by Aaron Hodges
45
Sam groaned as he woke to find himself lying alone on a single bed. He started to sit up, then gasped as pain shot through his leg. Memories came rushing back, and he looked down to see the bandages wrapped around his calf.
Swearing under his breath, he pulled himself into a sitting position and looked around the infirmary. There were several other beds crammed into the little room, but there was only one other occupant. Mira lay in the bed beside his, her face pale and hair slick with sweat. A sheet had been tucked up to her neck, concealing any sign of her injuries.
Carefully, Sam lifted himself from his bed and hobbled over to Mira. His wings hung heavy behind him and his leg refused to take his weight, but he made it without falling. Cursing Chris and the soldiers, he sat on the edge of Mira’s bed, and pulled back the covers. Mira shifted slightly with the movement, and he let out a sigh of relief to see she was alive.
Mira still wore her plain blue shirt, but her left shoulder had been swathed in white bandages. Her chest rose and fell in a gentle rhythm, and even to his inexperienced eye, Sam could see Mira was in far better condition than Ashley had been when she’d been shot.
“The doctor says she’ll be okay.” Sam turned as Chris’s voice came from the doorway.
“Doctor?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Nodding, Chris crossed the room. “Luxury service here. One of the Madwomen was a medic during the war. Retired a long time ago, but she seems to know her stuff. Apparently, the bullet passed right through Mira’s shoulder.”
“That’s good, I guess. How about my leg?” Sam asked sourly.
Chris flinched. “I told you I wasn’t a leader, Sam.”
“You’re right about that,” Sam groaned as he stumbled back to his bed. He lay down and tried to find a position where his calf didn’t ache. “So, who is she?”
“What?” Chris blinked back.
Sam laughed. “The old woman who stood up to the Director. You know her—I saw it in your eyes.”
A smile tugged at Chris’s lips. “She’s my nana.”
Despite himself, Sam found himself grinning back. “I’m happy for you.” He shook his head. “It’s about time one of us had some good news.”
“You aren’t angry?” Chris asked.
“Furious,” Sam said, winking, “but I’m sure the girls have already put you through the wringer. How is Jasmine, by the way?”
“Awake, and human,” Chris replied. “The change didn’t do anything for her temper, though.”
Sam laughed. “Between you and her, I’ll never understand how any you of survived long enough to rescue us.”
“Believe me, it was a close thing,” Liz said, appearing in the doorway. “Did you get the feather, Chris?”
“Not yet.” Chris walked across to Mira’s bed and then hesitated, glancing back at them. “Ah, you sure we shouldn’t just use ours?”
“We’re all donating, remember?” Liz replied, glancing at Sam.
Sam raised an eyebrow as Chris replied, “Don’t suppose you want to do it?”
Liz crossed her arms. “Oh no, she’s all yours. I’ll get Sam’s.” Striding forward, she plucked a feather from Sam before he could object.
“Hey!”
“It’s for research,” Liz replied, grinning.
Chris rolled his eyes. His shoulders rose as he looked at Mira, then he reached down and plucked a feather from her half-exposed wing. A growl rumbled up from Mira’s throat and she shifted beneath her covers. Her eyes remained closed, but Chris still made a hasty retreat.
“What’s this all about?” Sam asked.
“Plan B,” Liz answered. “Now, do you mind if I borrow Chris? I’m not quite finished telling him off.”
Chris’s cheeks turned red as Sam waved his permission. Lying back on his bed, he watched the two of them disappear into the hallway, then smiled as Ashley took their place. The grin fell from his lips when he saw her face. Her eyes were watering, and she stepped hesitantly into the room, as though afraid of what he might do.
“Sam…” she whispered.
“Looks like we’ve traded places, Ash,” he joked, patting the bed beside him.
Ashley gave a half-choked laugh. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but her head bounced in what might have been a nod. As she sat where Chris had been, he reached up and brushed the hair from her face.
“What’s wrong, Ash?” he asked.
