by Aaron Hodges
“I’ll go in first. If anything goes wrong, the two of you can bail me out.”
Maria snorted. The old woman’s eyes told Liz she wasn’t buying it, but even so she nodded her consent.
Liz let out a long breath and she faced the door. It was paneled steel, but as long as there were no reinforcing bars on the other side, it didn’t look thick enough to keep her out. Taking a step back, she sprang forward and slammed her foot into the door near the latch.
Just like upstairs, it gave way with a harsh shriek. She smiled as it swung inwards, and leapt through, wings flared.
26
“Cut the cameras.”
A red emergency light flashed in the corner of the room. The Director strode across to the computer and picked up a radio, but Chris couldn’t tear his eyes away from the Texan.
Mike sat in the wheelchair, arms straining against his bindings. Teeth clenched, tendons taught against his neck, he started to convulse. A low keening came from the back of his throat as the first traces of poison reached his vital organs.
Chris still held the jet-injector in one hand. In horror, he tossed it aside. Glass tinkled as the empty vial shattered on the concrete floor. Looking at his hands, he retreated across the room until the wall brought him up short. He shook his head, as though that would somehow take back what he’d done.
The alarm suddenly ceased, plunging the room into silence. Silence, except for Mike’s increasingly loud cries. Raised voices broke out as the camera crew began asking questions, but a scream from the Director cut them off.
Opening his eyes, Chris watched the film crew flee through the door. He wished he could go with them. Opposite him, Jonathan had backed up against the camera equipment and now stood staring at the exit as though expecting a monster to come charging through. With a wave from the Director, guards took up positions around the door.
“I want every gun we have at the transmission room, now!” the Director screamed into the radio and then slammed down the receiver. Her eyes settled on her guards. “Get out there and guard the door. Shoot anyone who comes down the corridor.”
Her guards marched outside, the door swinging shut behind them with a harsh bang. The Director quickly swung the latch down to lock it. Then she faced the room.
Mike was still moving, but his cries were fading now. His head slumped forward in the chair and he barely moved as the Director grabbed him by the hair. Tilting his head, she looked at his face, before nodding to herself and releasing him once more.
“You did well, my pet,” she murmured, crossing to where Chris stood.
Chris forced himself not to look away as she placed a hand on his chest. “What’s happening?” he whispered.
“Terrorists have infiltrated the facility,” she said. Her hand stroked his cheek. “Will you protect me?”
Looking from her to Mike, a moan built in Chris’s throat. The Texan’s eyes were drooping, his breath growing shallow as he swayed in the chair. The Director’s hand trailed through Chris’s hair, drawing his gaze back to her. His will crumbled. Eyes shimmering, he nodded.
The Director pushed him towards the door. “Kill whoever comes through.”
With that, she returned to the radio and began speaking into the receiver again. She tapped at a keyboard and the screen flickered. Out of the corner of his eye, Chris glimpsed what appeared to be a live camera feed of outside, but from his position by the door he couldn’t make out any details.
Taking a breath, Chris steadied himself and looked at the steel-paneled door. Silently, he wondered who had the resources to attack them here. He still had no idea where here was—he and Ashley had been knocked unconscious after their capture—but this was the base of operations for the Director of Domestic Affairs, a well-guarded, top-secret facility. It would surely take a small army to storm the place. He wondered if Texas had sent troops to rescue Mike. If so, they were already too late.
Half an hour passed before shouts erupted outside the door, the rattle of gunfire quickly following. Then a boom shook the floor beneath Chris’s feet. He staggered back as hot air swept beneath the door. More gunfire ensued, and he took a step closer to the entrance. Whoever had come obviously meant business.
Chris cast a quick glance back at the Director as silence returned to the corridor outside. She still stood at the computer, her fists clenched and face pale as she watched the screen. Jonathan hid behind the camera equipment, eyes wide, making Chris wonder why he hadn’t fled with the others. It was too late now—not that Chris would mind throwing the man to the wolves outside. If only he could do the same with the Director.
