by Aaron Hodges
In the end, the girl’s resistance made no difference. Talisa would have what she desired. There was no resisting her iron will. When Lisa finally broke, she shouted the words so loudly they must have echoed through half of the cave system.
Lisa sobbed as Talisa released her. She tried to crawl away as Talisa waved Susan forward. Mouth watering, Susan obeyed. Talisa handed her a rock and nodded to the girl. Crouching beside her, Susan lifted the rock and brought it down on the back of Lisa’s head. There was a sickening crack as her skull shattered, and her pitiful sobs abruptly died away.
Smiling, Susan stood and looked at Talisa, the girl’s final words still ringing in her ears. They sounded oddly familiar, like a place she should know, though it seemed a lifetime ago now.
Kirtland Air Force Base, Albuquerque.
Epilogue
Sam and Ashley heard the explosion a few minutes before they reached the site of the blast. By then, the fight was already over.
Turning the final corner, Sam stumbled to a stop. Bodies lay strewn across the ground at the end of the corridor, their blood staining the walls and floor. Beyond, the air was thick with dust, and a gaping hole waited where a door had once stood.
Beside him, Ashley started down the corridor, her shuffling gate carrying her inexorably towards the massacre. Sucking in a breath, Sam followed her, his exhausted legs barely able to keep up.
At the end of the hallway, the full extent of the damage was revealed. A burn mark on the floor between the bodies revealed how the first soldiers had died. Others they encountered further on sported bullet wounds and broken bones. None of them were moving.
Ashley and Sam shared a glance before continuing. Dust billowed up to greet them as they reached the ruined doorway. Inside, there was little left of what seemed to be a computer room. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving piles of rubble strewn across the little room. Ruined computer equipment and cameras lay scattered around the far wall.
Sam glimpsed another scorch mark near the door, before his eyes were drawn to a body in the corner. He started towards it, and then stopped as the dust parted and he saw her face.
“Oh, Maria,” Ashley’s voice broke as she stepped past him and knelt beside Chris’s grandmother. Reaching down, she put a hand to her throat. After a moment’s pause, she looked up at Sam and slowly shook her head.
A hot knife stabbed at Sam’s chest. Staggering forward, he dropped to his knees and reached down to take Maria’s hand. Her skin was still warm. Eyes shimmering, he looked across at Ashley. “What was she doing here?” he whispered.
Before Ashley could answer, a piece of rubble shifted, sending a block of concrete crashing to the floor. Sam and Ashley were on their feet in a second. They exchanged a glance, and then stepped cautiously towards the pile, eyes alert for danger. But there was no more sign of movement, and after moment, Sam knelt and began lifting concrete from the pile.
After a few minutes of digging, he lifted a chunk of concrete and found a patch of pitch-black feathers beneath. His breath caught in his throat, and tossing the concrete block aside, he redoubled his efforts. With Ashley’s help, they quickly removed the rest of the rubble covering Liz.
She coughed as Sam lifted her out, a dim groan rasping up from the back of her throat. Her wings had taken the worst of the damage, and from the way they dangled from her back, she had broken several bones. A trickle of blood trailed from her mouth and her face was a mess of purple and black. But she was alive, and that was all that mattered.
Ashley called out as Sam lowered Liz to the ground. Turning back, he watched as Ashley lifted Chris over one shoulder and carried him from the rubble. She stumbled as her boot caught on a jagged edge of concrete, but quickly recovered. Moving across, she set Chris down beside Liz. He didn’t move, but Sam let out a long sigh as he saw his friend’s chest lift.
Straightening, they shared a glance. “What happened here?” Ashley asked softly.
On the ground, Liz stirred, her eyelids fluttering. She whimpered as her wings shifted. Sam knelt beside her and place a hand on her shoulder. Her clothes had been torn by the rubble, and he had to take care not to touch her flesh.
“Don’t move, Liz,” he said quietly, “You’ve been hurt, but we’re here, Ashley and me. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you out.”
Ashley’s eyes flickered open. “Sam?” she murmured.
Sam nodded. He squeezed her shoulder. “Where are the others, Liz?” he asked, “We found Chris. And Maria…she’s gone, I’m sorry. But what about Jasmine, and Mira? Were they here?”
A tear streaked down Liz’s cheek, carving its way through the dust. Her big blue eyes stared up at him, the whites stained red.
“Gone,” she mumbled, even as her eyes slid closed again, “They’re all gone.”
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AFTERWORD
One book left! That’s right, this is the penultimate book in the Praegressus Project, meaning the series will be wrapped up in book five – Retribution. With only the original cellmates left standing, it’s going to be interesting seeing who makes it out alive! Not to mention what happens with the Chead. Book five will finally see the creatures clash with the winged renegades, as Chris, Liz and the others desperately try to stop them taking over. And of course, there’s still the small matter of the President to deal with... Be sure to keep an eye out for Retribution come December, I hope to have it out by Christmas!
