by Aaron Hodges
Chris paused, a distant thought tugging at his memories. Before he could catch it, it faded into the darkness. He looked across at Liz, eyes questioning, but she had fallen silent. He clenched his fists, feeling a wrongness about himself, but unable to trace its source.
Shaking his head, Chris pushed the last of the fever dreams from his mind and rolled out of the bed onto his feet. To his shock, the weight came with him, pushing him forward. Off-balance, he crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and feathers.
“Chris?” Liz’s voice shook.
Head spinning, Chris looked up from the floor, unable to understand what had happened. Confused, he pulled himself up, but the weight still clung to his back. Only sheer determination kept him from toppling over again. Looking at Liz, he froze at the look on her face.
Liz sat half-crouched on the bed, eyes wide. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Her arm shook as she raised it and pointed. Shivering, he looked back, fear of the unknown rippling down his spine. But his bed was empty, the feather blanket trailing out behind him.
Chris blinked, started to turn back towards Liz, then paused. He blinked again, staring at the tawny brown feathers of his blanket. There was something wrong about the way they hung between himself and the bed, something not quite right.
Stretching out a hand, Chris tried to dislodge the blanket from his shoulders. He flinched as his hand brushed against something unexpected, something hard beneath the blanket. Withdrawing his hand, he looked at Liz, but she only sat in silent shock, her mouth still agape.
Holding his breath, Chris reached behind his neck and ran a hand down his spine.
He found the growths where they had been before, midway down his back. But they had grown now, changed, becoming long shafts that stretched out beyond his reach. A soft down of feathers covered their length, sprouting from his flesh as though they had every right to be there.
Wings.
His mind spun. He shook his head, refusing to face the truth, though they lay stretched out before his eyes. He trembled, and watched the shiver run down the wings, the tawny brown feathers quivering in the cool air.
He turned as a muffled sob came from the other bed. Liz had struggled to her feet, revealing the long black wings hanging from her back. They stretched out either side of her, each at least ten feet long, the large black feathers tangling with the sheets on the bed. Where the feathers bent, Chris glimpsed soft white down beneath, small feathers curled in upon themselves, gripping close to her flesh. The feathers shone in the overhead lights, seeming almost aflame, as though Liz was some avenging angel descended from heaven.
Wings.
Warmth spread through Chris’s chest to mingle with the horror. A profound confusion gripped him; a disgust at this fresh violation, the further loss of his humanity – but also wonder, an awe for the trembling new limbs on his back.
Wings.
He looked at Liz. Her eyes were wide, glistening with tears. Her lips trembled as a shudder ran through her body. Through her wings.
For the first time he realised they were both naked. Strangely, that no longer seemed to matter. After all they had suffered, all that had been done to them, Chris’s body hardly felt like his own. He felt apart from it now, separated from his nakedness.
A tear spilt down Liz’s cheek, and he knew the same thoughts were filling her mind. He stepped across, struggling for balance, and drew her to him. He shivered as her arms went around his waist and her head leaned back, drawing him in.
A fire ignited in Chris’s chest as their lips met. His hands slid up into her hair as her tongue darted out, sliding between his lips. The taste of her filled his mouth, and the intoxicating scent of her hair toyed with his nostrils.
After a long minute, Liz pulled back. Raising a hand to her face, she wiped away her tears. Turning, she looked at her wings, her lips twisting in thought. They hung limply from her back, feathers quivering, and he knew what she was thinking.
Sucking in a breath, Liz closed her eyes. Her face tightened, the muscles of her jaw deepening. Her brow creased, and behind her the black-feathered wings gave a twitch. Then they began to shake, lifting slightly and half opened. There they paused, as though lacking the strength for more.
Liz bit her lip, her eyes still closed, and persisted.
And bit by bit, her wings spread, until they seemed to fill the cell. Combined, they stretched more than twenty feet wide, twice the length of the beds, so that their tips poked out through the bars into the corridor.
Twenty feet of jet-black feathers, of curly white down, of a majestic, undefinable magic.
When Liz opened her eyes again, Chris saw the wonder there, the fear falling away before it.
At a nod from her, he shut his own eyes and sought to do the same. Reaching down into the depths of his consciousness, he followed the tingle that came from his back, from the newfound limbs hanging across his bed. As he concentrated, the tingle spread along his spine. The hairs stood up on his neck as new connections formed within his mind, as neurons flared into life, recognising the presence of new muscles and bone and flesh.
A tremor went through the weight on his back. There was a wrongness to that weight, an awkward presence to it, like clothes that did not quite fit. But opening his mind, he sought to accept it, to embrace it.
At last, Chris opened his eyes. A sharp crack tore the air as his wings snapped open, unfurling to fill the room. Feathers as long as his forearm brushed against the far wall, touched the bars of the cell, and he felt it, sensed the pressure against his feathers.
Turning, he grinned at Liz, unable to keep the wonder from his face. She grinned, laughed, opened her arms to embrace him.
Then with a deafening shriek, an alarm began to sound.
