The Pursuit of Truth

by Aaron Hodges

  The Pursuit of Truth

  Book 2 of The Evolution Gene

  Aaron Hodges

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Aaron Hodges

  I. Home

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  II. Renegades

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  III. Chead

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  IV. Aftermath

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  V. Salvation

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  VI. Recovery

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  VII. Retaliation

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Epilogue

  Enjoyed This Book?

  Note from the Author

  Also by Aaron Hodges

  The Way the World Ends

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Edited by Genevieve Lerner

  Proofread by C.B. Editing

  Cover Art by Deranged Doctor Designs

  Copyright © March 2019 Aaron Hodges.

  Second Edition

  All rights reserved.

  The National Library of New Zealand

  ISBN-13: 978-09951202-28

  Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of the 9 to 5 and decided to quit his job to travel the world. During his travels he picked up the old draft of a novel he once wrote in High School—titled ‘The Sword of Light’—and began to rewrite the story. Six months later he published his first novel—Stormwielder.

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  Also by Aaron Hodges

  The Evolution Gene

  Book 1: The Genome Project

  Book 2: The Pursuit of Truth

  Book 3: The Way the World Ends

  The Sword of Light Trilogy

  Book 1: Stormwielder

  Book 2: Firestorm

  Book 3: Soul Blade

  Legend of the Gods

  Book 1: Oathbreaker

  Book 2: Shield of Winter

  Book 3: Dawn of War

  Wander.

  Until you find a place to call home.

  Part 1

  Home

  Prologue

  Sam groaned as the first tingle of consciousness tugged at his mind. He fought against it, clinging to the dark cloud of oblivion, desperate for its cold, numbing comfort. But slowly the light trickled in, casting out the black, dragging him back to the agony of his body.

  He winced as fire boiled through his muscles. Another groan tore from his lips. A low gurgle started in his chest and made its way up his throat, until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Rolling onto his side, he spat on the concrete. He swallowed, and felt the steel collar press against his Adam’s apple.

  Lying there with his eyes closed, his memories slowly returned. He saw again Ashley’s fall, her wondrous white wings folding in on themselves, her plummet to the snowy ground. He remembered lifting her broken body, his whispers as he begged her to fight, to live. Then the short flight from the cliffs, his wings straining hard to keep them both aloft, the ground rising up to meet them.

  And the guards waiting, their rifles held at the ready, watching their approach.

  They had taken Ashley from him the moment he’d landed. Sam had made no effort to resist—the doctors in the facility were the only ones who could save her. After securing Ashley, the guards had turned their attention on him. The hulking captain had stepped forward and slammed his rifle into Sam’s stomach, driving the air from his lungs. As he crumpled, something hard had struck him in the back of his head, toppling him to the ground. Steel-capped boots had descended on him then, smashing him in the face and ribs, slamming into his back, crushing the fragile feathers of his wings.

  Unable to defend himself, Sam had curled into a ball and waited for death. Finally, a blow had caught him in the side of the head, and he’d gladly given himself over to the darkness.

  Hours later he’d woken in this room, to a group of hard-faced men in suits standing over him. At his first sign of movement, two guards had sprung forward and pulled him to his knees. His head still spinning, Sam had met their questions with stony silence.

  Who was Angela Fallow working with?

  How did she free you?

  Where are they going?

  He’d been rewarded another beating when he refused to answer. A blow had caught him in the forehead and sent him reeling sideways. As he tried to roll free of the guards, the collar around his neck had pulled him up short. Only then had he noticed the short length of chain connecting it to a bolt in the ground. Helpless, he had looked up in time to catch a boot to his face.

  For days now, his captors had tortured him. He no longer knew whether it was day or night. Time had lost all meaning. Only the presence of his tormentors mattered now. Sometimes they would leave him alone for long hours—other times, they seemed to reappear within minutes. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Sam found his senses crumbling, his sanity falling away.

  Images flashed through his mind, some faster than thought, others lingering. He saw Ashley standing in their cell, the familiar smile on her face, her movements lithe and graceful. Then the image changed, and he would see her lying still, her face a pallid grey, her eyes empty.

  Other visions followed, filling his mind, reminding him of past horrors. He watched again the boy convulsing on the training field as Halt stood over him, smelled the stench of death and decay in the medical room, saw the blood staining the padded walls.

