by Aaron Hodges
Groaning, Mike lifted his head. Uncertainty flickered through his eyes when he saw her. “What do…you want?” he croaked.
The Director smiled. Dropping the handkerchief in his lap, she reached out and stroked his cheek.
“We only want the truth, Mike…” she said softly, “Where have they gone, these renegades of yours? We know you’re hiding them.”
“Please…” Mike sobbed, his eyes rolling around in his skull as though searching for a way out, “I already told you…where they are.”
Chris shivered. He had—after a week of enhanced interrogation had broken him. The Director had ordered the house raided, and everyone inside killed. That had been the last time Chris had tested the woman’s patience—and lost. Thankfully, the house had apparently been empty when the soldiers arrived.
Yet, over the next three weeks, the Texan’s interrogation had continued. Once he had been left in this windowless cell for almost a week. They’d given him a bottle of water, and one meal a day, but otherwise he’d been alone in the darkness. Chris still shuddered at the thought of the blubbering creature who’d emerged at the end of the week.
By now Mike had nothing left. No lingering secrets, no hidden safehouses. Nothing, that is, but the pride of his nation.
“That’s right,” the Director murmured, her hand still caressing the Texan’s cheek. “How could I have forgotten? Such a good boy. But you were too slow, Mike. You betrayed us!” Her voice turned hard as her fingers gripped Mike by the hair and pulled his head back.
Standing, she moved behind the chair, still holding Mike by his long hair, forcing him to stare into the bright fluorescent lights.
“No, no, please,” Mike croaked, his voice half-mad with terror.
The Director leaned down until her lips were an inch from Mike’s ear. “You must confess, Mike,” she whispered. “It’s the only way to redeem yourself, to save yourself.”
Tears ran down Mike’s face as he shook his head. “No…”
Abruptly, the Director released her captive’s hair and stepped away, nodding to the guard as she did so. His masked face revealed no emotion as he stepped forward again and drew a baton from his belt.
“No, no, no, please!” Mike screamed. But still strapped to the chair, he had nowhere to go.
The baton descended, smashing into his shin, his elbow, his jaw. Chris closed his eyes, unable to watch any longer, but there was no hiding from the sounds. A sharp crack marked each blow, followed by the Texan’s shrieks.
When the guard finally ceased, all Mike could do was slump in the chair and sob. Across the room, Chris could see Ashley standing as tense as an iron rod, fists clenched at her side. She looked on the brink of mutiny, though they both knew there was nothing they could do for the Texan. One step out of line would see them crumple to the floor in agony—and that would only be the beginning.
“Come now, Mike,” the Director was speaking again, “be reasonable. We know you were behind the attack in Independence Square. We know you’re here as a spy, infecting our food supplies with your vile virus.”
Slumped in the chair, Mike slowly lifted his head to look at her.
“Do you really think my confession will make a difference?” his eyes were bloodshot and a dark bruise was already swelling on his jaw, but now there was a surprising clarity to his voice. “You think it will save you? That it’ll stop the vultures from circling?”
The Director stepped forward and slammed her fist into his face. His head whipped back in the chair, but she retreated, cursing under her breath as she cradled her hand. Thin as her arms were, it was likely she’d hurt her wrist. Chris smiled beneath his visor.
When she finally finished swearing, she swung on the nearest guard. “Give him a good workover,” she said through clenched teeth. “Then throw him in the hole again for a couple of days.”
“No!” Behind her, Mike strained against his bindings, his eyes wide with panic. “No, please, not again!”
But the Director was already walking away. A guard opened the door for her, and Chris quickly stepped in behind her. Ashley was only a second behind him, her head still half-turned to watch the Texan. He stretched out an arm and nudged her, then nodded at the retreating back of the Director. They hurried to catch up, all too aware what would happen if she looked back and saw them hesitating.
Ahead, the Director was halfway through the door when Mike screamed again.
“I did it!”
She froze in the doorway, then slowly turned back to look at the hapless prisoner. “Keep going.”
