by Aaron Hodges
The footsteps continued closer. There were four apartments on each floor, with a short corridor and landing shared between them. From what Sam could deduce from the echoes, the footsteps were coming from the stairwell. They slowed as they reached their floor—then picked up pace again as they approached down the corridor outside.
Go past, go past, Sam silently willed the walker.
Abruptly the footsteps ceased.
Right outside their door.
33
Susan Faulks shivered as a gust from the air conditioner blew across her neck. Picking up the pace, she strode down the starch-white corridors of the facility, eager to reach the laboratory. She was scheduled for the night shift, and while they were still short on personnel, operations had only grown busier over the past few weeks. The facility was now in full production mode, working to prepare commercial quantities of the PERV-A viral strain. With the mounting Chead attacks, the government was advancing its production cycle—imperfections or no.
The remaining geneticists were using blood samples from the failed candidates to refine the virus between reproduction cycles. They hoped to reduce the immunoresponse in hosts by identifying and removing DNA strands in the virus that the human immune system identified as foreign. Susan and the other doctors hoped it would reduce the need for immunosuppressants with future hosts, though they had yet to trial the changes on fresh candidates.
She guessed the government remained hesitant to waste valuable resources on a product with such a low success rate. They certainly would not be risking the lives of WAS soldiers when mortality was so likely. Their only hope was that the next batch of candidates would arrive shortly.
Susan shivered at the thought. She’d arrived at the facility during their last round of testing, and had struggled with the ethics behind the framework. She knew the candidates were already sentenced to death, but she couldn’t help but empathize with them. When the viral administration had finally come, it had almost been too much. For weeks, the corridors had stunk of death, as the doctors tried and failed to keep the hosts alive.
Yet in the end, the sacrifice had proven a success. Susan had watched in awe with the other doctors as the two hosts faced off against the Chead, and matched the monster blow for blow. Caught up in the excitement, Susan had been honored to administer the final injection to the survivors after their fight. She’d experienced a moment of guilt, when the boy had looked at her with eyes that told her he knew she’d lied, but the results…
She smiled, remembering the sight of wings sprouting from human backs. It was a miracle—a breakthrough beyond anything that had been achieved before. When the virus was perfected, the Chead would be resigned to the pages of history.
At the thought of the creatures, Susan shivered. Memories of Fallow’s betrayal twisted in her stomach. She still had nightmares about that day, about what the woman she’d thought of as a friend had done to them. Releasing the candidates was one thing—but the Chead?
Susan had already retired to her room when the alarms sounded. It was probably the only thing that had saved her. Safe behind the bolted steel door, she had listened to the shriek of the alarm, wondering what disaster it signaled. For a while, she’d thought about going outside, in case a fire was creeping slowly towards her. But the facility protocols were clear: in the event of an alarm, doctors were to return to their quarters and await further instruction.
Those procedures had saved her life.
It hadn’t been long before the sirens were replaced by screams. Beyond the safety of her room, the guards had fought bravely, the chirps of their machine guns echoing loudly in the long corridors outside her room. They had managed to kill two of the creatures, before the rest finally fled. But their victory had come at a cost, and by the time they gathered to chase after the escaped experiments, there were few men left standing.
Susan shook herself free of the images she’d seen in the aftermath. Bodies had lain strewn in the corridors, and floors and walls had been stained red with blood. Few of the victims remained in one piece. Even now, the memories made her sick.
Turning down another corridor, Susan silently cursed the size of the facility and the distance between the laboratory and her sleeping quarters. Thankfully, more guards had been brought in now, enough to patrol the outer walls as well as the hallways. She was finally beginning to feel safe again.
She could hear a guard approaching. The light thud of his boots carried around the next corner, drawing closer. Fixing a smile on her face, Susan picked up the pace, wondering who else had drawn the night shift. Knowing the difficulty she’d had when she first arrived, Susan had done her best to befriend the burly newcomers. Though their roles were vastly different, they were all working towards a common cause, and she already knew most of the guards by name.
