The Pursuit of Truth

by Aaron Hodges

  He shivered as her hands slid beneath his shirt. She had lost her gloves, and her touch sent tendrils of pleasure rippling through him. The fire was quick to follow, burning its way down his spine, though it was cooler now, softer.

  Emboldened, Chris trailed his fingers up Liz’s jeans and slipped them under her top. Pressed tightly together, there was little room for them to maneuver, but he felt the tremor sweep through her as he stroked her belly. Their lips broke apart as she gasped, then he was kissing her neck, her throat, and her arms were wrapped around his neck, pulling him hard against her.

  When they finally broke apart, Liz was bright red and gasping for breath. They lay side by side on the couch, wrapped in one another’s arms, basking in the heat of their bodies. Chris still felt the tingling of her venom seeping through his skin, a foreign heat in his veins, but it had been reduced to a dull ache now.

  Smiling, he leaned across and kissed Liz on the forehead. There were tears in her eyes when he pulled away.

  “Chris.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. “I never thought…I’m sorry, I was only trying to protect you.”

  “Liz.” He ran a hand through her curly black hair, lost in her big blue eyes. “I don’t need you to protect me. I know I don’t always make the best decisions, but they’re still mine to make. I told you I could take it—you should have trusted me.”

  Liz closed her eyes, and he felt her shaking in his arms. “I know…I was afraid, though. Afraid of hurting you…or worse.”

  Chris laughed. “Let me worry about that.”

  He grinned as Liz wriggled closer. With her hand on his cheek, her fire still touched him, but their clothes protected the rest of his body.

  “Does it hurt?” she whispered. He could see the anxiety in her eyes.

  “A little,” he replied with a smile, his hands trailing over her body. “It’s getting better, though. You’re just going to have to be patient...”

  Liz tilted back her head and arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m going to have to be patient, am I?” she asked, a smile on her lips now. “So none of that was you?”

  “Okay, maybe we both have to be patient,” he chuckled. His mind turned back to what he’d seen earlier, Liz and Ashley sneaking into the house. “So, what were you two doing out there anyway?”

  Twisting, Liz sat up on the couch. Chris did the same, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

  “We needed some fresh air,” Liz said softly.

  “Where did you go?” Chris asked.

  Liz’s cheeks turned beet-red, and there was a long pause before she answered: “The Golden Gate Bridge!”

  Chris blinked, and then started to laugh. “Wow, so much for lying low!”

  Liz leaned back on the couch and turned on her side. “You don’t feel frustrated, sitting here, trapped like this, not knowing what’s happening, whether the damned Texan betrayed us?”

  “A little,” Chris admitted, his stomach clenching, “but it’s for the best. When Mike gets back, we’ll know what our next move should be. Until then, we don’t have anything to gain by going out there.”

  “I don’t know how you can trust him,” Liz replied. Her voice was strained, and Chris could hear the anger behind her words. “How you can trust them. I know Maria is your grandmother, but Jasmine’s right, this isn’t their fight anymore; it’s ours. We need to be doing something, not sitting here, waiting like chickens for the slaughter.”

  Chris sighed, his eyes falling to the threadbare carpet. After everything he’d been through since the day they’d woken in their steel cages, he wanted nothing more than to rest, to have a few days or weeks without the weight of the world hanging over him. Let someone else to make the decisions for once—after all the mistakes he’d made, he was the last one Liz and the others should be turning to. At night he still found himself replaying the fight in the courthouse, wondering what he could have done differently.

  Then, of course, there was massacre in Independence Square, and the bullets Sam and Mira had taken for his recklessness.

  No.

  Let the Texan and the Madwomen make the decisions.

  He was done.

  Chris could see in Liz’s eyes what she wanted him to say, though. Liz wanted him to admit she was right, that they should go out and do something, anything to help undermine the government’s power.

  But he couldn’t do it.

  Because what if he was wrong, and someone else died?

  Unable to meet her gaze any longer, he turned away. “Mike will know what to do. He’s the professional.”

