by Aaron Hodges
Then he was amongst them, moving without thought, driven by an instinctive fury, his body little more than a blur to the eyes of the soldiers. Gripped in the thrall of his rage, Sam had held nothing back, and the men he struck did not get back up—body armour or not.
They had managed a few lucky blows—a knife to his hip and a bullet to his shoulder—but in the end, Sam had been the only one left standing.
Now, the hallway was still but for the low moans of those he’d left conscious. The guard whose leg he had just snapped was trying to crawl away, his pitiful cries echoing off the concrete walls.
“Oh, shut up,” Sam barked. Reaching down, he dragged the man back and knocked his head into the ground.
Lying back again, he sucked in another breath. Looking around, he could barely comprehend the wreckage of broken men he’d left behind him. There were almost two dozen men lying in the corridor. Most sported shattered legs or broken arms. The few he’d left conscious were in no condition to continue fighting—and he’d broken their guns anyway. More lay unconscious on the floor, dark bruises already swelling on their faces where he’d struck them.
And a few lay dead, their life blood pooling beneath them on the concrete floor.
Sam’s stomach swirled at the sight and he quickly looked away. Sucking in a breath, he shook his head. They had chosen their side. Working in a place like this, they could hardly claim ignorance.
As he breathed, he caught the whiff of a familiar scent. Turning his head, he frowned, sniffing the air again, sorting through the smells of blood and chlorine, seeking out the one he recognised. It was only the faintest trace, but somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel something respond to it.
Gathering himself, Sam struggled back to his feet. Was it the scent of the latest subjects? Of a new batch of winged humans like himself and the others? Had they already completed their transformation?
The thought of the conscripted teenagers locked in cells rekindled his anger, and he quickly set off down the corridor. He’d caught glimpses of white-coated doctors fleeing as he’d fought the guards, but there was no sign of them now. The corridors had been abandoned, leaving him alone to explore the secrets of Alcatraz.
Coming to a crossroads, he tasted the air, seeking out the direction of the scent, and then took the turn to his right. He made his way through the twisting corridors in silence. The squealing of the alarm had stopped now, but emergency lights still blinked at short intervals, staining the walls red. Each step sent fire burning through the gash in his hip, and he could feel the blood seeping from his other wounds. His left bicep throbbed and his arm hung limp at his side now.
Thankfully, he didn’t encounter any more guards as he continued through maze. Whoever was guarding the deeper sections of the facility had obviously fled elsewhere. No doubt the Director was making sure she had plenty of guns around to protect her from their intruder.
Finally, Sam turned a corner and found himself confronted by a heavy steel door inlaid with reinforcing bars, and knew he’d found the right place. He had expected guards to be stationed at the entrance to the cells, but if there’d been any, they had obviously already abandoned their post.
The door was closed, but he was starting to get the hang of the woman’s watch now, and after a few minutes of fiddling, the panel beside the door gave a loud beep. A second later the door swung open, its well-oiled hinges shifting without so much as a squeak.
Sam stepped towards the open door, and then staggered to a stop as a wave of putrid air struck him. He gagged and quickly covered his mouth with his shirt, though it did little to keep out the stink. Breathing through his mouth, he continued forward, already dreading what he would find on the other side. It certainly smelled nothing like the pleasant scent he’d followed to get there.
Inside, a smaller model of the prison block upstairs waited for him. Rows of cells stretched out to either side of the corridor, only single storey here, and only about twenty cells long. Inside, he glimpsed the same four-bunk-bed arrangement they’d had back in the Californian mountains.
Which meant the prison block could hold up to one hundred and sixty tortured souls.
Sam choked as he stared through the bars of the first cell. The two occupants had obviously once been human, but no longer. Strange lumps had erupted from their backs, a cruel imitation of his own wings. Their skin was an angry red, and long claws had sprouted from their fingertips. The familiar steel collars shone around their neck, but they were no longer needed. Both were dead. At the end, they hadn’t even been able to make it to the toilet in the back of their cage. The cell was a stinking mess of bodily fluids.
