by Aaron Hodges
The Director smiled, her naked body still dripping water. Her short blonde hair clung to her neck, but otherwise there was not a hair on her body. She patted herself dry in front of them, taking no care to hide the tight mounds of her breasts. Finally she tied the towel around her hair. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked from Chris to Ashley.
“No?” She smiled. “Very good.”
She crossed to the bed and threw herself down on her stomach, then turned to face them. She leaned her chin on her hands and studied them with a curious smile.
“Such interesting creatures,” she murmured. “You have no idea.”
“What do you mean, ma’am?” Chris whispered.
The Director laughed. “I’ve been reading Halt’s writings. I’m no scientist, but it’s fascinating stuff.” Her voice was light, almost friendly. “The things that he and Doctor Fallow did, the genes they managed to recombine into your genetic makeup. Those reflexes you showed today—you saw the girl, reacted, moved, killed, all before even my best guard could blink. According to Halt’s notes, those traits—your speed, agility, reflexes—they come from the genes of Bassariscus astutus and Suricata suricatta.”
“And what the hell are those?” Ashley asked flatly.
The Director turned to look at her. Her brow hardened, and there was a distinct warning in her tone as she replied, “The ring-tailed cat and the mongoose.” Slowly, she stood from the bed and walked over to Ashley. “Which certainly explains your stubborn tendencies.”
Ashley glared back. Eyes locked, the two faced each other for a long moment, neither willing to retreat.
Then Ashley suddenly laughed. “Go ahead, do your worst.” She spread her wings, though crouched on the floor, she wasn’t particularly imposing. “You couldn’t hold a candle to Halt when it comes to torture.”
Chris flinched, cursing Ashley’s recklessness. Her punishment would be bad enough without provoking the woman.
The Director only shook her head. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my pet?” She tapped her watch and moved away. Chris shared a glance with her friend as lights flashed on her collar. Despite her brave words, Chris saw the shadow pass across Ashley’s face.
“You’ve been bad.” There was pity in the Director’s voice now. “You know I don’t enjoy this, but you leave me no choice.” She pressed her watch again.
Ashley shrieked and collapsed, the chain rattling as she convulsed. Her wings beat against the floor, dislodging white feathers that drifted through the air. Her legs kicked out blindly and her back arched, her fingers clawing the tiles.
Seconds later it was over, leaving Ashley gasping. Blood dripped down her chin where she’d split her lip hitting the ground face-first, and it was a long time before she managed to sit upright again. Her wings hung limp behind her now, her feathers still trembling. She glared at the Director, her teeth clenched with the aftershock of pain.
“As usual, the timer has been set,” the Director said, ignoring Ashley’s hate-filled stare. “The collar will remind you of your transgressions every thirty minutes. Enjoy your night, my pet.”
Chris shuddered. He watched Ashley pull her knees up to her chest and lean back against the wall. Her wings wrapped around her again as their eyes met. Chris’s heart went out to her, but he kept his mouth shut. He had no wish to share her fate.
How many nights had he lasted, before succumbing? He could hardly remember now, though he had resisted through several nights of sleepless agony. It was not just the pain, but the anticipation, the creeping dread of it that broke him. By the end, his eyes had been red from lack of sleep, his mouth filled with ulcers where he’d bitten himself, and he could resist no longer. The next command the Director gave, Chris had obeyed. And the next, and the next, until today he had killed an innocent girl.
Looking down, Chris sucked in a breath. His ears twitched, listening to the soft tread of the Director’s feet as she crossed the room. He tried not to flinch as she knelt beside him, unable to avoid her hazel gaze. The hardness in her eyes was gone, the anger replaced by warmth. She reached out with a slender hand and stroked Chris’s cheek. He shuddered at her icy touch but did not pull away.
“Such a good boy.” She stroked his hair, as an owner would her dog. “You did well today. Very well. Perhaps you’re finally ready.”
“Ready?” Chris croaked.
