The Pursuit of Truth

by Aaron Hodges

  He paused beside the couch, a frown creasing his forehead. “Where’s Daniella and her mother?”

  Liz blinked, struggling to look around, her mind foggy with sleep. She shook her head, suddenly realizing Richard was right. Daniella’s mother still had not returned with the coffee. What was taking the woman so long?

  She sat up, but before she could stand, Danny finally reappeared. She paused in the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand. Striding across the room, she placed the cups on the coffee table.

  “Everyone clean? Good, good, I’m so glad, must be a relief after that trip. Where did you say you came from again? Seattle, right? Such a long, long way.” She paused, looking at Jasmine and Richard. “More coffee?”

  Before either could answer, she raced back into the kitchen.

  Watching the woman depart, Liz struggled to muster her thoughts, and decided the coffee might not be a bad idea after all. Much as she’d like to leave their worries for the morning, they needed to figure out a plan. She lifted the nearest mug and took a long gulp.

  Beside her, Chris groaned and sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. He spotted the second coffee and swept it up before anyone else could claim it.

  Liz sighed as the hot liquid warmed her chest. Though winter was behind them, the nights were still icy, and the house felt cold after the heat of the shower. The others remained where they were, Richard standing, Jasmine and Mira curled up on the couch beside her.

  “That was…strange,” Richard remarked, his eyes on the kitchen doorway.

  Taking another sip of her coffee, Liz’s mind finally began to work again. She frowned, thinking of the voices she’d heard earlier, how she’d been sure the television had been on.

  “Danny turned off the television, before we came in…” Liz mumbled her thoughts out loud.

  Richard looked around. “What?”

  “They were watching the television while we were in the shower. I heard it. But they switched it off when they heard us coming.”

  Frowning, Richard picked up the remote and flicked on the television. The speakers blared, but Richard quickly hit the mute button. The five of them stared as a man appeared on the screen, pointing to a map of the Western Allied States, and the rainclouds approaching San Francisco.

  But that was not what drew their attention.

  A banner ran along the bottom of the screen, bright red with white text that spelled out “WANTED FOR TREASON.” Beneath, four faces stared from the screen. Liz’s stomach twisted as she recognized her own picture, an awful fear clamping around her chest.

  Richard turned off the television. “We have to get out of here.”

  The lights went out.

  15

  Sam ducked as Paul’s fist flashed for his face, then backpedaled as the boy chased after him, giving Francesca time to regain her feet. Paul stumbled, then recovered quickly, but the second was all Sam needed to leap clear, his copper wings beating slightly to carry him across the hall.

  Paul and Francesca gathered themselves and came after him. They moved with more confidence now, finally growing used to the alien weight of their wings, though they were still far from perfect. Unlike Sam and the others, they were taking a long time to adjust. Their wing movements were still stiff and robotic, their responses delayed, as though the connection between their minds and the new limbs was not quite complete.

  They stalked towards Sam now, faces grim as they watched for a hint of his next attack. Sam grinned and let them come. It had been days since their first meeting, but the two had proven to be slow learners. He had been wondering whether the lack of immediate danger might be slowing their progress. After all, it had been the rush of adrenaline, the desperate need to escape, that had driven Sam and the others to leap from the cliff and fly.

  So Sam had decided a change of tack was needed.

  As Paul stepped forward, Sam tensed and sprang at the younger boy. Paul’s eyes widened, but Sam was already on him, his wingtip swinging out to catch the boy in the face. He felt a satisfying thud and grinned as Paul stumbled back, clutching his nose.

  Growling, Francesca took Paul’s place. Her sudden charge caught Sam by surprise, and he staggered sideways as her fist crashed into his ribs. Wincing, he retreated a step, silently admiring her strength. Whatever problems they might have with their wings, there was nothing wrong with their other enhancements.

