by Aaron Hodges
Gasping, Liz rolled as Jasmine slammed her foot into the tiles where she’d been kneeling a moment before. A shriek of frustration chased after her. Liz struggled to regain her feet, but her vision swam and energy fled her tired limbs. She slumped against the cold stone.
Jasmine stepped towards her, a grin spreading across her face. Liz looked up as the other girl raised her fist. Without thinking, she reached out to catch the blow in her hand. The force of the punch rocked Liz backwards, but she wrapped her hands around Jasmine’s fist and held on tight.
Baring her teeth, Jasmine struggled to free herself. Silently, Liz began to count as Jasmine raised her other arm, praying for the stinging nematocytes in her skin to take effect. How long had it taken for Chris to feel the pain from her touch?
Sparks flew across Liz’s sight as Jasmine’s fist slammed into her unprotected face. Still Liz did not relent, not until the second blow struck, and a second later, all her strength seemed to fade away. Jasmine roared as she tore herself free.
Liz slumped against the cold stone, darkness swirling at the edges of her vision. Jasmine towered over her. Snarling, she lifted her boot. Then she paused, a shadow passing across her face. Her eyes widened, and for a second, the grey flickered. Suddenly she was screaming and staggering back, tearing desperately at the arm Liz had held.
Appearing from nowhere, Chris stepped up behind Jasmine and drove his clenched fists down on the back of her head. She crumpled without a sound, but Chris caught her beneath one arm and hauled her onto his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked, looking down at Liz.
Her vision still swirling, Liz shook her head. The movement made her stomach wrench, and rolling onto her side, she threw up the measly remnants of her breakfast. She sensed Chris beside her and felt his hand on her back. Still on her knees, Liz looked up and found the Director marching towards them, the remaining soldiers escorting her.
Groaning, Liz forced herself to her feet. She staggered slightly, and Chris struggled to help her with Jasmine still slumped over his shoulder.
“Where are the others?” she croaked.
Chris nodded behind her. Turning, she found Sam standing with the remaining Madwomen. Ashley had reappeared beside him, and now carried the unconscious Mira in her arms. There was no sign of Jonathan; he had probably fled when the chaos broke out. Together, Liz and Chris stumbled across to join the others.
“That’s everyone,” Sam commented, his voice strained. He nodded at the approaching Director. “Now what?”
Liz swallowed as she watched the soldiers converging on them. Some were already lifting their rifles; from this distance they couldn’t miss. They glanced at the Director, awaiting her orders. Liz gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as the woman raised an arm.
Instead of the roar of gunfire, the patter of shoes on stone followed. Opening her eyes, Liz gaped as the Madwomen moved between them and the soldiers. Unbent, undaunted by the burly men and their dark weapons, they stood in the line of fire, shielding Liz and the others with their bodies.
A shout carried through the crowd as the Director demanded they stand aside, but the Madwomen didn’t move. A moment later a woman screamed as the soldiers started to force their way through, but to Liz’s relief, no more shots were fired.
“Come, they can’t hold them for long,” an elderly voice spoke.
Liz turned and found the old woman who had defied the Director earlier standing beside them. How she had evaded the first wave of soldiers, Liz couldn’t guess, but all she could do was nod as the woman shepherded them around the obelisk. They sprinted across the square and ducked into the shelter of the trees.
“What about them?” Chris cried as the Madwomen’s screams chased after them.
The old woman was struggling to keep up, but she shook her head without breaking stride. Together they burst from the park out onto the streets. The towering spire of the obelisk disappeared as they turned a corner. Ahead, tires screeched as a van pulled off the road and drove up onto the sidewalk. The sliding door rattled open and a man gestured frantically at them. Without hesitating, they threw themselves inside, while the woman climbed into the passenger seat.
Then the van was racing away, disappearing into the winding streets of San Francisco, and all Liz could do was stare at the others in shock. They looked back at her, eyes wide, feathers ruffled, and clothes bloodied. They looked just as lost as her. Sucking in a breath, Liz tried to make sense of the scenes in the square and failed.
What the hell is going on?
42
When the darkness finally retreated and Susan woke, she was surprised to find herself alive. Upon opening her eyes, she immediately wished she could return to the darkness.
She was lying on the floor in the laboratory again, but she was no longer the Chead’s only prisoner. Around her, the other doctors stood in various states of dress. Some wore only nightgowns, while others had managed to pull on at least lab coats before the Chead had come for them. There was no sign of any guards. Susan shuddered to think what had become of them.
Blinking in the harsh overhead lights, she turned towards the doorway. Her heart sank. There were now half a dozen Chead gathered around the door. Their whispers carried across the room, but Susan could only make out the occasional word. The Chead seemed to be ignoring their prisoners for now, but with them standing in the only exit, there was no chance of escape.
Susan gritted her teeth as she sat up, her muscles screaming their protests. The other doctors stared at her, but no one moved to help. She cursed under her breath and slowly struggled to her feet. Glancing at the others, she wondered why they were all still alive. What were the Chead planning to do with them?
