by Aaron Hodges
“Students,” a collected shiver went through the theatre as the Director’s eyes swept over them. “I assure you, our experiments here have no relations to the vile Chead. Take a closer look – do they look like Chead to you?” Pausing on the stairs, she gestured at her two silent companions.
Paul and Francesca drew to a stop behind her. As one, their wings snapped open and they leapt into the air. Their black wings swept down, almost striking the heads of the students below them as they took flight. They swooped down towards the stage, where the professor yelped and ducked beneath the lectern. Laughter chased after him as Paul and Francesca turned and rose in the air. Reaching out, they caught the steel beam stretching overhead and settled themselves beside the projectors.
“See? If they were Chead, they would have killed half of you by now,” the Director flicked a curl of hair from her face, “No, they are our creatures. And I will answer all your questions, once we have taken the traitor into custody.”
“No!” Chris was shocked to hear Liz shout behind him. Spinning, he gasped as she slowly stood in her seat, “He’s telling the truth. They created the Chead during the American war, and have been using them as a weapon against their own people ever since.”
“My poor dear,” the Director shook her head, a sad smile on her lips. Apparently they were too far away for her to have recognised Liz. “What lies has the traitor been feeding you?”
Growling, Liz tore off her jacket. The air cracked as her wings snapped out. Around them, several students screamed and threw themselves on the floor as her black wings stretched out across the rows of chairs. With a twenty-foot wingspan, they cast a long shadow across the lecture theatre.
Chris quickly followed suit. He stood and pulled off his jacket, grinning as his tawny feathers slid free. They were still damp from the rain, and a fine mist sprayed across the surrounding rows as they unfurled. Ashley and Jasmine did the same, their feathers seeming to glow in the overhead lights. Together, they stood and looked up at the Director in defiance.
“He’s no traitor,” Liz growled, “You’re the traitor. You’re the ones who have been betraying our country every day for decades. You’re the ones who invaded our homes, who tore apart our families and murdered our friends. You’re the ones who kidnapped us to use in your depraved experiments, who have killed hundreds – no, thousands of people – all so you could perfect your awful virus.”
Up on the stairwell, the Director stared back at them. Her lips were parted, but she made no move to speak. The blood had drained from her face and behind her, the men shifted nervously on their feet.
Around the theatre, the students were staring at them, mouths gaping as they struggled to comprehend what was going on. No doubt a few had already recognised them as the fugitives from the news – but that did not explain how the four of them were standing there with wings sprouting from their backs. A few of the nearest students even reached up and brushed fingers against their feathers. Chris shivered at their touch, but his eyes never left the Director’s face.
Suddenly, Chris found himself smiling. Today was definitely not going the way she had intended.
“Take them,” the Director finally seemed to regain her senses. She swallowed and looked around at her men, and then pointed down at Chris and the others. “Take them!” she screamed.
The men hesitated, glancing at one another, their faces pale. They no doubt knew what had happened to many of their colleagues back in Independence Square. But they were obviously professionals, and eventually their training took hold. Together, they started down the stairs.
Before they could take two steps, a young man slid from his seat to bar their path.
“No,” he said. He spread his arms, daring the soldiers to defy him.
His defiance gave the men pause, and they glanced back again at the Director, uncertain. She ordered them on, her face growing red as she gestured violently at Chris and the others. The men started down again, using their bulk to push the student out of the way.
But now others were jumping from their seats. A girl leapt into the aisle, and then another boy followed her – and then suddenly the whole lecture theatre was jostling to join them. The students poured from the rows of seats and crowded into the stairwell. Linking arms, they stood together and defied the Director’s men.
Chris stared in disbelief, hardly able to believe what he was seeing. The students’ actions echoed those of the Mad Women a week ago – except these young boys and girls had no grievance against the government. In fact, these were the children of the rich and privileged – those with every reason to take the government’s side.
Yet here they were, defying the Director and her soldiers, putting their lives on the line for four fugitives they had never met.