As he turned back, the metal door suddenly exploded inwards. He leapt sideways as the steel panels slammed into the concrete wall. Recovering, he spread his wings and hurled himself forward…
…and froze as Liz’s bright blue eyes appeared from the darkness.
Her name left him in a rush, “Liz!”
Liz looked back at him, her curly black hair in wild tangles, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. She had frozen in the doorway, same as he. They stood staring at each other as though they’d both seen a ghost.
“Chris,” she whispered. Tears brimmed in her eyes.
The breath hissed between Chris’s lips as he stepped towards her and stretched out a hand. Then he paused, the awful bite of reality striking him. Shaking his head, he retreated from her, bitter bile rising in his throat. Liz watched him go, the light in her eyes turning to confusion. With his wings spread, she could not see what waited behind him.
She could not see the man he had murdered.
Or the woman he had betrayed her to.
“Don’t move.” The Director’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.
Chris froze at her voice, even as Liz tensed and started forward again.
“I said, don’t move!” the Director shrieked.
This time Liz stopped. Glancing back, Chris saw the Director standing beside Mike’s chair, a handgun pointed at Liz’s chest.
“Good girl.” A smile twitched on her lips as she stepped beside Chris. “Elizabeth Flores. So you’re the one who’s been causing all the excitement.”
“Not just her.” Chris staggered as his grandmother entered the room, gun outstretched. She calmly pointed it at the Director’s head. “Put it down, witch.”
“You first, old woman,” the Director laughed. “I’m sure you don’t want to kill your grandson.”
“What?” Maria scowled, her arm wavering.
Lowering her gun, the Director tapped her watch. “If I die, the collar around Chris’s neck will kill him.” She looked from Maria to Liz. “I don’t think any of us want that, do we?”
The two of them exchanged a glance, before Maria bowed her head. Smiling, the Director took the weapon from his grandmother’s limp fingers. Maria’s shoulders fell as she released the weapon, as though her will had gone with the gun.
“There, isn’t that better?” A gun in each hand, the Director crossed to where Mike still lay slumped in his wheelchair. Turning, she waved to the newcomers. “Come in, come in, you remember Mike, don’t you? I’m afraid he’s not feeling too talkative today.”
Chris lowered his gaze as Liz and Maria edged forward cautiously. Mike was no longer moving. His face had turned a pallid grey, and his lips were a sickly blue. There was no doubt now—he was dead.
“Oh, Mike,” Chris heard his grandmother whisper.
“You!” Liz growled, stepping towards Jonathan. She froze as the Director aimed a gun at her face, but her gaze never left the man. “How could you let her do this?” she demanded.
Jonathan didn’t move from where he hid behind the camera equipment. “Let her?” He looked from Liz to Chris. “Why don’t you ask him how the Texan died?”
Liz’s eyes found his. “Chris?” she whispered, starting towards him.
Unable to meet her accusing stare, Chris backed away. “You shouldn’t have come here, Liz,” he murmured.
“I thought you were dead,
” Liz murmured. “What happened to you?”
Chris swallowed as his chest grew tight. He felt a desperate yearning to go to her, to kiss her, to hold her in his arms. Never in his direst dreams had he thought he would see her again. Yet here she was, and he had nothing left to offer her.
Laughing, the Director strode across to join him. He shuddered as she pulled him to her, her lips meeting his, unable to resist. When she pulled away, he lowered his eyes to avoid looking at Liz.
“He’s mine now,” the Director mocked.
“No,” Liz spoke in no more than a whisper. “Chris, look at me. Whatever she’s done to you, it’s over. We’re getting you out of here.”
Chris wanted more than anything to believe her. But as he moved, the collar seemed to tighten, reminding him of his fate. His life was bound to the Director’s. There was nothing they could do to help him.
And there was nothing he could do to help Liz.
The Director was laughing again. “It seems we have a second renegade to execute.”