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ALSO BY AARON HODGES
If you’ve enjoyed this book, you might also like a free copy of my original novel:
Stormwielder
When Eric was young a terrible power woke within him. Horrified by the devastation he had unleashed, Eric fled his village, and has spent the last two years wandering the wilderness alone. Now, desperate to end his isolation, he seeks a new life in the town of Oaksville. But the power of the Gods is fading, and in their absence, dark things have come creeping back to the Three Nations. Civilisation is no longer the safe haven he once knew, and Eric will soon learn he is not the only one with power…
Read on below for a free preview…
Stormwielder: Chapter One
A pillar of smoke rose from the burning house. The roar of the flames was deafening. Heat scorched his eyes but he could not look away. The blaze lit the night, chasing the stars from the sky. Amidst the fire the silhouette of a boy appeared. He stumbled from the wreckage, clothes falling to ashes around him. Sparks of lightning leapt from his fingertips, leaving scorch marks on the tiled street. Soot covered his slim face, marred only by the trail of tears running down his cheeks. The wind caught his mop of dark brown hair and revealed the deep blue glow of his eyes. He wore an expression of absolute terror.
“Help me!”
Eric sat bolt upright, the nightmare tearing him from his sleep. He gasped for breath, eyes darting around in search of escape. A wall of vegetation loomed above him. The dark fingers of branches clawed at his clothing. He scrambled for his dagger but it tumbled through his hands. He dove for the falling blade.
His knees hit the dirt and with a sudden rush he remembered where he was. Eric took a deep breath; slowing his racing heart as he rose to his feet. The clearing had not changed while he slept. The trees still stood in a silent ring, their leaves speckled with the red and gold of early autumn. Where the canopy thinned abov
e he could make out the blue sky, but below the dark of night still clung.
Eric shivered and wished he had more than a holey blanket and worn leather jacket to ward off the cold. Reaching down he stuffed the blanket into his bag with the rest of his measly possessions – dried meat, a water skin, and the steel bracelet his parents had given to him as a child. The familiar dream clung to him, the boy’s face lurking in the shadows of his memory. He knew that face. It was his own.
A tremor ran through his body. He flung the bag over his shoulder with a little too much energy, determined to forget the bad omen. Just through the trees was the Gods Road and about a mile west was the town of Oaksville. There he planned to make a fresh start for himself.
Eric paused long enough to pull on his travel worn boots and brush the leaves from his hair, then he was away through the trees. Excitement quickened his pace – this was it. Today he would end his exile. In the two years since his fifteenth birthday he had wandered alone through the forests and plains of Plorsea. In that time he had kept his own company. It had very nearly driven him insane.
The trees either side of the Gods Road soon began to thin, giving way to the grassy steeps of a valley. Eric squinted into the rising sun, straining for his first glimpse of Oaksville. A layer of fog clung to the slopes, but it was quickly fading in the rising sun. Buildings began to take shape – wooden houses with tall smoking chimneys, the three-pronged spire of the temple, an old castle set in the centre that towered above the town walls.
Eric’s spirit leapt at the sight. Then the first gust of wind reached him on the hilltop, carrying with it the clang of hammers and clip clop of hooves. His nose twitched at the tang of smoke and humanity hanging in the air. The image of a burning house flickered into his mind.
He paused mid-stride. A voice whispered in his mind. Go back – it’s too dangerous!
Fear gripped him. What if I’m not ready? His knees shook. His heart pounded like a runaway wagon on a cobbled street. His vision swam and he felt the warmth of tears on his cheeks.
Eric turned his head and looked back up the hill. The long grass rippled in the wind, the trees beyond shadowing the movement. The forest could offer him nothing more. He drew a breath of air and faced the town. He took a step forward. The terror returned. His chest constricted until he could hardly breathe, but this time his nerve held. Eric walked down the valley towards the gates.
Soon the outer wall loomed over him, its great stone blocks casting the path in shadow. Ahead a gaping hole in the stonework swallowed the road whole. A guard stood to either side of the gates, dressed in the chainmail and crimson tunic marking the Plorsean reserve army. Each held a steel tipped spear loosely at their side and a sword on their belt. The one to the right spared Eric a glance as he passed by, then returned his eyes to the road. Until recently Plorsea had enjoyed decades of peace. But now bandits had moved down from the mountains and were plaguing the countryside. At first they had only targeted travellers, but lately raids had been launched against some of the smaller settlements.
Eric passed between the open gates and into the darkness of the tunnel. Moss covered the giant slabs of rock on either side of him. Iron grates peeked from the ceiling, once used to pour burning oil on invaders who breached the outer gates. These walls dated back to darker times, before peace had come to the Three Nations.
With a deep breath Eric stepped from the tunnel and back into sunlight. A bustling marketplace spread out around him. The air was heavy with dust and the stink of human bodies. The buzz of a hundred voices assaulted Eric’s ears. To his left bakers stood at their booths waving loaves of bread in the faces of passers-by. Elsewhere he could see others plying their wares; butchers and jewellers, fishermen and carpenters, all chaotically crammed into the small square before the city gates. Each was doing their best to draw the early morning crowds to their stalls.
A jeweller caught Eric’s eye and began motioning for him to look at his array of golden necklaces laid out on the table. Eric smiled and shook his head, but suddenly the jeweller was out of his stall and moving through the crowd towards him shouting, “Sir! Sir!”
