by Aaron Hodges
Chris sighed. “I understand–”
“I don’t think you do,” Liz cut him off. “You think you do, but you don’t. While you lived in your cosy home in the city, I was forced onto the streets. Not because I wanted too, not because I had a choice, but because everyone I knew was dead. Slaughtered.”
Shivering, Chris opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, unable to find the words.
Liz eyed him for a moment and then continued. “I had nowhere to go, no one left to turn too. I thought the government would help when they arrived, that they would protect me. But when they came, they looked at me like I was nothing, like I was an inconvenience to them. They would have arrested me, thrown me in some place like this if I hadn’t run.”
Chris looked away from the pain in Liz’s eyes. He stared at his hands, the bruises on his knuckles, his stomach clenched with guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered at last, looking up. “You shouldn’t have been treated that way. It’s not right,” he paused. “Was it a Chead?”
Liz flinched at the word. When she did not reply, Chris went on. “Mum always said something needed to be done, that her father would have been ashamed by how things have changed since the war. We should never have let the inequality between the cities and the countryside grow so bad,” he paused for breath, “But that does not change what I said. We’re not all evil, Liz. Some of us want to fix things, want the government to be held to account.”
“So I should just give you all the benefit of the doubt?” Liz snapped.
“No,” Chris replied in a soft tone. “You should judge us by our own actions, not those of others,” he breathed out. “A long time ago, I might have hated you too, Liz. Feared you for being different, for speaking with a rural accent.”
“But not now?”
He shook his head. “No,” he trailed off, remembering a time long ago. “When I was younger, I was running late getting home from class. It was getting dark, and we don’t live in a good neighbourhood. When I was nearly home, a man stepped from the shadows. He had a knife.”
“Let me guess, he was from the country too?”
Chris laughed softly. “No, he spoke like a normal person.” He couldn’t help but tease her for the assumption. Shaking his head, he continued, “But I think he was an addict of some sort – his eyes were wild and his hands shook. Before I had a chance to reach for my bag, he swung the knife at me, and caught me in the shoulder. I still have the scar…”
Liz nodded. “I saw.”
Chris glanced across at her, his cheeks warming. He remembered his embarrassment when they had been forced to remove their clothes. Apparently, Liz had allowed her eyes to roam more than his own.
“What does this have to do with anything, Chris?”
With a shrug, Chris continued. “I think he would have killed me if someone else hadn’t come along.” He paused, looking across at Liz. “I don’t know where he came from, but suddenly there was a man standing between us. He spoke with a rural accent, told the mugger to leave. When the man didn’t listen, my rescuer took his knife away and sent him running.”
“And this suddenly changed your mind about us?”
Chris shrugged. “Not overnight, no. But the man walked me home, right to my front door. He even told mum what to do with my cut. He didn’t have to help me, could have left me to die, dismissed me as some spoiled city boy who deserved it. But he chose to help me instead. Since then, I’ve tried to do the same. To give people a chance, whoever they are.”
Liz let out a long sigh. “And you want the same from me now?” she asked. “Because some man from the country saved you from a mugger?”
Chuckling, Chris nodded his head. “It would be nice to have a clean slate.”
Liz shook her head. “After today, I’m not sure a clean slate exists for us, Chris. Joshua’s blood is on my hands…”
“No,” Chris replied firmly. “It’s on theirs.”
Liz nodded, but they both knew the words meant little. They might not have had a choice, but that did not lessen the burden.
“We’re all in this together now, aren’t we?” Liz repeated Ashley’s words from all those days ago, on the day they had arrived.
Chris’s gut clenched as he realised the two still had not returned.
On the other bed, Liz continued, her voice hesitant. “Okay, Chris,” she whispered. “I’ll give you a chance.”
“Thank you,” he said after a while.
Silence settled around them again then. Chris stared up at the ceiling, struggling to resolve the conflict of emotion battling within him. William’s face drifted through his thoughts, eyes wide and staring, but the guilt felt a little less now. Liz had faced the same question, given the same answer.
