by Aaron Hodges
Sam shrugged. “I’m a likeable kinda guy.” He glanced down at Mira. Her breathing had already softened and she appeared to be asleep. “She’s a curious creature, actually seems to love the radio. But I’m still getting used to her.”
As he spoke, Jasmine gave an exclamation of triumph and held up a finger. At its tip was a tiny black splinter of wood.
“Thanks, doctor,” Sam chuckled. “Think I’ll live?”
Jasmine waved a hand. Moving away from the window, she wandered across the treehouse, the boards creaking beneath her feet, her black hair dangling down around her shoulders. Turning, she leaned against the wall where Mira was sleeping and sat beside her. She ran a hand through the girl’s grey hair and looked up at Sam.
“She’s a little odd, I’ll admit. But she’s family,” she said.
“What does that make us?” Sam joined her in the sun, lowering himself down and leaning his head back against the wall. “Her Mum and Dad?”
Jasmine snorted. “At this rate, we might be the only sane ones left.”
“Wasn’t so long ago you were the one going mad,” Sam replied carefully.
A strained silence followed his comment. Biting her lip, Jasmine stared at the floor. Finally, she shook her head and looked across at him.
“Yes,” she took a deep breath and went on in a strained voice, “and in Independence Square, I almost killed those people, almost lost control of who I was. If Liz hadn’t stopped me…”
“Hey, that’s what family’s for, right?” Reaching out, he gave her shoulder a squeeze.
She nodded, looking miserable. He could sense there was more.
“I’m worried Liz is going down the same path,” she said, eyes to the floor. “She’s already changed once, when the soldiers tried to…take her. Now she’s on a one-woman crusade, and I don’t think she sees the line anymore. She’s becoming like that doctor—willing to do whatever it takes to get what she wants.”
Sam shrugged. “To be honest, I wasn’t far from agreeing with her. Can’t say I feel much sympathy for the man.”
“Maybe not.” Jasmine pursed her lips. “But they weren’t all bad, remember? If it wasn’t for Angela Fallow, we’d all still be prisoners. Or worse—dead.”
Sam nodded, remembering the kindly doctor who had freed them from the facility in the mountains. “You think he’s the same?”
“Maybe not,” Jasmine shook her head, “but maybe we should give him a chance to put things right, to balance the scales. When this is all over, he can face justice. But we can’t be judge, jury and executioner.”
“Look who’s gone soft,” Sam teased.
“I’ve seen the alternative,” Jasmine said softly. “This morning…I found Liz choking the life out of a man with her bare hands. He died in agony. And her eyes…I could swear they were beginning to turn.”
Ice spread through Sam’s stomach. “She changed?”
Jasmine shrugged. “No. Or at least, I don’t think so. But she’s losing control. She’s taking too many risks, running around like Rambo.”
Sam chuckled. “You’ve been watching those movies too?” On the day’s they couldn’t sleep, there was little else to do but watch reruns of old movies on the television.
“I’m serious, Sam,” she shook her head. “I don’t want to lose her too.”
Reaching out, Sam squeezed her shoulder again. “I know,” he smiled, trying to reassure her. “I’m glad we don’t have you both going off the rails, though.”
The hint of a smile tugged at Jasmine’s lips. She shook her head, looking down at Mira. “No time for that, between babysitting the two of them,” she looked back at Sam, her eyes turning serious, “And what about you, Sam? How have you kept it together? Ashley was everything to you.”
Sam’s chest tightened at the mention of Ashley’s name, and he sucked in a deep breath before answering. “You’re right,” he paused, fighting back tears, “That’s why…that’s the only thing I’ve got left to hold onto. She might be gone, but she still needs me.”
“Sam…” Jasmine’s eyes betrayed her concern. “You can’t think she’s still alive?”
His heart lurched again, but he forced himself to look Jasmine in the eye. “No…” he croaked, swallowing his grief. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?”
