by Aaron Hodges
Chris closed his eyes. “I have no excuse,” he said, blinking back tears. “I should have…I should have protected you…” He trailed off, his voice fading to nothing, and bowed, exposing his neck as though awaiting execution.
Strong fingers gripped him by the chin and forced his head back up. The Director’s lips were drawn tight, her brow hard. He flinched as her fingers dug into his flesh.
“Please,” he gasped, unable to keep the fear from his voice, “I don’t want to die.”
The Director raised an eyebrow. “No?”
He shook his head, though his movement was restricted by her hold on his chin.
“Then perhaps you can redeem yourself.” She tapped a finger to her control watch. It beeped and the chain fell away, though the cold embrace of his collar remained.
Standing, she offered him her hand. “Rise, Christopher.”
Chris shivered as he looked up at her. A lead weight settled in his stomach. He knew what she was asking, what it would mean if he took her hand. It was a line that, once crossed, he could not return from. There would be no redemption.
He would be hers—body and soul.
But what choice did he have? To refuse was to join Ashley, to wait in a cell for the sun to rise, and the end to come. Even as he considered the idea, a gulf opened in his chest. With Ashley gone, he was truly alone now. Isolated from his friends, from his family, what darkness would he fall into?
Yet he would be alive. He would be safe, free of the torments Ashley had suffered. In that moment, he made his decision.
Chris took her hand, and rose.
Part 3
Vengeance
20
Sam squinted into the darkness, his wings creaking as the San Francisco winds battered him. He was flying higher than he ever had before, and even his powerful muscles were struggling to keep his wings straight in the howling wind. They pushed him around like a ragdoll, but he only gritted his teeth and pressed on. He was almost there.
He had wanted to set out earlier, when there’d still been light in the sky. But the government had proven relentless—continuing its hunt for the fugitives all through the next day. So instead, he’d been forced to remain in the basement with Jocelyn and the other resistance fighters, listening to the buzzing of helicopters outside, his nerves growing more frayed by the hour.
Only when darkness fell once more did the hunters relent. Patrols still swept the streets, but the roaming helicopters had returned to their nests for the night. Sam had seen Jocelyn and the others safely out of the search grid, and then wished them luck. The fighters had waved him goodbye with grim faces—they all knew this would probably be the last time they saw each other.
One simply did not break into Alcatraz and expect to survive.
Despite the odds, Sam knew he had to try. They’d had no word from the Madwomen, no news about what had happened at the safe house. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. He still clung to the hope that Liz, Jasmine and Mira had made it out, but he couldn’t wait around to find out. The government was closing its net around the resistance, and if he delayed any longer, there might not be anyone left to fight for.
Unfortunately, a storm had broken with nightfall and now he was beginning to doubt he could even make it to the island. Another gust buffeted him. Tensing the muscles along his back, he trimmed his wings and drifted lower. Through the clouds, the dark waters of the harbor appeared. White-capped waves churned the surface as salt spray drifted upwards. Thunder clapped and a patch of rain swept past, soaking him to the skin.
Cursing, Sam searched the waters and finally found the orange glow of a lighthouse. As he flew closer, other shapes appeared from the darkness. Buildings rose from the steep cliffs of The Rock. The lighthouse was the tallest, and shifting direction, he headed towards it.
When he was still some twenty feet out, Sam glimpsed a guard on the observation deck atop the lighthouse. The man was leaning against the rails, squinting out through the pouring rain with a sour look on his face. He carried a rifle slung over one shoulder, but Sam had no intention of giving him a chance to use it.
Approaching from above, Sam ensured he was outside the guard’s line of sight. When he was still several feet above the tower, he folded his wings and dropped from the sky. A gust of wind almost threw him off-course, but with a twist of his wings he recovered, and crashed down on the man’s back. The impact of Sam’s two hundred pounds drove the guard face-first into the railing.
Sam landed lightly and delivered another blow to the back of his victim’s head for good measure. Then taking hold of the man’s legs, he dragged him into the lighthouse tower and shoved him into the nearest closet.
Returning to the observation deck, Sam took a moment to assess his surroundings. His vantage point on the lighthouse gave him a view over half the island. Lightning flashed, illuminating the stark concrete walls and barred windows of the prison block. A dark shadow was all he could see of the entrance, but as the lightning died away, he saw the dim glint of solid steel doors.
His heart sank. Even with his considerable strength, he couldn’t break through that. Shivering in the rain, he continued his examination of the island. To his right, the ground dropped away in a sheer cliff, but beyond he could just see the rooftop of another building below. From its open windows and plain walls, he guessed it was the residential quarter for staff.
Sam returned his attention to the main prison building. In the darkness, he could see no way to force his way inside. The grounds of the island were empty, without so much as a guard standing outside the main entrance. There might be others patrolling the island, but he guessed the majority were stationed within at night, where the real threat resided.
After all, Alcatraz had been reopened to contain the most dangerous criminals of the Western Allied States, the traitors and terrorists who posed a threat to their very way of life. Or so it was said. Now, of course, Sam knew better. The prisoners inside were likely no different from his parents—falsely accused, locked away without trial, sentenced to death for the crime of questioning the government.