Somehow, that made things just a little easier to bear.
Long hours ticked past. Still the others did not return. Chris and Liz waited in the hushed stillness of the cell, listening to the thump of the guard’s boots outside, the whisper of voices from other cells. Liz’s breath grew more ragged.
Finally, the bang of the outer door announced someone’s approach. The soft tread of footsteps followed, moving down the corridor. Metal screeched as cell doors opened, while other footsteps continued on towards them.
Chris sat up as shadows fell across the bars of their cell. Relief touched his chest as he looked out, and saw Ashley and Sam standing outside. Hinges squeaked as the door opened and they stumbled inside. Sad smiles touched their faces as they looked up at Chris and Liz.
“So,” Sam breathed. “You’re alive.”
16
Without pausing to knock, Angela shoved the door to Halt’s office open and strode inside. She glimpsed surprise on the harsh lines of his face as he looked up, though it had vanished by the time the door slammed shut behind her. Anger replaced it as he half-rose from his chair, fists clenched hard on his desk.
“What–”
“You have no right!” Angela cut him off.
Halt straightened. “I have every right,” his voice was low, dangerous.
Hands trembling, Angela approached his desk. “It’s not ready, Halt,” she hissed. “You can’t start those trials tomorrow. I need more time.”
Rising, Halt walked around his desk, until he stood towering over her. Angela stared back, defiant, anger feeding her strength. She had just learned Halt planned to initiate the next phase of the Praegressus project tomorrow. The same project she had dedicated the last ten years of her life too.
“The directors want results, Doctor Fallow,” Halt bit out the words, “and you’ve been stalling.”
Angela refused to back down. “I’ve been doing my job,” she snapped. “And I’m telling you, the virus is not ready!”
Halt smiled. “I’ve looked over your work, Fallow,” Angela shivered at his tone. “And I say it’s ready. After all, fortune favours the bold.”
The words of the old Latin proverb curled around Angela’s mind as she stepped back. They reminded her of Halt in those first days. The government had sent him after her discovery with the Chead, bringing her their new directive.
The Praegressus Project.
Praegressus – Latin for evolution, the adaptation of species down the countless millennia.
Shivering, Angela drew in a breath to steady herself. “There are still problems with the uptake,” she ground out. “You could kill them all with your recklessness.”
“The alternations will work–”
“Of course they will,” Angela interrupted. “Animal trials have shown us as much. It’s their immune response that concerns me. Their bodies will tear themselves apart fighting the virus.”
Halt waved a hand as he moved back behind his desk. “Should that eventuate, we will administer immunosuppressants until the chromosomal changes have set,” he sat back at his desk, eyebrow raised. “Is that all?”
“Immunosuppressants?” Angela pressed her palms against the desk and leaned in. “We’ll have to move them to the clean r
oom, watch them around the clock. They wouldn’t last a day in the cells.”
“Whatever it takes, Fallow.” Halt stared her down. “We can’t wait any longer. The government wants answers. We’ll be shut down if we don’t provide a solution soon. The attacks are growing worse. The authorities are desperate.”
“What?” Angela questioned.
Halt leaned back in his chair. “The fools underestimated the Chead for too long. They should have given us the funding we needed for this years ago. There was an attack in San Francisco yesterday. They’ve reached the capital, Fallow. The President himself is demanding answers.”
Angela shook her head, doubt gnawing at her chest. “You really think this is the answer?”
“Of course.” Halt’s cold eyes regarded her with a detached curiosity. “Do not lose focus now, Doctor Fallow. Not when we’re so close. The Praegressus project will change everything. When it succeeds, the Western Allied States will herald in a new era of human evolution. The Chead will be hunted down and eradicated, our enemies at home and abroad consigned to the pages of history.”
Looking into her superior’s eyes, Angela shuddered. Naked greed lurked in their grey depths. For the first time, she allowed herself to look around, to take in the grisly display lining the walls of Halt’s office. The sight she had been doing her best to ignore.
