Rebellion (The Praegressus Project Book 4)

by Aaron Hodges

  But with the wind howling around them, there was no time to ask Maria her opinion. Angling down, she searched for a place to land, and settled on the lighthouse. Standing several stories above ground with only one entrance, it would take time to storm if those below proved to be dangerous.

  Although it looked for all the world like the prisoners had somehow broken out of their cells.

  She scanned the walkway at the top of the lighthouse as she swooped down, but there was no sign of movement and she landed quickly, Mira just a wingbeat behind her.

  “Who were those people?” Maria shouted over the wind as she climbed down off Liz’s back.

  “They looked like inmates,” Liz shouted back.

  The old woman nodded. Turning she smiled at Mira, who promptly tossed her the grenade belt. Liz’s heart lurched in her chest as the explosives tumbled through the air, but Maria calmly reached out and caught them.

  Only when they were safely in hand did she raise an eyebrow at Mira. “Cheeky bugger.”

  Before Mira could reply, the distant whine of a siren carried across the island. Liz looked down as lights began to flash above the entrance to the prison.

  “What now?” Maria asked beside her.

  “You tell me,” Liz shot back, “You’re meant to be the brains, remember?”

  The old women nodded but did not reply. Liz sighed. All they had to go on was one word—Alcatraz. That was all the doctor had managed before the life had fled his broken body. Which meant from this point on, they were going in blind.

  “Let’s take a closer look at those prisoners,” Maria said finally.

  Liz nodded. The same thought had occurred to her, though she still couldn’t make heads or tails of what was going on. If the people they’d seen were really The Rock’s inmates, how had they escaped their cells? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Together, they took the stairs two at a time and rushed across the muddy field towards the prison. Liz looked around cautiously as she went, scanning the rooftops for guards. Ahead, the doors to the prison hung opening, beckoning them.

  When they were halfway across the muddy ground, the sound of gunshots froze the three of them in place. Ducking down, Liz swung around, seeking out the shooter. She glimpsed the last of the orange figures disappearing around the corner of the prison building, but otherwise there was no sign of movement. Whoever was shooting, they weren’t aiming at the three of them.

  They started out again, crossing the last few yards to the entrance. Moving inside, Liz scanned the room, still half-expecting bullets to come hissing out of the shadows. Instead, she found half a dozen guards piled against the far wall, their hands cuffed behind their backs and mouths stuffed with rags.

  What the hell is going on?

  Liz glanced at Maria and raised an eyebrow. But Chris’s grandmother had already crossed the room and was staring through a glass window into what looked to be a tiny guard booth.

  Two men and a woman stood on the other side of the glass staring back at them. It was obvious the group who’d just left had tried unsuccessfully to get to them. The steel door had taken a beating and cracks criss-crossed the window. Only the wire reinforcing had held it together.

  Joining Maria, Liz contemplated the door, and then gave it a solid kick near the handle. It slammed open with a shriek of tearing metal. The three people inside screamed and tried to climb over each other to get away. Stepping in, Liz grabbed the first one she could get her hands on and hauled him out.

  Tossing him to the floor, she tapped him with her foot. “What happened here?”

  The man blanked and swallowed, looking too terrified to speak.

  Liz crouched beside him. “I suggest you tell me,” she nodded in the direction the prisoners had taken, “Unless you want me to go fetch your friends out there.”

  “No…no,” he stuttered. Blinking, he looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. His eyes settled on her wings. “Your…friend, he’s already gone below.”

  “My friend?”

  “Yes, the boy, with the copper wings…the one from the television. I assume–”

  Liz hit him in the head before he could finish and he slumped to the ground unconscious. She’d heard enough.

  So, this was Sam’s doing. He was alive and already well ahead of them. But unlike her, Sam was alone. She shook her head at his hypocrisy.

  So much for not going off like Rambo, Sam.

