Rebirth (The Praegressus Project Book 1)

by Aaron Hodges

  Liz screamed as fingers like steel closed around her ankle and tugged, sending her crashing to the ground. The shock of the fall sent the breath rushing from her, and she gasped, struggling to breathe. Pain shot through her ankle as the fingers squeezed. Screaming a curse, she kicked out with her foot, but Joshua surged forward and caught it in his other hand.

  Panic clenched Liz’s stomach as she fought to break his grip. Sucking in a lungful of air, she tried to roll away, but his hands held her like iron shackles. However hard she strained, he held her tighter, teeth flashing as his lips drew back in a grin.

  In a sudden rush, he dragged her across the floor, pulling himself up as he did so. For a second the hands released her, but before she could squirm free, Joshua’s weight crashed down on her chest, pinning her down.

  Hands fumbled at her throat, fingernails tearing at her skin.

  Tendrils of horror wrapped around Liz and she lashed out with a fist, catching Joshua in the side of the head. He reeled sideways, but his weight did not shift and she failed to break free.

  Recovering his balance, Joshua snarled and raised a fist. Flinching, Liz raised her arm, then screamed as his blow glanced off her forearm and into her shoulder. She swung at his face again, but there was no strength in the blow this time, and it bounced weakly off his chin.

  Liz was not so lucky.

  Stars exploded across her vision as Joshua’s fist connected with her forehead. Her head thudded back into the soft ground. Distantly she thought how kind it was for the doctors to have provided a padded floor while they murdered each other. Then another blow thudded into her jaw, and the fight went from her in a sudden rush. Darkness spun at the edges of her vision.

  Cold fear spread through her stomach as an almost tentative hand wrapped around her neck. She sucked in a breath as pressure closed around her throat. Panic caught her as she stared up at Joshua, silently pleading for mercy.

  Joshua stared back, eyes hard, lips drawn back in a snarl. His teeth clenched with rage – whoever he’d been before entering this room, that Joshua was now long gone. He had been burned away, the innocence of the boy replaced by anger, by bitter hatred, and the desperation to live.

  Fire grew in Liz’s chest, willing her to action. She kicked feebly, struggling to manoeuvre herself into a position to attack. But his weight was far beyond her strength to lift, and before she could struggle further he lifted her head and slammed it back into the ground. Despite the spongy surface, Liz’s head spun.

  She opened her mouth, gasping in desperation, but the pressure did not relent. Darkness filled the edges of her vision as every muscle in her body began to scream. Bit by bit her strength slipped away, replaced by the endless burning of suffocation.

  On top of her, Joshua leaned closer, eyes wide with vicious intent.

  In that moment, Liz saw her chance.

  He was so close, just inches away. She could not miss. With the last of her strength, she clenched her fist and drove it up into Joshua’s throat. The steel rim of the collar bit into her knuckles, but behind it, she felt something give, something fracture with the force of her blow.

  The pressure around her throat vanished as Joshua toppled backwards. A low gurgling echoed off the walls as he gasped, his hands going to his own neck, his legs thrashing against the soft floor.

  Liz sucked in a long gasp of icy air, her throat burning as air flooded her lungs. A wave of agony swept through her, but she struggled to her hands and knees, still coughing and wheezing. Her head swirled and the room spun, but she dug her nails into the spongy floor and willed herself to remain conscious.

  Get up, Liz!

  Summoning the last of her strength, Liz pulled herself to her feet and stood swaying in the centre of the room. The white lights burned in her eyes, blinding her, but she clenched her fists, and by sheer will stayed upright.

  She looked down at Joshua, bracing herself, and her stomach lurched.

  Joshua no longer moved, no longer thrashed, no longer breathed. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and staring, but the boy was gone. His face was a mottled white and purple, the veins of his neck bulging, and a black bruise was already spreading from beneath his collar.

  Joshua lay dead at her feet, his life fled.

  Tears ran from Liz’s eyes as she sank to the ground.

  The darkness came rushing up to meet her.

  14

  Chris watched as William staggered upright, his heart sinking at the thought of another round. But to his relief, the boy’s feet slipped from beneath him and he toppled forward, landing with an undignified thud on the padded floor.

  Closing his eyes, Chris let out a long sigh.

  It’s over.

  The thought offered scant comfort. In truth, it had not been much of a fight. While William was tall and had long arms, there was not a scrap of muscle on the boy. And he had never quite recovered from the first day on the field. Young and inexperienced, he had still been the first to attack, but it was clear his heart was not in it. Chris had easily deflected his clumsy blows and retreated across the room.

  Crossing his arms, he had looked at the glass, and shaken his head in refusal.

  A loud beep had come from his collar followed by a bolt of electricity that sent him to his knees. Gasping, he reached for the steel collar, but the shock had already ceased.

  The voice had come again as Chris climbed back to his feet.

  “That was your only warning. Engage with your opponent, or forfeit your life.”

  That had been five minutes ago, and despite his reluctance, Chris had had no choice but to obey.

  Now guilt ate at his stomach, curdling the measly remnants of his breakfast. William crouched on the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to regain his feet.

