The Way the World Ends (The Evolution Gene Book 3)

by Aaron Hodges

  An involuntary sob tore from Liz’s throat. Hot tears stung her eyes. Angrily, she wiped them away and knelt beside Jasmine’s body. Mira sat cross-legged on the ground nearby, staring at Jasmine, as though still waiting for her to wake.

  Removing her gloves, Liz took Jasmine’s hand in hers. She shivered, surprised at how quickly the warmth had fled her friend. Closing her eyes, she remembered Jasmine as she’d been—passionate and strong, unyielding, unrelenting, never willing to back down.

  “Goodbye, Jas,” she said.

  Liz stood then, her eyes still closed. She didn’t open them until she’d turned away. Maria sat waiting on a nearby log, and Liz strode across to join her.

  “I’m sorry for your friend, Liz,” Maria offered in a low voice.

  Liz took a seat beside the old woman. “Thank you, Maria.” She sighed and looked away. “Curfew’s over now. I should take you to the next safe house.”

  “That could be difficult,” Maria replied. “Given I don’t know its whereabouts.”

  “What?” Liz’s head jerked up.

  Maria offered a sad smile. “You didn’t think I was going to let you go after my grandson’s killer without me, did you?”

  “You were planning on coming with us?” Liz asked incredulously. When Maria only shrugged, she swore. “I guess it doesn’t matter now, anyway. I’ll take you to Independence Square, then. You can wave down some of the Madwomen when they’re leaving.”

  “No.” Liz raised an eyebrow at the tone in Maria’s voice. The old woman sat staring off into the distance, to some unseen place beyond the tree branches. “I’m not going back,” she continued.

  Liz shifted nervously on the leaf-strewn ground. “I don’t understand. Where will you go?”

  Taking the handgun from the log, Maria drew back the rack and released it, chambering a round. “I had it in mind to kill the woman who murdered my grandson.”

  Liz blinked. “And how do you intend to do that?”

  Maria grinned. “So you didn’t hear the last thing Doctor Reid said, before he died?”

  “What?” Liz’s heart began to hammer.

  Laughing, Maria set aside the gun and lifted the grenade belt. There were still five grenades left. “I know where the Director is hiding.”

  Liz’s chest tightened. “Where?”

  “It won’t be easy, getting to her,” Maria said, her face turning serious. “You and Mira will have to carry me.”

  “Carry you?” Liz asked, confused. “But…you can’t come.”

  It was Maria’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “And why not?”

  Liz blanked. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Finally, she managed to stammer, “You’re…you’re too old!”

  To Liz’s surprise, Maria threw back her head and laughed. Liz winced, but after a few seconds the laughter died away. Maria wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh, my dear,” she said, “you don’t pull your punches, do you?”

  Not having an answer, Liz decided it was best to keep her mouth shut this time.

  Maria chuckled. “You’re right, of course.” She still held the grenades in her hand. “But then, you would have never made it out of the house without me.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “They trained us all to be soldiers, you know,” Maria said over her objection. “Back in the war. The men all went off to battle, but we never knew what would happen next, if the US would send troops behind the front lines to invade our cities. So even we regular citizens had to train, to ready ourselves, in case the fight ever came to us.”

  “You’ll only hold me back, Maria,” Liz argued. “Even the men back at the safe house, they would only slow me down.”

  “Perhaps,” Maria replied, “but then, this fight won’t be won by brawn alone. The Director is cunning, ruthless. Do you really intend to take her on all by yourself?”

  “I won’t be alone.” Liz gestured at Mira. “You think she’d let me go without her?”

  At that, Mira looked up. She wandered across to them and sat in Liz’s lap. After a few seconds of wriggling, she leaned against Liz’s chest and closed her eyes.

  “We’ll make them pay, Liz,” she murmured sleepily.

  Liz stroked the soft down of Mira’s wings. “We will, kid.”

  “I think you’ll find I’m just as stubborn as that one,” Maria announced into the silence that followed.

  A long moment stretched out as Liz and Maria held each other’s gaze, testing one another’s resolve. Finally, Liz sighed. In truth, she didn’t want to go alone. She prayed Sam was still out there somewhere, but she had no idea how to find him. Trying would take precious time—time they didn’t have. Every day they waited was another chance they gave the government to wipe them out.

  Even so, bringing Maria wasn’t an option. Chris would have her head if she let his grandmother walk into the middle of a government stronghold.

  “Maria, I can’t…Chris…”

  “Is gone.” Maria reached out and gripped Liz by the arm. “Don’t you see, Liz? I have to do this. I’ve lost everything because of that woman—my home, my daughter, my grandson. I have nothing left to lose. So let me do this. Let me do something to put things right. If I have to die, let my death have meaning.” She smiled then. “Besides, you might need someone with a cool head if you’re going to break into The Rock.”

  It took several seconds for the old woman’s words to sink in. Liz stared at Maria, her mouth hanging open, a chill spreading through her chest. Her fingers dug into the cold dirt as she struggled to steady herself.

  “You’re saying…you’re saying the Director is in Alcatraz?”

  Maria grinned. “Aren’t you glad you’ll have company?”

