by Aaron Hodges
Retribution
Book 5 of the Praegressus Project
Aaron Hodges
Contents
Foreword
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Aaron Hodges
Written by Aaron Hodges
Proofread by Tee Ayer and Sara Houston
Cover Art by Christian Bentulan
The Praegressus Project
Book 1: Rebirth
Book 2: Renegades
Book 3: Retaliation
Book 4: Rebellion
Book 5: Retribution
The Sword of Light Trilogy
Book 1: Stormwielder
Book 2: Firestorm
Book 3: Soul Blade
Copyright © December 2017 Aaron Hodges.
First Edition
All rights reserved.
The National Library of New Zealand
ISBN-13: 978-0-9951056-1-4
Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor’s of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of office work and decided to quit his job and explore the world. During his travels he picked up an old draft of a novel he once wrote in High School – titled The Sword of Light – and began to rewrite the story. Six months later he published his first novel, Stormwielder. And the rest, as they say, is history.
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Good versus Evil is not a war.
It is a battle fought within each of us.
Every day.
Prologue
Sam groaned as he lowered himself into the chair beside the hospital bed. His body creaked, his bones grating as the pillows took his weight. The injuries he’d taken in Alcatraz were healing quickly, but even his genetically modified body couldn’t heal half a dozen bullet wounds in a week. At least he’d still been airborne though. The girls had just taken off to test Liz’s freshly healed wings—her first flight since they’d been crushed by falling concrete.
As for Chris…well, it was anyone’s guess whether he would ever fly again.
Sam’s face sagged as he looked at the bed. Chris’s chest rose and fell in smooth succession. His eyelids fluttered lightly, but he had yet to open his eyes. The bruises had almost faded from his face now, but the deeper wounds still lingered. Even now, a week since their prison break, Chris remained in a coma.
Liz had done her best to protect him. In the video that had been streamed across the globe, she had turned at the last moment and hurled herself across his body. It hadn’t been enough. As the rubble came crashing down on the two of them, a chunk of concrete had slammed into Chris’s head so hard it cracked his skull. The same block had only missed Liz by inches.
It was a miracle any of them had survived. Even Ashley, freed from her cell, would have been killed had it not been for Mira. The grenades she’d unleashed had engulfed the Director in a ball of flame, incinerating her control watch before it could detect her death. Only that had spared Ashley and Chris a long, agonising death, electrocuted by the collars fastened around their necks. Whether Mira had known that or not, they would never know now.
A tear trickled down Sam’s cheek. Angrily he wiped it away. Not for the first time, he cursed Liz for bringing the girl and Maria along. Alcatraz was no place for a young girl or an old woman—and both had paid for the mistake with their lives. Yet in his heart, he knew Liz hadn’t had a choice. There had been no refusing either of the two when they set their minds to something. And without poor, brave Jasmine, there’d been no one else for Liz to turn too.
Closing his eyes, Sam took a deep, shuddering breath. Richard, Jasmine, Mira. They had lost so much, so many friends, their family, their lives. When would it end?
He shook his head and let the breath he’d been holding. Standing again, Sam moved across to the window. They were in a small government building that had once been an embassy from some foreign nation. Parting the curtains, he peered out into the street. A crowd of protestors thronged the sidewalk, spilling out onto the road in places. A manicured hedge and tall cast-iron fence held them back for now, but it would do little to stop the protestors if they realised who was in the building.
Chris was a wanted man after what he’d done.
Following the Director’s accidental confession that her government were behind the Chead epidemic, all hell had broken loose. Most of the governing bodies in the Western Allied States had collapsed overnight as the rural refugees thronging the streets of the capital unleashed two decades of pent-up rage.
With the foundations of their nation undermined, a few officials had gathered the remnants of the police force and tried to restore order, but their best efforts had been in vain. It hadn’t taken long for open war to break out on the streets of San Francisco.
Urban citizens, terrified for their safety, locked themselves away in their houses and apartments. But day by day, more rural refugees had poured into the city, dislodged by the hordes of Chead ravaging the countryside. As the last of the emergency services collapsed, the rioters had turned on their urban neighbours. For those who’d suffered so long under the terror of the Chead, it was impossible to believe these people in their fancy cities hadn’t been involved in the conspiracy.
And so had begun the bloodiest week in American history.
Outside, a few of the protestors were starting to stir, and Sam quickly drew back from the window. Despite his efforts in Alcatraz, Sam was quite sure he remained at the top of the public hit list. After all, he had stood beside the President all those weeks ago, offering his silent endorsement.
