The Praegressus Project: Part One

by Aaron Hodges

  Sobbing, she buried her head in Chris’s shoulder. For a long while, they stood together like that, unable to move. Eventually she heard the others stirring, and felt Chris preparing to pull away. She hugged him harder for a second, and then released him. Turning to stare down the slope, she watched the flames licking the hillside, spreading through the forest, consuming all they touched.

  And silently, she turned away.

  CHAPTER 15

  Sam sucked in a breath as he walked across the open hall, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath his boots. His body felt fresh, all but recovered from the relentless beatings. Even after everything he’d witnessed over the past few months, he was still shocked by how quickly he had healed. Within a day, the dark bruises and swelling around his eye had begun to fade. Yet another boon of their genetic manipulation, he guessed.

  Even so, his heart was heavy. He had not seen Ashley since the day he’d watched Halt torture her. He had expected to see her when they shifted him to San Francisco, but he had been alone in the prison van. With his collar chained to the floor, he had spent the long journey with nothing but the roar of the engine and the stench of gasoline for company. The road had been old and rutted, and he had been bounced around like a sack of old potatoes. The air had quickly grown hot and suffocating, the steel walls burning with the heat of the sun.

  Sam had suffered the journey without complaint though, thankful to at least be free of his empty prison cell, of the relentless torture.

  Now as he strode across the hall, his body healed, with fresh clothes on his back, he could almost imagine himself free. Almost – if not for the unrelenting pressure of the collar around his neck.

  He kept his wings pressed tight against his back as he moved. Like the rest of his injuries, they were healing nicely, and he now felt at ease with the strange appendages. Distantly he recalled the difficulty he’d had even standing when his wings first appeared. It would have been embarrassing, if he’d not been so preoccupied with escape.

  Armed with the memory, he knew he should have viewed the spectacle taking place in the centre of the hall with more compassion. But he could not help but grin as he watched the antics of the boy and girl he had come to meet.

  They clung desperately to one another as they staggered across the wooden floor, their long black wings hanging behind them like dead weights. Their mouths were wide open, panting as they struggled to remain upright. Every so often one would shriek and topple to the ground. They seemed to lack any control over their wings, which would shift position almost spontaneously, throwing them off balance just when they seemed to find their feet.

  The girl sported long blonde hair and plain brown eyes, and stood at least a foot shorter than Sam’s own six foot five. Her features were sharp and pronounced, and dark bruises spotted her pale skin. She seemed to have the better control over her faculties, though it was a close match.

  The boy’s dark skin and athletic build stood out in stark contrast to his partner. Even half-stooped-over by the weight of his wings, the boy was an equal of Sam’s height. The only feature that matched between the two were the brown eyes and black wings – and even those differed vastly in size.

  Neither had noticed Sam’s approach, and when he finally drew to a stop beside them he was forced to clap his hands to get their attention. Their eyes widened when they looked up and found him standing beside them. Then they promptly toppled onto their backsides.

  Sam laughed, and then quickly masked it with a cough. Shaking his head, he raised an eyebrow. “That was graceful.”

  The boy scowled up at him. “I’d like to see you do any better.”

  Sam smiled. With a sharp crack, his wings snapped open, the copper feathers spreading out to shade the two teenagers from the overhead lights. Their mouths dropped to the floor and the colour fled their faces.

  As Sam slowly contracted his wings, the girl stuttered. “How… how did you do that?”

  Sam laughed as he offered her a hand. Pulling the girl to her feet, he held her steady and smiled. “What’s your name?”

  The girl hesitated. “Francesca,” she mumbled finally, then waved at the boy who was still finding his feet. “This is Paul. You look familiar. Who are you?”

  “My name is Sam. We were probably neighbours in the facility. It seems we belong to the rather exclusive group of unfortunate souls lucky enough to have survived that nightmare,” he paused, “but the two of you look like you just woke up.”

  The two shared a glance. “The last thing we remember was the injections in our cell, and passing out from the pain,” Francesca took a breath, her face paling, “Next thing we know, we’re in some prison van. And there was just the two of us. Well, us two, and the girl.”

  Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “What girl?”

  “Didn’t get a name,” Paul finally found his feet, “She looked pretty beaten up. Big bandages around her chest and things.”

  Sucking in a lungful of air, Sam struggled to contain his excitement. “Describe her.”

  “Ahhh,” Francesca bit her lip. “Skinny girl, pale skin, red hair?”

  Sam closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

  Ashley.

  “You know her?” he heard Paul ask.

  Sam nodded as he looked back at them. “Did she say anything?”

  “Not much,” Francesca offered. “Like we said, she was pretty beaten up. She just warned us about… well, these,” she gestured to her wings with a shrug.

  “Yes, you do seem to be having some problems,” he smirked. “You looked like new-born foals, stumbling around like that.”

  Paul scowled. He crossed his arms defiantly, but the effect was somewhat diminished as his wings shifted suddenly, throwing him back off balance.

  Sam chuckled as the boy stumbled sideways into Francesca. “Halt wasn’t kidding when he said you might need some help.”