  17

  Chris staggered to a stop as a wave of putrid air struck him like a blow. Bending in two, he breathed through his mouth as a keen wailing carried through the open door. Ahead, even the Director had halted, overwhelmed by the sight that greeted her. Only the man beside her seemed unaffected.

  Striding past the massive steel door, the President surveyed the rows of cells before turning to stare at the Director. His jaw clenched and there was anger in his hazel eyes. Despite his greying hair, his skin was unmarked by age, and there was no mistaking the power he carried in his massive shoulders. This was a man who ruled with an iron fist, who for over twenty years as President had faced challenges from friend and foe alike, and left them all for dead.

  He was not a man one crossed lightly.

  Watching him now, Chris couldn’t help but suspect the Director’s position was teetering on the brink of oblivion.

  “Seventy five percent mortality, you said?” the President asked.

  The Director’s face was pale. Chris had never seen her so rattled, but at the President’s words she straightened. Pushing the hair back from her face, she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Halt’s mortality rate was forty percent,” he murmured, his voice so low even Chris had to strain to hear him. “What happened?”

  Swallowing, the Director glanced around as though searching for someone to blame. “The doctors in his facility…they modified the virus before the Chead came. They thought they’d managed to prevent host immune systems from rejecting the virus. But the modifications, they…” Grimacing, she gestured at the cellblock, apparently lost for words.

  The President started down the hallway without saying another word. The Director trotted after him, Chris and Ashley following close behind.

  “They were correct—the virus was undetectable to their immune systems,” the Director was saying now, her voice emotionless. “Accelerated viral reproduction rates meant it spread through their bodies in a matter of hours. The problems started post integration…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking into the nearest cell.

  Within, the fit, healthy teenagers they’d seen just yesterday lay dead. Some had collapsed against the bars, their hands stretched out in desperate beseechment. Others had never moved from where they’d fallen after rece
iving the injection. A few had managed to drag themselves to the toilet in the back of their cells, where they’d thrown up bile and blood, before surrendering to the inevitable.

  Among the dead, the few living still writhed in helpless agony, their foreheads beaded by sweat, their moans whispering through the cellblock like the voices of ghosts. They lay in their beds, on the concrete, in each other’s arms, each just barely clinging to life.

  The doctors were already present, masks covering their faces as they went from survivor to survivor. Guards went with them, lending their strength to the grim task of removing the dead.

  “Once the virus was integrated, their immune systems could no longer recognize their own cells,” the Director was saying. “Fallow’s strain of the virus apparently reprogrammed the host’s immune system, so the altered cells wouldn’t be rejected. However, the process takes time to establish, until which time their immune systems continue to attack the altered cells. Inadvertently, the immunosuppressants Fallow’s candidates were given prevented this from happening.”

  “And the candidates are still alive?” the President snapped.

  “It appears…it appears only those with ineffective or compromised immune systems survived the change.”

  “This is unacceptable, Director,” the President said, continuing his march along the corridor. “I expected more from you. We need these creatures. The public was buoyed by our initial presentation, but perceptions are changing. We need a symbol of hope, before the Chead become any more disruptive.”

  “Why the rush?” the Director countered. “This could have been avoided if we’d been given time. The Madwomen are certainly no longer a threat. The idiot doctor that snuck out on the shipping barge led us to another safe house last night. Their numbers are dwindling.” She hesitated. “Or is it the Chead that concern you? Surely you cannot believe the rumors?”

  The President snorted. “No, I have sent our best recruits to deal with that overblown gossip. They’ve tracked a group on our infrared satellites. They’ll make short work of them.”

  “Best recruits?” the Director questioned.

  “Yes. Did you think I had entrusted you with all the conscripts?” he asked. “And no, it’s not the Chead that concern me—it’s Mexico. They’ve stayed neutral until now, but they’re calling for an investigation into our claims concerning the Chead and Texas. There are some who claim they have proof we are behind the plague.”

  “I told you, that was taken care of at the university,” the Director replied demurely. She leaned her head to the side and smiled. “As for proof of Texas’s involvement, I have made headway in that matter.”

  “Tell me.”

  The Director strode on, seeming to regain confidence with every step. “The spy is ready to talk. I have scheduled a conference for tomorrow morning. He’ll confirm the Lone Star State created the Chead, and that he played a role seeding it into our food chain.”

  “It won’t be enough,” the President interjected.

  “Perhaps not, but it should buy us time.” The Director gestured into one of the cells. Inside, a girl was being attended to by one of the doctors. “We still have forty-odd candidates left. In a few days they’ll be ready for the homeotic activator injection. You’ll have your symbol.”

  “It’s an army I need, Director,” the President pressed.

  The Director leaned against the bars of the cell and looked up at the towering man. “Bring me more candidates, and you’ll have it.”

  At that, she started down the corridor towards the exit. Shaking his head, the President followed her, his anger apparently mollified. Chris went with them, until he realized Ashley had stopped outside the open door to the girl’s cell. He continued a few more steps before coming to a stop. Cursing under his breath, he darted back towards Ashley.

  “Ash, what are you doing?” he hissed.