“Vile witch,” Chris’s grandmother said sharply. “You think you’ve won? You think you can just get away with murdering innocent people, with torturing children?” She started towards the Director but froze as the woman pointed a gun at her. Shaking her head, Maria went on, “They’ll find out the truth—you can’t keep it from them forever.”
“And what would this truth of yours be, old woman?” the Director asked with a grin.
“That you created the Chead. That you murdered widows and innocent students to hide it,” Maria growled.
“I did,” the Director cackled, “but you have no proof.”
For half a second, Maria’s eyes flicked to Liz before she looked away again. “It’s out there. It’s only a matter of time before it comes out. When it does, your regime will crumble. Sooner or later, justice will find you.”
The Director did not reply. She stood staring down the barrel of her gun at Maria, her eyebrows knitted in a frown. Slowly she turned the gun on Liz. “Ms. Flores, please turn out your pockets.”
Liz’s face paled and she retreated a step. The Director advanced on her. “Jonathan, if you’d be so kind as to search the girl?” she snapped. Her eyes never left Liz.
With the wall behind her, Liz had nowhere left to go. She glared at Jonathan as he stepped up beside her, but did nothing to resist as he rummaged through her pockets. It only took him a couple of seconds to find the thumb drive. Chris’s head spun as Jonathan lifted it up for the Director to see.
“I’ll take that,” the Director said, holding out her hand.
Jonathan handed it over, and she dropped it on the ground and smashed it beneath her boot.
“No!” Liz breathed, tears appearing in her eyes.
“Glad we got that loose thread taken care of. I take it you didn’t have the resources to make a copy of Professor McKenzie’s work? No? Excellent!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Maria replied, though her voice was thick with despair. Her eyes shone. “How could you create such monsters…”
The Director laughed. “The Chead were only ever a happy by-product of the war. We had been working on a virus, one that would make our troops unstoppable, but the war ended before we could perfect it. The Chead were as close as we got to success – until now.”
“But why?” Liz asked. “My family, my people, we suffered for decades. How could you do that to us?”
“After the losses rural communities took during war, they asked too many questions of us.” The Director shrugged. “We needed a new enemy, something to strike fear into the nation and silence our detractors. The Chead provided the perfect tool.”
“You’re monsters.”
The Director sneered. “No more than you, my dear.”
“The truth will come out,” Maria repeated.
“One day, maybe,” the Director replied. “By then it’ll be far too late. Soon we will have an army of creatures just like your grandson, ready and willing to obey our every command. Then it won’t matter what the sheep think. You’ll all do as you’re told, or die.”
“Witch,” Maria said again. Before she could say anything else, the Director slammed the butt of the pistol into her cheek. Maria crumpled to the ground with a cry.
“I’ve heard enough,” the Director sighed, pointing the handgun at Maria’s head. “For obvious reasons, you’re going to have to die off-camera, Maria.”
Chris’s heart froze in his chest. His grandmother had gone completely still now. She crouched on the ground, staring up at the gun, her eyes sad. The rest of the room looked on, helpless to intervene.
“Go on then,” Maria said softly. “Do it. Show everyone here how powerful you are, how you’ll murder a defenseless old woman in cold blood.”
A twisted smile crossed the Director’s face. “Gladly.”
“No!” Chris screamed as a gunshot echoed through the transmission room.
27
Reaching through the bars, Sam pulled Ashley into an awkward hug. He couldn’t believe his eyes, could hardly trust the feeling of her thin frame beneath his fingers. She had lost a lot of weight since he’d seen her last. Her ribs stood out through the thin cotton shirt she was wearing, and her face was pale and drawn. A dozen white feathers were scattered around the floor of her cell, and there were patches of skin showing on her wings.
But none of that mattered just then. Despite everything he’d believed, everything he’d convinced himself of, Ashley was alive. He kissed her through the bars, the cold steel pressing against his cheeks as their lips met. He breathed in the scent of her, savoring the familiar taste of her tongue.