The President himself had been the first to flee. The man was no idiot—he’d been long gone by the time the rioters reached Parliament House. Where, no one knew, but it wouldn’t be long before they tracked him down. With civilisation itself on the brink of collapse, there weren’t many places left to hide.
A hinge creaked, and Sam turned in time to see Harry push open the door. His crutches tapped on the linoleum floor as he shuffled across the room. A bandage had been wrapped around his right leg from ankle to knee. Unbeknownst to Sam, the old veteran had survived the massacre at the safehouse. The government had taken him before the dawn, shipping him off to a medical cell in Alcatraz.
Luckily for Harry, Sam’
s prison break had freed him before the Director had had a chance to question him.
“Sam.” The old man smiled as he waddled around the bed and took Sam’s seat. “How is he?”
“Still no change,” Sam replied. Adjusting the radio on his belt, he moved across to Chris’s bed. “The doctor says the swelling has gone down, but she’s not sure how much lasting damage the impact might have caused.”
“Perhaps he won’t wake up,” Harry said with a sigh. “It might be for the best. It would make my job easier.”
Sam grimaced, but he was too exhausted to argue. Harry may have fought in the American War, but he’d never experienced the trials Sam and the others been through. Harry couldn’t understand the power Doctor Halt and the Director had wielded over those in their thrall.
Still, even Sam was still struggling to reconcile what Chris had done.
Out loud, he said, “Your little council still hasn’t decided what to do with him?”
Since being freed from Alcatraz, Harry had managed to reconnect with the survivors of the Mad Women. Along with several other political prisoners he’d met among the inmates at Alcatraz, he had established a shadow government of sorts here in the embassy. Though his council held no ‘official’ power, they’d managed to talk with a few of the refugee leaders, along with some of the city’s more influential residents. And they’d gathered the remnants of the police force, restoring order to at least a few city blocks.
Harry shook his head. “There are larger issues at hand. We will deal with him when he wakes.”
“No doubt,” Sam mused. “What about the President? Any word on his location?”
Leaning back in his chair, Harry eyed him closely. “We think we’ve narrowed it down to a few possibilities. He could be in San Diego, at the Naval Base there. Or Oregon. Or Albuquerque. Don’t worry, he can’t hide from us forever.”
“And the reinforcements? Has there been any progress with Texas and Mexico?” Sam pressed. He knew Harry had managed to reach out to a few of Mike’s old contacts in Texas at least.
“Those are details I cannot go sharing with just anyone, Samuel,” Harry replied wearily.
Sam smiled. “But you’ll tell me, won’t you?”
Harry laughed. “Your assistance at Alcatraz will only get you so far, my friend.”
“Assistance?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “I’d call that a little bit more than just ‘assistance’.”
The old veteran rolled his eyes. “You are persistent, aren’t you?” A pained look crossed his face as he stretched his injured leg. “Very well. They’re mobilising their forces, but these things take time. The first peacekeepers will reach San Diego and Albuquerque in a few days.”
“You think we can trust them?” Sam asked.
Harry spread his hands. “There’s not much else we can do.” His gaze travelled to the window. The protesters were beginning their first chants of the morning. “Our police are outnumbered. The army is in tatters, divided between three wayward Generals. We’re doing our best, but water, electricity, gas, they’re all just one bad day from shutting off. We need their help. If they decide not to leave…well, we’ll deal with that if it comes to it.”
Sam nodded. Before he could reply, a movement on the bed drew his attention. Chris still lay motionless beneath the white sheets. The machines beside his bed continued their rhythmic beeping, and for a second he thought he’d imagined it. He was about to look away when Chris’s toe twitched. Then a finger. A sharp beep came from the machine as his heartbeat spiked.
Sam shared a glance with Harry. Then he reached for his radio.
Chapter 1
Liz closed her eyes as the ground fell away, the powerful beat of her wings sending her soaring upwards. Relief swept through her as the winds pushed her higher. Stretching her wings to their full extent, she drank in the freedom of flight, in the release of gravity’s relentless pull. Gliding through the sky, far above the chaos below, she almost felt free, as though she could leave behind her awful past, and soar into a new future.
If only it were truly so easy. But somewhere below, reality waited, a truth that would not be denied. The radio weighed heavily on her belt, a constant reminder of the darkness waiting for her back at the embassy.