All around, animal eyes stared back at her. Halt’s office was lined with shelves, each holding a collection of jars filled with clear fluids. Suspended within hung a silent host of animals of every shape and size. Birds and lizards, cats and snakes and what looked like a platypus stared down at her, their eyes blank and dead. An opossum curled around its ringed tail on the shelf behind Halt’s head, while beside it a baby chimpanzee hugged its chest. With its eyes closed, it could have been sleeping.
Angela looked away, struggling to hide her disgust from Halt.
“Soon they will all be obsolete,” Halt commented, noticing her discomfort.
“Yes,” she almost choked on the word.
But at what cost? She added silently.
Halt eyed her closely and raised one eyebrow. “Was there anything else, Doctor Fallow?”
Angela shook her head. She knew when she was defeated. Turning, she all but ran from the room. She closed the door carefully behind her, her anger spent. Once outside, she placed a hand against the wall, shivering with sudden fear. Events were accelerating now, slipping beyond her control, and it was all she could do to keep up.
In her mind, she saw images of San Francisco, the steep roads teaming with life. She imagined the devastation a Chead would cause in such a place, the mindless slaughter. Bodies would line the streets as police struggled to reach the scene through the traffic-clogged streets. How long might the Chead have run rampant?
Straightening, Angela turned from Halt’s door and moved away. Tomorrow, if they succeeded, the world would change. Humanity’s evolution would take one giant leap forward, and one way or another, there would be no going back.
A sudden doubt rose within her, a fear for what was to come. What if they were wrong? What if they failed, and it was all for nought?
And what if they succeeded? What then?
Her skin tingled as she remembered Halt’s words, heard again his triumphant declaration.
Our enemies, at home and abroad, will be consigned to the pages of history.
17
A cold breeze blew across Liz’s neck, rustling the branches above her head. Sucking in a breath, she picked up the pace, eying the lengthening shadows beneath the trees. She was close to home now, the path familiar beneath her feet, but it was a steep climb and she had no wish to make it in the dark.
Around her, the forest was eerily silent, the usual evening chorus of birds and insects mute. It put her on edge, eyes flicking over the scraggly trees neighbouring the path. Their dense branches shifted with the wind, but otherwise there was no sign of movement.
She moved on.
Behind her the path wound down through the forest. The mountain on which their homestead perched stood alone amidst the Californian floodplains, looking out across their broad expanse. All around the rock were the lands of the Flores family – or at least the lands they managed. Once they had been theirs, but no longer.
Liz smiled as she approached the final bend in the track. The house was only a short thirty-minute walk up the mountain, but she was still glad to see the end of it. It had been a long journey from San Francisco.
Around her the trees opened out, revealing the homestead sitting at the trail’s end. Glancing around, Liz listened for the first shouts of welcome. Her family employed a dozen labourers on the property, and most were like family to her.
Silence.
A shiver went through Liz as she closed on the homestead. Her eyes flickered around the collection of buildings, searching for movement, for signs of life.
It was only then she saw the bodies.
They lay strewn across the homestead, torn and broken, their faces grey and dead. Blood splattered the walls nearby, streaked across the peeling paint. Her eyes swept over the bodies, lingering on their faces. There was Nancy, the old woman who had helped raise her, who had cooked meals while her mother helped in the fields. And there, Henry, the man her father thought of as a brother.
Standing amidst the carnage, Liz’s eyes drifted up to the building she called home. Without thinking, she found herself moving towards it. Her movements were jerky, her breath coming as desperate sobs. Reaching the old wooden door, she pushed it open.
It swung inwards without resistance, revealing the wreckage within. Swallowing a scream, Liz staggered inside, eyes sweeping the shattered plaster walls, the torn-up floorboards. Dust and rubble lay strewn across the floor, mingling with the blood pooling at the end of the corridor.
Barely daring to breathe, Liz stepped inside the house. With cautious footsteps, she slid down the corridor, eyes fixed on the blood. She winced at each soft tread of her boots, the sound impossibly loud in the silent house.