  The two exchanged a glance as they steadied themselves. “Halt sent you?” Francesca asked.

  The smile fell from Sam’s lips as he nodded. He eyed them both, weighing them up. They were vaguely familiar, though he could not recall any particular time he had seen them in the facility. Both looked fit and well-toned, in good shape considering the time they had spent in the coma. The girl looked like she could have been a cheerleader in her former life – her long blonde hair and pale skin certainly matched the stereotype. In contrast, the boy could easily have been a line-backer in a college football team.

  But who were they really? And could he trust them?”

  “I’m here to teach you how to use those,” Sam said at last, deciding to withhold judgement for the moment, “to show you what you’re capable of.”

  “What we’re capable of?” Paul frowned.

  “Yes,” without warning, Sam sprang forward and grabbed the boy by the shirt. With one hand, he lifted him from the ground.

  Paul gasped, his eyes bulging as he stared down at Sam. “What–”

  He broke off as Sam released him. He landed easily on his feet, but the weight of his wings pulled him off balance again, and he crashed back to the wooden floor. He stared up at Sam, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

  “How did you do that?” Francesca whispered finally. “He must weigh 250 pounds, at least.”

  Grinning, Sam offered Paul a hand. When the boy was back on his feet, he glanced between the two of them. “Oh, that’s just the tip of the iceberg, kidos.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Chris sighed as he lowered himself into the plastic chair. His legs ached from the long march across the mountain slopes, and his arms and face throbbed where sunburn had started to set in. His pale skin had darkened over the days since their escape, but it was no match for the scorching rays of the midday sun.

  Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the seat and rested his head against the cold brick wall behind him. Not for the first time in the last few hours, he sent up silent thanks for Liz’s quick thinking. If not for her, they would have been caught in the inferno th
at had swallowed the ranch. Whether the missiles had been meant for the Chead or themselves, they would probably never know. But it didn’t matter now – it was clear their pursuers were after blood.

  Afterwards, Liz had led them around the mountain in silence. Her movements had been stiff, almost robotic, and his attempts to reach her had fallen on deaf ears. Chris and the others had been little better. Chris could barely comprehend the display of power they had witnessed, how close to death they had come. And so they had followed Liz across the mountain slopes without complaint.

  An hour later, Liz had finally turned and started down the side of the mountain. Chris and the others breathed sighs of relief as they re-entered the trees. Before the wiry branches closed over them, Chris had caught a brief glance of the plains below. The brown fields still stretched out in all directions, but here the thin line of a road cut away from the mountain. It led off towards the western horizon, where a cluster of distant buildings hovered beneath a shimmering haze.

  They descended rapidly through the trees, struggling to keep up with Liz. She leapt between patches of bare earth, landing on roots and grabbing branches, barely pausing to recover her balance. Chris and the others followed as best they could, even their newfound agility struggling to keep pace with the silent girl.

  When they reached the bottom, Liz had glanced briefly at the sky, and then stepped out into the open. She moved without hesitation, striding determinedly out into the long brown grass. As she walked, she pulled on the jacket she had taken from the house, hiding her wings beneath the denim fabric. Even folded tight against her back, they still left a bulge beneath the jacket, but Chris hoped it would fool the casual observer. He and the others quickly followed suit.

  They had already weighed the risks of taking flight, and dismissed the idea. During the day, it would be suicide. A bunch of winged teenagers were bound to be spotted, even in the sparsely populated countryside. At least on the ground, they might pass as ordinary people, and be overlooked by the governments spotters. And while the long grass offered little cover, it was better than nothing.

  They had walked for an hour through the open paddocks, keeping parallel to the road, before Liz paused suddenly and looked back. She squinted, her gaze travelling past Chris and down the road to where it twisted around the mountain. Chris followed her gaze and saw a cloud of dust approaching. The clatter of iron hooves and the hard thud of wheels reached them a second later.

  He shared a glance with the others, and then ducked down into the long grass. Waiting in the meagre cover, Chris watched the dust cloud closely. It quickly grew larger, though from the sounds that reached them, he knew it was not a car. A few minutes later, he saw the horses take shape amidst the cloud, followed by a cart on steel rimmed wheels. A man sat on the bench up front, reins held in one hand as he urged the horses onwards.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Chris had settled down in the grass to watch the wagon pass by. But as it neared, movement came from away to his right as Liz lifted herself from the ground. He swore as she walked towards the road, waving at the man with the reins.

  A shout came from the road and the clatter of hooves started to slow. Glancing around, Chris had searched for the others, but the long grass hid them from view. He swore again, then pulled himself up and started after Liz.

  “Woah!” the driver’s voice carried across the field as the wagon drew to a stop.

  Liz was already on the road, grinning up at the driver. Chris stumbled after her, Jasmine, Richard and Mira emerging from the grass around him.

  “Hey there, little missy,” Chris noted a southern twang to the man’s accent as he spoke. “Whatcha doing all the way out here?”

  “We’ve come down from the Huerta property,” Liz replied easily. “The landowner’s kids are visiting. My sister and I wanted to show them the town while they’re here.”