“Go,” Chris looked up as a girl spoke from the row of seats above them. Her eyes caught his and she flashed him a smile. “Get out, quickly. Take the fire exit.”
Swallowing a lump in his throat, Chris nodded. Shaking off his shock, he turned and looked down at the stage. The professor still stood there, his face pale, his arms trembling as he clutched the lectern like a lifeline. The stage was still some twenty feet away and thirty feet below them.
Chris grinned and flexed the muscles in his back. “Let’s fly,” he shouted to the others.
He crouched down, his legs coiled like springs, and then leapt into the air. His wings beat down hard to lift him over the row of seats in front of him. Gasps came from around the room as students ducked down. The whisper of his friends’ wings chased after him as he swept down towards the stage.
All too quickly, he was landing beside the professor. Furling his wings, he looked up, and grinned as he saw the Director still standing near the top of the stairs. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl and her face was pale with fury. He heard her scream a few choice words at her men, but they were making little headway through the students.
Chris turned back to the professor as the others landed around him. “Time to go I think, professor.”
The man stared back at Chris, his mouth hanging open. But they weren’t safe yet, and there was no time for the man to freeze now. Grabbing the professor by the shoulders, Chris shook him.
“Get whatever information you have off that computer, professor. We’ve got to go!”
His words seemed to snap the man from his stupor. Blinking, the professor swallowed visibly and then nodded. Turning to the computer, he pulled a thumb drive out of the side and handed it to Chris.
“That’s everything!” he shouted over the din.
Chris’s heart pounded in his chest as he took the drive. His stomach twisted – not with fear, but with sudden hope. If what the professor said was true, that thumb drive held all the proof they would need to prove the government was involved in the creation of the Chead. He tucked it carefully into his jean pocket and then looked around.
“Let’s go,” he pushed the professor in the direction of the fire exit.
Liz and Jasmine took the lead, Ashley just a step behind. They raced across the stage, drawn towards the neon sign reading ‘EXIT’. Chris sucked in a breath, hardly daring to believe they might escape the trap they had unwittingly walked into the middle of.
He only heard the whisper of wings a second before they struck. Looking up, he caught a glimpse of two pairs of black wings and snarling faces, and then Paul plummeted from the air. The professor only had a second to glance up, before the boy’s boot slammed into his neck.
An audible snap echoed through the theatre as the professor went bouncing across the carpeted floor. His body came to rest in a pile of limp arms and legs, and even without checking, Chris knew he was dead. Swallowing, he turned away from the lifeless body, and faced the boy barring his way.
The crack of wings came from overhead as Francesca landed beside Paul. Together, they faced Chris, their wings spread and hands clenched at their sides. Paul towered over them all, his dark skin and jet-black hair seeming to drown the overhead lights. He
crossed his arms and smirked at them. Beside him, Francesca looked frail by comparison. With her pale white skin and blonde hair, she looked more like a ghost than human in the bright lights.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” Paul’s lips drew back in a snarl, “I’m Paul. Where’s Sam, that stinking traitor?”
“Get out of the way,” Chris snapped.
He made to step towards them, and then paused. He frowned, staring at their faces, and then took a quick step back. They grinned back at him, their faces unchanged. But their eyes… whatever colour they had been before, they were cold and grey now. They were the eyes of the Chead.
“Get on your knees, and maybe we’ll let you live,” Francesca growled.
“You’ve changed,” Chris whispered.
A rough growl clawed its way up from Paul’s throat. “How could we not…when you left us to die…on the floor of the courthouse?” A ripple crossed his face, and his lips drew back as he bared his teeth.
Chris clenched his fists. He stared back at them, noticing now that neither wore the cruel shock collars they had all sported during their imprisonment. His heart lifted with sudden hope.
“You’re free,” he pressed, “We didn’t want to leave you – we didn’t have a choice. But you have a choice now – come with us.”
