by Aaron Hodges
Liz took a deep, shuddering breath, and the red faded from her vision. Shivering, she released him and stepped back, though their eyes never left one another. A long silence stretched out until finally, Liz could take it no longer.
“Why, Chris?”
Chris shook his head. His eyes shimmered. “You should have let me die, Liz,” he croaked. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be here. It should have been me that died with the Director.”
To that, Liz had no answer.
Spinning on her heel, she fled the room.
Chapter 4
In the darkness, all Susan knew was pain. It was her entire world now, her whole being. She could feel her body tearing, her insides ripping apart, her mind rebelling. It wanted to flee, to depart her mortal body, escape the agony wrapping its red-hot coils around her.
Instead, she gritted her teeth and clung on.
“Breathe, Susan,” Talisa’s voice whispered through the darkness, drawing her back.
Opening her eyes, Susan looked around, but the candles had burnt out long ago and none of the Chead had bothered to get more. She sucked in a breath, savouring the sweetly scent of her brethren, and sighed as the pain receded for a second. A hand gripped her by the shoulder. She shifted on the stones to look for its owner.
“You are almost there…my mate,” Hecate’s stilted words whispered in her ear.
Susan nodded, though in the pitch-black, he could not see her.
“Light, please!” she gasped. Talisa would not be pleased—the Chead did not need sight—but in that instant, Susan hardly cared.
A hand stroked her hair. Somewhere in the darkness she heard the faint whisper of a candle being lit. A flame appeared, its glow casting back the pitch-black and, blinking, she looked around. Talisa and Hecate sat on either side of her, their scent enveloping her, while a third Chead held the candle near her feet.
She sensed the pressure building again. Clenching her teeth, Susan struggled to control her breathing. A wave of pain swept out from her abdomen. Her legs spasmed. A sharp cramp had begun in the small of her back hours ago, and it flared again now. Arcing against the cold ground, she cried out as the contraction ripped through her.
Suddenly she found herself in another place, another body, another time.
Susan laughed as she wandered through the museum, her mum just two steps behind her. The crowds pressed in around them, but she didn’t mind. This was her special day, her time in the sun, and she was going to make the most of it.
After all, it wasn’t every day you turned ten.
The day passed in a blur, as she led her mum through the countless exhibits detailing the history of the Western Allied States. How they had departed from the United States and set off to forge their own path. How the United States had attempted to undermine them, eventually driving them to war. How for a decade war had raged across the North American continent.
And how the detonation of a nuclear warhead in Washington, DC had finally brought the devastating conflict to a close.
At the end, Susan and her mother found themselves in the museum’s feature exhibit—an expose on the WAS’s nuclear independence. Newspaper articles had been blown up and plastered over one wall, featuring articles declaring ‘VICTORY’ alongside images of a mushroom cloud rising from the wreckage of DC.
Walking through the exhibit, Susan wondered at the life-sized rockets littering the room. For a ten-year-old, the sleek steel contraptions seemed the epitome of man’s accomplishments. How these strange devices could be sent hurtling thousands of kilometres through the sky was beyond her comprehension. Glass screens around the room showed videos of glowing reactors and rockets soaring across vast oceans. In that moment, it seemed to Susan that her nation must be capable of anything.
Slowly the vision began to fade, the edges turning to black. Feeling the pull of pain, Susan clung to the memory, desperate to remain. From a distance, she watched her ten-year-old self studiously reading her way through the exhibit, reading of the process of nuclear fission, the development of the triad, the map of the Western Allied States showing their known nuclear bases.
As the last traces of the memory faded away, Susan glimpsed the words inscribed beside Albuquerque.
Kirtland Airforce Base.
Susan screamed as the agony came rushing back. Thrashing, she caught Hecate by the shoulder and hauled him towards her. He yelped as her fingers dug into his flesh like claws, but for once he lacked the strength to tear himself free. Panting, Susan shrieked again, her cries echoing through the cavern.