Turning the corner, Susan opened her mouth in greeting, but the words caught in her throat. She gaped, her heart lurching in her chest as she tried to scream. No sound came out, and clutching a hand to her breast, Susan staggered, unable to tear her gaze from the grey eyes of the boy standing in front of her.
He still wore the orange jumpsuit, but now the fabric was torn and stained brown with mud. His greasy black hair shone in the fluorescent lights. Fresh blood covered his arms and face, congealing beneath his filthy fingernails. A smile twisted his lips as he watched her, unblinking. Sleek muscles rippled along his arms as he took a step.
Susan stood frozen in place, unable to move for her terror as the Chead approached. Only as it reached out an arm towards her did she finally snap from the trance. Turning, she tried to flee. She made it three steps before the Chead caught her.
34
Chris stared at the doorknob, breath held, waiting for it to turn. Sam crouched beside him, his eyes wide, his lips pressed tight. His ears twitched, catching the distant rattle of a keychain. Chris frowned, glancing again at Sam, and saw the same question in his friend’s eyes.
Who would be coming home at this time of night?
The clatter of keys hitting the floor was unbelievably loud in the silence of the apartment, even through the propped-up remnants of their door. Before they could react, the person outside was moving again, the thuds of their boots retreating down the corridor.
Cursing, Chris leapt at the door and hurled it aside. A shout echoed down the corridor as he bounded outside and turned toward the footsteps. Halfway down the hallway a man glanced back, his face pale in the darkness. The stranger’s eyes widened, and he tripped over his own legs and fell in his desperation to flee.
Chris sprinted down the corridor as the man struggled back to his feet. He kept his wings tight against his back, his powerful legs closing the distance in seconds. Bounding into the air, he crashed into the man’s back and drove him to the ground.
“No, let me go!” The man writhed, struggling to break free.
A fist flashed for Chris’s face, but he caught it with ease. Twisting the man’s arm behind his back, he cursed as another scream echoed down the corridor. He glanced at the doors to the other apartments, but no sound came from within. Grimacing, Chris rapped his fist on the back of his prisoner’s skull. Though he held back, the man slumped to the ground without another sound.
Panting softly, Chris stood and stared down at his victim. The man was still breathing, though he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. He shook his head and dragged the unconscious man back into their apartment. On the way inside, he scooped up the keys his victim had dropped. The number on the tag matched the one beside their broken door. This was his apartment.
Sam waited inside, and as Chris dragged his victim through the doorway, he quickly put the broken door back in place. Little good it had done them—the man had clearly noticed something was wrong. It was only a matter of time before the neighbors realized it, too. Perhaps they already had, and simply didn’t care.
Dumping his victim beside the coffee table, Chris looked around the room. The commotion had woken the others, and they now
stood around the apartment in various states of shock and fear. Ashley hadn’t moved from where she’d been sleeping, but her amber eyes were wide as she stared at the man on the floor. Liz hovered near the doorway, her head tilted as she listened for signs of movement.
Only Jasmine seemed capable of action. Shrugging off Mira’s embrace, she strode across the living room and glared down at the intruder.
“Who the hell is this?” she growled.
Without waiting for Chris to answer, she crouched down and began rummaging through the man’s pockets.
“He lives here,” Chris said warily, holding up the keys to the apartment. “It must be Danny’s husband. Didn’t she mention something about him being away?”
Sam only shook his head, but Liz nodded. “I forgot. How could we have been so careless?”
Jasmine snorted, then held up a wallet in triumph. She wandered around the room, flicking through the contents. Then she stilled and turned back towards them, a white identification card in her hand.
“He’s from the government,” she hissed.
“What?” Chris and Liz asked as one. Chris glanced at Liz, but she only shook her head and looked away.
