by Aaron Hodges
“Creator?” Susan asked, her voice cracking with her terror. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”
The Chead growled. Before she could react, it caught her by the throat. With its immense strength, the Chead hauled her up, and slammed her back against the wall. She gasped, struggling to inhale as it began to squeeze.
“Please…” she managed to whisper. Darkness swirled at the edges of her vision.
Without warning, Hecate released her. She crumpled to the ground. Eyes watering, Susan coughed, gasping as life-giving oxygen flooded her lungs.
“Tell me…” Hecate growled. “Where…is that which…created us?”
On her hands and knees, Susan looked up at the creature, her oxygen-starved mind struggling to process its demand. Slowly the cogs turned, and she shuddered, realizing there was only one thing the Chead could mean.
“The virus?” she whispered. “You want the virus…that made you?”
The creature’s smile returned. “Yes…”
Susan nodded. “We…we have some…we have some in storage, I think,” she stammered.
“Take me.”
“Okay.” Using the wall for support, Susan carefully climbed to her feet. She looked at the creature and took another breath, then nodded to the doorway. “It’s that way.”
Laughter rasped from the creature’s throat as it stepped aside to let her pass.
The virus storage facility wasn’t far. Her legs trembling, Susan moved quickly past the other Chead and out into the corridor. Hecate followed close on her heels, and they made their way down the long corridors without incident.
A few minutes later, Susan drew to a stop outside a heavy metal door. She glanced at the Chead, wondering whether to say she didn’t have the key, but one look in its grey eyes was enough to drop the thought. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved her key card and unlocked the door. Air hissed as the lock released, and she stepped inside. The Chead followed her before she could slam it shut behind her.
Within, they found themselves in a small airlock facing a second door. There was a basin on the wall that was used for scrubbing down after trips inside, and shower heads in the ceiling were used in the case of accidental exposure. Fortunately, the viral samples they worked with were not airborne, and could only be transmitted through ingestion. That was how they believed the Chead virus had been spread through the nation—by deliberate contamination of food supplies. Texas was the lead suspect, although the Western Allied States were not short of enemies.
Susan moved to the second airlock and pushed the door open. Beyond, the air was cold, carrying with it the strong scent of bleach. The walls were lined with freezer drawers where they stored the various strains of the virus. Each drawer was color-coded for the generation of virus and labeled with the individual strain. Most drawers were filled with the PERV-A strain they had been replicating for the last few weeks, but in the corner, she could see the red label that marked the earlier, failed version of Fallow’s virus.
“Where?” Susan jumped as the creature whispered in her ear.
Swallowing, she crossed to the freezer and pulled open the drawer. Inside, tray upon tray of little glass vials shone in the overhead lights. Each contained a single dose of the virus. They had been frozen in liquid nitrogen before storage and would remain viable so long as they remained that way.
She looked up as Hecate joined her. “This is the virus that created you,” she croaked. “It needs to be kept frozen.”
“How…is it moved?”
Susan swallowed, her eyes drawn to the portable refrigerators in the corner of the room. She nodded at them. “We…we send shipments sometimes…to other laboratories. Those…steel boxes are portable freezers. Their batteries will last twenty-four hours...” She trailed off as Hecate leaned down to study the vials in the drawer.
“PERV-ALPHA,” it growled. “What is that?”
“It’s…it’s…the name for the virus you were given.” Susan stammered. “They…it’s infectious when ingested, or injected into the blood supply,” she rambled on, eager to fend off more questions.
She fell silent as the grey eyes shifted back to her. A shiver ran through her and she took a quick step back, suddenly realizing how close she was to the creature. It caught her wrist, holding her in place. She tried to squirm free, but it pressed forward, pinning her against the freezer.
“You said…you said you’d let me go!” Tears blurred Susan’s vision as a scream built in her throat.
“Did I?” The Chead’s eyes bored into hers.
It leaned towards her, its nostrils flaring. She fought harder to break free, but its weight crushed her against the cold steel, leaving her with nowhere to go. The creature began to laugh, its eyes dancing with amusement at her feeble struggles. The sound wrapped around her, and Susan could contain her panic no longer.
She tried to scream, but a hand clamped down over her mouth, cutting off her cries. Staring up into the dark eyes, Susan fought to breathe, but its hand had blocked her nose as well. She gave another muffled shriek, but it was hopeless. The strength slowly fled her body, until her legs gave way, and the darkness came welling up to claim her.
38
Chris’s eyelids were drooping by the time he finally staggered down the corridor towards the bedroom. The conversation in the living room had gone on for hours, until in their exhaustion they began to repeat themselves. By then, the morning had crept into the afternoon, and Chris was well beyond the point of caring. He had hardly slept in forty-eight hours, and now he could barely keep his feet.
The problem with which they were all struggling was whether they could trust Jonathan. They had already been betrayed once—by his wife—and while they’d torn the phone out of the kitchen wall, Chris still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that this wasn’t all some elaborate trap.
The second problem was the nature of the allies he had proposed they approach.
The Madwomen.
