.

  “I cannot forgive this,” she murmured.

  Ashley stared back, lips pursed, eyes defiant. She didn’t budge an inch. Chris watched, heart pounding, as the Director uncrossed her arms.

  “That’s it then? No excuses?” she whispered, then paused, as though still waiting for a response. When Ashley’s lips remained sealed, she nodded. “Very well. You have written your own fate. Guards!”

  Chris flinched as her shout echoed through the room. The door opened, and two men stepped inside. They strode across and came to a stop behind the Director.

  “I’ve made my decision,” she waved at the doorway. “Take her back to the cells. She can spend the night with her precious experiments. I’m tired of looking at her. In the morning I’ll oversee her euthanization.”

  “No!” the scream tore from Chris’s throat before he could stop himself. He lunged forward, but the chain brought him up short. He cried out as the collar cut into his neck, dragging him back.

  The guards ignored him and busied themselves detaching Ashley’s chain from the ground, but the Director turned and walked towards him. On the ground, Ashley had slumped against the wall, her eyelids half-closed, her wings limp against her back. Despite her brave words, there was no mistaking her terror. Even so, she made no effort to fight back.

  Standing, one of the guards lifted the chain and tugged. The chain went taught, pulling Ashley off balance. She placed a hand down to steady herself, but the guard pulled again, half-dragging her across the floor. Coughing, she gripped the makeshift-leash and yanked it back. The guard stumbled, overwhelmed by her strength, but held on. Before she could pull again, the other guard dr
ove his steel-capped boot into the side of Ashley’s head.

  Still kneeling on the floor, Ashley had no room to avoid the blow, and the kick sent her reeling back against the wall. Moaning, she tried to sit up, but the guard strode across and delivered another kick to her stomach. The breath hissed between Ashley’s teeth and, gasping, she collapsed face-first on the ground. She tried to crawl away, but caught another steel boot to the side of her head.

  At that, all semblance of resistance went out of her, and she slumped to the ground, unconscious. Taking up the chain again, the guard dragged her towards the door. Half-starved and sleep deprived, Ashley couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, and he had no trouble pulling her out the doorway. The second guard followed close behind, eyes fixed on their unconscious prisoner.

  Chris watched the whole series of events on his knees, his collar tight around his throat as he strained against the chain, desperate to intervene. Now, as he caught his last glimpse of Ashley disappearing into the corridor, he felt hot tears on his cheeks.

  Why, Ashley? he screamed in his mind. Why?

  “Christopher.” He shuddered as the Director’s voice came from overhead. Swallowing his grief for his friend, he looked around, and found her cold eyes on him.

  “What?” he croaked.

  “You disappointed me today.” His stomach swirled at the tone in her voice. “Perhaps you are less evolved than I thought. I’m of half a mind to send you after your friend.”

  A shiver ran down Chris’s spine. Looking at the woman, he could see no trace of the warmth she’d shown him yesterday. She meant what she said. Suddenly he realised he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. One wrong step, and he would tumble down into the abyss after Ashley.

  Biting his lip, he lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he breathed, “I…”

  “Yes?” the Director pressed, “Tell me, what excuse do you have for your failure?”

  Chris closed his eyes. “I have no excuse,” he looked up at her, blinking back tears, “I should have…I should have protected you…” he trailed off, his voice fading away. He bowed down, exposing his neck, as though waiting for his execution.

  He flinched as strong fingers gripped him by the chin and lifted his head. Blinking, he looked up at the Director. Her face hadn’t changed. Her red lips were still drawn tight, her brow hard, her blonde hair hanging down around her shoulders. Her fingers dug into his chin like claws as she looked at him.

  “Please,” he croaked, shivering, unable to control his fear, “I don’t want to die.”

  The Director’s lips twisted into a smile. She raised an eyebrow. “No?”

  He shook his head, though his movement was restricted by her grip on his chin.

  “Then perhaps you can redeem yourself.” Releasing him, she reached down and tapped the control watch to his collar. It beeped and the chain fell away, though the cold embrace of the collar remained.

  Standing, she offered him her hand. “Rise, Christopher.”

  Chris shivered as he looked up at her. A lead weight settled in his stomach. He knew what she was asking, what it would mean if he took her hand. It was a line that, once crossed, he could not return from. There would be no redemption.

  He would be hers—body and soul.

  But what choice did he have? To refuse was to join Ashley, to wait in a cell for the sun to rise, and the end to come. Even as he considered the idea, he felt the gulf in his chest, the need for companionship. With Ashley gone, he was truly alone now. Isolated from his friends, from the world, what new darkness would he fall into?

  Yet he would be alive. He would be safe, free of the torments Ashley had suffered. Looking at the Director, he made his decision.

  Reaching up, he took her hand, and rose.

  Chapter 20

  Sam squinted into darkness, his wings creaking as the San Francisco winds battered him. He was flying higher than he ever had before, and even his powerful muscles were struggling to keep his wings straight in the howling wind. They pushed him around like a ragdoll, but he only gritted his teeth and pressed on. He was almost there.