  The girl came at Sam again. He twisted sideways to avoid her attack, then caught her by the wrist. Francesca gasped as he used her momentum to fling her over his shoulder. The girl hurtled through the air, arms raised to break her fall. At the last second, her wings snapped open, slowing her descent. Francesca yelped in surprise, then dropped lightly to the ground. Blinking, her wings still half-spread, she turned to stare at Sam.

  “Very good,” he grunted. “Now show me what you’ve got.”

  Ignoring her still gaping face, Sam leapt high, his wings snapping out to catch the air. With one powerful stroke he crossed the hall and drove his booted foot into the girl’s midriff. The blow sent her bouncing across the wooden floor, until she came to rest near the far wall. Wheezing, she struggled to right herself.

  An angry growl came from behind Sam, and he spun in time to block a savage attack from Paul. A fist crashed into Sam’s wrist, sending a shock juddering down his arm. Grimacing, Sam retreated, twisting to avoid another wild swing. Then his knee flashed up, catching Paul in the stomach and stopping him in his tracks.

  They drew back a step then, pausing to weigh each other up. Sam had to admit, the two were good fighters, but that was no surprise. They had to be, to have survived this long. If not for his greater experience with his altered body, Sam doubted he could have taken them both. As it was, he was enjoying the chance to vent his frustration.

  Sam tensed as Paul came at him in a rush of fists and elbows. He blocked each calmly, before leaping forward to grasp Paul by the shirt. Pivoting on his hip, Sam hurled the boy across the room in the same manner he had Francesca.

  Unfortunately, Paul’s wings did not come to his rescue. He rose in an arc and then crashed down into the wooden floor with a thud. Shaking his head, Sam watched the boy stagger to his feet, his lips drawn back with rage.

  “You need to stop thinking, and act,” Sam hissed. He leapt forward and slammed a fist into Paul’s stomach, sending him reeling.

  Pale-faced and gasping, the younger boy struggled to recover. He raised his fists and deflected another blow from Sam. Then he was charging forward, his arms grasping Sam around the midriff and tackling him to the ground. The breath exploded from Sam’s lungs as he landed on his back.

  Rolling, Sam sent Paul stumbling backwards with a sweep of his wings. They beat again as he leapt into the air, carrying him to safety.

  Landing lightly, Sam fought to regain his breath as he berated himself for lowering his guard. Across the room, Francesca had re-joined Paul. They stood together, waiting for him to make the next move. Grinding his teeth, Sam flashed an unconvincing grin and stepped towards them.

  It was their turn to watch him come. Both suddenly looked confident in their abilities now. It seemed he might have been right, that adrenaline was what they needed to help their minds gel with the alterations to their bodies.

  They attacked together as he stepped into range, Paul half a step ahead of Francesca. Working in concert, they forced Sam back a step, then another. Sam reeled as a blow struck him in the face, followed immediately by a kick to the hip. His anger flared, and growling, he allowed it free rein. It swept out to engulf him, pouring fresh energy into his limbs.

  Sam’s head spun, his vision flashing red. Heart thudding in his chest, he twisted as Paul came at him again. Faster than thought, he caught the boy by the throat and hauled him into the air. Blood throbbed in Sam’s ears as he watched the boy kick feebly in his grasp, hardly feeling the blows as Paul struggled to free himself.

  Dimly, Sam heard a scream. Turning, he raised an arm to fend off a blow from Francesca. She stumb
led sideways as he struck her, but quickly righted herself and came at him again. Sam snarled and hurled Paul aside, all his rage focused now on the girl.

  Fear flashed in Francesca’s eyes and he grinned. She stumbled back, but it was too late now. Sam charged, reaching out to catch the arm she’d raised to defend herself. In one fluid movement, he hoisted Francesca above his head and hurled her at the wall.

  Her wings flared open in a desperate attempt to stop herself, but this time her momentum was too great. She struck the wooden wall hard and fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and feathers. A low moan came from her throat as she struggled to rise.

  Sam clenched his fists, reveling in his power. Smiling, he stepped towards the girl. She was still straining to right herself. He hauled her up. Her brown eyes flickered, staring at him in helpless terror.