Wind tugged at her hair and rustled in her feathers, racing around her, cutting off all sound of the city below, stealing away the harsh scent of gasoline and humanity. She shivered as it sliced through her thin black top, but with the summer sun beating down on her back, it was almost a relief. Her full-sleeved blouse and jeans were insufferable in the Californian heat, and the gloves only made things worse. Unfortunately, they were necessary to protect others from her deadly touch.
Looking down, Liz watched the skyscrapers flash past. Green trees dotted the streets, their branches swaying in the breeze, but there were only a few cars outside. They crept through the rolling hills like ants, eager to avoid detection. The day was clear, and looking out over the harbour, Liz could see Alcatraz rearing up from the white-capped waters.
She shuddered at the sight and quickly averted her gaze. In the week since their final confrontation with the Director, Liz had barely left her bed. For the first few days, sharp pains had wracked her wings with even the tiniest movement. They had taken the brunt of the explosion, as she’d spun and thrown herself over Chris. She couldn’t remember anything after that—at least not until Sam and Ashley had dug her out of the rubble that had come crashing down on them.
The others had tried to keep her company while she healed, but Chris also needed watching, and for long hours she’d been left alone to stew in her thoughts. In her grief, and pain.
Chris…
The air racing past her face whipped away the tears beading in her eyes. She could still feel the shock of stepping through the broken door and finding him standing there. For weeks she’d thought him dead—then suddenly he’d been there in front of her, alive, whole. In that one moment, all her hopes and dreams had come rushing back.
Only to be torn to pieces an instant later.
Liz shivered as she recalled the video of Mike’s execution, remembering the chill that spread down her back as Chris had stepped up and pressed the deadly jet-injector to the Texan’s neck. A moan built in her throat, and a desperate yearning filled her, to twist in the air and race back to Chris’s bed, to grab him by the shirt and shake him until he woke.
She needed an explanation, a reason for all of it. It was as though some part of her was still waiting for Chris to wake, to tell her none of it had been real, that he hadn’t really done the things she’d seen.
That he loved her.
A crack of wings came from alongside Liz, and looking across, she watched as Ashley drifted into formation. She smiled as her friend’s broad white wings struck the air, sending her spiralling ahead, red hair whirling.
Ashely had recovered well in the last week. Proper food and sleep had put some of the lost weight back on her skeletal frame. Fresh down had already sprouted where her wings had been moulting, and the life had returned to her amber eyes. There was a joy to her now, a freedom in the way she moved. But there was also grief, long silences in which she would stare off into the distance, remembering some lost moment in time.
Ahead, the Golden Gate bridge loomed, its red pillars stretching up from the harbour, beckoning. Angling her wings, Liz turned towards it, aiming for the pillar furthest from the city. As she dropped down, her wings beat faster, sending air whirling around her, slowing her descent. She eyed the red beam cautiously, but with clear skies and warm nights its surface was dry, and she landed easily. Folding her wings, she turned and watched as Ashley followed her down.
Turning, Liz sat on the edge of the beam and hung her feet out over the seven-hundred-foot drop. She watched the sporadic cars rumbling across the bridge as Ashley lowered herself down beside her. Then without warning, Ashley embraced her. Liz was so taken by surprise, she almost toppled from the ledge. Only her firm grip on the girder held her in pla
ce.
When she recovered from her shock, Liz managed half a laugh and hugged Ashley back. Finally, they disentangled themselves and Liz eyed her friend. “What was that for?”
Ashley smiled. “Because you’re here,” she sighed, her eyes creeping inexorably out towards Alcatraz. “Because for the first time since they took me, I feel like I’m really free.”
Liz’s heart clenched. Reaching out, she squeezed Ashley’s shoulder. “I’m glad, Ash,” she whispered.
Silently, Ashley wiped an unspilt tear from her eye. “I just wish the others were here to enjoy it with us,” she croaked, the howling wind stealing away her words.
Liz shuddered and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Images flashed through her mind—Richard, collapsing beneath a hail of gunfire…Jasmine, the light slowly fading from her eyes…and poor, sweet, Mira, engulfed by the blossoming flames. Her grip on the girder tightened until her arms shook with the effort.
It was a long time before Liz found the strength to speak again. “Jasmine…she missed you,” she said. “She told me…she hated how she never put things right with you.”
Ashley’s eyes were distant. “I miss her too,” she murmured. “We never should have let them drive a wedge between us. We were all forced to do despicable things, but they will never define us.”