  More red lights were flashing as they made their way into the prison block. Empty cells stared at them as they marched past. Liz clenched her fists as she saw the bunk beds inside, an all-too-vivid reminder of her own time behind bars. Taking a breath, she tried to banish the memory of being trapped and helpless, at the mercy of her captor’s whims.

  Ahead she could see the steel grate of an elevator, and guessed that was where Sam had gone. The government seemed to enjoy hiding things underground. Bracketed by Mira and Maria, she stepped up to the elevator and pressed the button. The engine whirred and she saw the cable inside begin to move, raising the cart back to their level. It took long minutes to arrive, and Liz didn’t waste any time pulling open the iron grate when it reached them.

  Stepping inside, she stabbed the basement button and looked at the others.

  “Sam’s here. How is Sam here?” she said as they lurched downward.

  Maria shook her head. “Had to have been the doctor’s wife. Somehow she must have found out where her husband worked. I wonder if Sam brought the men he went with. We could use the extra gunpower.”

  “I don’t think so.” Liz eyed the iron grate, watching the concrete scroll past. “A boat wouldn’t have made it in that storm, and he couldn’t have carried them all. Either way, it looks like the Director might be the one who’s outgunned.”

  Maria pursed her lips. “We’ll see.”

  At her words, the elevator dinged. Gathering herself, Liz yanked open the steel grate and leapt into the corridor outside.

  And froze.

  The corridor could have been a replica of the facility back in the Californian mountains, or the one below San Francisco for that matter. The stark white hallway stretched out ahead of them, lined on either side with steel doors.

  Only this corridor was littered with broken bodies. Blood and bullet holes splattered the white walls, and a distant chorus of moans and shrieks came from the fallen men. Some lay slumped against the walls, while others lay face down, their limbs bent at awkward angles. Most seemed to be alive, although a few lay deathly still, their faces drained of colour. None of them looked capable of fighting any longer.

  Liz swallowed hard. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. A cool breeze filtered down the corridor as the air ducts sucked up the humid air from the elevator shaft. It carried with it a strangely familiar aroma. She frowned, lifting her head, trying to recall the scent.

  Finally, Liz shook her head and started down the corridor.

  “Save some for me, Rambo.”

  Chapter 23

  Chris stood in silence as the guards wheeled Mike into the room. He had lost more weight in the last few days, and now his eyes were little more than dark pits in the purple and blue mess that was his face. He made no effort to look around as the wheelchair was parked in front of the cameras. Not that he had any chance of escaping. His arms and legs had been cuffed to his chair.

  Staring at the Texan, Chris tried and failed to feel sorry for the spy. After all, hadn’t it been Mike’s own carelessness that had gotten him—and ultimately Chris—caught? Wasn’t it his fault Chris now found himself standing there beside the Director, used and broken, all alone in the world?

  No, let the man make his confession and pay the price for his treachery. At least his torment was almost over. For Chris, there was no such hope.

  Taking a breath, Chris looked dispassionately around the room. The Director sat on a stool beside him, allowing a young woman to apply fresh makeup to her polished face. On her
other side, a familiar person was going over notes with her. Chris had glimpsed Jonathan several times while moving around the facility, but the two of them had never made contact.

  Chris could still recall his rage when he’d realised the man had betrayed them. Now though, he could only stare in silence at the man, unable to summon the will to care. For his own part, Jonathan treated Chris with studied indifference—though it would be difficult to recognise Chris with his steel helmet and visor.

  On the other side of the room, the camera-crew was busy setting up their equipment. Large cameras and an entire wall of computer equipment were needed to make the broadcast. The Director intended to send a signal to the whole world this time.

  The soldiers were busy making sure the breaks on Mike’s wheelchair were properly secured. Beside the prisoner, a steel tray carrying two vials of clear liquid and a jet-injector waited. Looking at the injector gun, an image flashed across Chris’s vision—of a boy, writhing on the floor, dying in agony. Chris quickly looked away again.

