by Aaron Hodges
“I was…like you…not long ago,” she replied at last. “I too…was offered a…choice.”
That got the girl’s attention. She looked from Susan’s face to her swollen belly. “You…you were human?”
Susan’s lips twitched in amusement. “I was…a miserable creature,” she said. “The Chead…freed me.”
Lisa snorted. “Looks like they did more than that.” Shaking her head, she went on, her voice incredulous. “You bred with these monsters?”
Susan bared her teeth at the insult and wrapped a hand around the girl’s slim throat. It felt good beneath her fingers, and smiling, she started to squeeze. “Hecate is…my mate.” The words were softly spoken, but no less feral.
The girl’s mouth opened and closed as she batted at Susan’s hand, but her human muscles were nothing to the strength of the Chead. The panic grew in the girl’s eyes as she choked. When Susan finally released her, Lisa bent in two, gasping in great lungfuls of air. Susan watched on, impassive, waiting for the girl to recover. She didn’t speak again until Lisa fell silent.
“I was once like you…weak…miserable…alone,” she said. “Now you have…a choice. End your suffering…join us.”
Tears streaked Lisa’s cheeks as she met Susan’s gaze. For a long moment she was silent, her lips pressed tightly together, her green eyes shimmering in the light of the nearby candles. Susan could see her fear, her desire to live, but there was something else too, something she did not recognize until Lisa’s lips drew back in a sneer.
“Thanks,” she spat, “but I’m no coward. I’d rather die than become a whore for these monsters.”
Faster than thought, Susan’s fist lashed out and caught Lisa on the side of the face. She heard a crack as the blow shattered the girl’s cheekbone and sent her reeling. Screaming, Lisa tried to scramble away, but Susan was on her in a second, fist raised to deliver the final blow. Before it could fall, Hecate caught her by the wrist.
“Enough,” he said as she tried to pull away.
Rage rumbled through Susan’s chest, but she was no match for Hecate’s strength. He dragged her back from the prisoner as Susan screamed at him. “She needs to die!”
Silently, Talisa crossed the cave to stand beside the prisoner. “She will.” Her voice carried back to Susan. “But not before she tells us everything.”
Lisa’s screams echoed from the stone walls as the elder Chead leaned down and twisted her broken foot. Watching from Hecate’s arms, Susan’s reason slowly returned. She sagged against her mate, and after a few more minutes, he released her. They stood in silence as Talisa went to work.
Susan licked her lips, savoring the taste of blood in the air. Each time Talisa released her victim, the girl would try to crawl away, crying pitifully as the stones shifted beneath her broken bones. Her loyalty was impressive, her fortitude to be admired. Yet the girl had insulted the Chead, had called Hecate a monster, and Susan felt no pity for her now. She watched on, taking pleasure from each agonized scream.
In the end, the girl’s resistance made no difference. Talisa would have what she desired. There was no resisting her iron will. When Lisa finally broke, she shouted the words so loudly they must have echoed through half the cave system.
Lisa sobbed as Talisa released her. One last time she tried to crawl away. Talisa waved Susan forward. Her mouth watering, Susan obeyed. Talisa handed her a rock and nodded towards the girl. Crouching beside her, Susan brought the rock down on the back of Lisa’s head. There was a sickening crack as her skull shattered, and the pitiful sobs abruptly died away.
Smiling, Susan stood and looked at Talisa, the girl’s final words still ringing in her ears. They sounded oddly familiar, like a place she should know, though the memory seemed half a lifetime ago now.
Kirtland Air Force Base, Albuquerque.
30
Sam and Ashley heard the explosion a few minutes before they reached the transmission room. By then, the fight was already over.
Turning the final corner, Sam stumbled to a stop. Bodies lay strewn across the corridor, their blood staining the walls and floor. Beyond, the air was thick with dust, and a gaping hole waited where a door had once stood.
“Quickly,” Ashley said. She started down the corridor without waiting for an answer. Sam followed her, his exhausted legs barely able to keep up.