29
Angela strode around the corner and started towards the wide iron door at the end of the corridor. Heavy locking bars stretched across the dull metal, and a guard stood to either side, watching her approach. Each held a heavy rifle and wore the familiar trigger watches on their wrists. With a flick of their fingers, the men could activate any collar in their immediate vicinity, incapacitating any threat the prisoners within might pose.
Or at least, that was the idea.
Today, the watches had been reduced to worthless pieces of steel and glass. Just ten minutes before, Angela had entered her code to deactivate all the collars inside the facility. Halt, in his arrogance, had thought her cowed by his violence.
Instead, Angela had resolved to act.
Left alone in the padded room, fading in and out of consciousness, Angela had finally seen the true futility of her research. It had never been about a cure, or a weapon to fight the Chead. It had always been about this, this need for power, for a weapon against their enemies.
And Angela knew, threats or no, she could not allow the Praegressus project to continue.
Climbing to her feet, the weight of regret heavy on her shoulders, Angela had settled on a new path.
Now the time had come to act, and she knew she could not hesitate.
Ahead, the guards pulled back the heavy bolts, and with a screech, the iron door swung open. Angela walked past the guards without breaking stride, nodding as she went.
Inside, a hushed silence gathered over the narrow corridor as a dozen faces turned towards her. Another screech and the door swung shut, sealing her inside. Taking a breath, she started forward, careful to keep to the centre of the hall, beyond the reach of grasping arms.
Hard grey eyes followed her passage.
Tension hung like a blanket on the air as she made her way past the cells. Hate permeated the air, radiating from the dark creatures pressing up against the prison bars. There were twelve in all: six boys, six girls.
Twelve vicious killing machines, hungry for blood, for freedom.
The Chead watched her as she reached the corridor’s end and turned back. Each had been born in the facility. Each was destined to die here. These creatures would never feel the he
at of the sun, nor the cold of snow. Their eyes would never see the beauty of the mountains beyond the walls, their ears would never hear the roar of ocean waves.
Or at least, that was Halt’s plan.
Each of the Chead wore the familiar steel collars on their neck. Each of those collars were now little more than decorative necklaces.
Standing at the end of the corridor, Angela faced the exit. The cells stretched out either side of her, the males to her left, females to her right. Something about the change accelerated the development and reproductive drive of the Chead. Left to their own devices, they bred like rabbits. And though the occupants of the cells appeared fully mature, the oldest was just ten years old.
Stealing herself, Angela walked back towards the exit. The grey eyes followed her, alive with intelligence, searching for an opportunity. One second, one slip, was all they needed. Several men had lost their lives by wandering too close to the bars. Angela would not make that mistake.
But she needed them to see her, to be awake.
To be ready.
As she approached the entrance, the guard by the door reached out to open it. She gazed at his face for a moment as she passed, a flicker of guilt swelling within her. But it was too late for regrets now. It was time.
As the door reached its apex, Angela looked down at her watch. It was more advanced than the others, controlled more than just the candidate’s collars. As head geneticist and supervisor of the Praegressus project, she had control over many of the security protocols for the facility. That was how she had stopped Halt earlier, and what she planned to use now.
Angela pressed her finger to the touch screen.
Behind her, a buzzer began to screech, followed by the rattling of cell doors opening. Angela leapt forward as the guards looked up, confusion sweeping across their faces. They stared, eyes wide with bewilderment, as Angela stepped past them and began to run.
The screams of the dying chased her down the corridor.
***
Angela’s breath came in ragged gasps as she took a corner. From behind her came the roar of gunfire and the growls of the Chead. Overhead, lights flashed, and somewhere in the building a siren screeched. Muffled voices came from speakers at intervals down the corridors, a robotic voice asking her not to panic.
The thump of approaching boots came from ahead. She tensed as two guards raced into view, then relaxed as they sprinted past, guns held at the ready. Their eyes barely registered her, but she saw their fear. Just as well. With a dozen Chead loose in the building, they would be hard-pressed to survive.
A minute later she drew up outside the other prison block. She had hesitated before detouring there – only two of the seven survivors were located there. But the face of the girl had risen in her mind, and Angela knew she could not abandon her.
Fortunately, the guards had already abandoned their posts – though whether to face the Chead or run, she wasn’t sure. The door to the cell block had been left open, and she stepped inside, shivering as her eyes swept over the rows of empty cells.
So much loss.
Angela closed her eyes, regret welling up within her. How had she been so blind? She had allowed her ambition to surpass caution, to blind her to the atrocities within the facility. Her morals, her integrity, all had been lost before her drive to succeed.
And these children had paid the price.
Moving down the corridor, Angela searched for the two she had come for. She froze when she found them, her breath catching in her throat.
She had seen them in their fever induced sleep, seen the others in their comas. She already knew the experiment had succeeded; that the homeotic genes had taken. Once stimulated, they acted like a master switch, triggering the cluster of genes embedded in the candidates’ genomes. The genes corresponding to wing growth.
Angela had watched the wings grow, watched the feathers sprout like seedlings from their skin. Even so, she was not prepared for the sight that greeted her.