Mike slumped forward, gasping great lungfuls of air, as though with those three words he’d scaled a mountain. Finally, he lifted his head. Chris saw the darkness of self-loathing in his eyes as he spat out the words.
“I did it. I conspired with Texas. I brought the Chead here. I killed the Mad Women.”
A grin spread across the Director’s face as she listened to the Texan’s words. Nodding, she stepped back into the room. “Very good, Mike. You’ve earned a reprieve,” she said. She looked at the guards. “Skip the beating. Throw him straight in the hole. He can spend some time in the dark while we get things ready.” She turned back to the prisoner. “Wouldn’t want you having second thoughts before your big debut.”
In the chair, the Texan seemed to wilt at the Director’s words. He shook his head, face ashen, but his pleas fell on deaf ears as she turned and left the room. Behind her, the guards moved forward, cutting him off from view.
Chris quickly looked away as his pleas turned to shrieks. Chris’s legs trembled as he followed the Director outside. Ashley fell in beside him, and silently he reached out and took her hand. He squeezed her fingers, the only reassurance he could give, then quickly released her again.
Together they followed the Director down the long corridors of the facility.
Chapter 3
The Chead roared as another man leapt at her. He held a baseball bat in one hand, but to her he seemed to move in slow motion. The bat swung towards her in a lazy arc, but she only skipped back a step, then lunged forward to tear it from his grasp. He was still standing there gaping as she slammed the bat into the side of his head. The wood gave a loud crack as it shattered against his skull. He toppled over without a sound, and she strode on, eyes already seeking out fresh prey.
Her nostrils flared at the scent of blood. It mingled with the acrid tang of smoke, masking the revolting stench of humanity that permeated the town. Sucking in another breath, the Chead’s keen eyes scanned the shadows as she continued down the dusty street. Firelight flickered in the windows of a nearby building, but otherwise the town was dark. Her brethren had cut the power before their assault. Without light, the humans were stranded; like helpless sheep waiting for the slaughter.
She glanced around as the thundering of hooves came from behind her. A horse raced down the street, eyes wild as it fled the strange smells of the massacre. An empty carriage rattled along behind it. The other Chead moving through the streets ignored it though—they were not here to slaughter humanity’s mindless creatures.
But as she watched it go, the Chead saw a man leap from an alleyway. Running forward, he tried to catch the beast, then cried out in despair as the fleeing horse outpaced him. His mouth fell open as he turned and saw her.
Fire stirred in the Chead’s stomach as she moved towards him, its red haze spreading across her vision, washing away all thought but the need for blood. He watched her come, seemingly unable to move, even to save himself. Only at the last second did he come alive again, and try to flee.
Bounding into the air, the Chead crashed down on his back before he could take two steps. Her weight bore him down and he slammed face first into the ground. Now he found the will to fight, and twisting, he swung a fist at her face. With casual ease, she reached out and caught it in her dainty fist.
She grinned down at the helpless man pinned beneath her. “Trying to leave…the party?” she croaked.
She tore out his thr
oat before he could respond. Sitting up on his chest, she watched in ecstasy as his life blood bubbled from his mouth. He thrashed beneath her, but she held him down, waiting until the last drop of life had drained from him.
Standing, she surveyed the chaos once more, savouring the taste of victory. The Chead were everywhere, slipping silently through the narrow streets of the town, moving from building to building, seeking out the humans wherever they hid. The signs leading into the town had called it Sutter Creek, but when they were done it would be like all the others—a ghost town, empty, abandoned by all but the corpses they left behind. It was the fifth they’d struck in as many weeks, and the largest.
A smile spread across her lips as one of her brethren forced a family from a nearby house. The man died choking on his own blood, while the woman and her son were dragged away.
Feeble creatures.
She shook her head. Humanity, in its arrogance, had grown weak. Watching the woman meekly being led away, she felt contempt for her past. The memories that still flickered through her mind showed a weak and cowardly woman, a timid doctor who had bowed to lesser creatures.