The dust was clearing as they neared, revealing the full extent of the damage. A burn mark amongst the bodies showed how the first soldiers had died. Others they encountered sported bullet wounds and broken bones. None of them were moving.
Ashley and Sam shared a glance. Reaching the ruined doorway, they waved away the last of the dust. There was little left of the transmission room. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving rubble strewn across the little room. Ruined computer equipment and cameras lay scattered around the far wall.
Sam glimpsed another scorch mark near the door, before his eyes were drawn to a body in the corner. He started towards it, and then stopped when he recognized her face.
“Oh, Maria.” Ashley’s voice broke as she stepped past him and knelt beside Chris’s grandmother. She put a hand to her throat, but after a moment’s pause she met Sam’s gaze and shook her head.
Hot pain stabbed Sam’s chest. Staggering forward, he dropped to his knees and took up Maria’s hand. Her skin was still warm. “What was she doing here?” he whispered.
Before Ashley could answer, a piece of rubble shifted, sending a block of concrete crashing to the floor. Instantly, Sam and Ashley were on their feet. They stepped cautiously towards the pile, eyes alert for danger. But there was no more sign of movement, and after moment, Sam knelt and began lifting concrete from the pile.
After a few minutes, he lifted a chunk of concrete and found a patch of pitch-black feathers beneath. The breath caught in his throat, and tossing the block aside, he redoubled his efforts. With Ashley’s help, they quickly removed the rest of the rubble covering Liz.
She coughed as Sam lifted her out, a dim groan rasping from the back of her throat. Her wings had taken the brunt of the damage, and from the unnatural way they hung from her back, he guessed that she had broken several bones. A trickle of blood trailed from her mouth and her face was a mess of purple and black. But she was alive, and that was all that mattered.
Ashley called out as Sam lowered Liz to the ground. Turning back, he watched as Ashley shifted another block of rubble, revealing Chris’s face. They dragged him out, and then Ashley lifted him over one shoulder. She stumbled as a jagged edge of concrete caught her boot, but quickly recovered. Silently, she set Chris down beside Liz. He didn’t move, but Sam let out a long sigh as he saw his friend’s chest lift.
“What happened here?” Ashley asked softly.
On the ground, Liz stirred, her eyelids fluttering. She whimpered as her wings shifted and Sam quickly placed a hand on her shoulder. Her clothes had been torn in the explosion and he had to take care not to touch her flesh.
“Don’t move, Liz,” he said quietly. “You’ve been hurt, but we’re here, Ashley and me. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you out.”
Liz’s eyes flickered open. “Sam?” she murmured.
Sam nodded and squeezed her shoulder. “Where are the others, Liz?” he asked. “We found Chris. And Maria…she’s gone, I’m so sorry. But what about Jasmine, and Mira? Were they here?”
A tear streaked Liz’s cheek, carving its way through the dust. Her blue eyes stared up at him, the whites stained red.
“Gone,” she mumbled, even as her eyes slid closed again, “they’re all gone.”
Part 4
Rebellion
31
Sam groaned as he lowered himself into the chair beside the hospital bed. His body creaked, his bones grating as the pillows took his weight. The injuries he’d taken in Alcatraz were healing quickly, but even his genetically modified body couldn’t recover from half a dozen bullet wounds in a week. At least he could still fly though. The girls had just taken o
ff to test Liz’s freshly healed wings—her first flight since she’d been crushed by falling concrete.
As for Chris…well, it was anyone’s guess whether he would ever fly again.
Sam’s face sagged as he looked at his friend. Chris’s chest rose and fell in smooth succession, his eyelids fluttering gently. He had yet to open his eyes. The bruises had almost faded from his face, but the deeper wounds still lingered. Even now, a week since their prison break, Chris remained in a coma.
Liz had done her best to protect him. In the video that had streamed across the globe, she had turned as the grenade exploded and hurled herself across his body. It hadn’t been enough. As the rubble came crashing down, a chunk of concrete had slammed into Chris’s head so hard it cracked his skull, only missing Liz by inches.