She looked around as the creatures suddenly fell silent. The group of Chead had straightened, and their eyes were alert now. An expectant silence hung in the air. Susan craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of the doorway. The other doctors began to whisper as a woman stepped into the laboratory.
“Silence!” one of the Chead roared, and the whispers died.
The doctors in front of Susan shrank back, and she managed to get a proper look at the newcomer—but the sight only added to her confusion. An old woman stood in the doorway, her eyes glazed white, her long black hair streaming down around her face. Her cheeks were creased with age, and her shoulders were hunched and shrunken. Despite her advanced years, there was no mistaking the power she held over the creatures around her. They made way before her, watching on in silence as she approached the terrified doctors.
As the woman advanced, one of the doctors stumbled forward. She reached out an arm towards the old woman. “Please, help us, the Chead—”
Her words were cut short as the old woman caught her by the throat. Lifting the doctor with a strength that belied her age, the old woman studied the doctor with cold white eyes.
Only then did Susan realize the truth. The wizened woman wasn’t human at all—she was Chead, her eyes turned white with the premature aging caused by the virus. But how was that possible? The woman hadn’t been one of the Chead imprisoned at the facility. So where had she come from?
The doctor in the old Chead’s grip gave a strangled cry, her eyes bulging as she kicked feebly. An awful grin spread across the Chead’s face, revealing perfect white teeth, and again the doctor cried out. With shocking finality, something went crack, and the doctor went still.
Susan screamed and stumbled backwards. Slapping a hand across her mouth, she struggled to contain her horror. Her stomach roiled, and suddenly she was on her knees, throwing up the half-digested remains of her last meal.
The doctor’s body gave a wet thud as it struck the ground. Susan gasped as she found her dying colleague’s eyes open and staring at her. A horrible gurgling came from the woman’s mouth as blood gushed from her throat.
Susan quickly looked away, her stomach still churning. A moan rattled up from her chest.
“This is all of them?” the old Chead asked in a dry, rasping
voice.
“All the ones…still alive,” the one she recognized as Hecate answered. He nodded towards Susan and she scrambled backwards. “That one…led us to…what we sought.”
“Did she, now?” The old Chead grinned and strode towards Susan.
Susan cried out and tried to back away, but the doctors behind her shoved her forward, eager to avoid becoming the next victim. She begged for their help, but they retreated together into the corner, leaving her alone in the middle of the room.
Still on the ground, Susan looked up at the old Chead. She trembled as the pale white eyes found hers. It took every last drop of her courage not to turn away. It felt as though she was being inspected for some unknown purpose, until finally she could take it no more.
The old Chead laughed. “Hecate, what do you know…of this woman?”
“Nothing, Talisa,” Hecate replied. “She is…new. She was not one of…them.”
Opening her eyes, Susan saw the direction of Hecate’s gaze. The Chead was staring at the group of doctors. A dark rage danced behind its eyes, and suddenly she was glad they hadn’t let her hide amongst them.
The doctors, if possible, shrank even more beneath the old Chead’s gaze. A smile curled across her ancient lips. “Very well then,” it laughed. “She is yours…if she accepts.”
Hecate bowed, and a smile touched the creature’s lips. “As you wish…Talisa.”
“We shall offer her the choice,” Talisa replied. “You have it?”
“Yes, though we have not…tested it.”
“All the better.” Susan shrank as the white eyes returned to her. “What is your name, girl?”
Susan pressed herself flat against the floor. Eventually, the question seeped into her consciousness, and she managed to stammer out an answer. “Su…Susan.”
The old Chead leaned down, until its face was less than an inch from Susan’s. She tried to shrink away, but firm hands caught her by the chin.
“Do you wish to live, Susan?” the aged voice rasped in her ear.
Susan’s heart lurched, and she glanced at Hecate, then back to the old Chead. “Ye…yes.”
The Chead nodded. “Excellent.” It held out its hand, and Hecate placed something in it. “Then you have a choice. Join us, or join them,” it said, nodding to the other doctors.
With its words, the old Chead revealed the vial in its palm. Even without reading the label, Susan knew what it was. PERV-ALPHA—the virus she had found for Hecate. Her stomach twisted and she struggled to breathe. Choking, she tried to break free of the Chead’s grasp, to turn and flee and never look back.
But the old Chead only watched her, its eyes devoid of emotion.
“Choose,” Talisa hissed.
Susan stilled at the command. She looked around the room, taking in the fear in the eyes of the other doctors, the blood pooling on the floor, her colleague’s dead stare. She shuddered as she looked back at the Chead.
I don’t want to die.
Closing her eyes, Susan nodded, and held out her hand. Ice tingled in her veins as the tube and a syringe were placed in her palm.
“Do it,” Talisa ordered. “Now.”
With trembling hands, Susan prepared the syringe, sliding the needle into the rubber top of the tube. She watched as the clear liquid disappeared into the syringe. The shaking spread as she held it up to the light, checking for bubbles. Desperately she tried not to think, not to contemplate what she was about to do.
Looking up, she found the Chead watching her, and almost dropped the syringe.
Do it, don’t think, she ordered herself.