  In his chair, Mike’s eyes flickered as he slowly lifted his head. Blinking, he looked around the room, as though seeking out a friendly face amongst the crowd who had gathered to watch him die.

  “Christopher.” Chris’s head swung round as the Director called him.

  His heart started to race as she stood and waved away the makeup girl. Stepping around her chair, she drew to a stop in front of Chris and smiled. Reaching out, she tugged at his helmet. It clicked and came away. She carefully placed it on the bench beside her, then leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

  A low moan rattled up from Chris’s chest. An empty gulf opened in his stomach, but despite his shame, he kissed her back, struggling to blot out the memories of the night before.

  When the Director finally drew back, there was a smile on her lips. “Good boy,” she said softly. Reaching out, she stroked his cheek. “Keep an eye on our guest. We’re almost ready for the show.”

  At that she moved away, and Chris crossed the room to stand in front of Mike. The Texan stared up at him, the skin sagging from his cheekbones.

  “What has she done to you, Chris?” he mumbled.

  Chris looked away. He had no answer to that. He tensed as the door to the corridor clicked and swung open, but it was only one of the doctors arriving for duty. The man crossed the room and began to inspect the equipment on the tray.

  “Is everything in order, doctor?” the Director asked.

  The man nodded nervously, glancing at the Texan before turning back to the Director. “Before we begin…there’s been a new development with the subjects–”

  The Director waved a hand before he could finish, cutting him off. “Whatever it is, I’m sure your people are on top of it, doctor. Or did I place the wrong man in charge?”

  The man swallowed. He opened his mouth as though to object, and then apparently thought better of it. “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, “I’ve left…instructions for the day staff. They should be arriving shortly.”

  Watching the man, Chris wondered what exactly the problem could be. For half a second his thoughts turned to Ashley, locked in the cells with the other subjects, before his mind shut down the thought.

  She’s gone, he repeated the words in his head, Gone.

  “Excellent,” the Director clapped her hands and faced the room, “Shall we begin?”

  The men with the cameras quickly moved into position. Chris retreated to the far wall, putting himself out of sight of the camera. Folding his arms, he watched in silence, happy for once to be no more than a spectator to the coming horror.

  The man with the camera held up five fingers, and quickly counted down to zero.

  “My fellow citizens of the Western Allied States,” the Director began as a red bulb lit up on the camera, “It saddens me to come to you in such grave times, when the very future of our great nation is under threat. Beyond our borders, enemies conspire against us, working their vile plots to sow dissent and terror.”

  “And yet, their efforts have only brought us closer together. Their hatred has made us stronger. Long may we continue to see the WAS as one country, one nation united against the chaos of the independent states. Let the cowards of the Lone Star State conspire. Let them send their monsters, their spies, their soldiers. Together, we will send them all screaming back into the holes they crawled out of.”

  She paused, moving across the room until she stood beside Mike. The camera panned to follow her, revealing the broken man to the nation, and the world. Sagging in his chair, he looked up at the camera with red-stained eyes. His lips parted, as though to speak, but after a long moment he only bowed his head again.

  Smiling, the Director turned back to the camera. “As you know, this man is responsible for the attack on Independence Square. He appears before you today to give his final confession, before he faces justice,” at her words, she nodded to the guards behind the Texan.

  The men sprang into action, uncuffing Mike and lifting him unsteadily to his feet. He swayed between them, eyes lowered to the ground. For a moment, Chris thought he would resist, that his honour would shine through, and he would refuse to speak the confession the Director had given him. A spark of hope lit in Chris’s chest as he held his breath.

  “I did it,” the words were so soft, for a second Chris thought he had imagined them. Slowly the Texan lifted his head and looked into the camera, his eyes wet with tears. “I did it. I infected them, all those innocent people, I turned them into Chead. I used them to attack the noble widows of your veterans.”

  He closed his eyes as he finished, sagging in the arms of the guards. They lowered him back into the chair and refastened the handcuffs as the Director stepped up behind him.