Crossing the room, Chris took the card from Jasmine. The face of the man he’d tackled in the hallway stared back at him. His brown hair had been combed flat and he looked a few years younger, but there was no mistaking him. The government ID named him as forty-two-year-old Jonathan Baker.
Chris shivered and handed the card back to Jasmine. “Danny said he was a translator…” he murmured.
“A translator for them,” Jasmine snapped.
She crouched beside the man again and grabbed a handful of his hair. Tugging back his head, she looked up at them, her lips twisted in a scowl. There was a fire burning in her eyes, and Chris had to steel himself not to look away.
“Let’s throw him out the window,” Jasmine suggested.
“No,” Chris answered. “He’s done nothing to us.”
“Yet,” Jasmine snapped. “You want to wait until he does?”
“We can’t kill him, not in cold blood.” Chris swallowed. “That would only make us as bad as them.”
Jasmine gave a dry, rasping laugh. Releasing Jonathan’s hair, her hand moved to his throat. “You wouldn’t have to get your hands dirty, Chris,” she said. “I’ll gladly rip out his throat.”
“No.” Chris took a step closer.
“Are you going to stop me, Chris?” Jasmine’s eyes flashed. “Are you really defending him? He works for the government—the same people who tortured us, who killed Richard.”
“So did my parents.” Chris looked around as a faint voice came from the pile of blankets. On the floor, Ashley straightened. “They didn’t have a choice. They did what they had to, to protect me and my sister.” Her voice shook as she finished, but she did not look away.
For a moment, Jasmine didn’t move. The veins stood out on her arms, though her hand was still loose around Jonathan’s throat. Chris swallowed, knowing she could kill the man long before he reached her.
Finally, she shook her head and sneered. “He may not have betrayed us, but remember what they did,” she said, nodding in the direction of the bedroom. “His wife turned us in.” Releasing Jonathan, she stood.
“She didn’t know any better,” Liz offered. She crossed the room to join them, squaring off against the taller girl. “They thought we were criminals, fugitives. And they paid for what they did with their lives.”
Jasmine snorted, but Chris could see some of the rage had gone from her eyes. Liz stretched out a hand and placed it on Jasmine’s shoulder, over her t-shirt.
“It’s not his fault either, Jas,” Liz whispered.
Jasmine’s eyes shimmered and she quickly looked away. “What do we do with him then?”
“Let’s start by tying him up,” Sam offered. He walked to the closet and began rummaging inside. A few minutes later, he emerged holding a spool of thick wool. “Guess this will have to do.”
Chris helped Sam secure their prisoner. The girls didn’t speak as they worked, and Chris hoped they were thinking of a more long-term plan.
“That should hold him,” Sam said, clapping his hands as they finished.
They had bound Jonathan’s hands tightly behind his back with the wool, and then jammed a ball of the stuff into his mouth to keep him from crying out. Chris hoped he wouldn’t suffocate, although he guessed that would at least solve the problem of his presence.
“The sun will be up soon,” Jasmine commented. “If we’re not killing him, what are we doing?”
Chris knuckled his forehead, his mind sluggish from lack of sleep. He looked around the room, searching for inspiration, but the plain white walls offered no answers.
“They’re all against us now, you know.” He looked up as Jasmine spoke again.
“What do you mean?” Chris asked.
“Humanity—the whole damn lot of them.” Jasmine looked around. “Hecate was right. After what we saw on the news, they’ll all be hunting us now.”
Chris shivered, but he couldn’t find the words to refute her. Shaking his head, he stared at Jonathan, watching his chest slowly rise and fall.
“If he was getting home at this hour, I doubt anyone will be expecting to see him today,” Liz said finally. “That means we should be safe here until tonight at least. We won’t have to leave during daylight hours.”
“So we leave after dark?” Sam asked.
“Maybe…” Liz mused.
Chris looked up at her tone. Liz’s eyes were distant as she stared down at the intruder, and Chris waited before pressing her further.