  Saw the blood on his hands, and his friend, lying still on the ground.

  Saw the accusing stares of Jasmine and Richard.

  Gritting his teeth, Sam pushed away the memories and pulled himself to his knees. He winced as the chain went taut, the collar cutting into his flesh. The chain was so short he could not stand—only crouch on his hands and knees. His muscles ached from disuse and constant pain ran down his spine. A sharp twinge came from his ribs with each intake of breath. Air whistled through his broken nose, and his stomach c
ramped with a ravenous hunger.

  Sam’s heart started to race as he heard the faint click of the door handle. His left eye was so swollen he could barely see through it, but he forced his right to open. The harsh light burned, but slowly the room came into focus. Other than a plain steel chair that sat just out of reach, the room was unadorned, the white walls and concrete marked only by his blood.

  Beyond the chair, the door unlocked and two guards pushed their way into the room. Sam watched as they took up stations on either side of the chair, then returned his attention to the doorway.

  His stomach lurched as Doctor Halt stepped into the light. He shrank back as the doctor’s cold grey eyes found him on the floor. Days without food or sleep had stolen Sam’s strength, and now even the brief task of sitting up left him gasping.

  “Samuel,” Halt’s voice slithered through the air, “you disappoint me.”

  Stalking across the room, Halt lowered himself onto the chair and crossed one leg over the other. His long black pants and white lab coat were immaculate—a stark contrast to the filthy rags Sam wore. The doctor’s brow creased as he pursed his thin lips.

  Sam looked into the doctor’s eyes and suppressed a shudder. There was no hint of compassion there, not a spark of pity.

  Halt leaned back in his chair and tapped one finger against his elbow. “Fallow has caused us a considerable setback, Samuel.” He looked around the room, shaking his head. “The President wants answers—-answers we do not currently possess.”

  Sam bit his lip and looked away. An image flickered into his mind—of Angela Fallow sprawled on the laboratory floor, her lifeblood pooling around her. He tasted bile in his throat and swallowed hard.

  “Samuel, you must see the folly of protecting her,” Halt whispered, his voice cutting through Sam’s thoughts. “The woman is dead. Just tell us who aided her, and this torment will cease. You will be moved to more comfortable facilities, provided with regular meals. Just give us what we want.”

  Closing his eyes, Sam almost wished he had the answers Halt demanded. But in the scant minutes they had spent in the medical room, he had never thought to ask how Angela had freed them all, or why. He’d been too preoccupied with other things, like why wings had suddenly sprouted from his back.

  Sam forced a smile. “Look.” He coughed out the word, then turned his head and spat a gob of bloody saliva on the concrete. “I wish I could help you, Halt. The woman called me fat. Believe me, I’d sell her out in an instant, if I could.”

  A weary look passed across Halt’s face. “So you say.” He looked at the grey walls, as though there was more to its plain surface than met the eye. There wasn’t—Sam had spent enough time staring at them himself to know that. Shaking his head, Halt went on, talking almost to himself. “The survivors of the B-strain will have to suffice. They’re all we have—for now.”

  Sam’s heart lurched. “Ashley,” he wheezed, his fingers clawing at the concrete. “She’s not…”

  Halt’s lips twitched. “How quaint, the two of you formed a bond.” He waved a hand, as though dismissing Sam’s concerns. “The girl lives.”

  Tears stung Sam’s eyes as a sob tore from him. Ashley lived. His sacrifice had not been in vain. The weight of the chain around his neck grew the slightest bit lighter.

  His vision blurring, Sam looked up at Halt. “Thank you.”

  Halt only shook his head. “I did what was necessary,” he said, his voice cold. “Thanks to the damage caused by Doctor Fallow, we have no candidates to spare. The President is demanding a demonstration of our success. We will need as many healthy specimens as possible to ensure the project’s survival.”

  Something in Halt’s words made the sudden hope in Sam’s chest die. He clenched his fists, summoning his last reserves of defiance. “I won’t help you, Halt.”

  Doctor Halt stared at him a moment, then pulled himself to his feet. “A shame.” A harsh smile spread across his face. “You don’t really think they can escape, do you, Samuel?”