  “If he’s telling the truth,” Liz snapped. “And what if he doesn’t come back?” Her strong hands gripped him by the shoulder, forcing him to look at her. “Chris, even if he does return, that man isn’t one of us. He doesn’t know what we’ve been through, hasn’t seen what these people are capable of. You have. We have. We need to stick together, make our own decisions. All of us…including you.”

  Chris swallowed, trapped by the fire in her eyes.

  “I don’t know what’s happening with you, Chris,” she said softly, “but I need you to snap out of it.”

  With that, Liz rose and disappeared into the corridor, leaving Chris alone in the growing daylight. He sat staring at the worn carpet for a long time, wondering at her words, at whether she was right.

  Yet even if she was, what could they do?

  50

  Susan groaned, the sharp pounding of a headache tearing her from sleep. Opening her eyes, she squinted into the dim light, struggling to take in her surroundings. Slowly, they came into focus, lit by a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.

  She was in some kind of wooden hut, its single room furnished by two sets of bunk beds and a steel counter that served as a kitchen. The mattresses on the beds were half-rotten, and stains marked the ceiling where rain had seeped through the iron roof. Outside, the wind howled, and Susan shivered as a breath of cold air swept across her neck. The place stank of mildew and age, but another, sweeter scent lingered, too.

  The only other sound was a dim whirring, and turning, Susan found one of her portable refrigerator units plugged into a wall socket. Her stomach twisted as everything came rushing back. She looked at her hands and saw the dried blood covering her skin. A scream built in her throat.

  What have I become?

  “Susan.” She jumped as a voice spoke behind her.

  Spinning, Susan stumbled backwards as she found the old Chead woman watching her. Aged beyond belief, she sat on a worn-out sofa, her murky white eyes aglow. A smile twitched her lips as she stood.

  “Welcome, Susan,” the old Chead said, spreading her arms.

  Susan backed away as the woman approached. “Where am I? What…what did I do?”

  The old Chead laughed. “We are someplace on the way to where we need to be.” The wrinkled face tilted to the side. “Would you like to eat?” She ignored Susan’s other question.

  A lump lodged in Susan’s throat as images from the laboratory flashed through her mind. Bending in two, she gagged, struggling to breathe through her twisted stomach. Over the sounds of her distress, she could hear the Chead laughing.

  Managing to swallow her nausea, Susan straightened. The old Chead only grinned, then crossed to the kitchen bench. A pan sat on an old gas burner. Removing the lid, the Chead revealed the contents—a haunch of white meat that might have come from a turkey.

  “We only consume…raw meat…when the rage is upon us,” she said, answering Susan’s unspoken question. Lifting the pan, she offered it to Susan. “Most times, cooked is preferable. We are not the animals humans believe us to be.”

  Susan stared at the turkey leg, her stomach rumbling. She glanced one last time at the old Chead, then snatched up the leg. The Chead cackled as she tore into the meat. Stepping around Susan, she returned to her seat on the couch.

  Susan paused for breath, before taking another bite. As she ate, she studied the Chead. Back in the facility, the ancient creature had been
terrifying. Susan had watched those wrinkled hands crush the life from a woman as easily as she would swat a fly. Yet now, the Chead seemed calm, almost kind. And sniffing, Susan realized the old Chead was the source of the sweet scent filling the cabin.

  “Who…” She frowned, struggling to form the words. “Who…are…you?”

  “Your speech will return, eventually.” A smile spread across the wrinkled face. “And I am Talisa.”

  Susan shivered, her thoughts whirring. Frowning, she tried to find the words for her next question. It took several minutes.

  “Where…did you…come from?”

  “The wild,” the Chead replied.

  That’s impossible, Susan thought, but the words would not form on her lips. Seeing the look on Susan’s face, her companion continued.

  “The humans hunt us, when we change,” she whispered, “but they are slow and weak, and many of us escape. Our scent draws us together, and over the years we have gathered. When I first woke, I wandered alone for a time—until I found others of my kind. We are stronger together.”

