The Praegressus Project: Part One

by Aaron Hodges

  It leaned towards her, its nostrils flaring, and 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 grey eyes, Susan struggled to breathe, but its hand had blocked her nose too. She gave another muffled shriek, but it was hopeless. Eyes watering, the strength slowly fled her body. Her legs gave way beneath her, and the darkness came welling up to claim her.

  CHAPTER 9

  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 day 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 they were all struggling with 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 this wasn’t all some elaborate trap.

  The second problem was the nature of the allies he had proposed they approach.

  The Mad Women.

  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 government? If Jonathan was right, they had managed to avoid retribution from the government 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 Mad Women’s protest in the morning. Chris had agreed more out of exhaustion than anything. With that finally settled, they had drifted off through the apartment. He’d caught Jasmine’s announcement that she would keep an eye on the ‘prisoner’ with Mira, but by then he was too tired to care. Hopefully Jonathan would survive a few hours in Jasmine and Mira’s tender care.

  Pushing open the door to the spare bedroom, he moved across 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 he regretted opening his mouth. He should have left her to 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 stretched out, 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 moved across and sat 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 Liz was suffering, though she 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. Reaching out a hand, he stroked the small of her back 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 her back, 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.

  But she only shook her head and looked away again. She was still trembling beneath his fingers, her whole body tensed as though ready to flee.

  “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 realised how much he loved her. He loved her fierce nature, her fire and courage and determination 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 sensation in the tips of his fingers, but it did not take long to spread. Pinpricks spread 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 couldn’t take it any longer, and he carefully removed his hand and closed his eyes.

  Sucking in another breath, he 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, and 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 gave 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, and this way there was less risk of receiving a second, accidental dose. Rolling on his side, he allowed his wings to unfold as he looked across at Liz.

  “What?” she asked when she saw him watching her. Laughter bubbled up from Chris’s chest. Liz had tucked the duvet up to her chin, leaving only her head exposed. Her hair tumbled out across the pillow, and her big blue eyes stared up at him innocently. “You didn’t want any, did you?”

  “No,” he replied with a grin. He shook his head. “Just… it’s good to have you back.”

  A smile flickered across her lips and a gentle silence stretched out. This time there was no tension between them, and Chris’s mind began to drift. He thought again about their plan, but he still couldn’t feel any enthusiasm for it. The Mad Women might be goodhearted and well-meaning, but what 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 across at her, but her eyes were still closed. He sighed.

  “I was thinking we’re as insane as these so called Mad Women.”

  Her blue eyes flickered open. “Maybe,” she smiled, “Maybe not. Only time will te
ll. But at least we know one thing.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “I was right,” a smile spread across Liz’s lips, “About telling Jonathan about his family. 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: 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.

  CHAPTER 10

  Sam glanced around as he moved down the street, and then pulled the hood tighter around his face. His wings tingled beneath the heavy folds of the 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 took the lead 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 Jonathan’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 mode that seemed to rumble up from his very soul. The translator 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 back 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 helped win 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 cost 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 advantages.

  Keeping his hood low, he took a moment to studied their surroundings while Jonathan caught his breath. The towering buildings had opened out, giving way to the wide park square that marked the spiritual centre 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. “They 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’s slowly spreading.”

  “The news hasn’t been covering their protest?” Ashley asked, frowning.

  Jonathan shrugged. “Once or twice. That’s where they got the name ‘The Mad Women.’ 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 moved after her, and together they made their way into the park. 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 now, 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, after everything he’d done?

  I did what I had to.

  Yet the thought did nothing to fill the empty feeling 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 square around the towering obelisk. The colours varied from blue to black to red, and when viewed from above they created a giant mosaic of a blood red sunset. But just then, only a small patch of tiles was visible beneath the crowd that had gathered around the square.

  The Mad Women.

  Sam shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Jonathan had told the truth – that much was certain. They were gathered around in the centre of the square, their faces lined with age, their bodies withered by the cruel passage of time. They held no placards or megaphones, and they were silent as they made their way around the base of the obelisk. Many wore the faded army uniforms and shining medals of their fallen husbands.

  A tremor went through Sam as he watched their slow progression around the obelisk. Though they made no sound, their message was clear to all who watched. And people were watching. They stood around the edges of the square, hundreds of wide-eyed onlookers, drawn here by the whispers spreading through the city. They had come to see the spectacle, to watch the women who dared stand in defiance of the government.

  Despite his despair, Sam couldn’t help but admire the women’s courage. They might not have the power or the influence to bring down the President and his Directors, but here they were anyway. Here they stood, in open defiance of the powers that ruled them, with only the honour of their fallen loved ones to protect them.

  Watching them, Sam could almost bring himself to hope things might change, that they might have a chance after all.

  Almost.

  He looked up as a shout carried to them across the square. Beyond the slow march of the Mad Women, the crowd on the other side of the square were drawing back, retreating before the thud of marching boots. A cold fist wrapped around Sam’s chest as he glanced at the others. Before anyone could move, Jasmine leapt forward and caught Jonathan by the front of his shirt.

  “You betrayed us!” she hissed.

  “No!” Jonathan gasped as her fingers reached for his throat, “This wasn’t me!”

  Jasmine looked around at them, her eyes alight with fury, and even Sam was loath to interfere. He glanced at the oncoming soldiers and then back the way they’d come. But the trees were empty and he shook his head at Jasmine.

  “They’re not here for us,” he said softly. “Or we’d already be surrounded.”

  For a moment, he thought Jasmine would ignore him. Jonathan was standing on his toes to keep her grip around his collar from strangling him.

  “Jasmine,” Chris cut in. “Put him down, before someone notices.”

  Chris’s warning seemed to cut through Jasmine’s rage, and snorting, she released the translator without any further argument. Jonathan coughed and bent in two, and Sam moved across and patted him on the back.

  “Sorry, she’s a
bit jumpy,” he offered.

  Shaking his head, Jonathan straightened. “They’re probably here for the Mad Women,” he glanced at them as he spoke, “After the attack on the courthouse, gatherings like this have been banned.”

  “What will they do?” Ashley asked.

  Hearing the tremor in her voice, Sam reached out and took her hand. His heart twisted as she glanced at him, and he saw the fear in her amber eyes. The thud of boots echoed loudly in the square now, seeming to come from all around. Beneath the obelisk, the Mad Women had drawn to a stop and stood watching the approaching soldiers. They made no move to flee as men in sharp green uniforms pushed through the onlookers and drew to a halt in front of them.

  Then a woman strode forward through the ranks of soldiers. She moved with purpose, as though possessed of an unwavering confidence. The men parted before her like the red sea, eager to avoid the hard look in her eyes. Her thin lips twisted into a frown as she stopped at the head of the soldiers and studied the old women around the obelisk. The look on her face suggested she thought it beneath her just to stand in their presence.

  Which probably wasn’t far from the truth. There was no mistaking the Director of Domestic Affairs, and Sam nervously pulled his hood tighter around his face. This was the woman who had called them terrorists – the person supposedly in charge of bringing them to justice.

  The Director placed her hands on her hips and slowly shook her head.

  “What would your husbands think?” she spoke in a soft voice, but Sam heard her easily from across the square, “To see the lot of you standing here, undermining the nation they gave their lives to defend? And while we are in the middle of a crisis?” She shook her head again.

  A soft whisper went through the Mad Women, but for a long moment, it looked like they would not respond. Then one woman stepped from the group. She wore a faded green uniform, and on her chest a silver cross gleamed. She stood with her shoulders held high and stared down the Director. From beside him, Sam heard someone gasp, but the old woman was already speaking.