It was a miracle any of them had survived. Even Ashley, freed from her cell, would have been killed had it not been for Mira. The grenades had engulfed the Director in a ball of flames, incinerating her control watch before it detected her death. Only that had spared Ashley and Chris an agonizing death from the collars fastened around their necks. Whether Mira had realized that or not, they would never know.
A tear trickled down Sam’s cheek. Angrily, he wiped it away. Not for the first time, he cursed Liz for bringing the girl and Maria along. Alcatraz had been no place for either—and both had paid for the mistake with their lives. Yet, he knew Liz hadn’t had a choice. There had been no refusing either of them when they set their minds to something. And without poor, brave Jasmine, there’d been no one else for Liz to turn to.
Sam took a deep, shuddering breath. Richard, Jasmine, Mira. They had lost so many friends, their families, their lives. When would it all end?
Letting out his breath again, Sam stood and crossed to the window. They were in a stone building that had once been the embassy for Portugal. Parting the curtains, he peered out into the street. A crowd of protesters thronged the sidewalk, spilling out onto the road in places. A manicured hedge and tall cast-iron fence held them back for now, but it would do little to stop the protesters if they realized who was in the building.
Chris was a wanted man after what he’d done.
All hell had broken loose following the Director’s accidental confession. For decades the threat of the Chead had hovered over the people of the Western Allied States, uniting them in fear of a common enemy. With the revelation that their own government had been behind the epidemic…order had collapsed overnight. Haunted by two decades of suffering at the hands of the Chead, rural refugees had unleashed their pent-up rage against the capital.
The foundations of their nation undermined, officials had tried gathering the remnants of the police and military, but their best efforts had been in vain. It hadn’t taken long for open war to break out on the streets of San Francisco.
Urban citizens, terrified for their safety, locked themselves away in their apartments. But day by day, more refugees poured into the city, dislodged by the hordes of Chead ravaging the countryside. When the last emergency services collapsed, the rioters had turned on their urban neighbors. After suffering so long under the terror of the Chead, it was impossible to believe the urbanites in their sparkling cities hadn’t been involved in the conspiracy.
So had begun the bloodiest week in the history of the Western Allied States.
Outside, a few of the protesters were stirring, and Sam quickly drew back from the window. Despite his efforts in Alcatraz, Sam was quite sure he remained at the top of the public hit list. After all, he had stood beside the President all those weeks ago, offering his silent endorsement.
The President himself had been the first to flee. The man was no idiot—he’d been long gone by the time the rioters reached Congress. Where, no one knew, but it wouldn’t be long before they tracked him down. With civilization itself on the brink of collapse, there weren’t many places left to hide.
A hinge creaked, and Sam turned in time to see Harry step through the door. His crutches tapped on the linoleum floor as he shuffled across the room. A bandage covered his right leg from ankle to knee. Unbeknownst to Sam, the old veteran had survived the massacre at the safe house and been shipped off to a medical cell in Alcatraz.
Luckily, Sam’s prison break had freed Harry before he could be interrogated.
“Sam.” The old man smiled as he waddled around the bed and took Sam’s seat. “How is he?”
“Still no change,” Sam replied, adjusting the radio on his belt and looking down at Chris. “The doctor says the swelling has gone down, but she’s not sure how much lasting damage the impact might have caused.”
“Perhaps he won’t wake up,” Harry said with a sigh. “It might be for the best. It would make my job easier.”
Sam grimaced, but he was too exhausted to argue. Harry might have fought in the American War, but he’d never experienced the trials that Sam and the others had been through. Harry couldn’t understand the power Doctor Halt and the Director had wielded over those in their thrall.
Although, even Sam was still struggling to reconcile what Chris had done.
Out loud, he said, “Your little council still hasn’t decided what to do with him?”