  Susan finished her haunch of turkey and tossed the bone to the floor. She still stood in the middle of the room. The sweet scent lingered in her nostrils, seeming to call to her, and without thinking she crossed to the couch and sat beside the old woman.

  “How…long?” she croaked.

  The wrinkles around the woman’s eyes crinkled with sadness. “I was a woman grown…when I changed. But time passes differently for our kind.” She looked at her wrinkled arms. “I have only lived a few years with my new children. Already my time draws near.”

  “No…” Susan whispered, her heart twisting with an indescribable sadness.

  The woman smiled. “I will not pass before my task is done.”

  Susan found her eyes drawn back to the storage container, and the stocks of virus frozen inside. The cabin must’ve had a generator—she could hear it whirring somewhere outside. She opened her mouth, but words failed her, and she jerked her head in frustration.

  “Hecate was a blessing, when he came to us,” the old Chead continued. “He must be rewarded for leading us to your home.”

  Remembering the hunger in Hecate’s eyes, Susan shivered. “How…how could he…have found you?”

  The old woman reached out and stroked her cheek. “He followed our scent, as so many others have before him. My pack and I found a haven. Over the years our numbers have swelled, as others were drawn to our home.”

  Fear turned the blood in Susan’s veins to ice. “How…many?”

  Soft laughter came from the old woman’s throat. Standing, she offered her hand. “Come, let me show you.”

  Somewhere in Susan’s mind, a voice screamed for her to run, but her body acted with a will of its own and she took the woman’s hand. Rising, she allowed the Chead to lead her to the door. The hinges squealed as they stepped out into the darkness.

  Above, not a star shone in the sky, and Susan blinked, expecting to be blind. But as she stared into the gloom, the world came into perfect focus. Open plains stretched around the cottage, while in the distance the silhouettes of mountains bordered the sky.

  Movement drew Susan’s eyes back to the fields. Shadows shifted in the grass, coming closer, and again the voice shouted for her to flee. With the iron grip on her hand, there was no escape, and she stood and watched as the Chead gathered.

  There were dozens and dozens.

  She shuddered as Talisa turned to face her.

  “Welcome home.”

  51

  “What are you doing out of bed, young man?”

  Sam tried not to roll his eyes at the woman standing in the doorway. Eve had shown him nothing but kindness—stitching up his leg and changing his bandages every day—but her motherly care was beginning to grate on him.

  It was understandable, of course. Eve was over seventy years old and had seen more than her fair share of wounds. According to her encyclopedic memory, his should have taken months to heal, and Mira’s even longer. But she had never treated anyone with wings before. Ashley had only taken weeks to recover from the bullet that had almost killed her, and neither Sam nor Mira were anywhere near the state she’d been in.

  “I’m fine, Doc.” Standing on one foot, he waved his wounded leg in the air. “See?”

  Eve tisked and strode across the room to grab him by the ankle. He squawked as she lifted his leg and touched a finger to his bandages. “Oh really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look fine to me. You’ve ripped another stitch.”

  “Sorry, Doc,” Sam said sheepishly.

  The woman rolled her eyes. “You need bedrest, young man. So does that girl, come to mention it. Where’s she gotten to this time?”

  Sam shrugged, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. If he was a difficult patient, Mira was an impossible one. Despite Eve’s best efforts, the girl came and went as she pleased. Even posting a guard in the hallway hadn’t helped. Mira could be as quiet as a mouse when she wanted to be—and seemed to take great joy in scaring those around her half to death.

  “She’s in the living room with Jasmine,” said Ashley, stepping into the little infirmary. Sam’s heart lurched.

  The breath caught in Sam’s throat as their eyes met. Ashley stared at him, her expression unreadable, before turning to Eve.

  “I’ll make sure he gets back in bed, Eve,” she said. “Promise.”

  Eve nodded and flashed him another look. “Yes, maybe he’ll listen to his girlfriend.”

