by Aaron Hodges
Chris moved after her and pulled out a chair at the wooden table. The kitchen was small, barely big enough for the two of them, but it was all they needed. His mother was already standing at the stove, stirring a pot of stew he recognised as leftovers from the beef shanks of the night before.
“Most don’t seem to care, as long as the attacks are confined to the countryside,” Chris commented.
“Exactly.” His mother turned, emphatically waving the wooden spoon. “They think it doesn’t matter, that our wealth will protect us. Well, it won’t stay that way forever.”
“No.” Chris shook his head. “That one in Seattle…” he shuddered. Over fifty people had been killed by a single Chead in a shopping mall. Police had arrived within ten minutes, but that was all the time it had needed.
Impulsively, he reached up and felt the pocket watch he wore around his neck. His mother had given it to him ten years ago, at his father’s funeral. It held a picture of his parents, smiling on the shore of Lake Washington in Seattle, where they had met. His heart gave a painful throb as he thought of the terror engulfing the city.
Noticing the gesture, his mother abandoned the pot and pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay, Chris. We’ll survive this. We’re a strong people. They’ll come up with a solution, even if we have to march up to parliament’s gates and demand it.”
Chris nodded and was about to speak when a crash came from somewhere in the house. They pushed apart and spun towards the kitchen doorway. Though they lived in the city, when Chris’s father had passed away they had been forced to move closer to the city’s edge. It was not the safest neighbourhood, and it was well past the seven o’clock curfew now. Whoever, or whatever, had made the noise was not likely to be friendly.
Sucking in a breath, Chris moved into the doorway and risked a glance into the lounge. The single incandescent bulb cast shadows across the room, leaving dark patches behind the couch and television. He stared hard into the darkness, searching for sign of movement, and then retreated to the kitchen.
Silently, his mother handed him a kitchen knife. He took it after only a second’s hesitation. She held a second blade in a practiced grip. Looking at her face, Chris swallowed hard. Her eyes were hard, her brow creased in a scowl, but he did not miss the fear there. Together they faced the door, and waited.
The squeak of the loose floorboard in the hall sounded as loud as a gunshot in the silent house. Chris glanced at his mother, and she nodded back. There was no doubt now.
A crash came from the lounge, then the thud of heavy boots as the intruder gave up all pretence of stealth. Chris tensed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the knife handle. He spread his feet into a forward stance, readying himself.
The crack of breaking glass came from their right as the kitchen window exploded inwards, and a black-suited figure tumbled into the room. The man bowled into his mother, sending her tumbling to the ground before she could swing the knife. Chris sprang to the side as another man charged through the doorway to the lounge, then drew back and hurled the knife.
Without pausing to see whether the knife struck home, Chris twisted and leapt, driving his shoulder into the midriff of the intruder standing over his mother. But the man was ready for him, and with his greater bulk brushed Chris off with little effort. Stumbling sideways, Chris clenched his fists and charged again.
The man grinned, raising his arms to catch him. With his attention diverted, Chris’s mother rose up behind him, knife still in hand, and drove the blade deep into the attacker’s hamstring.
Their black-garbed attacker barely had time to scream before Chris’s fist slammed into his windpipe His face paled and his hands went to his neck. He staggered backwards, strangled noises gurgling from his throat, and toppled over the kitchen table.
Chris offered his mother a hand, but before she could take it a creak came from the floorboards behind him. The man from the lounge loomed up, grabbing Chris by the shoulder before he could leap to safety. Still on the ground, his mother rolled away as Chris twisted around, fighting to break the man’s hold. Cursing, he aimed an elbow at the man’s gut, but his arm struck solid body armour and bounced off.
That explains the knife, the thought raced through his mind, before another crash from the window chased it away.
Beside him, his mother surged to her feet as a third man came through the window. Still holding the bloodied knife, she screamed and charged the man. Straining his arms, Chris bucked against his captor’s grip, but there was no breaking the man’s iron hold. Stomach clenched, he watched his mother attack the heavily-armed assailant.
The fresh intruder carried a long steel baton in one hand, and as she swung her knife it flashed out and caught her wrist. His mother screamed and dropped the knife, then retreated across the room cradling her arm. A fourth man appeared through the door to the lounge. Before Chris could shout a warning, he grabbed her from behind.
His mother shrieked and threw back her head, trying to catch the man in the chin, but her blows bounced off his body armour. Her eyes widened as his arm went around her neck, cutting off her breath. Heart hammering in his chest, Chris twisted and kicked at his opponent’s shins, desperate to aid his mother, but the man showed no sign of relenting.
“Mum!” He screamed as her eyes drooped closed.
“Fallow, situation under control. You’re up.” The man from the window spoke into his cuff. He moved across to his fallen comrade, whose face was turning purple. “Hold on, soldier. Medical’s on its way.”
“Who are you?” Chris gasped.
The man ignored him. Instead, he went to work on the fallen man. Removing his belt, he bound it around the man’s leg. The injured man groaned as the speaker worked, his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. A pang of guilt touched Chris, but he crushed it down.
“What the hell happened?” Chris looked up as a woman appeared in the doorway.