He sighed, wondering how to explain himself. “What the doctor said downstairs, about the project being restarted, about the conscripted kids—it’s all my fault. You know that,” he looked across at her, daring her to argue, but she remained silent. It hadn’t been so long ago Jasmine had accused him of that very crime. Swallowing, he forced himself to go on. “If I hadn’t stood with Halt and the President, hadn’t let them use me to strengthen their hold over the people, this might have all been over by now. Instead, things are worse than ever. Ashley…she couldn’t stand the role she played, that Halt used her to get to me.”
“So you’re keeping it together for her?” Jasmine asked softly.
Sam nodded, his vision blurring. “When the time comes, when I’m finally face to face with the Director, with the President, they’ll see my anger. But until then, we have to be smart, have to out-think them, to play their game and win. If we don’t, we’ve already lost.”
He looked up as he finished, waiting for Jasmine’s response. But for once, the girl seemed lost for words. Shadows ringed her eyes as she stared back at him, her lips pulled tight. Finally, she shrugged.
“We still need to do something about Liz,” she said. “She’s hurting.”
“I know.” Sam’s heart ached for her, but over the past four weeks, Liz had steadily pushed everyone else away. “She’s frustrated. It’s been four weeks, and we’ve gotten nowhere. But if Doctor Jones is telling the truth, this might be our chance.”
“Or maybe Liz is just unstable enough to get us all killed,” Jasmine shot back.
Sam looked away at that, unable to find a response. What Jasmine said was true—she was living proof of that, after what had happened in Independence Square. But then, they were all just bombs waiting to go off. That same rage lurked inside each of them. He had felt it himself, when he was imprisoned. He was sure of that now.
And while Liz might be most at risk, they had no chance in hell of convincing her to stay behind if they were going after the Director. After all, he knew no force on earth would stop him from going on that mission.
Finally, he sighed, and nodded at Jasmine. “I’ll talk to Liz.”
Chapter 6
“Knock, knock.” Liz looked up as the door to the bedroom creaked open and Sam’s face appeared behind it.
Sitting up on her bed, she raised an eyebrow. “It’s your room too, Sam. You don’t have to knock.”
The narrow room held two sets of bunk beds. Sam and Mira had claimed the bottom bunks, while Liz and Jasmine had been left with the top two. She still wasn’t sure how they’d managed it, but she wasn’t too bothered. Most days she didn’t even step foot inside the house, and the sparse plaster walls and rickety bunks reminded her too much of the prison cell they’d shared in the facility. But the safehouse was a refuge for more than just them—there were almost twenty people crammed into the little villa—and there was no room for luxury.
“I thought you might need some time to yourself,” Sam offered as he moved inside and sat down on his bed.
Liz shrugged, although that was exactly why she had retreated to their dormitory. “Not from you, Sam.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.” Pulling off his shoulder bag, he removed his radio and set it on the table between the bunks. Plugging it in, he looked up at her. “You lost control back there.”
A strand of hair drifted across Liz’s face. She blew it away with an angry exhalation. “I didn’t lose control,” she gestured in the direction of the dining room. “That man has information we need. Instead of dragging it out of him like they would us, we’re risking our lives for a family that may or may not even exist.”
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��So you’d leave them to die, and torture the information out of him?” Sam asked softly.
Sitting up on her bed, Liz swung her legs over the side and dropped down onto the floor. Lowering herself onto Mira’s bed, she scooted back until she could lean against the wall. She stared across at Sam, looking into his dark eyes, and wondered how he could stay so calm.
“Whatever it takes,” she replied finally. “I’m going to kill her for what she did to Chris and Ashley, for what she did to those students. If that means going through that monster out there, so be it.”
“He’s just a pawn, Liz,” Sam argued, his eyes boring into hers. “And that performance back there was about more than just getting information out of him.”