  “We’re not—” Ashley and Sam said together, but the woman was already gone.

  Sam’s cheeks flushed as he found himself suddenly alone with Ashley. He hadn’t seen her in over a week, not since she’d fled the infirmary talking about blood and guilt.

  “It’s good to see you,” he offered cautiously.

  For a long moment Ashley said nothing. Then she was crossing the room, her wings and arms outstretched to embrace him. Sam gasped as she kissed him, taken aback by her sudden change. He staggered, groaning as his injured leg took his weight.

  He fell heavily against the bed and held Ashley back, still struggling with the pain. Her face paled and she pressed a hand to her lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  Sam forced a smile. “It’s okay,” he said, before a frown crossed his face. “Not that I’m complaining…but what’s gotten into you, Ash?”

  A smile tugged at Ashley’s lips. She lay down beside him and pulled him into her arms.

  “I’ve been so afraid, Sam. Afraid of letting everyone down, of being captured, of dying. Afraid of loving you.” She kissed him again, softly now. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  Her fingers stroked his cheek, banishing his last reservations. He drew her closer, their lips meeting once more. In his arms, she felt so small, so fragile—yet as she pressed herself against him, Sam could feel her strength. She had been through the flames, but here she was, alive and ready to face her fears.

  His hands slid down her back, exploring the curves of her wings, feeling the feathers trembling at his touch. Slowly his fingers ventured further, raising goosebumps along the small of her back. Her lips parted, then she was kissing his neck, and her hands were sliding beneath his shirt, lighting fires with each soft caress.

  Sam moaned as she climbed on top of him. His leg ached, but then she was tugging off her top, and the pain was forgotten. Sitting up, Sam kissed the small of her throat before moving to her breasts, savoring the softness of her skin beneath his lips. Her hands pulled at his shirt, then tore it from his shoulders. He jumped as her teeth nipped his neck, but he only pulled her tighter. His heart raced as her breasts pressed against his naked chest.

  A gasp tore from Ashley’s throat, and then she was pushing him down. He lay back on his pillow and stared up at her, feasting on the sight of her naked body. Her pale skin glowed in the incandescent light, a stark contrast to his own, while her white wings extended out to either side of her. The pink circles of her nipples lit a fire
in his chest. He reached for her again.

  Smiling, Ashley caught him by the wrists and pinned him to the bed. She arched an eyebrow and kissed him on the nose. A tremor went through him, but as Ashley pulled back, he caught a strange look in her eyes.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  The smile fell from Ashley’s lips as she released him. She looked down, one finger playing with the hairs on his chest. “Sam…I have to go away for a while.”

  Sam frowned. “What?”

  Ashley sighed. “No one here wants to admit it, Sam, but the Texan is gone. I can see it in their faces. He should have made contact by now, but he hasn’t. If we’re going to find out more about this thing they did to us, if there’s a cure, if we can fix what we did, we’re going to have to see the professor ourselves.”

  “What we did?”

  She looked away, but he could feel her starting to shake. “Halt used me, Sam. He used me to get to you. If any other kids die in their vile experiments, it will be my fault as much as yours. We have to stop them, before they hurt anyone else.”

  Sam reached out and brushed the scarlet curls from Ashley’s face. “It doesn’t have to be you, Ash.”

  Ashley leaned down and kissed him again. “Well, it can’t be you. Someone went and got himself shot.” Her smile faded and she grew serious again. “They need me, Sam. I’m the only one who knows the university. And I need to fix things.”

  Tendrils of fire wrapped their way around Sam’s heart as he felt a terrible fear—not for himself, but for the girl he had come to love, who he had sacrificed everything to protect. But now it was her turn to put her life on the line, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

  Silently, he hugged Ashley to him. Closing his eyes, he tried to keep the tears from flowing. They lay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s embrace, until Sam was sure Ashley must have fallen asleep. But when he kissed her forehead, she stirred. She lifted her head, and her golden eyes blinked down at him. A smile spread across her face, and leaning forward, she kissed him back.