  Sam paused, a whisper of doubt cutting through the scarlet of his rage. An image passed across his vision, superimposing itself over the girl’s face—of a boy, his face bloodied and bruised, on the ground, gasping for breath. He watched the boy struggling to stand, to regain his feet and continue to fight.

  And he saw the blood covering his hands, the bruises on his knuckles.

  Jake.

  Releasing Francesca, Sam staggered backwards at the memory of his friend. Guilt welled inside him, sweeping away the rage, and the red faded from his vision. A low whine came from his throat as he sank to the ground.

  Sam glanced around, his heart racing as he found Paul on his knees. The boy was gasping, clutching at his bruised throat. Beside him, Francesca stumbled to her feet, her legs unsteady beneath her. Fury lit her eyes.

  “What the hell was that?” Francesca gasped.

  Before Sam could answer, a slow clapping carried across the open hall. They turned as one and stared as Halt walked slowly towards them, a smile on his thin lips.

  “Well done, Samuel,” he breathed, his eyes shining. “It looks like we’re almost ready.”

  16

  Chris threw himself to the floor as the door to the apartment shattered inwards. Something went skittering across the floor, then a blinding flash of light and deafening sound exploded through the room. A scream came from his right as red lines streaked his vision. He shouted at the others, but over the ringing in his ears, Chris couldn’t even hear his own voice.

  Blinking in the darkness, Chris struggled to regain his night vision. Pain came from his arm, but he pushed it aside. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he looked up as the thud of boots on tiles came from the doorway. Little white suns danced across his sight, but between them he glimpsed the silhouette of a man.

  They’re here!

  “Get away from the door!” he called, rolling behind the couch.

  Another thud came from the doorway. He crawled towards the window, praying the others would have the same thought. The apartment was on the fifth floor—if they could break the glass and fly away, the hunters would not be able to follow them.

  Chris’s heart leapt as he heard glass shatter. Straining his eyes, he tried to see who had made it to the window first. Red streaks still flashed across his vision, but they were starting to fade, giving way to darkness. The room slowly came into focus.

  He smiled at their hunters’ error. With their altered senses, darkness was no hindrance to them. Now, even with night vision goggles, the soldiers were at a disadvantage. Crawling out from the cover of the couch, he looked at the window, expecting to see Liz or one of the others there.

  Instead, two hulking figures stepped through the broken window. Sleek night vision goggles covered their eyes and each gripped a rifle to his chest. Glass cracked beneath their boots as they fanned out.

  How? They were five stories up, how could soldiers have gotten in through the window?

  Chris backpedaled behind the couch, but this time he was too late. As he ducked out of sight, the men turned towards him and raised their weapons. Gunfire crackled, and Chris hurled himself to the ground, bracing himself for the bite of their bullets. He knew the flimsy sofa would provide little defense.

  To his surprise, the pain did not come. A series of heavy thunks came from the sofa, as muzzle flashes lit the room. Chris glanced over the cushions, and then dropped back down with a curse. Half a dozen darts had embedded themselves in the fabric. The hunters weren’t here for blood—their guns were loaded with tranquilizers to knock them out. They wanted to take the five of them alive.

  Over my dead body, Chris thought grimly.

  He tore off his jacket and flexed his wings. Gathering himself, Chris listened for the telltale crunch of heavy boots on broken glass. Before he could act, Liz scrambled around the edge of the couch to join him. Her wings were already out, her sleek black feathers blending in with the shadows.

  The tread of a boot carried to their ears. He smiled, pleased by the caution their hunters were showing. These men were clearly wary of their prey. Chris just hoped that he and his friends lived up to their reputation.

  A roar sounded from the other end of the room. Glancing around the corner of the couch, Chris saw Richard and Jasmine charge the soldiers by the window. Wings out, lips drawn back in wild snarls, they attacked like avenging angels descended from heaven. The soldiers moved with painful slowness, unable to match the speed of their winged prey. In a second Richard was on them, Jasmine just one step behind.