At that, Paul threw back his head and howled with laughter. “When they take you, I will watch you suffer as we did. I will watch you all turn, and the madness claim you.”
Chris clenched his fists. “Not today.”
CHAPTER 29
“Chris!” Liz screamed as she watched Chris charge the pair standing between them and the exit.
Before she could intervene, Paul leapt forward to meet Chris’s charge. The two came together with a crash and then lifted into the air, their wings beating hard as they darted apart.
Watching them, Liz gasped as she was caught off-guard by Francesca’s fist. Her teeth rattled as the blow struck her chin, but she rolled with the blow and took a step back to right herself. Growling, Francesca came on, tackling her around the midriff, driving her back. Liz stumbled, but her wings snapped out and beat the air to steady her.
Before she could recover, Francesca’s hands closed around her throat like a vice. Gasping, she grabbed at Francesca’s wrists with her gloved hands, struggling to prise her fingers away. Then Jasmine shot out of nowhere and slammed into the blonde girl. Her black wings flashed, adding to her momentum, and the hands around Liz’s throat were torn away.
Coughing, Liz sucked in a lungful of air and straightened. Jasmine stood beside her now, and together they squared off against the other girl. Watching Francesca recover, Liz didn’t miss the grey glint in her eyes. The girl had changed – that made her more dangerous than ever. If she lost control and went berserk, she would tear everyone in the lecture theatre to pieces. What had the Director been thinking, bringing them here?
Beside her, Jasmine snarled and started towards the girl. Liz swallowed as she remembered that Paul and Francesca were the ones who had attacked them in the courthouse. The fight had delayed their escape, and led to Richard being separated from the rest of them.
“Jasmine,” Liz called as she joined the girl, “Careful.”
Jasmine flicked her a glance, her eyes shimmering, and for a moment Liz thought it was already too late. Then Jasmine let out a long breath, and the light in her eyes faded. She nodded, and turned her attention back to Francesca.
With a roar, Francesca spread her wings and leapt into the air. Stretching her wings, Liz was about to chase after her, until Jasmine grabbed her by the arm. Glancing at the other girl, Liz saw her nod in the direction of the soldiers. Looking across, she realised what Jasmine meant.
The students were slowly falling back from the men, as they used the butts of their rifles to muscle their way through. But enough still stood their ground to slow the soldiers’ progress – and more importantly, hide Liz and the others from their sights. But if they took to the air, the soldiers would have a clear shot.
Overhead, Francesca shrieked when she saw they weren’t following. Folding her wings, she plummeted towards them, her face twisted with hate. Her face darkened, her grey eyes growing hard, and Liz knew it was no longer Francesca staring out. Jasmine may have gotten a hold of her rage, but the other girl had succumbed.
Liz jumped back as the girl lashed out at them, but Jasmine was too slow and a blow caught her square in the forehead. She staggered and dropped to one knee as Francesca landed on the stage with a thump. Growling, Francesca attacked again, but Liz leapt in and deflected her attack before she could reach Jasmine. Francesca came after her then, but Liz twisted and leapt into the air, hoping to drop down on Francesca’s back as she stumbled past.
But the other girl was too quick, and before Liz could slam her heel into the girl’s neck, Francesca was clear. Liz’s wings beat down as she hesitated, and Francesca took full advantage. Her hand shot out, and Liz screamed as fingers like iron closed around her ankle. Liz’s wings cracked as she struggled to break free, but using her terrifying strength, Francesca hauled her back down.
Francesca laughed as their eyes met. Another hand wrapped around her ankle, and Liz’s stomach lurched into her chest as Francesca swung her through the air. Liz shrieked as the ground came rushing up, and she slammed face first into the stage.
Liz gasped as the impact drove the breath from her lungs. But Francesca had at least released her ankle, and she rolled away before the other girl could land another blow. Struggling to regain her feet, she turned and saw Jasmine going toe to toe with the Chead. A fist flashed for her friend’s face, but she ducked, and the blow caught only empty air. Then Jasmine charged forward, driving her shoulder into Francesca’s stomach. Before Francesca could pull free, Jasmine wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her into the air.
