by Aaron Hodges
He looked up as a loud beep came from the television. The screen had turned red, but after a long moment, it flashed back into focus. But now the weather forecast was gone, replaced by a picture of the President standing on a stage.
Sam sat bolt upright and snatched the remote from Mira. She growled at him, but he ignored her. Pointing the remote at the television, he turned up the volume and leaned in closer.
“My fellow citizens of the Western Allied States,” the President stood at a wooden stand, his hands resting on the smooth mahogany. His short-grey hair had been combed flat, and his hazel eyes stared into the camera as he addressed the nation. “I come to you today with grave news. As many of you may have heard, a week ago there was an incident in Independence Square. I apologise for our silence until today. We did not wish to incite panic with unfounded speculation.”
“Maria!” Sam called, standing. He glanced around as Chris’s grandmother appeared from the dining room, and then nodded at the television. “Something’s happening.”
“However, today I can finally come forward with the truth. The Director of Domestic Affairs and her department have been working tirelessly all week to uncover the truth about events in the square. Today I can confirm that on Monday last week, the Texas government launched a direct attack on persons of the Western Allied States.”
“No,” Maria hissed.
Sam looked around and saw Maria’s face had lost all its colour. She staggered slightly, and then righted herself. Even so, he offered her his seat, and she sank down onto the sofa with a grateful nod. She seemed to have aged ten years in the space of seconds. Heart beating hard in his chest, Sam looked back at the television.
“Not only can we verify the involvement of the Texas government, the nature of the attack confirms what we have always suspected – the Lone Star State is behind the infection and spread of the notorious Chead virus that has so plagued our brave nation.”
“Liar!” Mira was on her feet now, teeth bared, her multicoloured eyes glaring. Her grey wings snapped out to their full extent, every feather standing on end. Shoulders hunched, she stepped towards the television.
“Easy, Mira!” Sam caught her by the waist and hauled her back before she destroyed the television. She struggled for half a second and then went limp in his hands. His heart stopped as he looked back at the television.
The camera had panned out from the President, revealing the rest of the stage. Mike stood nearby, his hands bound in heavy chains. His face had been beaten black and blue, and he seemed to be favouring his left leg. A line of soldiers stood behind him, their sleek-black rifles held at the ready, their fingers hovering close to the triggers.
“Nine days ago, this man…” the President waved a hand, pointing at Mike, and then went on, “this Texan spy orchestrated an attack on the esteemed widows of our brave veterans in Independence Square. Working with the fugitives who launched the terrorist attack on the national courthouse, he infected several members of the crowd with the Chead virus, and unleashed the creatures on our unsuspecting citizens.”
“There’s no way anyone will believe this,” Sam grated.
There had to be a video, had to be something to prove the President’s words a lie.
“I know some of you may doubt my words,” the President continued. “So today I have invited a victim of this man’s brutality to attest to the truth of what happened.”
Gesturing to a curtain behind him, the President stepped away from the lectern. The curtains shifted, and a man stepped out into the light. He moved across to take the President’s place, looking around until he found the camera.
Sam gaped as Jonathan cleared his throat and addressed the reporters. “Thank you, Mr. President. My name is Jonathan Baker. It is my privilege to stand before you today – a privilege this traitor has denied for my wife and daughter.”
“God damnit, Jonathan” Sam whispered, “You said you wanted to get back at them.”
“Who is he?” Maria asked, but Sam only shook his head.
On the stage, Jonathan bowed his head. “A week ago, I returned home to find my wife and daughter murdered. The fugitives had taken shelter in my apartment, and before I could escape they knocked me out and dragged me inside. When I woke, I discovered they were being led by this man,” he nodded at Mike as he spoke.
Sam grasped Mira as she tried to go for the television again. His own wings were trembling, his copper feathers lifting from his back with each inhalation of breath. Teeth gritted, he looked at Maria, and then back to the television.
“They forced me to lead them to Independence Square. They didn’t tell me what they planned to do, or I never would have taken them. Once there, I saw a crowd of older woman had gathered around the Independence obelisk, along with many others. This man, along with the fugitives, grabbed several of the onlookers, and injected them with syringes. After that, all they had to do was step back and let their virus do its work.”
The President stood alongside Jonathan, his hands clasped in front of him, his face solemn. He nodded as Jonathan finished. “And what happened next, Mr Baker?”
Jonathan glanced at the President, and for a second Sam saw a flicker pass across his face. The two stood staring at each other for a long second, before Jonathan finally looked away.
Licking his lips, he continued, “The Chead, they had just started to attack when the soldiers arrived. With them came…” Jonathan swallowed, and his grip on the lectern tightened. “With them came… our saviours. The President’s experiments, the ones he introduced two weeks ago, came with the soldiers. Taking to the air, they placed themselves between the crowd and the Chead. And blow by blow, they forced the creatures back, until the soldiers were able to put them down.”
“Those…” Sam shook his head. Cursing, he spun and hurled the remote at the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces as Sam sank onto the sofa beside Maria.