“Almost there, Susan,” Talisa’s voice was disgustingly calm. For a second Susan wanted to hurl a rock at the elder Chead.
“Breathe, my mate,” Hecate whispered in her ear.
With an effort of will, Susan lay back against the stones. Her chest constricted, reducing each inhalation to desperate gasps. She clung to Hecate until she felt blood beneath her fingers, but now her mate did not pull away. Warmth flooded Susan as their eyes met, and she screamed one last time.
A sudden rushing sensation came from between her legs. The pressure wrapping around her abdomen lessened, and Susan collapsed back against the stones, crying and panting, coughing as her chest relaxed. Finally she managed to take a proper breath.
For a second there was silence in the cavern. Then a piercing cry split the darkness, and the Chead at her feet bent down and lifted something from the stones. Susan’s heart fluttered as she saw her baby in the Chead’s arms. She scrambled to sit up, though fire still burned in her stomach. Stretching out her arms, she cried wordlessly for her child.
But the Chead only turned away. Before she could stop him, he disappeared into a side cavern, stealing her child from view. A strangled cry built in Susan’s throat as warmth turned to rage. It cast aside the agony and fed strength to her limbs. Arms trembling, she started to stand.
An iron hand gripped her shoulder and forced her back down. Snarling, Susan twisted and lashed out at Talisa, but the elder Chead only caught her fist and shoved her back.
“Down, child,” she commanded.
With a pitiful moan, Susan slumped back against the stones. Tears sprang to her eyes as her baby’s cry echoed through the darkness. She twisted around, trying hopelessly to find him.
“Enough!”
Talisa’s weathered hand slapped Susan hard across the face. She collapsed, and started to cry. The pain was returning now, the pressure building once more.
“Please,” she moaned.
“No,” Talisa growled, murky white eyes flashing in the light of the candle. “Your child will wait. The others cannot.”
Susan gulped, looking up at the elder Chead, uncomprehending. Seconds ticked past before it struck her. Agony had driven the knowledge from her mind, but now it came rushing back. The Chead did not have single child births. Like rabbits and cats, they had litters, multiple births. Except unlike their furry relatives, birthing was not easy.
It was agony.
Sobbing, Susan collapsed back against the cold stones.
Chapter 5
Sam sighed as he fell back on the double bed. Bouncing on the soft mattress, he placed his arms behind his head and looked up at Ashley. Smiling, she looked down at him and shook her head.
“A little early for bed, isn’t it?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “It’s three in the afternoon.”
“Perfect time for a siesta.” Sam laughed, patting the empty space beside him. Even now, he couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop looking at her.
Ashley had been skin and bone when she’d escaped, her hair matted and her eyes lined by dark shadows. She had slept for two days straight—and upon waking had wolfed down enough food to feed a lion. Even now, she became like a fox in a henhouse at the merest mention of food. But the extra sustenance had done its work, returning the muscle to her lithe frame and the subtle curves to her hips.
Seeing him staring, Ashley took a step towards the bed, a playful smile tugging at her lips. To show his appreciat
ion for his rescue, Harry had given them a room to themselves. They were both still savouring the novelty of privacy. For months they’d lived in prison cells and cages, or camped in tiny hideouts. To suddenly have a master bedroom and ensuite bathroom all to themselves was something of a shock.
Of course, they had taken full advantage of it.
Still on her feet, Ashley brushed the scarlet hair from her face and fluttered her eyelashes. “You want me to join you?”
Impatient, Sam sat up and grabbed her around the waist. Ashley yelped as he threw her down on the bed, but she was too quick to be pinned. Twisting to the side, she laughed as he landed beside her. Then she wriggled closer and wrapped her arms around his waist. Leaning in, she planted a kiss on his lips.
Sam kissed her back, savouring the sweetness of her tongue, the closeness of her body, but Ashley pulled away again before things could progress. He eyed her closely, seeing her mind wasn’t completely with him. Reaching out, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, to which she scowled and dislodged it again.