The woman was dark-skinned, but the colour rapidly fled her face as her gaze swept over the kitchen. She raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes lingering on the blood, then flicking between the men and their captives. Shock showed in their amber depths, but already it was fading as she reasserted control. Lowering her hand to her side, she pursed her red lips. Her gaze settled on Chris.
A chill went through Chris as he noticed the red emblazoned bear on the front of her black jacket. The symbol marked her as a government employee. These were not random thugs in the night – they were police, and they were here for Chris and his mother.
Taking a breath, the woman nodded to herself, then reached inside her jacket and drew something into the light. The breath went from Chris’s chest as he glimpsed the steel contraption in her hand. For a second he thought it was a pistol, but as she drew closer he realised his mistake. It was some sort of hypodermic gun, some medical contraption he had seen in movies, though in real life it looked far more threatening, more deadly.
“Who are you?” Chris croaked as she paused in front of him.
Her eyes drifted to Chris’s face, but she only shook her head and looked away. She studied the liquid in the vial attached to the gun’s barrel, then at Chris, as though weighing him up.
“Hold him,” she said at last.
“What?” Chris gasped as his captor’s hands pulled his arms behind his back. “What are you doing? Please, you’re making some mistake, we haven’t done anything wrong!”
The woman did not answer as she raised the gun to his neck. Chris struggled to move, but the man only pulled his arms harder, sending a bolt of pain through his shoulders. Biting back a scream, Chris looked up at the woman. Their eyes met, and he thought he saw a flicker of regret in the woman’s eyes.
Then the cold steel of the hypodermic gun touched his neck, followed by a hiss of gas as she pressed the trigger. Metal pinched at Chris’s neck for a second, before the woman stepped back. Holding his breath, Chris stared at the woman, his eyes never leaving hers.
Within seconds the first touch of weariness began
to seep through Chris’s body. He blinked as shadows spread around the edges of his vision. Idly, he struggled to free his arms, so he might chase the shadows away. But the man still held him fast. Sucking in a mouthful of air, Chris fought against the exhaustion. Blinking hard, he stared at the woman, willing himself to resist the pull of sleep.
But there was no stopping the warmth spreading through his limbs. His head bobbed and his arms went limp, until the only thing keeping him upright was the strength of his captor.
The woman’s face was the last thing Chris saw as he slipped into the darkness.
3
Liz shivered as the air conditioner whirred, sending a blast of icy air in her direction. Wrapping her arms around herself, she closed her eyes and waited for it to pass. The scent of chlorine drifted on the air, its chemical reek setting her head to pounding. Her teeth chattered and she shuddered as the whir of fans died away. Groaning, Liz opened her eyes and returned to studying her surroundings.
Ten minutes ago, she had woke in this thirty-foot room, enclosed by the plain, unadorned concrete walls and floor. A door stood on the opposite wall, a small glass panel revealing a bright hallway beyond. It offered the only escape from the little room, but it might as well have been half a world away. Between Liz and the door stood the wire mesh of her little steel cage.
Shaking, she gripped the wire tight in her fingers and placed her head against it. Silently, she searched the vaults of her memories, struggling to find a cause for her current predicament. But she had no memory of how she had come to be there, lying shivering on the concrete floor of a cage.
She cursed as the blast of the air conditioner returned. Her thin clothes were little better than rags, fine in the warm Californian climate, but completely inadequate for the freezing temperatures the central heating system had apparently been set too. To make matters worse, her boots were gone, along with the blade she kept tucked inside them. Without it she felt naked, exposed inside the tiny cage.
At least I’m not alone, she thought wryly, looking through the wire into the cage beside her.
A young man somewhere around her own eighteen years lay there, still dozing on the concrete floor. His clothes were better kept than her own, though there was a bloodstain on one sleeve. From the quality of the shirt he wore, she guessed he was from the city. His short-cropped brown hair and white skin only served to confirm her suspicions.
With a low groan, the boy began to stir. Idly, she wondered what he would make of the nightmare he was about to awake too.
Liz shivered, not from the cold now, but dread. She cast her eyes around the room one last time, desperate for something, anything, that might offer escape. As a child, her parents had often warned her of what happened to those who drew the government’s ire. Though they were never reported, disappearances had been common in her village. Adults, children, even entire families were known to simply disappear overnight. Though few were brave enough to voice their suspicions out loud, everyone knew who had taken them.
It seemed that after two years on the run, those same people had finally caught up with Liz.
The clang of the door as it opened tore Liz from her musings. Looking up, she saw two men push their way past the heavy steel door. They wore matching uniforms of black pants and green shirts, along with the gold-and-red embossed badges of bears that marked them as soldiers. Both carried a rifle slung over one shoulder, and moved with the casual ease of professional killers.
Liz straightened as the men’s eyes drifted over to her cage, refusing to show her fear. Even so, she had to suppress a shudder as wide grins split their faces. Scowling, she crossed her arms and stared them down.
“Feisty one, ain’t she?” the first said in a strong Californian accent. Shaking his head, he moved past the cages to a panel in the wall.
“Looks like the boy’s still asleep,” the other commented as he joined the first. “Gonna be a nasty wake-up call.”