Her hand trailed down past his ear and under his chin. He swallowed, feeling the cold bite of the collar around his neck. Her scent filled his nostrils, a rich, perfumed aroma of flowers. But it was artificial, sickly, overwhelming. She forced his chin up, so that their eyes met.
They were close now, her naked body almost pressing against him. Despite himself, Chris felt a stirring of desire. Her breasts rose with each breath and her pupils had narrowed to slits.
Chris swallowed, thinking, One blow, that’s all it would take.
One punch, and the world would be free of her.
But Chris and Ashley would not be released. When her heart stopped, the collars around their necks would trigger, and they would suffer a long, agonizing death. Not quickly—she liked to remind them of that. The collars would switch on and no one would be able to deactivate them. The current wouldn’t kill them, at least not immediately. They might even change, might succumb to the mindless rage of the Chead, before the end came.
Despite the consequences, Chris still felt tempted. He clenched his fist, willing himself to do it, to summon the courage to act. She was so bold, so confident that she had crushed his will, that she had him wrapped around her little finger.
If only it weren’t true.
Chris unclenched his fists, the tension flooding from him like water down a drain. A flicker of a smile tugged at the Director’s lips as she wiped the unspilt tear from his eye.
“My dear Chris,” she breathed, her face close to his. “Would you like to sleep in a bed tonight?”
Shuddering, Chris felt again the cold tiles seeping through his skin, chilling his bones. He clenched his jaw shut, willing himself to ignore her.
“Say the word, and you can join me,” she continued, then laughed gently. “I promise I don’t bite.”
There was a suggestion in the woman’s eyes now. He jumped as her hands slid down his back, trailing across his skin, exploring the joints where his wings met his spine. They continued along the limbs, sending electric jolts up his neck.
With an awful yearning, Chris looked at the bed. For weeks he had slept on this floor, freezing and exposed to the relentless air conditioner. Each morning he woke to numb legs and cramping muscles. To be warm, to sleep in comfort…
His eyes drifted past the Director to where Ashley sat in misery. She would spend the night screaming, in endless anticipation of the collar’s bite. The Director would not hear her—she wore special steel earplugs, ensuring her sleep did not suffer along with her pets. Chris’s stomach twisted with shame at even considering the idea, and slowly he shook his head, hardly daring to look at her.
Her eyes narrowed as she stood. “I’m disappointed.” She towered over him for a moment, as though weighing his fate. Finally, she crossed to the desk beside her bed and rummaged inside, returning a moment later. Chris flinched as she tossed a set of earplugs in his lap.
“Loyalty must be rewarded,” she said, her face expressionless.
At that, the Director retreated to her bed and crawled beneath the covers. A tap to her watch plunged the room into absolute darkness. Shivering, Chris lay down on the cold floor. He kept one wing beneath him, protecting against the cold tiles, while the other covered him like a blanket. He was already beginning to regret his decision.
In the darkness, he could hear Ashley making the same preparations for sleep, though her efforts would be in vain. They did not speak. There was no need. They both knew their lot.
Curling up, Chris clutched the earplugs in his hand, but refused to use them. He may have given in, may have surrendered to the Director’s will, but that didn’t mean
abandoning his friend. If he wore them, he would be leaving her alone in the darkness, alone with her torment. No, he would rather suffer a sleepless night with Ashley than desert her now.
He closed his eyes.
Ashley’s first scream came twenty minutes later. He listened to the sounds of her thrashing, his enhanced vision unable to pierce the absolute black. After thirty seconds, Ashley stilled, though her desperate gasps were audible in the silence.
“Are you okay?” Chris whispered. With her earplugs, the Director would not hear them now, but he had no wish to tempt fate.
Ashley gave a low whimper, but didn’t reply. Sighing, Chris closed his eyes and sought sleep once more. He was just beginning to drift off when Ashley’s scream came again. This time he didn’t bother to speak.
He pressed the earplugs into place.
And slept.