“Don’t do that.” She tapped him on the nose like he was a bad puppy.
“Where are you?” he asked softly, stroking her cheek.
Ashley sighed. “What do you think…they’re going to do?”
Sam exhaled. He didn’t need to ask who Ashley meant by ‘they’. “I don’t know,” he offered. “What Chris did…”
“I tried to make her understand,” Ashley replied, absently stroking his chest. “What it was like for us…”
“I think she knows…” Sam replied, even as he shuddered.
He still remembered his time locked alone in Halt’s cell, powerless to resist the guards as they beat him. And Ashley’s terror as Halt slowly snapped her fingers, one by one. “But I’m not sure it matters.”
“We’ve all done terrible, awful things though,” Ashley murmured, rolling onto her back to stare at the ceiling. Her chest rose as she sucked in a great breath, drawing Sam’s eyes to the soft curves of her breasts.
“In the heat of the moment, when it was them or us,” he muttered absently.
Closing her eyes, Ashley nodded, and Sam knew she was seeing Chris on the screen, ending Mike’s life. He watched her face, wondering again how she had found the strength to resist, to defy the Director while Chris—always so strong, so determined—had crumbled.
Then again, Ashley herself was stronger than most. Even after their first escape, when she’d been struggling to overcome her own demons, Ashley had placed her friend’s well-being above her own. When they’d needed her at the university, she hadn’t hesitated to help, despite her terror.
“Chris…he lost himself in there,” Ashley was saying. “It wasn’t the torture that broke him, or the sleepless nights, or the cold or starvation or pain. It was the absence of hope,” her voice broke as her head turned towards him. “All those kids, Sam, all those students. They stood up for us. And there was nothing we could do to save them. Chris couldn’t take that, couldn’t take knowing he’d given up his freedom to protect them, and they’d died anyway.”
Sam nodded. Even knowing what the government was capable of, the scenes of the university massacre had shocked him. Chris and Ashley had sacrificed their freedom to try and stop it—he could understand how that could have broken his friend.
He could, but could Liz? Could Harry and his council?
Shivering, he reached out and stroked Ashley’s hair again. Her eyelids slid closed at his touch. Leaning in, she nuzzled his neck. Tingles of fire ignited where her lips met his skin, and the red heat of desire clutched him. Opening his arms, he drew Ashley into his embrace.
She came willingly now, her arms slipping beneath his shirt, touching lightly, taunting. He groaned as their lips locked together. Her tongue darted out, the taste of her filling him, fuelling his desire. The heat in his chest spread, becoming a desperate yearning, an insatiable need.
Her fingers were tugging at his shirt now, and he lifted his arms eagerly, allowing her to draw the thin material up over his broad shoulders. Then her hands returned to his naked chest, hungry, eager, even as he still struggled to pull the shirt over his head. As always, the slits at the back caught on his wings, and in a sudden fit of impatience he yanked at it. Fabric tore and sitting up, he hurled the ruined shirt across the room.
Watching him, Ashley lay back on the bed, her white singlet top hugging her body. Her white wings stretched out to either side of her. A teasing smile twitched on her lips. With her wings spread, there was no way to remove her top intact. But the glimmer in her eyes told him what she wanted.
Growling, he leaned over her, tongue tasting, teeth nibbling at the soft flesh of her neck, her shoulders. His fingers danced across her stomach, floating over the mounds of her breasts, coming to the thin strap at her shoulders. Taking it in his fingers, he snapped it before moving on to the other side. Ashley gasped mockingly as the second ripped. Grinning, he gripped the fabric where it curved down to cover her breasts, and tore it clean in two.
Sitting back, he took a moment to admire his work. Ashley still lay on the bed, wings spread. The ruined singlet lay beneath her, exposing the glorious curves of her body for him to devour. Bending down, Sam held himself on all fours, their naked bodies just inches from touching. Face to face, they stared into one another’s eyes, breath mingling.