His hands tightened on the railings as he studied the barred windows, wondering if he might force his way inside. But the bars were also solid steel, at least half an inch in diameter. He doubted he could do much more than dent them.
No, he would have to wait until someone came or went. When the doors were unlocked, he would make his move.
Retreating under the eaves of the lighthouse, he lowered himself to the steel deck and leaned against the wall behind him. Silently, he crossed his legs and settled in to wait out the night…
Sam snapped awake to the crash of thunder. Cursing, he sat up, the harsh light of dawn burning at his eyes. In the distance, waves crashed. As he stood, a gust of wind pushed him sideways and almost tore him from the deck. Above, the storm had built itself up into a fury.
A clang came from somewhere in the lighthouse and a voice carried up. “Jerry! You fall asleep again?”
His heart pounding, Sam slid back inside the building. Cut off from the wind, he could hear the steady pounding of boots on the staircase now, approaching rapidly. He slipped across the room and peered over the rail into the stairwell. Below, a man was climbing the winding stairs.
Crouching in the shadows, Sam waited for the guard to come to him.
“Jerry, where you hiding, man?” the guard wheezed as he reached the top.
Sam didn’t bother to reply. Leaping forward, he punched the man square in the chest, driving the air from his lungs and stealing his voice. A second blow to the head dropped the guard without a sound. Dragging his victim across to the closet, he tossed him in with his friend. The first man was beginning to stir, but another knock to the head returned him to sleep.
Stepping outside again, Sam crouched on the observation deck and looked back out over the island. Despite the storm, the sky was quickly brightening, and he cursed himself for falling asleep. He was more exhausted than he’d realized,
but it was too late to reconsider his plans. It was now or never.
Movement near the residential block drew his attention. Squinting through the rain, he watched a group of three figures run from the building to a waiting golf cart. The three had barely scrambled into the vehicle before the driver took off. They went lurching along a muddy path before disappearing behind the lip of the cliff.
A few minutes later, the cart reappeared at the top of the cliffs, having wound its way up the road from below. Sam caught the distant whir of an electric engine as it settled back onto flat ground. His heart surged as he realized it was headed towards the prison. A clang came from somewhere below. Leaning out over the edge of the platform, Sam saw the prison doors swing open. Two men in blue uniforms matching the ones in his closet stepped out into the rain. Both carried rifles, but they appeared at ease. They walked a few steps through the mud and waved at the cart.
As the golf cart approached, Sam climbed onto the rails of the observation deck. He moved slowly so as not to draw the guards’ attention, but they were too preoccupied with the vehicle to notice the winged boy atop the tower. Stretching his wings, Sam waited until the cart pulled to a stop in front of the prison, and then hurled himself from the lighthouse.
The passengers in the golf cart were just stepping off when he landed among them. He dropped the driver first, a blow to the man’s neck sending him sprawling against the steering wheel. Spinning, he took in the empty hands of the three passengers and then leapt at the guards by the door.
They were still frozen in shock as he landed between them. One tried to lift his rifle, but Sam was already too close and a blow to his chest dropped him like a rock. The other turned and tried to make it through the steel doors. He managed two steps before Sam caught him by the collar and hauled him back. After finishing the man off with a cuff to the head, he turned his attention to the passengers.
There were two men and a woman. As he’d hoped, they were civilians, unarmed and clearly terrified by his sudden appearance. They flinched as he stepped towards them. Before any of them thought to shout for help, Sam darted forward and caught one by the shirt.
“Not a word, or you won’t live to see tomorrow,” he growled.
The man struggled to break free, until Sam lifted him into the air and shook him. His head lolled like a bobblehead doll’s, and when Sam dropped him to the muddy ground, he didn’t make a sound. Scrambling back towards his colleagues, he stared up at Sam, lips clamped shut.
Sam grinned. “Atta boy.” He glared at the others, inviting them to try their luck, before continuing. “Good, you’re quick learners. Do what I say, and you might just make it off this rock alive.”
Eyes wide, the three of them stared back at him. After a moment’s hesitation, each of them nodded.
“Great.” Sam waved at the doorway. “Shall we get out of this rain, then?”
21
Stepping through the giant steel door, Sam found himself in a grim, bleach-white room. Steel beams reinforced the walls and ceilings above, while a series of unidentifiable grey stains marked the linoleum floor. A metal detector like those used in airports stood waiting, and beyond it, a steel bench stretched down the middle of what looked like a waiting room. To the right, a window looked into a guard booth. It was empty now, but behind the glass a computer screen displayed camera feeds from around the facility. One showed the ground outside where the unconscious guards still lay, another the room in which he was standing.
There was no one else in sight, but Sam doubted he’d seen the last of Alcatraz’s guards. The cameras needed to go. One was on the ceiling, in the corner. He leapt up and tore it from the wall, then moved outside and did the same to the one outside. He hoped this would buy him a few extra minutes.
A new pair of double doors stood on the other side of the waiting room, but there was no obvious lock or handle on the steel panels.
“How do they open?” he asked his guides.
The woman swallowed and held up her arm. A familiar watch shone on her wrist.