“Mr President!” a reporter called from below the stage as the President resumed his spot at the lectern, “How did you locate the spy?”
The President smiled. “As I said, the Director of Domestic Affairs has been working tirelessly to locate the perpetrators of this attack. Mr Baker here was found after the attack, and offered vital assistance in piecing together events in the square. An esteemed member of our community also came forward, offering information about a dissident who had contacted him. This citizen led us directly to the Texan.”
“Who was this citizen?”
“At this moment, we will not be disclosing his identity. However, I can assure you he is being watched around the clock, to ensure there is no retribution from those terrorists still at large.”
The blood in Sam’s veins turned to ice at the President’s words. He gripped the arm of the couch and turned to stare at Maria. She looked back at him, her face pale, her eyes hollow.
“They have no idea what they’re walking into,” Sam whispered.
28
“You disappoint me, professor,” Chris craned his head back as a sharp voice cut through the din created by the other students.
Chris’s heart tumbled into his stomach as he saw the Director standing at the top of the stairwell. She had her hands folded over her chest, and her lips drawn into a smirk. To Chris’s shock, two familiar faces stood to either side of her – Paul and Francesca, the other experiments they had left behind in the courthouse. Behind her, men crowded in through the double doors. Though they wore plain clothes, each carried a heavy rifle, and they had the look of soldiers about them.
“How?” the professor’s voice crackled over the speakers. The students had fallen silent now. Their eyes were fixed to the barrels of the rifles held by the men.
“Did you not think we would check up on you?” the Director replied, spreading her hands, “After you handed over the spy, we thought more traitors might try to approach you. We thought you might need protection. But now… I find you have turned traitor yourself?”
“No,” Chris glanced back
at the lectern. The professor did his best attempt to draw himself up. “It doesn’t matter now. You can’t silence these kids. Their parents would ask too many questions. It’s over – you’ll never get away with what you’ve done.”
“Silence them?” the Director started down the staircase. Paul and Francesca followed on her heels. Across the lecture theatre, everyone had sank back into their seats. “Why would I want to silence them? They have been lied too – it is you who has committed the crime. How dare you try to taint their young minds with your lies?”
“They’re not lies,” the professor tried to fight back, but he sounded defeated. “It’s the truth! You were behind the Chead. You’re here to silence me – but you can’t hide the truth any longer.”
“Students,” a collected shiver went through the theatre as the Director’s eyes swept over them. “I assure you, our experiments here have no relations to the vile Chead. Take a closer look – do they look like Chead to you?” Pausing on the stairs, she gestured at her two silent companions.
Paul and Francesca drew to a stop behind her. As one, their wings snapped open and they leapt into the air. Their black wings swept down, almost striking the heads of the students below them as they took flight. They swooped down towards the stage, where the professor yelped and ducked beneath the lectern. Laughter chased after him as Paul and Francesca turned and rose in the air. Reaching out, they caught the steel beam stretching overhead and settled themselves beside the projectors.
“See? If they were Chead, they would have killed half of you by now,” the Director flicked a curl of hair from her face, “No, they are our creatures. And I will answer all your questions, once we have taken the traitor into custody.”
“No!” Chris was shocked to hear Liz shout behind him. Spinning, he gasped as she slowly stood in her seat, “He’s telling the truth. They created the Chead during the American war, and have been using them as a weapon against their own people ever since.”
“My poor dear,” the Director shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. Apparently they were too far away for her to have recognised Liz. “What lies has the traitor been feeding you?”
Growling, Liz tore off her jacket. The air cracked as her wings snapped out. Around them, several students screamed and threw themselves on the floor as her black wings stretched out across the rows of chairs. With a twenty-foot wingspan, they cast a long shadow across the lecture theatre.
Chris quickly followed suit. He stood and pulled off his jacket, grinning as his tawny feathers slid free. They were still damp from the rain, and a fine mist sprayed across the surrounding rows as they unfurled. Ashley and Jasmine did the same, their feathers seeming to glow in the overhead lights. Together, they stood and looked up at the Director in defiance.
“He’s no traitor,” Liz growled, “You’re the traitor. You’re the ones who have been betraying our country every day for decades. You’re the ones who invaded our homes, who tore apart our families and murdered our friends. You’re the ones who kidnapped us to use in your depraved experiments, who have killed hundreds – no, thousands of people – all so you could perfect your awful virus.”
Up on the stairwell, the Director stared back at them. Her lips were parted, but she made no move to speak. The blood had drained from her face and behind her, the men shifted nervously on their feet.
Around the theatre, the students were staring at them, mouths gaping as they struggled to comprehend what was going on. No doubt a few had already recognised them as the fugitives from the news – but that did not explain how the four of them were standing there with wings sprouting from their backs. A few of the nearest students even reached up and brushed fingers against their feathers. Chris shivered at their touch, but his eyes never left the Director’s face.