But now that woman was gone, burned away by the fury of the Chead, and she was free.
The rage rose again as she watched the human woman. She longed to embrace the anger once more, but she fought the urge. Her body shook and pinpricks trailed along her skin, raising hairs along her arms. Gritting her teeth, she turned away, seeking a fresh victim to spend her rage on. Talisa had been clear—the women were hers, and hers alone.
Susan’s nose twitched as a fresh scent drifted across the street. She raised her head, scanning the neighbouring buildings, seeking movement. The curtains shifted in a house down the street and she moved quickly towards it, heart racing.
The door crumpled like paper beneath her boot, exploding into the hallway with the shriek of splintered wood. She stalked inside as someone screamed. Tasting the air, she savoured the scent of her quarry’s fear, her fingers bent like claws, ready to rend and tear. Movement came from the room ahead. She started towards it.
Stepping through the doorway, she glimpsed someone fleeing into the adjoining room. Laughter hissed from her lips as she leapt over the sofa in pursuit, and she heard her prey give a muffled scream.
Her prey shrieked again as she bounded into the next room. The Chead ducked as a vase flew at her head and shattered on the wall behind her. Anger flaring, she clenched her fists and stepped towards her prey. Her heart pounded in her ears as rage flooded her veins, the red haze rising, washing away reason as somewhere a voice screamed.
In the corner, the woman she had chased through the house sank to her knees and buried her head in her hands. She sobbed softly to herself as the Chead approached, relentless. Standing over the woman, the Chead savoured the taste of the woman’s fear. The room reeked of it. Curled up in a ball, crying into her hands, a human had never seemed so pitiful. Raising her fist, the Chead readied herself for the kill.
Before the blow could land, an iron hand caught her by the wrist and pulled her back.
“Susan…” a voice whispered. “Stop...”
Growling, she spun and swung at her attacker. Smiling, Hecate reached up and caught the blow with the same ease she had with the human earlier. She screamed with a desperate rage and tried to break free, but her mate only pulled her close and embraced her, smothering her in his arms.
As the scent of him filled her nostrils, the fury fell from her as quickly as it had come. She stilled, the tension fleeing her in a rush. Taking another breath, her mind swam with the sweetness of her mate. Looking up, her eyes were caught in Hecate’s cool gaze.
A smile tugged at his lips. Lifting his finger to her chin, he leaned towards her. This time she did not resist. Closing her eyes, she shivered as their lips met. The last traces of the red haze fell away, though her racing heart did not slow. A fresh yearning burned in her stomach as she wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him close.
Chuckling, Hecate broke away. He growled, though this time the sound was familiar, warm, holding a promise for later.
Sighing, Susan stepped back from Hecate, her mind returning as the last of the Chead rage left her. Looking at Hecate, she reached out to stroke his chest, her breath slowing. Then, together, they turned and looked down at the woman she had cornered.
“Talisa…wants you,” Hecate said softly.
Susan nodded. “We had better…join her.”
Reaching down, Susan twisted her fingers through the woman’s auburn hair. A scream echoed through the room as the prisoner was hauled to her feet, but Chead rage or no, Susan felt no compassion for the woman’s pain. Pain was weakness. Pain was human. And she had no patience for either.
Talisa was waiting.
Chapter 4
The sun was still low in the sky as Liz followed Jasmine down into the backyard. The flight had only taken twenty minutes from the centre of San Francisco, but after a long night hunting the streets for stray soldiers, Liz was nearing exhaustion There was no sign of movement below, but even so they came in low and fast, wings retracted as they swept down between the towering pines lining the boundary of the safehouse.
Liz let out a long breath as she settled down on the damp grass and looked around. They were onto their third safehouse now. The first they’d left after Mike’s capture, and the second had been abandoned as a precaution when a strange van had been spotted several times parked out in the street. With soldiers marching through the city and the public on high alert, they couldn’t be too careful. Especially after word had reached them that their first place had been raided by the army.