A tremor went through her as she tensed. For a second, he thought she would flee, before the tautness left her in a rush and she slumped to the bed beside him.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” Ashley whispered. “I don’t know what happened, I just froze.”
“What are you talking about?” Leaning over, Sam pulled her into his arms. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”
She shook her head and pulled away from him. “You needed me, and I wasn’t there,” she croaked. “I just stood there with Jonathan and watched while the soldiers surrounded you!”
In the depths of her eyes, Sam could see her terror. He gripped her by the wrists as she tried to rise, drawing her back. “Ash, don’t be silly, we all reacted differently! Heck, I wish Jasmine had held back, after what happened.” Sam sighed. “Besides, you were there when we needed you the most.”
“When you needed me.” A faint smile crossed Ashley’s face, but it did not touch her eyes. She brushed a hand across his cheek. “I was so afraid, Sam,” she said, her voice wavering.
“It was your first fight.” Sam took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Next time it will be easier.”
Ashley closed her eyes. “I was terrified.” She stood suddenly, pulling herself free of Sam’s arms. He tried to stop her, but she stepped back, and his hands caught only empty air. She shook her head, her eyes wide. “When the soldiers came, all I could see was Halt, standing over me again, using me...” She broke off, choking on her grief. “I’m as helpless now as I was chained to that hospital bed.”
“No.” Sam pushed himself up, though with his injured leg he couldn’t move after her. “You came back, you helped us. Mira and I would never have escaped without you.”
Ashley’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t want to go back, Sam.” Her voice shook and his heart went out to her. “I can’t…I won’t be used like that again.”
“You won’t,” Sam insisted. “I won’t let them. I’ll keep you safe.”
Ashley’s amber eyes met his, and a shadow passed across her face. “My parents told us that, once,” she whispered. “My sister and I, they said they’d protect us…said they’d keep the dark things away.”
“Ash…” He tried to stand, to reach her.
“Now they’re all dead: my mom, my dad, my sister. I’m all there is left. Sometimes I wish I could join them. When I think of all those kids…the ones they’re going to take, because of us.” Her voice broke and she turned away. “I’m a coward. I should have made him kill me before I let you help him.”
“No, Ash!” Sam stumbled after her, but she was already halfway across the room. “It was my decision, my fault, not yours!”
“Their blood is on our hands, Sam,” Ashley whispered.
Then she was gone, leaving Sam to stare at the empty doorway where she had stood.
46
Liz sighed as she lowered herself into the armchair beside Chris. They had just given their collection of feathers to the Texan, who had promptly left on his mission. Unfortunately, his absence had done nothing to cool Liz’s angst about the man.
Chris’s grandmother had retired to her room to rest. Liz could hardly blame her. After the morning’s events, even she was exhausted, and Maria Sanders did not have her advantage of youth or genetically enhanced stamina.
Chris still stood beside her, staring at the plain walls of the lounge with nervous eyes. The room was empty except for another couch opposite her own, and a single painting of the Golden Gate Bridge on the far wall. Threadbare carpet covered the floor, and the couch was sagging badly. Feeling
the tip of a spring prodding her backside, Liz shifted into a more comfortable position.
“You were quiet before,” she said when Chris finally looked at her.
Shrugging, Chris sat down on the opposite couch. “After what happened at the square…I just thought…” He trailed off. “I’ve screwed up so many times…maybe it’s time we let the adults handle things. Even if one is from Texas.”
Liz snorted, doing her best to ignore his last remark. “As angry as she is, Jasmine has a point. Maria and the other so called ‘adults’ had their chance to ‘handle things’. That’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”
Chris sighed, and she saw the doubt in his eyes. The rush from the reunion with his grandmother was finally fading, and he could no longer hide from the consequences of his actions. They had almost lost everything because of him.
“What Mike said made sense,” Chris said finally. “We’d be recognized if we went to the university.”
“So what do we do in the meantime?” Liz pressed.