  The wagon driver looked up and noticed the rest of them for the first time. His eyes slid over Jasmine and Richard without concern. But his brow hardened as his gaze settled on Chris and Mira, taking in their pale skin and short-cropped hair. Chris stared back, surprised at the sudden hostility in the man’s eyes.

  “The Huerta’s is a long way off,” his tone had turned gruff. “Don’t see ya folks around here a lot. Ya walk the whole way?”

  Liz nodded, displaying her best smile. “Camped under the stars last night. Shoulda seen the city slicker’s eyes when they saw them.”

  The man laughed at that, and after another moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Righto. Let it not be said old Ronaldo forgot his manners. Jump in the back, folks. You can ride up here with me, missy.”

  Laughing, Liz had joined him, while the others climbed warily into the hay stacked high in the back of the wagon.

  A few hours later, after a bumpy ride that left Chris’s backside aching, the cart had finally rumbled into the town. The driver pulled over in the main street to let them out before waving goodbye. He was heading to a property further down the highway, but he gave them directions to the only motel in town.

  Once he’d driven off, Liz had promptly ignored his instructions and led them down a side street. As they wound their way through the town, Chris could not help but stare at the world in which he now found himself. It was as though they had stepped backwards through time. He glimpsed the occasional old car or truck parked in the streets, their paint long since faded away and their bodies speckled with rust. But it seemed most of residents made do with wagons and horses. They lined the streets, waiting outside the old buildings as their owners came and went.

  Taking in the spectacle, Chris half-expected men in cowboy hats to stumble from the local pub and start a gunfight in the street. But with the sun creeping towards the distant horizon, the roads were quiet, and most people avoided the strangers passing through their midst.

  Only when Liz drew up outside the bus station had Chris finally guessed her intentions. Before he had a chance to stop her, she walked up to the lady standing behind the only ticket booth. Pulling a thin black wallet from her pocket, she handed over a wad of bills, and then returned soon after clutching a bundle of tickets in her hand.

  “Where did you get that?” Richard asked, nodding at the wallet.

  Liz only shrugged, her eyes hard, expressionless. “We needed it more than him.”

  Chris swallowed. Ignoring the others, he stepped in close to her. She flinched back from him, but he grabbed her before she could move, and wrapped her into his arms. She resisted for just a second, stiffening and trying to pull away. But he refused to release her, and all of a sudden, she crumpled in his arms.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. He drew her quietly away from the ticket booth, where the woman still stood watching them.

  Liz was shaking in his arms, her hot tears soaking into his shoulder, harsh sobs tearing from her throat. Unable to find the words to comfort her, to make everything okay, Chris did the only thing he could. He held her in silence, and waited for her grief to pass.

  Slowly the tears had faded away, her shaking lessening. When she finally pulled away, her eyes were wet, but with a gentle smile she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Chris smiled. “For what?”

  But she only shook her head. Taking a breath, she looked across at the others, who waited nearby. Richard and Jasmine still stood apart from one another, the wounds not quite healed. Mira had wandered off amongst the rows of plastic chairs, her hands in her pockets as she eyed the tiny food stand opposite the ticket booth.

  Looking back to Liz, Chris reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “So, where are we going, Liz?”

  Liz’s lips tightened. “San Francisco,” she looked around defiantly as she spoke, as though daring them to object. “I’m tired of running, of hiding. Sooner or later, they’re going to kill us. Or worse, catch us and take us back. We have to find a way to fight back, to put an end to this once and for all.”

  “And going
to the capital is how we do that?” Richard scowled. “That sounds like suicide to me. You can count me out.”

  Chris’s stomach twisted. “Are you sure about this, Liz?”

  Pursing her lips, she nodded. Her eyes locked with Richard’s. “You were right, that night in the mountains, Richard. Living on the run, never knowing when the hunters will finally catch up, it’s not a life at all. Trust me, I’ve lived it. We have to find a better way.”

  Jasmine had been unusually silent, but she stepped forward then. “There’s hundreds of street cameras, police, informants. How do we avoid them?”

  Liz shrugged. “We keep our heads down, stick to the crowds. San Francisco is a city of millions. However hard they try, they can’t keep them all in line,” she paused, her eyes sweeping over them. “Besides, they’ve got our families. If they’re still alive, we can’t turn our backs on them.”

  That last point had marked the end of any further argument. The discussion carried on for a few more minutes, but the thought of finding where their parents were, of possibly rescuing them, had taken the fight from Richard and Jasmine. Even Mira had returned from her wandering, asking whether they could find Artemis as well.

  Now, as Chris settled back in the bus station chair, he smiled at the thought of the five of them taking the bus. It was genius of Liz, really. With the wide-open plains, they could not fly during the day, and at night they would have no way of telling which direction they were heading in. The bus would have no such problems. And better yet – it was the last thing Halt and his hunters would expect. After all, who would take the bus, when they could fly?

  The only problem was the wait. For the last two hours, the five of them had tried lying in various positions on the rows of plastic seats, struggling to get comfortable. The bus was already an hour late, and there was still no sign of its arrival.