Silently, Susan studied the pale flesh of her arm. What would it be like, to change? She realized they had never bothered asking the survivors. The government had only ever hunted them, slaughtering them wherever they were found. Those they had created in experiments here were either executed or imprisoned like Hecate, to be the subject of further trials.
Susan took another breath, and her trembling stilled. Silently, she slid the needle into her flesh, and pressed down the plunger. When it had depressed the entire way, she pulled out the needle, and hurled the syringe away.
The breath caught in her throat as she felt the pressure building in her arm. There was an alien strangeness to the sensation, and she gasped as the first tingles of pain began. It spread quickly, moving to her shoulder, then her chest, then heart.
Groaning, Susan bent in two as agony wrapped around her body. Her skull prickled with a thousand needles, and she tore at her hair, unable to bear the pain. Fire seared its way down her spine, and she felt herself falling away. The darkness called, and she longed to embrace it. But the fire was all around her now, absolute, consuming, and she realized with horror the release of unconsciousness would not come.
A scream tore from her throat, and went on and on, until she tasted blood. A red light spread through her mind, consuming her, and slowly her sanity slipped away.
From the distance came an old woman’s voice. “Watch her, Hecate,” the voice said, “until the change is complete.”
43
Chris still couldn’t believe his eyes. Two hours had passed since the fight in Independence Square, and they were finally safe, but he was still shaking. During the fight, and their wild escape in the rickety van, there had been no time to think. Now, as he stood at the head of the table and looked around at the others, he should have been calm. Instead, his heart was racing like a runaway train.
Ashley and Liz sat to either side of him, their eyes shadowed with exhaustion. Each of them bore the cuts and bruises of their desperate battle. Their anger at him hung over the kitchen like a blanket, silencing all conversation. The others were resting in a makeshift infirmary in another room, where one of the Madwomen was examining their injuries.
Chris’s chest tightened as he thought of them. Apparently, all three would recover, but he knew that his actions had put them at risk, that he had let them all down. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to regret his recklessness—not this time. Not when he was standing here, looking across the table at a woman he had never thought he’d see again.
She was the same woman who had stood in open defiance of the Director, the one who had raced forward to protect them, the one who had led them all to safety.
Maria Sanders.
“Nana.” He gasped the word like a drowning man.
At the other end of the table, a smile spread across his grandmother’s face. The wrinkles around her cheeks deepened and her eyes glistened.
“Chris,” she whispered, “it really is you…”
Chris nodded. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. There were none to describe what he was feeling. He found himself moving around the table, his eyes fixed on the woman he hadn’t seen in months, the woman he had long since given up for dead.
Then her arms were wrapping him in a warm embrace, and he was crying big, heaving sobs into her shoulder. All the pain, all the grief and anger and horror came pouring out as he held onto his grandmother for dear life. He could feel her shaking too, her own sorrow, her own loss a mirror of his own.
Finally, Chris managed to regain some of his composure. Pulling away from her, he wiped his tears. His grandmother smiled up at him, and then leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Nana…” Chris hiccupped. “She’s…she’s really gone?”
His grandmother’s face pinched and her hands tightened on his shoulders. “Yes.” She closed her eyes for half a second. “I tried to find you both…but no one would help. They called me mad, called us all mad.” She laughed, the sound harsh and angry. “So we became the Madwomen.”
Chris nodded, struggling to swallow another wave of grief. Taking a breath, he turned back to the others.
“This is…this is my nana, Maria Sanders,” he croaked.
Ashley and Liz’s eyes were wide, confusion adding to their rage and exhaustion. Beside him, his grandmother gestured to the seat at the head of the table, and Chris moved ba
ck to his chair. Ashley and Liz watched him, their eyes still hard, but his announcement seemed to have taken the edge from their anger.
His grandmother sat at the other end of the table and looked at them each in turn. “Welcome, all of you,” she said with a smile, “and thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“Thank Chris,” Liz said, shooting him a glance. “We followed his lead.”
“Even so, thank you.” Maria stared at Liz until she looked away. “I’ve often wondered who you were, all of you so called ‘terrorists’ who have been keeping my grandson company on the evening news. Although you gave us quite a fright when you appeared today. I thought the winged people were meant to be fighting for the other side…”
A strained silence greeted her words. Maria looked from Ashley to Liz, waiting for a response. Chris let out a breath, knowing he had to face what he’d done.
“I’m sorry,” he said, staring down at the table. “I should never have put you at risk like that. It was stupid and reckless, and I could have gotten us all killed. But when I saw them advancing on her, I didn’t even think.”
He jumped as Ashley placed her hand on his wrist. “Chris, it’s okay,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly soft. “I know if it had been anyone from my family…I just wish I’d…” Her voice cracked and she looked away.
Before Chris could ask her what was wrong, Liz cut in. “You should have told us. You should have waited for us, but…Ashley’s right. If it had been my father, my mother…” She shook her head and looked at Maria. “It’s nice to meet you too, Maria. My name is Liz, and this is Ashley. Thank you for bringing us here, and thank you for helping our friends.”