  “Thank you, Michael,” she placed her hands on his shoulders and stared into the camera, “Your honesty has earned you mercy.”

  She nodded to the doctor. Stepping up beside her, he took one of the vials from the tray and inserted it into the rear of the jet injector. Then he moved behind Mike and looked at the Director, waiting for her command.

  Smiling, she only shook her head. “Not you,” she looked around, her eyes settling on Chris, “Christopher, come here.”

  Chris’s heart fell into his stomach as he looked from the Director to Mike. A shudder went through him, and somewhere in his mind a voice screamed, but his legs were already moving him across the room. Standing behind Mike’s chair, Chris reached for the jet-injector. The doctor handed it over without argument and retreated across the room, relief showing in his eyes.

  Heart pounding, Chris looked around the room, and realised for the first time he was exposed. As far as the world knew, he was a renegade, an escaped prisoner from a maximum-security facility, hell-bent on destroying the government. He looked across at the Director, mouth open, but she only smiled and stepped up beside him.

  “Christopher Sanders, who worked with this man to attack Independence Square, will carry out the sentence today. For the past few weeks, he has been working with us to put an end to his former comrades. This will be his final act of redemption.”

  Chris shuddered as the Director nodded to him. He could hardly breathe, hardly think. The jet-injector in his hand shook as he looked down at Mike. The Texan’s head was bowed, his neck exposed, waiting for the fatal injection. A moan hissed from Chris’s throat as he opened his mouth, his whole body tense as a coiled spring. In his hand, the injector gun gleamed in the overhead lights, the clear vial of liquid waiting to be released.

  Finally, Chris let out a long breath. He slowly lowered the injector gun until its steel tip pressed against Mike’s neck. The Texan flinched as the cold metal touched his skin. Then he seemed to relax, his shoulders slumping as he embraced his fate.

  “Do it, Chris,” Mike whispered.

  Closing his eyes, Chris squeezed the trigger.

  Then an alarm began to sound.

  Chapter 24

  Sam slumped against the wall as the last guard screamed and fell back, c
lutching his shattered kneecap. Gasping, Sam struggled to keep his feet, and failed. He slid slowly down the wall, leaving a trail of blood and copper feathers on the white-washed concrete. Stifling a groan, he closed his eyes, taking a moment to regather his strength. His wings hung heavy on either side of him, and it took an effort of will to re-tuck them behind his back.

  There had been more guards than he’d expected—definitely more than he could reasonably handle. Only the facility’s long corridors had proven the difference. Their narrow width meant only two guards could come at him at once, while those waiting behind couldn’t get a clear shot at him.

  Still, the long corridor had almost been his end when he’d first stepped from the elevator. A guard had been stationed some twenty feet away from the elevator doors, and with only open space between them, Sam had had to employ some creative flying to close the distance before the man could fire. Unfortunately, the guard was smarter than the ones Sam had encountered upstairs, He’d managed to slam his fist into an alarm panel on the wall before Sam could reach him.

  Things had only gone downhill from there.

  But Sam hadn’t been joking when he’d told Liz he was saving his anger for the Director. Ever since Liz and Jasmine had returned from the university alone, it had been bubbling beneath the surface, waiting for its chance. So, as the corridor began flashing with red lights and the alarm started to shriek, Sam gave his rage free rein.

  Reinforcements had been quick to arrive, tumbling from a door halfway down the corridor like lemmings racing to their deaths. Some wore the same uniform as the guards downstairs, others the green camouflage of the national army. Despite their awkward emergence, they formed up in seconds, lifting rifles to take aim.

  But Sam was already a step ahead of them. Picking up the man he’d downed, he charged. Gunshots cracked loudly in the narrow space, and he felt the thud of bullets as they struck the body he carried, tearing through the man’s body armour and into flesh. A few whizzed past overhead, but a few found their mark. Sam had almost fallen as a first bullet sliced his forearm like a hot knife through butter.