“We wait.” Chris pursed his lips and stared at the worn carpet. “What do you think happened to Jonathan?”
Liz started. In the rush of battle, she had completely forgotten about the translator. “I don’t know,” she answered eventually. “We left him at the edge of the square. He shouldn’t have been caught in the fight.”
“Unless he tried to help as well,” Chris murmured.
“I’m sure he’s okay, Chris,” Liz offered. “He wanted justice, but he wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t have gone charging into a squad of soldiers like a madman.”
Chris winced, but Liz laughed to take the sting from her words. Their eyes met. She fell silent, searching for the boy she knew, but Chris blinked and looked away. She stood and crossed to the other couch.
“I’m sorry,” he said as she sat beside him. “You were right, I should have waited...”
Liz laughed. “Yes, well, as I said earlier—I’m not quite finished with your punishment.”
“Oh?” Chris raised an eyebrow.
Heart hammering in her chest, Liz crawled across the sofa until she was crouched over Chris. He lay still beneath her, his eyes wide. A tremor of desire swept through Liz as she watched him. She desperately wanted to relax, to collapse into Chris and feel him beneath her, to run her hand through his hair and feel his mouth on her neck.
Liz resisted. Instead, she leaned down and gently touched her lips to his.
Chris stilled at her touch, his fear revealed in the trembling in his body, and she almost changed her mind. Then Chris’s lips were pressing back against hers, and his hands were in her hair, pulling her deeper into the kiss. Her lips parted, and his tongue darted out to meet hers. A groan rumbled up from her throat, warming her chest. Her arms shook, though from desire or the effort of holding herself up, she couldn’t tell.
Carefully, Liz lowered herself down, until her breasts were resting against Chris’s chest. Even through the fabric of her t-shirt, she could feel his heat. She dug her fingers into the cloth of his shirt, feeling his hips moving beneath her.
A moan tore from Chris’s lips as they broke apart. Liz’s heart pounded in her ears as need overtook her, and she leaned down to kiss him harder. His groan deepened, but his hands paused, and now he was no longer kissing her.
Then Chris began to scream.
Liz scrambled back as Chris thrashed on the couch. The words died in her throat as she saw the purple lines radiating out from Chris’s mouth. He cried again, the sound like a dagger in her stomach, though this time he managed to clamp his mouth shut mid-scream. He clenched his jaw, his breath hissing between his teeth.
Kneeling beside the sofa, all Liz could do was watch as the seizures racked Chris’s body. His back arched, his fingers clawing at the foam cushions, and his mouth opened again, though this time no sound came out. Tears poured from Liz’s eyes as the frail hope she’d held for their relationship died in her chest.
Slowly the convulsions faded, and Chris grew still. His eyes fluttered open, but it was obvious that each inhalation was still a strain. Their eyes met, and Liz saw the pain he was struggling to conceal. A smile tugged at his lips as he tried to sit up.
“Don’t,” she whispered, holding out her hand. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Chris only gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. “I’m okay, Liz—” He broke off as a coughing fit shook him.
Liz stood, but he waved a hand for her to stay. “That was some kiss.” He licked his lips and fixed the grin to his face again. “You took my breath away.”
A shudder shook Liz. She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Swallowing, she tried again, but it was no use. Her hands were trembling, and she wrapped them around her chest before they gave her away.
Chris’s brow creased. “Sorry, bad joke.”
“No, Chris,” she managed finally. Her eyes stung but now she did not cry. “We can’t…I can’t keep doing this. I thought…but I was wrong, it’s not going to work. I can’t…”
Grief welled in her chest as she backed away. Chris tried to rise and come after her, but the venom had robbed him of his strength, and he failed to escape the sofa.
“Liz!” he called after her.
She was already gone. Spinning, Liz sprinted through the doorway and out into the hall. She longed to turn back, to sit beside Chris and let him hold her, but that was impossible. A lonely grief filled her, but she knew it was for the best. Her love could only bring pain and suffering now.