  Halt moved to the door. Pulling it open, he glanced back. “If so, you are mistaken. Our hunters will have them soon. Then they will join you in here,” Halt growled, before turning to the guards who still stood on either side of his chair. “For now, I will entrust your care to these gentlemen. When you’re ready to cooperate, do let me know.”

  With a swirl of his lab coat, Halt was gone. The hulking guards stepped forward as the door slammed shut behind him. Grim smiles spread across their faces as they drew steel batons from their belts.

  Sam’s defiance withered as the two men closed on him. He shrank away, but the chain brought him up short, leaving him crouched helpless on the ground. A whimper rose in his chest, and he fought the urge to beg, knowing that would only make it worse.

  One raised his baton.

  Sam closed his eyes, and waited for the pain.

  1

  Liz closed her eyes and listened to the silence of the house. Or what might have once been silence, before the awful experiments that had changed them all forever. Now, she could hear the whisper of a mouse in the ceiling, the soft creak of wooden boards cooling in the night breeze, could smell the dried blood in the hallway and the reek of mildew and dust. And beneath that, the familiar smells of home. Gone were the voices, the life she had once lived, but the shell endured, and with it, the memories.

  Darkness concealed the empty rooms and wall she knew so well. Somewhere outside, a cricket chirped, and she could hear the soft breathing of the others as they slept nearby. Richard and Jasmine lay on opposite sides of the lounge. Jasmine had hardly spoken since almost being captured back in the forest, but she and the young girl seemed to have bonded. The enigmatic thirteen-year-old lay curled up next to Jasmine, her eyelids flickering gently with some dream. Chris was somewhere outside, keeping watch while the others rested. They were taking no chances now, not after what had happened the night before, when the soldiers had almost caught them.

  They’d spent the day huddled inside the house, listening for the telltale buzz of the chopper, praying its search would not reach their lonely mountain. The shadow of the valley and wooden walls would not shield them from a persistent search, but at least they were hidden from casual observers. The dark contraption would have to come close to find them; they would hear its approach long before then.

  The long hours had been spent exploring the house. Liz had helped retrieve what remained of her parents’ clothing. Most of the items were moth eaten and covered in mildew, but they were still far better than the rags they’d escaped in. There were also several pairs of shoes, and heavy jackets they could wear to cover their wings.

  When the shadows of nightfall fell across the plains beyond the mountain, the group had finally relaxed. Richard, showing a practicality Liz would never have guessed at back in the facility, had ventured into the forest, returning an hour later with a turkey, its neck broken and dangling from his bloody hand. In the meantime, Liz and the others had gorged themselves on oranges and half-green apples hanging from the nearby trees.

  In the pitch black, Richard had set about lighting a fire in the long-dead woodstove. He, too, had hardly spoken since the incident in the forest, and Liz could sense the weight he carried on his shoulders. Whether it was remembered terror or guilt at having fallen asleep on watch, Liz could not tell. But she could do nothing to help him. The burden of her own memories hung over her now, rising from a past she’d thought long buried.

  She had thanked him for the meat, though. The turkey had been old and tough, probably one of the birds her father had once kept, but to her half-starved stomach it had seemed a banquet. With her hunger sated, she’d felt her strength returning.

  Now, in the darkness of night, Liz finally found the courage to face her past. Memories drifted through her mind—of her parents sitting around the kitchen woodstove, of the taste of her mother’s rabbit stew, of long days spent manning the fields surrounding their solitary mountain peak.

  Her parents and the other w
orkers had tended to the great herds of cattle and sheep which grazed on the prairies, often spending cold nights sleeping beneath the stars when the beasts took them to the furthest pastures. Though little of the profits went to her family, it was an honest living, and they had been happy here.

  Now the ranch had been abandoned, the land left untended, the buildings allowed to succumb to nature’s encroachment. She wasn’t surprised. It would have been hard to convince even the bravest of workers to return here after what had…happened.

  Letting out a breath, Liz climbed to her feet. She felt a desperate need for company, to escape the lonely whispers of this place. Her cheeks flushed as she recalled the night before—Chris’s hands around her, his lips on her neck, his flesh pressed hard against hers. She shivered and moved through the darkness. Following the old, familiar hallways, Liz made her way outside.