They were both panting for breath when they finally broke apart. The screams of the Chead still echoed around them, but Sam only saw Ashley. He held her arms, staring into her amber eyes, seeing the pain there but also recognizing hope. Hope that her torment was almost at an end.
“You’re alive,” he whispered.
He cupped her cheek and pulled her in for another kiss. She trembled beneath his fingers, and Sam shivered as her hands went around his waist. Their tongues danced as they pressed hard against one another.
There were tears in Ashley’s eyes as they separated. She angrily brushed them away. Hiccupping, she shook her head. “What…what’s that thing on your face?”
Sam grinned and rubbed his beard. “You don’t like it?” Then he sighed and closed his eyes. “I thought you were gone, Ash.”
He fought back tears as her hand stroked his cheek. “I’m here, Sam. I’m safe.”
A sob tore from Sam’s throat. For the past four weeks he had mourned her loss, had cursed and berated himself for not going with her to the university, for not being there to save her.
“What happened here, Ash?” he asked when he finally regained his composure.
A tremor swept through Ashley. Her eyes drifted past him, to where the Chead still raged in their cages.
“They messed with the virus,” she said. “It killed half of them in the first few hours. Then today…” She trailed off, her voice breaking.
Sam cupped her cheek, offering his silent comfort, knowing she would go on in her own time.
Finally, Ashley sucked in a breath. “The Director was impatient. She didn’t test them like Halt did with us, just ordered the doctors to administer the virus to everyone. Those who survived the first few hours…” She swallowed. “They weren’t strong enough, Sam. In the night they started going mad, throwing themselves around their cells, screaming about voices in their heads. I tried to help them, but one by one they either succumbed to the Chead, or…or mutated.”
Sam nodded grimly. Images of the deformed bodies had been burned into the back of his eyes. Another thought occurred to him. “Where’s Chris?” He looked around, half-expecting to see his friend in another cell.
“He’s…in trouble, Sam.” Ashley’s voice drew his gaze back to her. “She’s broken him. I don’t know what she’s going to make him do.”
Sam fro
wned. Chris had always been so strong, Sam couldn’t imagine him giving in to the vile woman. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.” Ashley looked around her cell, searching for a way out. “I don’t know how to open these things. I think they’re controlled remotely.”
Sam held up the watch he’d taken from the doctor and started tapping through the menus. His spare hand dangled between the bars, and Ashley took it in hers. She kissed it, eyes fixed on the control watch.
“So, they missed you at the safe house, Samuel.” Sam jumped as a crackling voice spoke from above.
Releasing Ashley’s hand, he spun, seeking out the owner, but he was still alone in the corridor. On the ceiling, a camera swiveled in his direction. He glanced at Ashley. They both recognized the voice.
“Honestly, I thought you’d be dead by now,” the President continued, the speakers clearer this time. “Especially with those dreadful radio broadcasts. The Director has a lot of explaining to do.”
Sam smiled. He’d chosen to broadcast from the top of the monument for just that reason. Sure, they might track him to Independence Square. But with thousands of people cramming the grounds below, he had been like a needle in a haystack.
“Still, I’m glad,” the President continued. “I never had the chance to thank you for helping me win back the public.”
“I didn’t do it for you.” Sam’s anger flared and he spun, half-expecting the man to pop out of some hidden corner. “Come out and face me!”
Laughter crackled over the speakers. “Oh, Samuel, if only I could properly thank you for everything you’ve done. Alas, I’m presently engaged elsewhere.”
Sam paused. “You’re not even here?” A cold chill spread up his spine.
“Of course not. I have a country to govern. I can’t spend all my time hiding under some old rock.”
“Well, wherever you are, I hope your guards are better than the bozos you employed here.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Because I’m coming for you next.”
Ashley pressed herself up against the bars to get a better look at the camera. “Aww, did the big bad President get cold feet?” she called mockingly. “Did I scare you away?”