Liz’s cheeks warmed as she pursed her lips. “Maybe it was,” she shook her head, “but you of all people know what they did to us, Sam.”
Leaning his head back against the plasterboard wall, Sam stared at her. “I do. But killing him won’t change what happened to us. And it won’t help save all those other kids who are suffering.”
Liz’s stomach twisted and she looked away. “If they’ve started the project…then it’s already too late for them.”
“You don’t believe that…”
“I do!” Liz interrupted. Her lips drew back in a snarl. “Don’t you see? It’s too late for everyone. The Mad Women are slowly being picked apart. Jonathan is spreading propaganda all over the airwaves. Chris and Ashley and Richard are dead. We’ve already lost, Sam. We just don’t know it yet.”
“Then what are you still fighting for, Liz?” Sam stared back at her, his lips turned down, sadness in his dark eyes.
Liz’s shoulders slumped and she struggled to keep the tears from her eyes. “Revenge,” she murmured. “That’s all there is left. She’s already stolen whatever life Chris and I might have had. I intend to take hers before they come for me.”
“And to hell with everyone else?” Sam asked.
“Maybe,” Liz replied softly.
Liz pushed herself off the bed suddenly and moved to the window. She could feel the cold air seeping through the thin glass. Outside, the sky was a dark grey, the wind blowing through the treetops. There was a storm coming, and who knew if any of them would survive it. Swallowing, she thought of Ashley and Chris, and the awful hole in her chest.
She shivered as a hand settled on her shoulder. Looking around, she found Sam standing behind her, his lips drawn tight, his jaw clenched. Shaking her head, she embraced him, burying her face in his broad chest. A tremor ran through him too, fed by his silent sorrow, a mirror of her own. They stood like that for a long time, drawing what comfort they could from each other’s presence. But in the end, all it did was make Liz lonesome. With his arms around her, it was just another reminder of what she’d lost, that without Chris, she would never feel the true warmth of human touch again.
When they finally separated, Liz forced a smile. Sam smiled back, tears on his cheeks. “I know what Chris would do,” he said.
“Me too,” Liz nodded, wiping away her tears. “He’s not here now though, is he?”
Sam shook his head. “But he believed we could be better than them.”
“Maybe,” Liz slumped down on her bed, “but at what cost? How many more of us have to die doing the right thing?”
“I don’t know,” Sam replied, “but I know they didn’t die so we could become the monsters we’re fighting, Liz.”
“Then what do you propose we do?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt at once drowsy and energised, exhausted from her night’s activities, but stressed by the confrontation in the living room. And now the conversation with Sam.
“What Maria said,” he replied. “We think things through, take our time, do this the right way. Tonight, if it’s safe, we’ll bring his family here, make sure they’re protected. Then we’ll find out where the Director is holed up and make a plan. We’ll save the kids she’s taken, and find the base of operations she broadcasts from.”
Liz looked up at that. “What do you mean?”
Sam smiled. “You didn’t stick around long enough for that part. Apparently the Director has hardly left the doctor’s facility in the last four weeks. She’s managing everything from there. Which means those broadcasts she gives each day, they’re coming from the same place.”
“So that means…” Liz breathed.
Reaching into her pocket, Liz pulled out the pendrive Chris had handed her back at the university. Without access to a computer, they hadn’t been able to access the information, but if what the Professor had said was true, it contained everything they needed to prove the government was behind the Chead epidemic. Unfortunately, after the university massacre, even regular broadcasters had been shut down as part of the wartime restrictions. A constant stream of reruns and the government broadcasts were all that remained.
Sam saw the pendrive and nodded. “That’s right. Not only do we have a shot at her, we’ll have a chance to put things right, to give meaning to Chris and Ashley’s sacrifice.”
Liz carefully put the drive back in her pocket and looked at Sam. “You really think he can lead us to her?”
Sam shrugged. “We’ll soon find out. I’m going with them tonight, to bring back his family.”
“Why?” Liz asked with a frown.