He shook his head, wondering if they were mad themselves to even consider the idea. How could a group of old women—however great their courage—help Chris and the others bring down the entire government? If Jonathan was right, they had managed to avoid retribution so far, but Chris doubted that could last. Especially if word got out that the fugitives had contacted them.
In the end, they had decided to visit the Madwomen’s protest the next morning. Chris had agreed more out of exhaustion than anything. With that finally settled, they had drifted off to bed, one by one. He’d caught Jasmine’s announcement that she and Mira would keep an eye on the “prisoner,” but by then he was too tired to care. Hopefully Jonathan could survive a few hours in their tender care.
Pushing open the door to the spare bedroom, he moved to the bed and threw himself down on the soft mattress. Breathing in, he caught a whiff of Liz’s scent from the pillows and suppressed a groan. The look she’d given him earlier had been one of pure venom, and had left him regretting ever opening his mouth. He should have let her rest.
The door creaked and looking up, he was surprised to see her slip into the room. She stilled when she saw him, her mouth opening, one hand still on the door handle. An awkward silence followed, and Liz shifted on her feet, clearly anxious.
“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a rush.
Chris tilted his head to the side. “For what?” He forced a smile.
Liz shook her head and closed the door the rest of the way. “For snapping at you,” she said, sitting on the corner of the bed. Her tone was flat. “For pushing you away.”
Chris’s heart pounded hard against his chest. Liz sat looking away from him, her black wings hanging loosely to either side of her. He could sense the distance separating them, the gulf that had opened up in the corridors beneath the courthouse. He knew she was suffering, though Liz had said nothing about what had happened to her since their escape. She hadn’t even mentioned Halt, or how her very touch had burned his life away.
“Liz…” he whispered. Rea
ching out a hand, he stroked the small of her back where it was covered between her wings. “Liz, you haven’t pushed me away. I’m right here…”
She flinched at his touch, but after a moment she relaxed, and he trailed his fingers up and down, taking care not to touch her skin. Shivering, she looked back at him, her blue eyes wide, and he saw the walls come tumbling down. Tears filled her eyes as she bit back a sob.
“Chris…” she gasped, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I miss you…”
“I’m right here, Liz,” he repeated.
She only shook her head and looked away again. She was still trembling beneath his fingers, and he could sense the tension in her body, as though she might flee at any moment.
“I’m scared,” she whispered after a few minutes had passed. When she looked back at him, her cheeks were streaked with tears, and Chris had to fight the urge to reach out and wipe them away. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”
Somehow, Chris found himself smiling. Perched on the corner of the bed, her curly black hair in tangles, her broad wings wrapped around her shoulders and her knees tucked underneath her, Liz was a mess. But in that moment, he realized how much he loved her. He loved her fierce nature, her fire and courage and determination, even when all seemed lost. Seeing her like this, vulnerable and afraid, finally shook him from his own fear.
Taking a breath, he reached out and wiped the tears from Liz’s cheek. Her eyes widened, but he did not take his hand away. Instead, he trailed his fingers across her skin and up through her hair, until he cradled her head in his hand. Staring into her eyes, he waited.
It started as a slight tingling in the tips of his fingers, but it did not take long to spread. Pinpricks danced along his arm, as though tiny needles were stabbing him. The sensation grew hotter as it reached his chest. He gritted his teeth as the flames swept through him, determined to hold on as long as he could. Finally, he could take it no longer, and he carefully removed his hand and closed his eyes.
Gulping in another breath, Chris struggled to control himself as the venom spread through his system. His body started to shake, and despite the fire dancing in his chest, he felt cold. The pain swept through him like the incoming tide, washing away his resistance, until he was panting hard just to keep himself from screaming.
Then Liz’s hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently through his t-shirt. Opening his eyes, he saw her beside him, her eyes shining. He forced a smile, trying to reassure her, to let her know he was okay.
A few minutes later, the pain began to recede, and he managed a more convincing grin. Liz offered a tentative smile back, and slowly shook her head.
“Chris…” she said. “Why did you do that?”
“To show you I could.” He looked her in the eye, fighting the urge to kiss her. “Because I love you.”
Liz’s eyes watered and she closed them. Though she didn’t say anything, he could feel the distance between them shrink, could sense the change in her.
“Think there’s room for one more on that bed?” she asked finally.
Chris smiled and nodded. He wriggled over as far as he could as she slid beneath the blankets. With the remnants of the venom still sweeping through his system, he no longer felt the cold, so he stayed above the covers, where there was less risk of receiving a second, accidental dose. Rolling on his side, he allowed his wings to unfold as he looked at Liz.
“What?” she asked when she saw him watching her. Laughter bubbled up from his chest. Liz had tucked the duvet up to her chin, leaving only her head exposed and no covers for him. Her hair tumbled out across the pillow, and her big eyes stared up at him innocently. “You didn’t want any, did you?”
“No,” he replied with a grin. “Just…it’s good to have you back.”