The corner neared. In a sudden rush, Liz darted forward, eyes wide, desperate to see…
Liz screamed and threw up her arms, tearing herself from the nightmare. Her eyes snapped open, but absolute darkness stretched out around her and she screamed again, thrashing against the tangle of covers wrapped around her. The bed creaked as she rolled. The safety bar creaked as she slammed into it, then gave way. She found herself falling, plummeting through empty air, a final scream tearing from her throat.
Thud.
A bolt of agony lanced through her arms as she struck the concrete. The last tendrils of the dream fell away, plunging her back into reality – and the pain that went with it. She groaned, her throat burning as it pressed against the cold steel of her collar.
“What?” somewhere in the darkness, a voice shouted.
“Who’s there?” someone else yelled.
“Liz?” She recognised Chris’s voice.
Above her, his bunk rattled as he moved. Then hands were reaching for her, grasping her shoulder, pulling her up.
“Are you alright?” Chris’s voice came again.
Half in shock, Liz couldn’t manage more than a nod. Distantly, she was surprised at the tenderness in his words, his sudden concern. A second later, she realised he could not see her nod. Opening her mouth, she managed a croak. “Yes.”
As sanity slowly returned, a wave of embarrassment swept through Liz. She closed her eyes, silently berating herself for her panic. It had been so long since she’d had the dream – months, maybe even a year. Why had it returned now, after all this time?
“What happened?” Sam’s voice was heavy with sleep.
“Sorry,” Liz murmured, heart still racing. “Was just a bad dream.”
“Some bad dream,” Ashley’s hand settled on her shoulder. “Go back to bed, Sam. You need your beauty sleep.”
A string of inaudible mumbling came from Sam’s bed, quickly followed by a soft snore.
Arms shak
ing, Liz pulled herself up, helped by Chris on one side, Ashley on the other.
“It’s okay,” she murmured and then suppressed a groan.
Her throat was aflame, throbbing with each beat of her heart. She tried to swallow, but it only made the pain worse. The steel collar dug into her swollen throat. Gasping, she fought for breath.
“What’s wrong?” Chris asked in the darkness, taking her weight beneath his shoulder.
“My throat,” Liz gasped.
“Water.” Somehow Chris understood. “Ashley, help me get her to the sink.”
A sharp pain twisted through Liz’s shin where she’d landed as she tried to take her weight. With a silent moan, she collapsed back against them. To her right, Ashley swore as the shift in weight sent her stumbling into the bed. Then she straightened, shifted her body beneath Liz’s shoulder, and helped her the few steps to the sink.
Liz slumped to the ground as Ashley released her. The sound of water followed as Chris helped her to sit comfortably.
“Here,” Ashley whispered. “Open your mouth, Liz. The water will help.”
Liz obeyed as Ashley’s hands fumbled at her face. She almost lost an eye before Ashley finally found her lips. Then cool water dripped into her mouth, trickling from the palm of the girl’s hands. Swallowing slowly, Liz let out a long sigh as the cold spread down her throat.
They repeated the procedure three more times before Liz’s breathing began to ease. At last she croaked for them to stop, and they settled back down together on Ashley’s bed.
“How are you feeling now?” Ashley whispered.
In the other bed, Sam was still snoring. Listening in the darkness, Liz found herself jealous of the boy’s ability to sleep through anything. She desperately needed the release of sleep, to escape the pain of her beaten body. But she knew it would not come now, not after the dream.
“I’m okay,” she breathed. “You should go back to sleep.”
A soft chuckle came from the girl. “My beds a little crowded now. It’s okay, I think the lights will turn on soon.”
Her words were met by a distant clang, followed by a low buzzing in the ceiling. Liz blinked as white light flooded the room, then raised an eyebrow at Ashley. She sat beside Liz, her yellow eyes ringed by shadow, the scarlet locks of her tangled with sleep. A smile tugged at her lips.