Eric shrank back towards the cool comfort of the tunnel. His feet stumbled on the uneven surface and sent him tumbling to the ground. His head struck the cobbled pavement. His ears rung. Groaning he looked up, straining to see while his vision spun.
A face appeared overhead. “Careful there, mate,” the man offered a hand. Eric immediately recognised the western twang of a Trolan accent.
Eric took the hand and the man hauled him to his feet. He stumbled for a second, trying to regain his balance.
“That looked like a nasty fall,” the Trolan offered. “You okay?”
The man wore a dark brown cloak and towered over Eric’s own five feet and seven. A poorly trimmed beard and moustache matted his face, while a broad smile detracted somewhat from the twisted lump serving him for a nose. His hazel eyes looked down from beneath bushy eyebrows. Silver streaked his black hair.
Eric nodded. “It was my fault,” he stuttered. “Everything is so… overwhelming.”
“A country boy then?” the man gave a booming laugh. “I remember my first time in a town like this. They stole every penny I had, not the pickpockets, those crooked merchants! Bought a dagger that snapped the first time I dropped it. These townsmen prey on the weak. Well don’t you worry mate, us country folk look after our own. The name’s Pyrros Gray, what can I do for ya?”
Eric grinned. The man reminded him of the warm manner of people in his old village. “I’m Eric. Is there some place quiet I could sit for a while? My head is spinning.”
“My pleasure, Eric. There’s a tavern not far from here, it’s usually quiet at this hour. I know the owner; he won’t mind you sitting down for a bit. Just follow me and we’ll have you there in no time. Only try not to catch the eye of any of these vultures, or they’ll soon convince you to trade everything you own for one of ‘em statues that grants luck with woman.”
Pyrros set off through the crowd. Eric followed close behind, afraid to lose him in the press of bodies. His legs felt unsteady and his head throbbed with each step.
A big woman stepped between them and thrust a wet trout in his face. “Cheapest fish in town! You buy!” she demanded.
Eric shook his head and side stepped the merchant, trying to avoid any further contact. She shouted after him but he ignored her words. He scanned the crowd, searching for Pyrros.
“Didn’t think I’d leave you behind, did you?” Pyrros’ voice came from behind him.
Eric spun around, relieved to see the bulky man right beside him.
Pyrros laughed. “So what brought you to Oaksville, mate?”
Eric shrugged. “I wanted a fresh start.”
“Well we’ll have to see what we can do about that. Now come on, we’re almost there.”
They slipped into a narrow alleyway which twisted away from the marketplace. Tall brick walls hemmed them in on either side, casting the alley in shadow. The drone of the markets died off as they rounded the first corner. Dead wood and discarded garbage lay in piles along the alley, but someone had maintained a trail through the mess, leading deeper into the town.
Eric wrinkled his nose as they passed a pile of decomposing fish heads. He stepped around it and hesitated. “Are you sure this is the way?”
Pyrros turned and grinned. “It’s a short cut. The streets surrounding the marketplace tend to get so crowded you can hardly move. This way goes around.”
A chill breeze blew through the alley. The hairs on Eric’s neck stood up. He did not like the way Pyrros was grinning. The man no longer seemed so friendly; suddenly the way he towered over Eric was threatening and a strange glint had appeared in his eyes. Eric’s gut churned in warning.
“I think I’d prefer the crowd to this mess, thanks,” Eric turned to leave.
Two men blocked his path. One spun a wooden baton in his hand and the other held a heavy club. Each stood a head above Eric. They were
dressed in plain clothes, but the smiles they wore lacked any trace of warmth. A coil of rope was slung over the baton wielder’s shoulder. They spread out to block Eric’s escape.
“Don’t bother running, mate,” Pyrros’ voice was menacing now. “You’ll make this easier on everyone if you come willingly.”
Eric half turned, keeping the other men in sight. “What do you want?”
Pyrros shrugged. “Fair trade’s not the only business that’s booming. Slaves have grown popular in southern Trola. So long as we’re discrete, take the ones no one misses, people turn a blind eye. You’re one of those, aren’t you mate?”
He shook his head. “No, my parents are waiting–” he was interrupted by a harsh cackle.
Pyrros scratched at his beard. “So you were lying earlier? About starting a new life?”
Eric clenched his fists, tense as coiled wire. He glanced at the men behind him, gauging the distance between them. Fear made his breath come in short, ragged gasps.
“No, I think you’re lying now, mate. I don’t think anyone is out there waiting for you. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who will miss you.”
This cannot be happening!
Pain pounded at Eric’s head, but he fought it down. He glanced at Pyrros, and then leapt at the man with the club. Grinning, the thug lifted his weapon. A moment before he swung Eric dived sideways, twisting for the gap between the men. He almost made it.
A club to his chest stopped him cold. For the second time that day he found himself flat on his back. Winded, he choked for air, the faces of the two men spinning above him. He could feel his anger taking hold. Overhead, thunder clapped. Drops of rain began to fall.
Footsteps came from nearby. Pyrros appeared above him, a frown on his face. “The first thing a slave must learn is obedience. You disappoint me, Eric. I took you for a quick learner.”