13
The dark slope stretched out ahead of them, the long grass overgrown from years of neglect. It crunched beneath Susan’s feet as she jogged, parched from drought. This was rugged country, abandoned by humanity as the climate shifted, driving them down towards the coast. Only the stubborn remained now, their numbers dwindling with each passing year.
Her brethren intended to quicken that process.
So far, the Chead had kept to these far-out pastures, close to the shelter of the mountains and the network of tunnels crisscrossing the plains. They were safe here, confident in their power, untouchable by the foolish humans.
Yet it was not enough. There was little food in this country. As their numbers grew, they would need to spread into the lowlands, where humanity numbered in the thousands rather than hundreds. When that time came, they would need a plan.
Susan looked around as she jogged. The night was alive with the movement of the Chead. They had travelled long miles since their last raid, and Susan was beginning to flag. Her belly weighed her down, the new life within draining her strength, though she refused to give in to her weakness.
Hecate ran beside her, his sweet scent feeding energy to her failing legs. Despite his years in captivity, he was tireless, his long strides carrying him effortlessly across the rolling hills. Somewhere behind them, Talisa and her guardian Chead brought up the rear. Ahead, the latest batch candidates who had chosen life lurched along. Some ran with the mindless strength of the Chead rage, while others stumbled, their consciousnesses still at war with the change.
Watching them, Susan wondered how long it would take for the last to succumb, to release the final treacherous emotions of humanity and embrace the Chead. How long had it taken her? Her memories of that time were blurred, like trying to glimpse a familiar face through water. But as she sucked in a fresh breath, the images crystallized, and she saw a woman’s face staring back at her, blue eyes wide with fear.
She staggered midstride and started to fall. Before she could strike the ground, Hecate’s arm shot out and steadied her. Glimpsing him in the moonlight, she felt a moment of remembered terror, before the scent of her mate blanketed her, and it all fell away.
“Come. We are almost…there,” Hecate said.
Susan smiled back. Using Hecate’s arm, she regained her feet. Most of the Chead were past them now, their passage flattening the grass around them. Untouched by the lights of humanity, the moon was bright in the sky and a thousand stars stretched from the mountains to the distant horizon. A breeze blew past where they stood at the top of the hill and down towards their brethren.
Warmth wrapped its way around Susan’s chest as she turned back to Hecate. Her hand was still in his, she pulled him close. His arms went around her as she pressed herself against him. She tilted back her head and felt a tingle of electricity as their lips met.
Boom.
Hecate stiffened as an explosion rocked the night. Springing apart, they turned to stare down the slope. At the bottom of the hill, orange flames had erupted from the earth, flinging Chead in all directions. Their remaining brethren scattered in every direction, blinded by the flames. But the curve of the valley hemmed them in, slowing their flight.
Movement appeared on the opposite hill, followed by the flash of gunfire.
“Humans,” Susan whispered.
A guttural howl came from Hecate. Then he was racing away around the hillside, screaming unintelligible words to the fleeing Chead fleeing. Still high on the hill, the flames shielded him from view of the soldiers, but the Chead in the valley were sitting ducks. An orange ball erupted from the soldiers’ vantage point, racing downwards. Another explosion shook the ground.
Susan shuddered as the screams of her brethren traveled up to her. Rage flooded her chest and she ran after Hecate, bounding through the long grass, a demon in the night.
The soldiers were positioned on the opposite hillslope, looking down into the narrow gulley the Chead had been traversing. With the men downwind, the Chead had been unable to scent them and had stumbled straight into the trap. But the humans had not been as successful as Susan had first thought. The Chead were resilient, and nothing short of a bullet to the brain or heart would stop them. Already her people were regrouping, their eyes adjusting to the firelight, picking out the flash of gunfire above. They melted into the long grass and raced uphill towards the enemy.
The soldiers saw the danger and started to pull back, but Hecate and the Chead who had joined him were quicker still. While those below had charged up the slope, Hecate had followed the curve of the valley, circumnavigating the flames in the gulley. Reaching the crest of the slope, they moved onto the flat ground beyond, cutting off the soldiers’ retreat.