Suddenly, Chris found himself smiling. Today was definitely not going the way she had intended.
“Take them,” the Director finally seemed to regain her senses. She swallowed and looked around at her men, and then pointed down at Chris and the others. “Take them!” she screamed.
The men hesitated, glancing at one another, their faces pale. They no doubt knew what had happened to many of their colleagues back in Independence Square. But they were obviously professionals, and eventually their training took hold. Together, they started down the stairs.
Before they could take two steps, a young man slid from his seat to bar their path.
“No,” he said. He spread his arms, daring the soldiers to defy him.
His defiance gave the men pause, and they glanced back again at the Director, uncertain. She ordered them on, her face growing red as she gestured violently at Chris and the others. The men started down again, using their bulk to push the student out of the way.
But now others were jumping from their seats. A girl leapt into the aisle, and then another boy followed her – and then suddenly the whole lecture theatre was jostling to join them. The students poured from the rows of seats and crowded into the stairwell. Linking arms, they stood together and defied the Director’s men.
Chris stared in disbelief, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. The students’ actions echoed those of the Mad Women a week ago – except these young boys and girls had no grievance against the government. In fact, these were the children of the rich and privileged – those with every reason to take the government’s side.
Yet here they were, defying the Director and her soldiers, putting their lives on the line for four fugitives they had never met.
“Go,” Chris looked up as a girl spoke from the row of seats above them. Her eyes caught his and she flashed him a smile. “Get out, quickly. Take the fire exit.”
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Chris nodded. Shaking off his shock, he turned and looked down at the stage. The professor still stood there, his face pale, his arms trembling as he clutched the lectern like a lifeline. The stage was still some twenty feet away and thirty feet below them.
Chris grinned and flexed the muscles in his back. “Let’s fly,” he shouted to the others.
He crouched down, his legs coiled like springs, and then leapt into the air. His wings beat down hard to lift him over the row of seats in front of him. Gasps came from around the room as students ducked down. The whisper of his friends’ wings chased after him as he swept down towards the stage.
All too quickly, he was landing beside the professor. Furling his wings, he looked up, and grinned as he saw the Director still standing near the top of the stairs. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl and her face was pale with fury. He heard her scream a few choice words at her men, but they were making little headway through the students.
Chris turned back to the professor as the others landed around him. “Time to go I think, professor.”
The man stared back at Chris, his mouth hanging open. But they weren’t safe yet, and there was no time for the man to freeze now. Grabbing the professor by the shoulders, Chris shook him.
“Get whatever information you have off that computer, professor. We’ve got to go!”
His words seemed to snap the man from his stupor. Blinking, the professor swallowed visibly and then nodded. Turning to the computer, he pulled a thumb drive out of the side and handed it to Chris.
“That’s everything!” he shouted over the din.
Chris’s heart pounded in his chest as he took the drive. His stomach twisted – not with fear, but with sudden hope. If what the professor said was true, that thumb drive held all the proof they would need to prove the government was involved in the creation of the Chead. He tucked it carefully into his jean pocket and then looked around.
“Let’s go,” he pushed the professor in the direction of the fire exit.
Liz and Jasmine took the lead, Ashley just a step behind. They raced across the stage, drawn towards the neon sign reading ‘EXIT’. Chris sucked in a breath, hardly daring to believe they might escape the trap they had unwittingly walked into the middle of.
He only heard the whisper of
wings a second before they struck. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of two pairs of black wings and snarling faces, and then Paul plummeted from the air. The professor only had a second to glance up, before the boy’s boot slammed into his neck.
An audible snap echoed through the theatre as the professor went bouncing across the carpeted floor. His body came to rest in a pile of limp arms and legs, and even without checking, Chris knew he was dead. Swallowing, he turned away from the lifeless body, and faced the boy barring his way.
The crack of wings came from overhead as Francesca landed beside Paul. Together, they faced Chris, their wings spread and hands clenched at their sides. Paul towered over them all, his dark skin and jet-black hair seeming to drown the overhead lights. He crossed his arms and smirked at them. Beside him, Francesca looked frail by comparison. With her pale white skin and blonde hair, she looked more like a ghost than human in the bright lights.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” Paul’s lips drew back in a snarl, “I’m Paul. Where’s Sam, that stinking traitor?”
“Get out of the way,” Chris snapped.
He made to step towards them, and then paused. He frowned, staring at their faces, and then took a quick step back. They grinned back at him, their faces unchanged. But their eyes… whatever colour they had been before, they were cold and grey now. They were the eyes of the Chead.
“Get on your knees, and maybe we’ll let you live,” Francesca growled.
“You’ve changed,” Chris whispered.
A rough growl clawed its way up from Paul’s throat. “How could we not…when you left us to die…on the floor of the courthouse?” A ripple crossed his face, and his lips drew back as he bared his teeth.
Chris clenched his fists. He stared back at them, noticing now that neither wore the cruel shock collars they had all sported during their imprisonment. His heart lifted with sudden hope.