  He had wanted to set out earlier, when there had still been light in the sky. But the government had proven relentless—continuing their hunt for the fugitives all through the next day. So he’d been forced to sit all day in the basement with Jocelyn and the other resistance fighters, listening to the buzzing of helicopters outside, nerves growing more frayed by the hour. But there’d been no other option but to wait them out.

  Only when darkness fell once more did the hunters finally relent. Patrols still swept the streets, but the roaming helicopters had returned to their nests for the night. Sam had seen Jocelyn and the others safely out of the search grid, and then wished them luck. The men had waved him goodbye with grim faces—they all knew this would probably be the last time they saw each other.

  One simply did not break into Alcatraz and expect to survive.

  But despite the odds, Sam knew he had to try. They’d had no word from the Mad Women, no news about what had happened at the safehouse. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. He still clung to the hope Liz, Jasmine and Mira had made it out, but he couldn’t risk waiting around to find out. It was clear the government was closing the net around the resistance. If he delayed any longer, there might not be anyone left to fight for.

  Unfortunately, a storm had broken with the fall of night, and now he was beginning to doubt he could even make it to the island. The wind buffeted him again, and tensing the muscles along his back, he trimmed his wings and drifted lower. Below, the dark waters of the harbour appeared. White-capped waves churned the surface as salt spray drifted up towards him. Above, thunder clapped, and a patch of rain swept past, soaking him to the skin.

  Cursing, Sam searched the waters below, and glimpsed the orange glow of a lighthouse ahead. As he drifted closer, other shapes appeared from the darkness—the buildings rising from the steep cliffs of The Rock. The lighthouse was the tallest, and shifting direction, he headed towards it, eyes peeled for signs of movement.

  Fighting through the howling wind, he swooped down towards the orange glow. When he was still some twenty feet out, he glimpsed a man on the observation deck at the top of the lighthouse. The man was leaning against the rails, squinting out through the pouring rain, a sour look on his face. He carried a rifle slung over his shoulder, but Sam had no intention of giving him a chance to use it.

  Approaching from above, Sam ensured he remained outside the guard’s line of sight. Then, when he was still several feet above the tower, he folded his wings and dropped from the sky. A gust of wind almost ruined him, but a slight twist of his wings put him back on target, and he crashed down on the man’s back. The impact of Sam’s two hundred pounds drove the guard face first into the railing.

  Landing lightly beside him, Sam quickly delivered another blow to the back of his victim’s head to ensure he wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. Then he took a hold of the man’s legs, dragged him into the lighthouse tower, and shoved him in a nearby closet.

  Moving back out onto the observation deck, Sam took a moment to assess his surroundings. His vantage point on the lighthouse looked down over the main prison building. Lightning flashed, illuminating the stark concrete walls and barred windows. A dark shadow was all he could see of the entrance, but as the lightning died away, he saw the dim glint of solid steel doors.

  His heart sank. Even with his considerable strength, he couldn’t break through inch-thick steel doors. Shivering in the rain, he continued his examination of the island. Away to his right, the ground dropped away in a sheer cliff, but beyond, the rooftop of another building rose into view. From what he recalled of the history of Alcatraz, the building had once been used as a residential quarters for staff. He was hoping the island’s new managers had put it to the same use.

  Returning his attention to the prison building, he slowly shook his head. In the darkness, he could see no way to force his way inside. T
he grounds below were empty, and as far as he could see no one was standing guard outside the entrance. There might be others patrolling the island, but he guessed the majority would be stationed within, where the real threat resided.

  After all, Alcatraz had been reopened to contain the most dangerous criminals of the Western Allied States, the traitors and terrorists who posed a threat to their very way of life. Or so they said. Now, of course, Sam knew better. The prisoners inside were likely no different from his parents—falsely accused, locked away without trial, sentenced to death for crimes they had not committed.

  His hands tightened on the railings as he studied the barred windows, wondering if he might force his way inside by bending the bars. But these too were solid steel, at least half an inch in diameter. He doubted he could so much as dent them.

  No, he would have to wait until someone went in or out. When the doors were unlocked, then he would make his move.

  He shifted back under the eaves of the lighthouse and slid down onto the steel deck. Leaning back against the wall behind him, he crossed his legs, and settled in to wait out the night…

  And snapped awake to the crash of thunder. Cursing he sat up and looked around, the harsh light of dawn burning at his eyes. Somewhere in the distance, waves crashed and as he straightened a gust of wind pushed him sideways. Above, the storm had built itself up into a fury.

  A clang came from somewhere inside the lighthouse and a voice carried up from below. “Jerry! You fall asleep again?”

  Heart pounding, Sam stood and slid inside the building. Cut off from the wind, he could hear the steady pounding of boots on the steel staircase now, approaching rapidly. He slipped across the room and peered over the rail into the stairwell. Below, a man was climbing the winding stairs.

  Sam crouched in the shadows and waited for the guard to come to him.