  Despite the voice’s command, Chris had still held back, pulling his blows where he could. But as the fight progressed, the boy had grown more desperate, and Chris had been forced to act.

  A kick to William’s head had sent him reeling, and he had never recovered.

  Now Chris waited, staring into the mirrored glass, struggling to pierce the reflection and find the faces of his captors. Whoever they were, he hated them with a violence he had not thought himself capable of.

  The door behind the boy opened with a squeal of old hinges. Chris looked up as two guards entered, followed by a woman in a white lab coat. His heart lurched, before he realised the woman was not Fallow. One of the guards moved across to check on William, while the other approached Chris, gesturing him back against the wall.

  Once she was satisfied both prisoners were secure, the woman strode across the room, her lips pursed, eyes fixed on the fallen boy. A wireless headset curled around her left ear, half hidden by the curls of her auburn hair. She spoke as she moved, transmitting observations to whoever was on the other end. In one hand, she carried a sleek steel instrument.

  Chris shivered as he recognised the gun-shaped jet injector, identical to the one Fallow had used on him the night he was taken.

  The woman who was not Fallow crouched beside William, still talking into her headset. William was on his hands and knees, struggling to find his balance. Reaching out, the woman laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Subject is still conscious. He appears to be suffering from concussion,” her words carried across to Chris. “Assessment?”

  A low groan came from William as he turned towards the woman’s voice. “Wha… what happened?”

  Chris closed his eyes, guilt welling up within him. He had seen these same symptoms in his Dojang, when younger fighters failed to wear their head guards. Still, he didn’t think he’d hit William too hard, just enough to take the fight out of him.

  The doctor was nodding to the voice in her ear. “Affirmative. There would be no purpose in resuming the fight. Administering the injection.”

  Before Chris could react to the announcement, the woman leaned down and pressed the jet injector to William’s neck. The hiss of gas followed as the
vial attached to the gun emptied. Quickly, she withdrew the gun, stood, and retreated across the room.

  On the ground, William raised a hand to his neck, his face tightening.

  The woman looked on, face impassive, arms crossed and fingers tapping against her elbow.

  Whatever had been in the injection did not take long to act. Chris stood frozen as William began to cough. Then, without warning his eyes rolled back in his skull. A violent shudder went through him as his breathing stopped, then began again with a desperate gasp, as though he were sucking air through a straw. He bent over, groaning, his mouth moving as he tried to speak. Wild eyes flickered around the room, pleading for help.

  As William’s desperate eyes found Chris, the spell broke. He started forward, but the outstretched arm of a guard barred his way. Before he could slip past, the guard grasped him by the shirt and tossed him back against the wall. The pads broke the impact, but he staggered as he landed and barely kept his feet.

  He looked up in time to see William pitch face first into the ground, a low moan marking his final exhalation of breath. His feet kicked for a second, then lay still. Silence fell across the room as the guard stepped back from Chris and faced the doctor.

  The woman walked across the room and crouched beside William. Reaching out, she felt his neck. After a few seconds, she gave a curt nod.

  “Subject has expired. Subject Christopher Sanders has passed the framework,” her voice was cold.

  “Why?” Chris screamed.

  The woman looked up quickly, her eyes widening. Beside her, the guards edged forwards, placing themselves between Chris and the doctor.

  “Why?” Chris grated again, taking a step forward.

  The woman’s surprise had already faded, though her eyes flicked to the guards before she addressed him. “He was weak. He would not have survived phase two. This was the humane option.”

  “Humane?” Chris clenched his fists. “He was helpless!”

  “With the concussion, he would have passed without pain,” the doctor spoke with a calm efficiency, as though explaining something to a child.

  A wild anger took Chris then, an impossible rage that swept away all caution. Without thinking, he leapt forward, fingers reaching for the woman’s throat. The guards stepped forward to meet him, but Chris never made it that far.

  Agony tore through his neck, spreading in an instant through every fibre of his being, taking his feet out from under him. He gasped as he struck the ground, his arms locking, every muscle screaming as a thousand needles stabbed them. A convulsion rippled through him and his limbs flailed wildly. His head thumped hard against the ground, as the reek of burning reached his nostrils. His back arched and he opened his mouth to unleash a silent scream.

  When the agony finally ceased, he found himself staring up at the ceiling. The bright light sent a bolt of agony through his head, and he quickly closed his eyes again.

  Movement came from nearby, followed by a voice. “Do that again, and we will find someone else to fill your place.”

  Chris opened his eyes to find the woman crouched beside him. She held a finger over her watch, a ready smile twisting her lips.

  He nodded, swallowing hard as the collar pressed against his throat.

  “This is for the greater good, Christopher,” the doctor continued. “Without us, you would all be in the same place as this boy. At least here, we have given you a fighting chance. Trust me, when I say the government interrogators are not nearly as humane.”

  She stood then, waving a hand at the guards. “Get him up.”

  Rough hands grasped Chris beneath his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled as they held him, struggling to control his legs. They jerked and twitched, refusing to obey, but eventually he got them firmly on the ground. Even so, the guards did not release him, perhaps knowing from experience how unstable he was.

  “Bring him,” the woman said as she turned and opened the door.