  Ashley disappeared into the cell before he could reach her. Glancing back, Chris found the Director watching him, her brow hard, arms crossed, and he staggered to a stop. Beside her, the President’s face remained expressionless.

  Swallowing, Chris moved to the door of the cell. Inside, Ashley had shoved the doctor back and was kneeling beside the bed. The girl’s eyes were open, but there was a faraway look to them. She was mumbling under her breath, a string of nonsensical words interspersed with occasional curses.

  “Please…don’t want to…where am I…are my parents…the Chead!” She shuddered and her eyes suddenly focused on Ashley’s face. “Who are you?” she croaked.

  Ashley stroked her hair. “It’s okay.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “You’re going to be okay.”

  A shudder went through the girl. Her eyes rolled back into her skull and she began to convulse. The doctor quickly returned to her side as Ashley stepped back, her face a mask of horror. Chris looked away as a needle was pressed into the girl’s neck. When he looked back again she’d stilled, though her teeth were still clenched and her chest rattled with each breath.

  “Get out of there.” Chris jumped as the Director’s voice came from behind him.

  Ashley looked up from where she still knelt on the concrete. Her eyes shone as she stood and stepped towards the Director. Seeing the strange glow to her eyes, Chris retreated from her path. He had seen that look on her face before—back in the university, when she’d beaten Paul into submission without breaking a sweat.

  “This is my fault,” Ashley said as she emerged from the cell.

  Chris stood on the far side of the corridor as Ashley faced the President and the Director. The two had taken a step back at her appearance. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the change. Her eyes might not have turned grey, but there was clearly something different about her.

  “I should never have let Sam do it,” Ashley continued, starting towards the Director. A tear spilled down her cheek. “I should have died.”

  “Stay back.” There was fear in the Director’s voice.

  When Ashley didn’t stop, the woman pressed a finger to her watch. Ashley flinched as her collar lit up, but to Chris’s shock, she didn’t collapse. Baring her teeth, Ashley took another step, a low growl rasping up from her throat.

  “I. Won’t. Let. You. Do. This,” Ashley panted, each step slow now, as though she were wading through a swamp.

  The color drained from the Director’s face as she tapped her watch again. The President started backing towards the door, but the Director stood her ground, scowling as she played with the settings on her controller watch.

  Fists clenched so tight her knuckles had turned white, Ashley continued to advance. The tendons in her neck stood up like iron cables as the collar around her throat flashed red. It made no sound, and Chris could only guess how much electricity was flowing through Ashley’s tiny body.

  Finally, the Director retreated a pace, but she was so focused on her watch that her feet tripped. She cried out, crashing to the floor. Ashley’s eyes glowed and redoubling her efforts, she reached for the Director’s throat.

  On the floor, the Director screamed and slammed her palm down on her watch. Chris’s collar gave a shrill beep. He had a split second to realize she’d activated a panic button, before a ripple of electricity coursed through his body, worse than any he’d felt before. His jaw locked in place, silencing the scream in his throat, and he dropped to the floor, paralyzed. From the corner of his eye he saw Ashley fall, finally overwhelmed by the collar’s power.

  The collar’s bite ceased within a few seconds, but it took a long moment for Chris’s senses to return. He lay on his back, dark spots dancing across his vision, the brilliance of the fluorescent lights drilling into his skull like sharp screws. Finally, he groaned and forced himself to sit up, though it only made the pounding in his head worse. Fire wrapped around his throat as he swallowed.

  His eyes settled on Ashley. She lay on the ground nearby, her wings splayed out around her, her scarlet hair tangled in the white feathers. Her breath came in short gasps and
every few seconds her body spasmed, her back arching against the concrete. A light still flashed on her collar, but as the Director walked up and tapped her watch, it clicked off. Ashley’s body relaxed with a sigh.

  “I’m disappointed, Director.” The President had almost reached the exit to the prison block, but he approached again now, one cautious eye on Ashley. “I had expected your pets to be under control by now.”

  The Director scowled, obviously trying to cover her fear, though her hands were still shaking. “They’re not my pets,” she snapped, still staring at Ashley. “They’re Halt’s. His methods made them feral.”

  “Yes, well, you had best improve with the next batch—or I might begin to question whether you’re truly the best candidate for this position.” He strode out the open door, leaving Chris alone in the corridor with the Director and the unconscious Ashley.

  Fear twisted around Chris’s heart. Holding his breath, he forced himself to look at the Director, steeling himself for what was to come.

  The woman still stood over Ashley. “You disappoint me,” she said, her eyes catching his. “I expected more of you. After yesterday, I thought you were ready. Now, I wonder if you ever will be.”

  She stared at him until Chris lowered his gaze, unable to match the power in her eyes. Huddled on the ground, he tried to find his voice, and failed. The sound of marching boots came from the entrance to the prison block as guards raced towards them, having apparently been summoned back from body disposal duty.

  “Take her to my room,” the Director snapped, waving at Ashley. Turning, she looked down at Chris. “I’m done with you for the day. The guards will escort you. I will deal with you both tonight.”

  Chris glanced at Ashley, then back at the Director, hesitating.

  “Go!” she snapped.

  Chris went.

  18