His stomach rebelling, Sam slowly backed away. A dull cry of utter horror whispered from his throat, but otherwise he had no words. Slowly, he stumbled further down the corridor, looking from cell to cell, seeking out someone, anyone who had survived. Most of the cells only held one or two occupants, though the unmade sheets on the bunks suggested there had once been four in each. It didn’t take much to guess the missing occupants hadn’t survived this far into the project.
When Sam was about halfway along the corridor, he staggered to a stop as he noticed a boy lying in one of the cells who showed no sign of mutation. Frowning, he moved closer. The boy lay on one of the bottom bunks, his eyes closed, unmoving. Yet Sam could see no injuries or deformation on his youthful body.
Leaning his head against the bar, Sam closed his eyes. What had killed this one?
Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His eyes snapped open as inside the cell, the boy sat up on the bed. Before Sam could react, the boy leapt. His hand shot through the bars and caught Sam by the shirt. With terrifying strength, he dragged Sam forward, a wild snarl on his lips.
Looking at his eyes, Sam recoiled as he saw the harsh grey of the Chead. Clasping his hands together, he brought them down on the boy’s elbows, and heard a crack as the joints snapped. Inside the cell the Chead screamed and released him, stumbling back from the bars. Staggering away from the cell, Sam looked around as the prison block came alive around him.
Most died during the change, he thought, watching as the grey eyed occupants threw themselves at the bars of their cells, and the others, the others succumbed to the madness.
His shoulders slumped as he thought of Ashley, of her quest to put right the wrong he had committed. He had sworn he would do everything he could to save these kids for her, but he had failed. Guilt swirled in his chest and dropping to his knees, he threw up the last remnants of his stomach onto the concrete floor.
“Sam?”
He was so preoccupied with vomiting, he didn’t hear the voice at first. Only when the voice called his name again did he pause. Shivering, he looked around.
Ashley stood at the bars of her cell, amber eyes wide, one hand over her mouth. Her familiar white wings stretched out to either side of her, glowing in the fluorescent lights, and her fiery red hair tumbled down around her shoulders.
“Sam,” Ashley repeated, her voice filled with disbelief.
“Ash?” Sam whispered, his heart pounding like a runaway train.
He stared at the ghost in the cell, unable to believe what he was seeing. How could it be true? Chris had sworn he would die before he was captured—Liz had told him so. And for Ashley, returning to captivity, to be used and abused again, would have been worse than death.
And yet there she stood, her pale skin aglow with life, the murderous collar locked around her elegant neck.
“You came,” Ashley breathed.
Chapter 25
Liz ducked back around the corner as bullets tore into the concrete wall where she’d just stood. Her two companions in espionage waited behind her, eyebrows raised. Maria clutched her handgun in both hands. She’d given the grenade belt to Mira to carry again, much to Liz’s chagrin.
“I’m pretty sure Sam’s behind the door at the end,” she said. When their doubtful looks didn’t change, she went on. “I’m not nuts. I can smell hi
m, I swear.”
Despite her words, she wasn’t as confident as she’d been when they’d started out. She’d followed the familiar scent through the winding corridors, keeping an eye out for guards and the facilities other occupants, but until now they had encountered no one.
Now she knew that was because they’d all been here. At the other end of the corridor were a dozen men, and unlike the ones they’d encountered outside the elevator, these ones were more than capable of fighting back. Several wore the blue uniforms of those they’d encountered in the corridor, but the rest sported sleek, tight-fitting blue uniforms with helmets that concealed their faces.
Unfortunately, if her sense of smell was correct, they had captured Sam and were holding him behind door at the end of the corridor.
Silently, she cursed Sam for rushing in without backup—never mind that she hadn’t been much better. If not for Maria’s insistence, she would have come alone as well. Glancing at the old woman now, she wondered again whether bringing her had been the right decision. Much as Liz enjoyed the old woman’s company, the real fighting was about to begin, and Liz couldn’t help but think of Chris again. He would be horrified to hear she’d let his grandmother go storming into battle.