Since being freed from Alcatraz, Harry had reconnected with the survivors of the Madwomen. Along with several other political prisoners he’d met among the inmates at Alcatraz, he had established a shadow government of sorts here in the embassy. Though his council held no official power, they’d been talking with the refugee leaders, along with some of the city’s more influential residents. And they’d gathered the remnants of the police force, restoring order to at least a few city blocks.
Harry shook his head. “There are larger issues at hand. We will deal with him when he wakes.”
“No doubt,” Sam mused. “What about the President? Any word on his location?”
Leaning back in his chair, Harry eyed him closely. “We’ve narrowed it down to a few possibilities. He could be in San Diego, at the Naval Base there. Or Oregon. Or Albuquerque. Don’t worry, he can’t hide from us forever.”
“And the reinforcements? Has there been any progress with Texas and Mexico?” Sam pressed. He knew Harry had reached out to a few of Mike’s old contacts in Texas, at least.
“Those are details I cannot go sharing with just anyone, Samuel,” Harry replied wearily.
Sam smiled. “But you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
Harry laughed. “Your assistance at Alcatraz will only get you so far, my friend.”
“Assistance?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’d call that a little bit more than just ‘assistance.’”
The old veteran rolled his eyes. “You are persistent, aren’t you?” A pained look crossed his face as he stretched his injured leg. “Very well. Texas and Mexico are mobilizing their forces, but these things take time. The first peacekeepers will reach San Diego and Albuquerque in a few days.”
“You think we can trust them?” Sam asked.
Harry spread his hands. “There’s not much else we can do.” His gaze travelled to the window. The protesters were beginning their first chants of the morning. “Our police are outnumbered. The army is in tatters, divided between three wayward generals. We’re doing our best, but water, electricity, gas, they’re all just one bad day from shutting off. We need their help. If they decide not to leave…well, we’ll deal with that if it comes to it.”
Sam nodded, but before he could reply, movement in the bed drew his attention. Chris still lay motionless beneath the white sheets, and the hospital machines continued their rhythmic beeping, unchanged. Perhaps he had imagined it. He was about to look away when Chris’s toe twitched. Then a finger. A sharp beep followed as his heartbeat spiked.
Sam shared a glance with Harry. Then he reached for his radio.
32
Liz closed her eyes as the ground fell away, the powerful beat of her wings sending her soaring. Relief swept through her as the winds pushed her higher. Spreading her wings to their full extent, she drank
in the freedom of flight, the release of gravity’s relentless pull. Gliding through the sky, far above the chaos below, she almost felt free, as though she could leave behind her awful past, and soar into a new future.
If only it were so easy. But somewhere below, reality lurked, a truth that would not be denied. The radio weighed heavily on her belt, a constant reminder of the darkness waiting for her back at the embassy.
Wind tugged at her hair and rustled in her feathers, racing around her, cutting off all sound of the city, stealing away the harsh scent of gasoline and humanity. She shivered as it sliced through her thin black top, but with the summer sun beating down on her back, it was almost a relief. Her long-sleeved blouse and jeans were insufferable in the Californian heat, and the gloves only made things worse.
Liz watched the skyscrapers flash past. Green trees dotted the streets, their branches swaying in the breeze. There were only a few cars about. They crept through the rolling hills like mice eager to avoid a predator’s detection. The day was clear, and across the harbor, Liz could see Alcatraz rearing up from the white-capped waters.
She shuddered and quickly averted her gaze. In the week since their final confrontation with the Director, Liz had barely left her bed. For the first few days, even the slightest movement would bring sharp pain to her wings. They had taken the brunt of the explosion as she’d spun and thrown herself over Chris. She couldn’t remember anything after that—at least not until Sam and Ashley had dug her out of the rubble that had crashed down on them.
The others had tried to keep her company while she healed, but Chris also needed watching, and for long hours she’d been left alone to stew in her thoughts. In her grief, and pain.
Chris…
The air racing past her face whipped away Liz’s tears. She still felt the shock of stepping through the broken door and finding him standing there. For weeks she’d thought him dead—then suddenly he’d been there, alive, whole. In that one moment, all her hopes and dreams had come rushing back.