This house was well outside the city centre, almost to Daly city, but at least the heavy tree-coverage offered good protection from eyes on the ground. Not that Liz had exhausted much time in the safehouse lately. With her nights spent prowling the city, she often could not make it back by daylight, in which case she would find an abandoned building to spend the day in. Even when she did return, she preferred to sleep in the treehouse out back.
Turning towards the house, Liz found Jasmine still standing where she’d landed, watching Liz with folded arms.
“What is it, Jasmine?” she sighed, “Whatever you’re not saying, spit it out.”
Jasmine blinked as though coming out of a trance. Shaking her head, she smiled. “But there’s so much to choose from, where would I begin?” when Liz only raised an eyebrow, Jasmine’s smile faded and she went on, “Well, for starters, you look like crap, Liz.”
Liz blinked, then scowled at her. “You’re not looking so hot yourself. A ponytail, really?”
Ignoring the taunt, Jasmine stepped in close to Liz. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” She shook her head, her eyes softening. “We’re worried about you, Liz. You’re out all hours of the night, disappearing for days at a time. Most days we wouldn’t know if you’re alive or dead. Not unless we risk ourselves looking for you. I’m getting tired of tracking you down.”
“Then stop looking,” Liz snapped. She made to step past, but Jasmine held out a hand and caught her.
“You’re the one who said we’re a family, Liz,” Jasmine said softly.
“And you’re the one who said it was everyone for themselves,” Liz retorted. She threw off Jasmine’s hand and stalked towards the house.
“Liz, wait!”
Something in Jasmine’s tone gave Liz pause. Glancing back, she scowled at her friend. “What now?”
Jasmine sighed and started after her. “There’s something you should know before we go inside.” She walked past Liz, waving her on.
“And what’s that?” Liz snapped, matching her stride for stride. Ahead, the wooden backdoor loomed.
“We have a…visitor,” Jasmine offered slowly, “A doctor.”
“A doctor?” Goosebumps tingled on Liz’s arms. She paused midstride and looked across at Jasmine. “You don’t mean…?”
“Not one from our…facility.” Jasmine’s eyes flickered aw
ay, and then back to Liz. “He’s from another place, but…yes, I mean one of the doctors involved with the Praegressus Project.”
Liz opened her mouth, and then clamped it shut again. Spinning on her heel, she stalked to the backdoor, hauled it open, and then slammed it shut again before Jasmine had a chance to follow. She was halfway down the hallway before the door opened behind her. Blood pounding in her head, she stepped into the dining room, eyes already sweeping the room, seeking out the monster someone had invited into their house.
Her fellow rebels sat around the dining table, eyes wide as they stared back at her. Maria sat at the head of the table, her hands clasped in front of her. Chris’s grandmother looked as exhausted as Liz felt. The wrinkles on her face had deepened in the last few weeks, and there was a sorrow about the way she carried herself, as though she were simply going through the motions of life now. But there was fire in her eyes when she looked up and saw Liz standing there.
To the side of Maria sat Harry, an army veteran who had recently joined their fledgling resistance. He was close to Maria’s age, a man who, by luck or skill, had managed to survive the ravages of the American war. His kind were a rarity these days—most men of his generation hadn’t lived past sixty—but he had appeared not long after the government’s condemnation of the attack on Independence Square.
Together with Maria, he had taken over Mike’s role of coordinating the resistance. But looking at the two of them now, Liz could not help but think that had been a mistake. Both were old and tired, well past their prime. They didn’t have the energy to fight this war, or the resolve to do what was needed to win. The proof of that was sitting at the table in front of them, staring at her with unconcealed awe.
Jasmine had been right about one thing—she didn’t recognise him. He hadn’t been there, hadn’t been among the doctors who had imprisoned them, who had systematically gone about culling hundreds of innocent children. It hadn’t been him who’d held her down, who’d injected her with the awful serum that had changed her life forever. It had not been this doctor who’d thrown her, still weak from a coma, into a room with a Chead, to watch and see whether she would survive.