“Liz…” he said finally, “what are you thinking?”
Liz blinked and looked around, her bright blue eyes finding Chris’s. For once she did not look away. “We all know what it’s like to lose a loved one. He’s just lost his whole world—the least we can do is tell him the truth.”
“Why would he believe us?” Sam asked.
Chris nodded. Halt’s team had cleared the apartment of any evidence of government’s presence. The tranquilizer darts had been removed, along with most of the valuables, making it look like a regular break in. He shivered as he realized the same government this man worked for had let him return here, knowing what waited for him. Silently, he wondered how many others had perished like this, murdered to protect the government’s dark secrets.
“We have to tell him,” Liz continued, “have to make him believe us. He needs to know what happened, has to know why his wife and daughter are dead.”
“Good luck with that one, Liz.” Sam gave a halfhearted laugh.
A smile tugged at Liz’s lips. “Actually, Sam, I was hoping you would be the one to do it.”
35
Sam sighed as he swiveled the wooden chair and sat down. Propping his arms up against its back, Sam watched the man sleep. He still had no idea what he was going to say. Mira leaned against the wall on the other side of the room, her green eye on him, the blue on their guest. Sam carefully kept his gaze averted from the strange girl. Her presence made him uncomfortable, but she had invited herself in, and he wasn’t game to throw her out.
On the bed, the man gave a long, drawn-out groan. Sam’s heart started to race, and he straightened in the chair. He glanced at Mira, wondering whether he should order her to leave, after all. She only smiled at him and nodded at the bed. Sam saw the prisoner’s eyes were open.
The man wriggled slowly backwards on the bed. The task was made difficult with his hands tied behind his back, but reaching the headboard, he managed to sit up. Spitting out the ball of wool, he tried to get to his feet.
Mira gave a low-pitched growl and leapt onto the foot of the bed. Her back arched and her wings snapped open, their grey feathers seeming to fill the room. Sam flinched, but their guest gave a strangled scream, and promptly tumbled off the side of the bed.
“Please!” Jonathan gasped, as Mira towered over him. “We’re on the same side!”
>
Sam raised an eyebrow as he stood. He waved Mira down, struggling to keep the smile from his face. He had to admit, the girl had style.
“And whose side would that be, Jonathan Baker?” Sam asked, moving around the bed to stand over the prisoner.
“The government!” Jonathan gasped. He lay helpless on the floor, his hands still tied behind his back.
“And why would you think we work for the government?” Sam asked.
On the floor, Jonathan blinked. His eyes were wide, and he slowly shook his head. “The…the wings?” he wheezed. “She’s got wings…” He frowned. “And you, you’re the boy from the press conference, aren’t you?”
Sam sighed. He was already regretting letting Liz talk him into this. That was why she’d wanted him to be the one to break the news, of course—because by now, everyone in the Western Allied States knew his face. And they all thought he worked for the government.
“Yes, that was me,” he muttered. “I hate to break it to you, but I wasn’t there by choice.”
Jonathan swallowed. “What do you mean?”
Giving his best attempt at a menacing smile, Sam took a step closer to the translator. “I was a prisoner,” he growled, “but I escaped. Question is, now that I’m free, why should I spare your life?”
A shiver went through Jonathan then, and he shrank back against the wall. For a second, Sam thought he would beg. Instead, he let out a long breath, and nodded. “So be it.” He closed his eyes. “Just don’t hurt my girls.”
Sam’s stomach wrenched and he took an involuntary step back. Silently he slumped into the chair. It took a moment for Jonathan to look back up. When he did, his shoulders drooped, and there was a tremor to his voice when he spoke again. “Where are they, my family? Where are Danny and Daniella?”
Sam nodded at the bed. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable.”
For a second, Jonathan didn’t move. He lay staring up at Sam, his face twisted with hate and pain, before finally clambering to his feet. A low growl came from Mira’s throat as he stepped towards Sam, and he stilled again.