“What’s on the other side?” Sam pressed.
The woman hesitated, but any thought she had of lying evaporated as Sam stepped towards her. “The control room,” she stammered. “There’ll be more guards.”
“How many?”
She only shook her head, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide. She’d obviously run out of words.
“It varies,” the man Sam had attacked earlier answered in her stead. “Five, ten, depends who’s on duty, what’s happening with the prisoners and…” He trailed off, clearly realizing he’d said too much.
“And the experiments, right?” Sam snapped. His eyes narrowed and he stepped towards the group, wings trembling. “What exactly do you three do here?”
“We’re…we’re no one,” the man stammered quickly.
Sam snorted. “I doubt that.” He gestured to the watches they all wore. “I recognize those. Pack quite a punch with the right prisoners, don’t they? Must be terrifying for you, having one of us free.”
The three exchanged glances but wisely kept their mouths shut.
Scowling, Sam held out his hand. “Hand them over, all of you. Now!”
They obeyed, and Sam pocketed two of the watches, before nodding to the woman. “You, unlock the door for me.” He held out the third watch.
The woman didn’t move, and Sam stepped forward and grabbed her by the wrist. She yelped and tried to pull away, but he didn’t budge. Shoving the watch into her trembling hands, he bared his teeth.
“Do it,” he snapped.
Sobbing, the woman tapped a few buttons on the screen. With a groan, the doors started to open. Sam took back the watch and released the woman.
Sam started towards the double doors. “You might want to lock yourselves in the guard booth,” he called over his shoulder. “I’d say things are about to get ugly.” Then he darted through the gap that had appeared between the doors.
“Problem with the camera, Je—”
A guard was speaking behind the opening doors, but his words were cut off as Sam leapt inside and drove his foot into the man’s knee.
Screaming, the guard went down, but Sam was already moving past him. The room he found himself in was cluttered with desks and chairs. Old CRT monitors sat on the desks, and filing cabinets had been pushed up against the far wall. It looked more like a downtown office in San Francisco than a prison. Except for the men with guns.
They obviously hadn’t been paying attention to the cameras before he’d disabled them, but their shock was already evaporating as Sam stepped around the fallen man. They scrambled backwards, putting tables and chairs between themselves and the intruder.
Darting forward, Sam glimpsed a window in the far wall. Behind the glass was a kind of visitor’s room, with rows of steel tables and chairs—although Alcatraz hadn’t allowed visitors in decades. Beyond the tables, thick steel bars separated the room from the prison proper.
But he was getting ahead of himself.
There were still half a dozen guards to deal with. Unlike those outside, these men only carried handguns, but the weapons would be no less deadly in the tight space.
Sam ducked behind a desk as the first guard opened fire. It was a thick wooden thing, probably weighing forty pounds, and offered plenty of shelter. But Sam wasn’t about to let them pin him down. Gripping it in both hands, he gritted his teeth and sent it flying across the room.
It slammed down among the guards, crushing one and scattering the rest. The momentary panic was all Sam needed to reach them. Even without his special gifts, he was larger than most men. Add two extra limbs, enhanced strength and reaction times, and the men were hopelessly outmatched.
As one raised his gun, Sam’s wingtip flashed out and sent it flying. At the same time, he kicked out at another guard, hurling him into the window. To Sam’s surprise, the glass didn’t so much as crack, and the man slumped to the floor with a moan.
A gunshot rang out and Sam ducked as a bullet w
hizzed past. Hurling himself sideways, he tackled another guard, knowing if he stood still they would have him. He used his momentum to pick up the man and charge the gunman. The guard in his arms screamed before the three of them crashed together and they went down in a pile of thrashing arms and legs.
On the ground, Sam was hidden from the last gunman. He finished the two men with a few solid blows, catching a fist to the jaw in the process. Then he rolled to his knees and sprang, his wings beating down to carry him across the room, seeking out the final guard. A flash of movement came from Sam’s left as the man rushed for a red panel in the corner, but when he glanced back and saw Sam bearing down on him, he stumbled and fell.
Sam was on him before he had a chance to recover, dragging him away from what must be the alarm. The man groaned and tried to fight him off until Sam punched him squarely in the stomach. Gasping, the man’s face turned white as he strained to suck in a winded breath.
Crossing his arms, Sam took a moment to survey the room. None of the other men were moving, and satisfied, he turned his attention back to his new captive.
“Listen very closely,” he whispered, leaning in. “I’m not going to kill you—even if you probably deserve it. Well, not so long as you cooperate.”
The man had finally managed to catch his breath. Jaw clenched, he shook his head.
Sam sighed and caught the guard by the wrist. Grasping one of his fingers, he began to bend it backwards.
“A colleague of yours taught me this,” he said conversationally. The guard tried to bat him away with his free hand, but Sam was implacable. “Doctor Halt. I don’t suppose you know him.”
The guard screamed as his finger snapped with a sickening crack. He tried to break away, but Sam caught him by the throat and pulled him forward.
“Listen up,” he snapped, his face less than an inch from his prisoner’s, “I don’t have time to mess around. Next thing I break will be your arm. Now, tell me, how do I release all the prisoners up here?”