Seeing her opportunity, Liz rushed in and swung a fist at Francesca’s face. But the girl saw her coming and twisted in Jasmine’s grip. Liz had no time to adjust her aim, and her fist slammed into the base of Jasmine’s skull. A low moan came from her friend’s throat, and her eyes rolled back into her skull. Releasing Francesca, Jasmine toppled to the carpeted floor.
Liz gaped as Francesca slipped free and spun. Her wing arced out, catching Liz square in the face. As she staggered, Francesca twisted again, her wing coming around for a second blow. Without thinking, Liz reached up and caught the bony limb in both hands.
Francesca screamed and her wing bucked in Liz’s grip. She stumbled several steps before she managed to dig in her heels. She grinned as Francesca suddenly stilled, and their eyes met across the ten feet of feathers stretching between them. Then Liz wrapped both hands around the joint she’d caught, and wrenched.
The bones in Francesca’s wings were no match for Liz’s enhanced strength. They snapped like tissue paper as Francesca’s wing twisted at an awful angle. The colour drained from Francesca’s face as though sucked away into a vacuum. Then she was shrieking, thrashing and spinning across the stage, her eyes wild with pain and fury.
Liz stretched her wings and leapt, and they carried her backwards to safety. Francesca’s eyes followed her, and she leapt after Liz. But as the broken wing beat down, Francesca screamed, and crashed back down, landing on her stomach on the carpeted floor.
Seeing her chance, Liz launched herself on top of the fallen girl. She gasped as Francesca surged back against her, the girl’s strength threatening to buck her off. Gritting her teeth, Liz clung on, using her weight to slam the girl’s face into the carpet. But the blow did nothing to diminish Francesca’s strength. Catching a wing in her face, Liz almost lost her balance before she righted herself again.
Growling, Liz drove her fist into the Francesca’s kidney. She could feel her fury starting to build. They couldn’t afford to sit here fighting. Though their fight had lasted less than a minute, the soldiers were drawing closer. She couldn’t understand why Paul and Francesca were helping the Director of their own freewill – no
t after everything that had been done to them. How could they support the government that had kidnapped and tortured them, that had taken everything from them?
Choking on her rage, Liz gritted her teeth, struggling to control herself. She could feel her strength building, and the bloodlust that came with the Chead rage. Her stomach roiled, and before she had a chance to stop it, her vision turned red.
Screaming, Liz grabbed Francesca by the hair and wrenched back her head. She felt the girl fighting her still, and drove her knee down hard into the small of Francesca’s back, forcing her down. Then she slammed Francesca’s face into the ground, again and again until the girl went limp beneath her.
Rage flickered in Liz’s chest as she released the girl’s hair. But Francesca wasn’t finished. She moved weakly beneath Liz, still trying to get back up. Even injured, Francesca was still a threat, might still try and stop them.
A growl built in Liz’s chest and she slowly removed her gloves. She gripped Francesca by the hair again, and slammed her face into the ground one last time. Then Liz slid her hands from Francesca’s hair, down to the exposed nape of her neck. She felt the soft skin beneath her fingers, the fragile bones of Francesca’ spine as she squeezed. From behind, she could not choke the girl to death.
But then, she didn’t need too.
Francesca’s flesh was warm to the touch. It felt good, to feel naked skin beneath her fingers again. It seemed an age since the night in the safehouse with Chris. Her heart warmed at the memory, and its rapid thud began to slow. Bit by bit, the red faded from her vision, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.
Only then did she realise Francesca was screaming, writhing against the floor beneath her, her broken wing flailing uselessly at her side. Liz gaped, taking long seconds to comprehend what she’d been trying to do. In horror, she released the girl and leapt backwards, praying she wasn’t too late.