“You should wait here, Maria,” she said softly, making one last attempt to protect the old woman, “This is going to get ugly.”
Maria only smiled. Turning, she took the belt from Mira. Unclipping a grenade, she offered it to Liz. “Use this one, my dear,” she said as she handed the belt back to Mira, “Then we’ll see who’s left.”
Liz swallowed as she took the heavy steel ball. This grenade had the more traditional shape, with a cross-pattern of grooves striping its circular surface. Taking a breath, she held down the safety lever and pulled the pin. Then she darted out into the corridor and hurled it with all her strength at the guards.
The guards were a good sixty feet away, and they managed to get off a couple of shots before Liz could retreat back to safety. She cursed as hot lead tore through her right wing, but took some satisfaction from the sight of the lead soldier’s head whipping back as the grenade struck him in the jaw. He staggered sideways as she disappeared into cover.
A panicked shout echoed down the corridor, followed by an ear-splitting boom. Liz closed her eyes as the ground shook beneath her feet and a wave of heat swept around the corner.
When the heat dissipated she stood and peered cautiously around the corner. She swallowed as she took in the destruction left by the explosion. While the men had been wearing body armour, it had been no match for grenade’s power. The leading guards had been cut to pieces by the flying shrapnel, and even some of those near the back of the group had been knocked off their feet.
But half were still standing, and were already starting to recover from the grenades repercussion wave. There was sixty feet of open space between them, and Liz didn’t waste another second. Leaping from cover, she sprinted down the corridor towards them.
The soldiers were shaking their heads, but several looked up and saw her coming. Still in shock, they hesitated, and in those few seconds Liz managed to reduce the gap to thirty feet.
Then they began to raise their rifles.
Cursing, Liz gritted her teeth and sprinted on. It was too late to retreat now. All she could do was pray they missed.
She flinched as the boom of gunshots echoed loudly in the corridor, and waited for the pain to follow. Instead, one guard went down, then another as bullets tore into their massed ranks.
Gaping, Liz risked a glance back. She blinked at the sight of Maria standing in the corridor, both hands clenched around the handgun as she emptied the clip into the soldiers. Pressed against the righthand wall, she had an easy shot over Liz’s shoulder into the grouped soldiers.
A second later her gun clicked as the clip emptied, and Maria vanished back behind cover.
Returning her attention to the soldiers, Liz counted two more on the ground, leaving four to deal with. Less than fifteen feet separated them now, and she closed on them before they could fire a single shot.
Slamming into the first man, she sent him hurtling backwards into his comrades. In the chaos that ensued, Liz made short work of the remaining men. The sleek uniformed guards proved no more a match for her than the rest.
Puffing lightly, Liz waved for the others to join her, then waited silently for them to make their way down the corridor. As Maria walked up, Liz grinned sheepishly.
“Thanks for your help,” she mumbled.
Maria smiled. “Only one clip left. We’d better make it count. You think he’s behind there?”
Liz sighed. “I honestly don’t know. I hope so.”
They stared at the door for a moment, wondering what was on the other side. Whoever was hiding behind the steel-panel door remained silent though, offering them no clue to what waited. Beside Liz, Mira said nothing, her multi-coloured eyes staring into empty space.
Liz’s heart twanged as she looked at the girl’s youthful face. Mira had seen far too much death and destruction for someone so young. Wandering over, she crouched in front of the girl and squeezed her shoulders.
“Hey, I want you to stay here and look after Maria, okay?” she whispered.
Blinking, Mira’s eyes flickered back into focus. Silently, she reached out and hugged Liz’s stomach. Liz smiled and returned the gesture, gently stroking the girl’s hair. Then she pulled away and nodded at Maria.
“I’ll go in first. That way if anything goes wrong, the two of you can bail me out.”