A smile passed across her lips, and a gentle silence stretched out. This time there was no tension between them, and Chris’s mind drifted. He thought again about their plan, but he still couldn’t feel any enthusiasm for it. The Madwomen might be goodhearted and well-meaning, but what good was that against their enemies? Halt might be gone, but the Director was no less terrifying. If anything, he was afraid she might prove even more ruthless than the despicable doctor.
“What are you thinking about?” Liz whispered.
Chris jumped and looked at her, but her eyes were still closed. He sighed.
“I was thinking we’re as insane as these so-called Madwomen.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Maybe,” she said, “maybe not. Only time will tell. But at least we know one thing.”
“Oh? And what’s that?”
“I was right,” she murmured, her smile spreading, “about telling Jonathan the truth. You should listen to me more often.”
Shaking his head, Chris raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright Liz, you were right. You can be the leader from now on.”
“Good.” Liz nodded solemnly. “My first order of business is to make you stop hogging the blankets.”
So saying, she yanked the blankets out from underneath Chris, sending him tumbling from the bed in a pile of limbs and tangled feathers.
Part 5
Salvation
39
Sam glanced left and right before he crossed the street, then pulled his hood tighter around his face. His wings tingled beneath the heavy folds of his jacket, and a tremor ran up his spine at the thought of unseen eyes watching him. The others pressed in close around him, their faces down, hidden beneath matching hoods. Together they struggled to make headway along the crowded San Francisco sidewalks.
Ahead, Chris walked with Jonathan. They were keeping a close eye on the translator. Despite the man’s talk of fighting back, the others still didn’t trust him. Sam could hardly blame them after what they’d been through. But they had not seen the man’s face when Sam had shown him the bodies of his wife and daughter.
He shivered, remembering the sound Jonathan had made, a shrill, primal moan that seemed to rumble up from his very soul. The man had dropped to his knees beside the bed where his family lay and reached for his daughter’s cold grey hand. After witnessing his grief, Sam could not believe the man would betray them now.
A gust of wind caught Sam’s hood and almost tore it off. Snapping himself back to the present, he quickly pulled it down and then looked sidelong at the other pedestrians to make sure no one had noticed. A woman strode past without breaking stride, her eyes on her watch as she struggled through the crowd. No one else was looking in their direction, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Returning his attention to the pavement, he chased after the others. They were close now, and looking up he caught a glimpse of the marble and granite obelisk rising from the top of the hill.
Independence Square.
He had only visited the memorial once, when his father had brought him to San Francisco as a child. They had sat beneath the towering obelisk and read some of the names inscribed in the stone. They were the names of those who had fought for the Western Allied States in the American War, the soldiers who had won them their freedom. The inscriptions stretched from the base of the obelisk all the way to the top, some seven hundred feet above.
They numbered in the hundreds of thousands.
None of his immediate family had fought in the war, but his father had still insisted on bringing Sam there. He had wanted Sam to know the price their young nation had paid to survive, wanted him to understand the weight of sacrifice that had bought their freedom.
Now Sam found himself wondering how many more names needed to be added to the obelisk.
How many did you murder, Halt, in your quest for perfection?
By the time they reached the top of the hill, Jonathan was puffing hard, and Sam couldn’t help but grin. He’d found the forty-minute walk through San Francisco invigorating, but he guessed the rolling hills were not so easy for those without their genetic adaptations.
Keeping his hood low, he took a moment to study their surroundings while Jonathan caught his breath. The towerin
g buildings had opened out, giving way to the wide park square that marked the spiritual center of San Francisco. The pale stone obelisk stretched up into the sky, towering over the dense trees and shrubbery ringing the park. There were no signs of disturbance, but the wall of greenery hid the open courtyard at the base of the obelisk.
“Bit out of shape are you, Jonathan?” Sam laughed when their guide finally straightened.
Jonathan only shook his head and nodded at the obelisk. “The Madwomen gather in the courtyard every morning, from what I’ve heard. The government has been trying to keep their presence under the radar, but word is slowly spreading.”
“The news hasn’t been covering their protests?” Ashley asked, frowning.
Jonathan shrugged. “Once or twice. That’s where they came up with ‘The Madwomen.’ I guess someone was trying to make a joke out of them.”
“Well, let’s go see what we’re dealing with.” Liz walked out onto the road as the pedestrian light turned green.
Sam and the others followed her, and together they made their way into the square. Stepping onto the narrow path leading through the trees, Sam paused, thinking again of his father and the time they had visited San Francisco. The memory felt like someone else’s, like a glimpse into some other life.
How long had it been since he’d been taken? Since his father had been arrested for treason, and Sam had found himself locked away in a cage beneath the mountains? What would his father think of him now if he still lived, after everything he’d done?
I did what I had to.
The thought did nothing to fill the emptiness in his chest.
Within a few minutes, the trees opened out again, revealing the full expanse of Independence Square. Stone tiles covered the ground in a five-hundred-foot circle around the obelisk. The colors varied from blue to black to red, and when viewed from above, they created a giant mosaic of a blood red sunrise. But just then, only a small collection of tiles was visible beneath the crowd that had gathered.