  Chris’s eyes lingered on the dead boy as the guards dragged him from the room. William still lay where he had fallen, still and silent, eyes wide and staring from the lifeless husk of his body.

  Then they were outside, marching down long white corridors. Distantly, Chris thought they were heading for the cells, but he paid no attention to his surroundings. His mind was elsewhere, locked away in the room with William, his dead eyes still staring.

  It’s your fault, the thought ate at him.

  William had never stood a chance. The minute they’d entered the room, the boy’s life had been forfeit. These people had known it, had wanted it to happen.

  Doors slammed as they moved deeper into the facility. He knew where they were heading now, that he would soon find himself back in the tiny cell. The others would be waiting for him. And they would know, would see the truth in his eyes.

  That he was a killer.

  15

  The steel door to the prison block appeared ahead, the guards already moving to open it. In a blink, they were through, marching down the long corridor of the prison block. The cells were almost empty now, only a few faces remaining to press against the bars and watch Chris’s return.

  When he first saw their cell, he thought it was empty. But as the guards drew the door open, he glimpsed movement from Liz’s bed, saw her haggard face poke into view. She watched in grim silence as the guards propelled Chris inside.

  Steel screeched behind him, followed by the clang of the locking mechanism. Footsteps retreated down the corridor, fading until another clang announced their departure.

  Reaching out, Chris gripped the metal bar of his bunk. His legs shook, threating to give way. He closed his eyes, waiting for Liz to speak, to hurl her accusations.

  You killed him.

  The words whispered in his mind, but Liz remained silent. Only the distant tread of the guard in the corridor could be heard. He took a deep breath, tasting the bleach in the air, the blood from a cut on his lip.

  “Are you okay?” He jumped as Liz finally spoke.

  He looked up then, finding Liz’s big eyes watching him, and saw his own pain reflected in their sapphire depths. She sat in her bunk, knuckles wide as she gripped the metal sidebar. Her eyes watered and a single tear streaked down her cheek.

  “No.” Chris’s shoulders slumped. “You?”

  She shook her head, looked away, but he had seen the flash of guilt in her eyes. The truth hung over the room like a blanket, smothering them.

  They were alive.

  Taking a better grip of his bunk, Chris hauled himself up. Dragging himself across the sagging mattress, he collapsed into his pillow. Then he turned and saw Liz still watching him. Her lips trembled. There was no sign of the proud, defiant girl he’d first seen in the cages. The last few days, last few hours, had broken her.

  Broken us both, a voice reminded him.

  Pushing himself up, Chris twisted to face Liz. “Did they…” his voice trailed off. He couldn’t finish the question.

  Her crystal blue eyes found his, shining in the glow of the overhead lights. “No,” she whispered. “I did.”

  A chill went through Chris at her words. He stared at her, noticing now the purple bruise on her cheek, the dried blood on her lip. His eyes travelled lower and found the swollen black skin beneath her collar. He shuddered. Her struggle had been far more real than his. He remembered the boy Joshua, guessed he was the one…

  “What happened?” he murmured.

  Liz closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean…” She sucked in a breath, and her eyes flashed open. “I didn’t want to,” she finished with a growl.

  Chris nodded, leaning back against the concrete wall. “You did what you had to, Liz,” he offered.

  “He would have killed me,” she continued as though he had not spoken. “I had to do it. He left me no choice…”

  Chris felt a sudden urge to wrap his arms around the girl, to hold her until the pain left her. This was a side of her he had not seen, the vulnerability beneath the armour she’
d worn from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. Gone was the hardness, the distant air of superiority. The foulness of this place had eaten the rest, had reduced them both to shadows of their former selves.

  He could almost feel his humanity fading away, slipping through his fingers like grains of rice. With each fresh atrocity he witnessed, with every awful thing they forced him to do, he could feel his soul slipping away, feel himself becoming the animal they thought him to be. One way or another, soon he would cease to exist, and nothing would remain of the boy his mother had raised.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Liz looked up at that. He continued, his voice breaking. “Whether you killed him or not, only one of you was ever walking out of that room. After my… after William fell, the doctors came. He couldn’t stand, couldn’t defend himself. They executed him.”

  A sharp hiss of breath came from Liz, but it was a long time before she replied. “Who are these people?”

  Monsters. Chris thought, but did not speak the word.

  Across from him, Liz started to cough. A long, drawn out series of wheezes and gasps rattled from her chest, going on and on, until her face was flushed red and her brow creased with pain.

  Finally, she leaned back against the wall, panting for breath.

  “Are you okay?” Chris whispered

  Liz opened her eyes and stared at him. “Of course, city boy. I can take a beating.”

  Chris winced. His own anger rose but he bit back a curt reply. There was no point taking offence. He could see her pain, knew where the anger came from. He had not missed the coldness with which she addressed them at times, her hesitation to join their conversations.

  Another rattle came from her chest as she laid her head back against the wall.

  “We’re not all bad, you know,” he said at last. “Not all rich, either. There are a lot of people who disagree with the government now, even in the cities. There have been protests…”

  “Protests?” Liz coughed, her voice wry. “Well, nice to hear you’re getting out.”