Maria snorted. The old woman’s eyes told Liz she wasn’t buying it. Even so, Maria nodded her consent after only a moment’s hesitation.
Liz let out a long breath. Squaring her shoulders, she faced the door. It was panelled steel, but so long as there were no reinforcing bars on the other side, it didn’t look thick enough to keep her out. Taking a step back, she sprang forward and slammed her foot into the door near the latch.
Just like upstairs, it gave way with a harsh shriek. She smiled as it swung inwards, and then leapt through, wings flared.
Chapter 26
“Cut the cameras,” the Director snapped.
A red emergency light flashed in the corner of the room. The Director strode across to the computer and picked up a radio, but Chris could barely tear his eyes away from the Texan.
Mike still sat in the wheelchair, arms straining against his bindings. Teeth clenched, tendons taught against his neck, he started to convulse. A low keening began in the back of his throat as the first traces of poison reached his vital organs.
Chris still held the jet-injector in one hand. Staring at the deadly thing, he shuddered and tossed it aside. Glass tinkled as the empty vial shattered on the concrete floor. Looking down at his hands, he backed across the room until he was pressed up against the wall. Closing his eyes, he shook his head, as though that would somehow take back what he’d done.
The alarm suddenly ceased, plunging the room into silence. Silence, except for Mike’s increasingly loud cries. Raised voices broke out as the camera crew started asking what was happening, but a scream from the Director cut them off.
Opening his eyes, Chris watched as the film crew fled through the door. On the other side of the room, Jonathan had backed up against the wall of camera equipment, and now stood staring at the exit as though expecting a bear to come charging through. At a wave from the Director, the guards took up positions around the door.
“I want every man we have in the lower levels at the transmission room, now!” the Director screamed into the radio and then slammed down the receiver. Looking around the room, her eyes settled on her guards. “Get out there and guard the door. Shoot anyone who comes down the corridor.”
The guards marched outside, the door swinging shut behind them with a harsh bang. The Director quickly strode across and swung the latch to lock it. Then she turned to face the room.
Mike was still moaning, but his cries were fading now, his head slumped forward in
the chair. He barely moved as the Director walked across and grabbed him by the hair. Lifting his head, she looked at his face, and then released him. Nodding to herself, she strode past.
“You did well, Christopher,” she murmured as she approached him.
Shuddering, Chris forced himself not to look away as she placed a hand on his chest. “What’s happening?” he whispered.
“Terrorists have infiltrated the facility,” she said. Her hand stroked his cheek. “Will you protect me, Christopher?”
Chris looked from her to Mike and swallowed. The Texan’s eyes were drooping, his breath growing shallow as he swayed in the chair. A moan built in Chris’s throat.
The Director’s hand trailed through his hair, drawing his gaze back to her. Staring into her hazel eyes, Chris’s will crumbled. Eyes shimmering, he nodded.
Smiling, the Director pushed him towards the door. “Then kill whoever comes through that door.”
With that she returned to the radio and began talking into the receiver again. As she spoke, she tapped at a computer keyboard beside the radio. The computer screen flickered, and from the corner of his eyes Chris glimpsed what appeared to be a live camera feed. But with the glare on the screen and his position by the door, he couldn’t make out any details.
Taking a breath, Chris looked at the steel-panelled door and squared his shoulders. He shivered, wondering who had the resources to attack them here. He had no idea where they were—he and Ashley had been kept unconscious after their capture—but this was the base of operations for the Director of Domestic Affairs, a well-guarded, top-secret facility. It would surely take a small army to storm the place. For a moment he wondered if Texas had sent troops to rescue Mike. If so, they were already too late.
Half an hour passed before the men stationed outside the door started shouting. The rattle of gunfire quickly ensued. Then a boom shook the floor beneath Chris’s feet. He staggered back as hot air swept under the crack beneath the door. More gunfire followed, and clenching his fists he took a step closer to the entrance. Whoever had come obviously meant business.