  The first of the two soldiers cried out as Richard tore the rifle from his grasp and hurled it at his face. Chris stood to join them, but movement from the door drew his attention. Silhouettes strode through the darkness, fanning out across the room, already raising their weapons to take aim.

  Knowing Richard and Jasmine were in their sights, Chris didn’t hesitate. He dived at the nearest figure, catching the man off-guard and hurling him backwards. The others turned towards the commotion, momentarily distracted, and Liz launched herself into their midst.

  Five silhouettes staggered back from her fury. One went down in a pile of feathers and fists. A second later Liz sprang back up, already after a fresh target. The soldier she’d struck lay unmoving behind her.

  One of the men pointed his weapon at Liz, but Chris was on him before he could fire. Chris only had one good arm to work with, but in close quarters, that was all he needed. Balling his fist, he punched the soldier in the chest. Even through body armor, Chris heard the satisfying crack of breaking ribs. As the man gasped and sank to his knees, Chris spun on his heel and drove his boot into the side of the man’s head.

  The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Chris moved on, his keen eyes searching for another victim. Panic had caught amongst the soldiers, the fury of Liz’s attack scattering them. Muffled thuds came from the window as Richard and Jasmine finished off the hunters there. Only two soldiers were left standing on Chris’s side of the room. Grinning, he stalked towards them.

  Before he could catch them, more men swept in through the open door. Chris swore as rifles were pointed in their direction, and he dove towards the dining table. Liz was already there. She hurled it on its side, and they dropped behind it, the crack of steel darts on wood following an instant later.

  Heart racing, Chris crouched behind the table and waited for the firing to stop. He prayed Richard and Jasmine had not been caught in the crossfire. He hadn’t seen what happened to Mira, but he hoped the girl had found cover somewhere.

  Silence fell as the gunfire ceased. Chris glanced around the table in time to see Jasmine and Richard make a break for the window. The path was clear now, the men that had crashed through lying unconscious on the ground. Jasmine was in the lead, her long legs carrying her across the room before the soldiers in the entranceway could take aim. Her wings spread as she neared the window.

  Movement came from beyond the curtains as a soldier landed in the room, his rifle already raised. Caught midstride, Jasmine had no time to react as the barrel flashed. But beside her, Richard was already moving, shoving her aside. He cried out as half a dozen darts sprouted from his chest.


  Richard’s eyes widened as he stumbled, then with a roar he threw himself at the man in the window. The soldier staggered sideways as a blow from Richard caught him in the temple, but two more men had already appeared to take his place.

  And Richard was slowing now. Another dart struck him in the chest. He staggered back, still shielding Jasmine with his body as they retreated behind the sofa.

  The squeak of a floorboard reminded Chris of the soldiers near the door. He glanced at Liz and found her crystal eyes watching him in the darkness. He swallowed and gave a smile that did not reach his eyes.

  “I’ll take the ones on the right. You get the left,” he whispered.

  Liz nodded and gripping the edge of the wooden table, she hurled it across the room. The intruders had spread out to encircle their hiding place, but several near the door were still standing close together. They lifted their guns at the movement, before the dark shadow of the table slammed into them, crushing them against the wall.

  Chris charged the remained soldiers, taking advantage of their momentary shock to close with them. But they were ready this time. Two already had their rifles at their shoulders. The barrels flared as Chris reached his target. He felt a sharp pinch in his side as he leapt and drove his boot into the man’s face.

  The force of his kick sent the soldier flying back into his comrades. Cursing, Chris reached down and tore the dart from his side. Balling his hand into a fist, he tested his strength, but he could feel no difference. A dull ache came from his wounded arm, but otherwise his bullet wound from the alleyway had not slowed him. He chalked that up to some increased resilience, and then hurled himself at his next victim.

  In the cramped quarters of the apartment, the men struggled to bring their bulky rifles to bear on the winged teenagers. Guns flashed, but with Chris and Liz amidst their ranks, they were just as likely to hit each other as their prey.