Only when she found an empty room did Liz let her tears fall.
47
The Chead woke to the whisper of voices, to the scent of fear and a red haze that wrapped around her mind. Opening her eyes, she screamed as a harsh white light flooded her vision. Pain split her head, and the red swirled. The Chead growled, rage curling through her veins and feeding her strength. A pang of hunger came from her stomach as she staggered to her feet.
Looking around, she found the grey eyes of another Chead watching her. He made no effort to move as she stumbled, her feet unwieldy beneath her. Her hand caught a bench and she steadied herself. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fingers, feeling the steel bench crumple before her power.
Laughter whispered up from her chest as she straightened. Joy swept through the Chead as she balled her hands into fists, rejoicing in her newfound strength.
Her ears twitched as something in the room whimpered. The Chead stilled, and she felt again the ache in her stomach, the rage in her chest. She looked around, taking in the plain steel benches and strange contraptions that filled the room. A voice whispered to her from somewhere in the back of her mind.
Laboratory.
Then the Chead found the pitiful creatures huddling in the corner. They watched her with wide eyes, scrambling over one another in their desperation to escape her gaze. Their fear was thick in the air, a rich, savory scent that made her stomach rumble.
Grinning, the Chead stepped towards them, and watched as they flinched. She laughed then, feasting on their terror. But it was not enough—not nearly enough. In two steps, she closed the distance between them.
The one unlucky enough to be standing at the front tried to dash past her. But the creature moved with slow, ungainly steps, and she reached out and caught it with ease. Her fist closed on its wrist, and with a wrench of her arm, she hauled it back. The creature’s feet gave way and it fell to its knees.
“Susan, please no!” Its voice grated on her ears and she grabbed it by the throat.
The creature gave a strangled cry as the Chead lifted it into the air and hurled it at the wall. A sharp crack echoed through the room as it struck. She grinned as the creature slumped to the floor unmoving. Laughter whispered from her lips as she turned toward the remaining creatures.
The laughter went on and on as she leapt into their ranks. Some tried to flee, racing across the room in a desperate attempt to escape. But her brother Chead barred their path, flinging them back into the ro
om with laughter of his own. He did nothing else to interfere, only stood and watched as she had her fun.
Others begged like the first, but their cries died on their lips as she tore them apart. Some called her Susan, others Doctor, but the words were unfamiliar, and their pitiful screams only fueled her rage. She drank in the sound of their terror, feasting on the tang of blood, and roared, drunk with her newfound power.
When it was over, and even the dying moans of the pitiful creatures had fallen silent, the Chead finally grew still. Licking her lips, she savored the metallic tang of their lifeblood. It covered her clothes, her face, her hair, covered everything in the room. Her nostrils flared as she breathed in its scent.
Her bloodlust sated, the red faded, and images rose from the depths of her mind. Memories of the creatures strewn around her rose from her past, their lips twisted in smiles, their eyes filled with laughter. She remembered the man who had died first, offering his hand, welcoming her, and others leading her down long white corridors, showing her to a room and a bed.
Susan stumbled backwards, her feet slipping in the slick blood covering the linoleum floor. The breath caught in her throat, and she grabbed at the bench, desperate to keep her feet. Looking down, she saw the blood on her clothes. Her stomach wrenched and she tasted bile in the back of her throat.
Choking, Susan struggled to hold down the contents of her stomach. But there was no escaping the blood. It filled the room, lingering in her nostrils, on her tongue.
“No!” The word tore from her lips.
She gasped, a scream building in her throat as she struggled to breathe. Her eyes swept the room and found the cold grey eyes of the Chead watching her.
“What did you do?” she screamed.
But she knew this had not been his doing. Hecate had never left his post, had only watched with the same quiet satisfaction he displayed now. This had been her doing, her slaughter. She had torn through her fellow doctors like death itself, rejoicing in their fear, their agony…