Susan chased after them, just a few steps behind now. The soldiers were nearing the top of the hill now. Glimpsing the dark gleam of their vehicles, a growl rumbled from her chest.
Bounding forward, she narrowed the gap between herself and Hecate, as the Chead below caught up with the slowest of the soldiers. She grinned as screams carried across the valley, but the fastest men were already closing on the vehicles. They had thrown away their weapons in their haste to escape, thinking only of the danger behind.
Hecate reached the Jeeps as the first soldier leapt into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, but before the man’s comrades could throw themselves inside, Hecate smashed a fist through the plate glass window and tore the soldier from his seat.
Then the other Chead were there, those above and below converging on the fleeing soldiers, cutting off their only escape route. Susan joined them, driving a man from his feet to land on his chest. The coward had already discarded his weapon, and died screaming as she tore him to pieces.
Her vision stained red, Susan searched for a fresh victim. A soldier nearby still carried a rifle. As she watched, the gun flashed, and somewhere behind her a Chead howled. Screaming, Susan leapt forward and tore the weapon from the soldier’s hands. Raising it like a bat, she readied herself for the kill, then froze.
The soldier’s helmet had been knocked loose, revealing a mop of long curly hair. A woman. Stumbling back, the woman tripped on a patch of grass and crumpled to the ground. Susan kicked the woman in the stomach, winding her and pinning her down.
Silently, Susan waited as her brethren finished off the last of their enemy. Cornered, the soldiers put up little fight. The loss of the vehicles had broken them, and they fled in all directions, only to be brought down by the chasing Chead.
When silence finally returned to the night, Susan crouched beside her captive. The woman had caught her breath now, but said nothing—only lay staring up at Susan with hate-filled eyes. Susan smiled back. Many of the prisoners back in Stutter Creek had declined life, and there were still a few doses left. Perhaps this creature would prove smarter than those in the town.
As the Chead gathered on the top of the hill, Susan allowed her gaze to drift back to the flames. The scent of blood and ash was thick in her nostrils, though the flames were already beginning to die. The bodies of soldiers dotted the hillslope, their camouflaged uniforms blending in with the long grass.
But it was to the bottom of the valley that her eyes were drawn.
Dozens of Chead lay dead amidst the embers, many riddled with bullets, others burnt and torn by the explosive rockets used by the humans. In the center of the carnage were the women they had taken from the last town, their bodies broken, their new lives cut short. They had been among the first to fall, their lingering humanity hampering their instincts, slowing them enough for the soldiers to pick them off. Only a few had survived the slaughter.
Susan’s eyes turned to the woman at her feet, and she felt the rage threatening, begging to be released.
It could have been me!
Gritting her teeth, she forced the rage back down. Now was not the time. She needed Hecate, needed Talisa, needed to protect her children. Silently, she picked the woman off the ground and dragged her through the Chead.
She found Talisa and Hecate at the edge of the hillside, looking down at the slaughter below. Talisa’s white eyes glowed in the moonlight as Susan approached.
“My child,” she murmured, her eyes flicking to the soldier. “What have you brought me?”
Susan forced the woman to her knees at Talisa’s feet.
“A gift,” she whispered.
14
The car screeched around the corner and straightened out. With the headlights off and the streetlights out, the only light came from the full moon. In the back, Liz held on for dear life as Maria took another corner. Mira sat in the front seat looking back at them, a low moan coming from the back of her throat. But Liz had no time to worry about the girl now.
Jasmine’s head lay in Liz’s lap, long black hair dangling across her face. Her breathing was shallow, coming in desperate gasps, and her eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to remain conscious. There was blood on Jasmine’s lips. She stared up at Liz with unmasked terror.
“Hang in there, Jas,” Liz whispered, pressing the ruined bundle of her shirt to the gaping wound in her friend’s chest. Blood was already seeping through, and Liz knew more would be dripping from the smaller entry wound in her back.