Elizabeth and Christopher stood in all their glory, wings spread wide, stretching out to fill the cell. They had found the ragged clothes she’d left by their beds, with the clumsy holes she’d torn in the backs. The girl’s black feathers pressed against the brown of the boy’s, their wings entwining in the tiny space.
Angela’s heart ached with the wonder of it.
“What’s happening?” Christopher demanded.
Blinking, Angela tore herself from her stupor. She shook her head, then looked down at her watch and pressed a button. The cell slid open with a dull rattle.
The two of them stood still, a wary surprise spreading across their faces.
“Come on,” Angela said. “We’re getting out of here. Hurry, the others should be awake by now.”
Christopher’s hand drifted to his neck, his fingers touching the collar. Angela shook her head and reached into her pocket. “I’ve deactivated them,” finding the little key, she drew it out and tossed it to them. “Here, that’ll unlock them. But hurry.”
A few seconds later their collars lay discarded on the ground. Angela watched them embrace, saw the tears shining in their eyes, but she could not pause to celebrate their freedom. Apprehension nibbled at her stomach, an awful fear they would be caught.
“Come on,” she urged again, waving them towards the door. “We need to find the others.”
Their eyes widened then, their mouths opening in question, but she was already moving away. Sirens still sounded and red lights flashed in the ceiling, but there was no sign of movement as they moved out into the corridors. The guards remained preoccupied at the other end of the facility, and she hoped the other civilians would have already retreated to the safe room.
Silently she led them through the maze of the facility, to the clean room where the other survivors of the PERV-B strain had remained in their comas. She had swapped out their medication that morning, replacing the drugs with saline. They would be awake by now, and she hoped they had not wandered from the room while she detoured.
Unfortunately, the remaining PERV-A candidates were lost to her. They still lay in their comas, their bodies wracked by fever, struggling to accept the chromosomal alterations of the virus. There was nothing she could do for them now.
Ahead, the door to the clean room lay unguarded. She smiled, glad her distraction had proven so effective. With luck, they would be long gone before anyone realised they were missing. If the guards even managed to regain control of the facility. She had seen a single Chead tear a man to pieces. With twelve… she didn’t like to think what twelve Chead might be capable of.
But there was no more time to think of that. Pushing open the door, Angela led the others inside.
30
Liz stumbled through the door after Chris. Every step was a struggle to keep upright. The new weight on her back threw her whole coordination out of sync, leaving her feeling strangely out of proportion. Even the simple act of closing her wings had taken several attempts, but she and Chris had finally managed to pull them tight against their backs. Even so, they niggled at her consciousness, an alien presence that would not go away.
The thought of freedom drove her on, the knowledge that each step carried her closer to a possible reunion with Ashley and Sam fuelling her. She sucked in a breath, joying again in the feel of her naked neck. The collar was gone, her throat free of its steel encasing. It felt like a lifetime ago since the awful contraption had trapped her. Perhaps it was.
Blinking, Liz returned her mind to the present. Looking around, she recognised it as the room they had awoken in before. The beds still lined its length, but they were empty now. The whir of machines filled the air, their tubes and wires dangling free. Her chest contracted as her eyes swept the room, searching for her friends.
A thud came from their right, and she spun, raising her fists to defend herself.
Then lowered them. Beside her Chris chuckled, as together they watched the figure sprawled on the ground struggling to sit up.
It too
k a few seconds for Sam to get his tangle of limbs and copper wings under control, and several more before he managed to stand. A string of curses echoed from the walls as he finally pulled himself up, red in the face, puffing like he’d run a marathon. Then her eyes drifted past Sam, and she gave a wild yelp.
Ashley strode forward, her lips twitching with suppressed humour. She moved with the same casual grace as before, her lithe legs easily finding their balance as she weaved between the empty beds. Trailing out behind her, a pair of snow-white wings shone in the overhead lights. They quivered as she moved, slowly lifting from the ground, expanding across the room.
Liz laughed again as Ashley reached her, then stepped up to draw the girl into a hug. They clung to each other for a moment, arms gripped tightly. When they finally broke apart, Ashley’s eyes travelled past Liz. She raised an eyebrow at the doctor.
When Fallow did not speak, Ashley nodded and turned back to Liz. “I guess we found their weakness.”
Chris shrugged. “She found us.”
The distant wail of sirens prickled at Liz’s ears, reminding her they were not out of danger yet. Before she could speak though, another movement came from the far side of the room. Her eyes trailed past Sam and found the remaining survivors of the Praegressus project.
Her heart sank as her eyes alighted on Richard and Jasmine. Their attitude towards the four of them did not appear to have changed in the untold weeks they’d lain unconscious. They still stood on the far side of the room, arms crossed and eyes hard with suspicion. Though it was not their faces that drew her attention. Their wings lay half-furled behind them, each sporting an array of dark emerald feathers, like those of some tropical parrot. Their eyes caught hers and she quickly looked away, unable to face their unspoken accusations, their hate that she was alive, while Joshua was gone.
Of course, she thought. Of everyone else who could have survived, it would be Richard and Jasmine…
Well, Richard and Jasmine, and the girl.