In a rush Sam leaned in and kissed her, feeling Ashley’s lips melt beneath his, her body rising up to meet him. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest, igniting a primal moan deep in his throat. Her fingers were in his hair, pulling him down, holding him tight, desperate to ensure he wouldn’t escape. But he wasn’t going anywhere. Her scent was in his nostrils, her taste in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this place with her forever, and let the world outside do what it would.
Her hands fumbled at his pants, and then they were gone. Hers followed, and Sam gasped as her hands gripped him by the waist. Grinning, she pushed him, and suddenly he was tumbling sideways. She laughed as she straddled him, her sleek breasts glittering in the fluorescent lights. Her amber eyes were aglow, shining with that light he’d seen in the corridors beneath Alcatraz. Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear.
“Take me, Sam.” Her breath was hot against his flesh.
Grinning, he had no choice but to obey.
Chapter 6
Chris lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. His mind was adrift, set loose by the confrontation with Liz. His thoughts swirled, drowning in the cocktail of drugs being pumped into his arm. A deep sense of lethargy clung to him, a hopeless resignation to his fate. Even now, thinking back, he could hardly believe what he’d done, the atrocities he’d committed. It seemed almost a dream to him now, an awful nightmare he could not wake up from.
But there was no escaping the truth. Mike was dead—his blood was on Chris’s hands. There was no changing that, no denying it. The whole world had seen him execute the helpless Texan. One way or another, he would have to pay the price for his actions.
When and what form that price would take had yet to be determined. In the corner, the television buzzed as images flickered across the screen. They showed the riots engulfing San Francisco, the buildings burning and protestors marching in the streets. The people were screaming for justice, for the fall of the government and all those involved with the spread of the Chead.
Chris watched the atrocities without emotion. After all this time, after everything he’d suffered at the hands of the government, he felt strangely disconnected from the outside world. Thinking back to the boy he’d been, to the teenager looking forward to finishing school and graduating with his friends, it was like looking into another life, another world.
His grandmother had been his last connection to that life, to a time before Doctor Halt’s insane experiments had changed everything. But now she was gone, and he felt more alone than ever. It was as though each new loss pushed him farther and farther from humanity.
Without Liz, without Ashley and Sam, wh
at would he become?
Chris shuddered, recalling the raw hate in Liz’s eyes. Was that the price his crimes demanded? That he be left completely and utterly alone?
Gritting his teeth, Chris forced aside his self-pity. If that was the case, if his friends, if the world no longer wanted anything to do with him, so be it. He deserved no less.
A harsh beep from the corner drew Chris’s attention to the television. He frowned as the screen flashed red. Sighing, he reached for the remote. But flicking through the few available channels, he saw they were all the same. He was about to switch the television off when the screen flickered back to life. An image appeared of a broad mahogany desk and sleek leather chair.
Chris’s blood chilled as a man moved into sight and sat down. A broad smile spread across the President’s face as he straightened his tie and looked into the camera.
“My fellow citizens of the Western Allied States,” he began. “It is with regret that I come to you today from hiding. Terrorists and political traitors have undermined our great nation, driving your elected leaders from government and inciting violence across the country. I have been forced to take leave from my office in fear for my own life.”
He paused, eying the camera, and Chris swallowed. The glint in the President’s eyes was not one of a defeated man. If anything, he looked invigorated, as though this week of chaos had revitalised him.
“It grieves me that our great nation has come to this. But fear not. I will not let chaos stand. I will not allow treacherous Generals and foreign devils to overthrow our nation. This will not be the end of democracy in the Western Allied States.”
Chris scowled, cursing the man’s hypocrisy. The President himself had been the first to undermine the country’s democracy. Who else could have been behind the spate of disappearances, the bribery scandals and treason charges brought against opposition leaders? By the time the first election after the war arrived, the Opposition party had plummeted to record lows in the polls. Eventually the opposition had crumbled to infighting, fracturing into half a dozen minor parties who could never truly challenge the President’s party.