Together, they pulled open the panel and retrieved a hose. Thick nylon strings encased the outer layer of the hose, and a large steel nozzle was fitted to its end. Dragging it across the room, they pointed it at the sleeping boy and flipped a lever on the nozzle.
Water gushed from the hose and through the wire of the cage to engulf the unconscious young man. A blood-curdling scream echoed off the walls as he seemed to levitate off the floor, and began to thrash against the torrent of water.
Liz bit back laughter as another scream came, half gurgled by the water. The men with the hose showed no such restraint, and their laughter rang through the room. They ignored the young man’s strangled cries, holding the water steady until it seemed he could not help but drown in the torrent.
When they finally shut off the water, the boy collapsed to the floor of his cage, gasping for breath. He shuddered, spitting up water, but the men were already moving towards Liz, and she had no more time to consider his predicament.
She raised her hands as the men stopped in front of her cage. “No need for that, boys. I’m already clean, see?” She did a little turn, her cheeks warming as she sensed their eyes on her again.
The men chuckled, but shook their heads. “Sorry girl, boss’s orders.”
They pulled the lever before Liz could offer any further argument.
Liz gave a strangled shriek as the ice-cold water drove her back against the wire of the cage. She lifted her hands in front of her face, fighting to hold back the water, but it made little difference against the rush. Gasping, she choked as water flooded her throat, and sank to her knees. An icy hand gripped her chest as she inhaled again, turning her back to protect her face. The power of the water forced her up against the wire, and she gripped it hard with her fingers, struggling to hold herself upright.
When the torrent finally ceased, Liz found herself crouched on the ground with her back to the men. She did not turn as a coughing fit shook her body. An awful cold seeped through her bones as she struggled for breath. Water filled her ears and nose, muffling the words of the men until she shook her head to clear it.
Tightened her hold on the wire, Liz used it to pull herself to her feet. Head down, she gave a final cough and faced the room.
The men were already returning the hose to its panel in the wall. They spoke quietly to themselves, but fell silent as the hinges of the door squeaked again. Liz looked up as a group of men and woman entered the room. There were five in total, three men and two women, and each wore a white lab coat with black pants. Four of them carried electronic tablets, their heads bent over the little screens, while the fifth approached the guards. They straightened as he drew up in front of them, their grins fading.
“Are our latest subjects ready for processing?” the man asked, his voice cool.
One of the guards nodded. “Yes, Doctor Halt. We’ve just finished hosing them down.”
A smile twitched at Halt’s lips. “Very good,” he dismissed the men with a flick of his hand and turned to face the cages.
Pursing his thin lips, Halt moved closer, pacing around Liz’s cage in a slow circle. His eyes did not leave her as he moved, and eventually she was forced to look away. He moved like a predator, his grey eyes studying her like prey, eyeing up which piece of flesh to taste first. Wrapping her arms around herself, Liz fixed her eyes to the concrete and tried to ignore him.
When Liz looked up again, Halt had moved on to studying the young man in the other cage. But her fellow captive was ignoring him. Instead, he stared at the group of doctors, his brow creased with confusion, as though struggling to recall a distant memory.
“You!” the boy shouted suddenly, slamming his hands against the wire. “You were at my house! What am I doing here? What have you done with my mother?” His last words came out as a shriek.
Halt glanced back at the group of doctors. “Doctor Fallow, would you care to explain why the subject knows your face?”
The woman at the head of the group turned beet red. Biting her lip, she replied. “There were complications during his
extraction, Halt,” her voice came out soft, but Liz sensed her defiance behind them. “I had to enter before the subject was unconscious, or we risked casualties amongst the extraction team.”
Halt eyed her for a moment, apparently weighing up her words before he nodded. “Very well.” He turned back to the cages. “No matter. Elizabeth Flores, Christopher Sanders, welcome to the Praegressus Facility.”
Cold fingers gripped Liz by the throat, silencing her voice. They knew her last name. That meant they knew who she was, where she came from. The last trickle of hope slipped from her heart. It was no mistake she had found herself here.
Christopher was not so easily quelled. “What am I doing here? You can’t hold us like his, I know my rights–”
Halt raised a hand and her neighbour fell silent. Moving across, Halt stood outside Christopher’s cage and stared through the wire. “Your mother has been charged with treason.”
Colour fled the boy’s face, turning his white skin a sickly yellow. He swallowed and opened his mouth, but no words came out. Tears crystallised at the corner of his eyes, but he blinked them back before they could fall.
Biting her tongue, Liz watched the two stare at one another. She was impressed by Christopher’s resilience. He might speak with an urban accent, but it seemed he possessed more courage than half the boys she’d once known in her boarding school. If his mother had been convicted of treason, it meant death for her and her immediate family. A pass was given for the elderly, but there was no such exception for children…
Swallowing, Liz eyed the group still lingering behind Halt. If that was the reason Christopher was here, she didn’t like her chances. She had always guessed the authorities might come after her and had done her best to avoid detection. With cameras on every street corner, she had been forced to keep to the countryside she knew so well. Even then, she had always known it would only be a matter of time before someone found her.
Even so, she wanted to find out how much they really knew about her.