Sam grinned back. “Thought it was my turn for a midnight escapade.”
Despite herself, Liz flushed. “I had to do something…” she murmured.
“Maybe,” Sam said. “But was beating up helpless conscripts really the best way of fighting back?”
“I only hurt the ones who put up a fight.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Sam replied. “But can you say the same thing for your other half?”
Liz shivered. She didn’t bother denying Sam’s words. It was a constant presence now, a force bubbling just below the surface of her consciousness. All it would take was one slip, one moment of weakness for it to break free, for the Chead to take over.
Clenching her fists, Liz took a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s under control.”
Sam eyed her a moment. “Good,” he said finally. “Keep it for the Director. I know I am.”
Silence fell over the room then as Liz drifted into her own thoughts, daydreaming about what was to come. Whether the doctor was telling the truth or not, Sam and whoever he went with him tonight was likely to face a fight. If the doctor had truly slipped away, they would be watching his family by now, waiting for him to return. No one just walked away from the government, not once they got their claws in.
She thought too about Sam’s plan, to use the Director’s own broadcast to tell the world the truth. Yet despite her words, she could find little hope in the thought. It would take all their resources just to infiltrate a government facility. Other than themselves, there were maybe ten fighters in their safehouse—disenfranchised men and women from across the city who were prepared to put their lives on the line to set things right. But while Harry had given them some training—and they had plenty of weaponry leftover from Mike’s stash—they were untested. They would never be able to hold the room long enough to make a broadcast.
No, whatever Sam said, she would be going in for one thing, and one thing only.
Revenge.
Chapter 7
Chris kept his gaze fixed straight ahead as they followed the Director down the dimly lit corridor. From beneath his visor, he counted the rows of iron bars, glimpsed the pale, desperate faces of those trapped inside the cells. They called out as the Director and her silent protectors passed by, begging for help, pleading their innocence. But their cries fell on deaf ears. The Director had no interest in her prisoners—only what they would become.
A group of doctors waited at the end of the corridor. The four of them stood in their white cloaks, hands in their pockets, and watched the Director’s approach. Beside them, a familiar steel trolley gleamed in the overhead lights. On its surface, an array of scalpels, syringes and vials lay wait
ing to be used.
“There is still no sign of Doctor Jones?” the Director asked as she joined the waiting men and women.
The doctors glanced at each other and then shook their heads. Chris caught the glint of anger in the Director’s eyes as she waved a hand. “No matter. If he thinks he can leave so easily, he’s a fool. He will be found.” She looked at the collection of instruments on the trolley and then back at the doctors. “Are we ready to proceed?”
Chris shivered. Glancing at Ashley, he tried to read what was going on beneath her visor, but the opaque glass revealed nothing of her expression. Even so, she no doubt knew as well as he did what was coming.
The doctors around the trolley glanced at each other before one stepped forward. Chris caught the glint of perspiration on his forehead as he addressed the Director.
“Yes, ma’am,” he hesitated, glancing back at others before continuing, “But…we are still not convinced this is the best way forward. The framework followed by Doctor Halt and Fallow…we believe it was integral to the success of the project.”
“The framework was used to filter out weaker candidates, correct?” the Director asked blankly.
The doctor nodded. “That is correct ma’am.”
“And what do you think will happen if an inferior candidate receives the virus?”
“Fallow’s notes…they mention only those with the strongest mental and physical constitutions will survive the change…intact.”
“The rest will die?” the Director pressed.
The man nodded. “That or…change.”
“No matter. The framework would kill them anyway. And what about the immuno…the immunoresponse?” Her tongue tripped over the last word, but the doctor wisely ignored it.
Instead, he nodded. “We believe from their notes that the doctors at the mountain facility had corrected the flaw in the virus, before…before they were attacked. This is the final strain they were working on. From what we can tell from its genetic structure, it should be undetectable to the host’s immune system.”
