Renegades (The Praegressus Project Book 2)

by Aaron Hodges

  Saw the accusing stares of Jasmine and Richard.

  Gritting his teeth, Sam pushed away the memories and pulled himself to his knees. He winced as the chain went taught, causing the collar to cut into his flesh. The chain was so short he could not stand – only crouch on his hands and knees. His muscles ached from disuse and a constant pain ran down his spine. A sharp twinge came from his ribs with each intake of breath. The air whistled through his broken nose, and his stomach cramped with a ravenous hunger.

  Sam’s heart started to race as he caught the faint click of the door handle. His left eye was so swollen he could barely see through it, but he forced his right to open and look around. The harsh light burned, but slowly the room came into focus. Other than a plain steel chair that sat just out of reach, the room was unadorned, the plain white walls and concrete marked only by his blood.

  Beyond the chair, the only door stood open, as two guards pushed their way into the room. Sam watched them approach, and take up stations on either side of the chair, before turning his attention back to the doorway.

  His stomach lurched as Doctor Halt stepped into the light. He shrank back as the doctor’s cold grey eyes found him on the floor. Days without food or sleep had stolen away his strength, and now even the brief task of sitting up left him gasping. He sucked in a mouthful of air, and faced the doctor.

  “Samuel,” Halt’s voice slithered through the air, “you disappoint me.”

  Stalking across the room, Halt lowered himself onto the chair and crossed one leg over the other. His long black pants and white lab coat were immaculate – a stark contrast to the filthy rags that covered Sam. The doctor’s brow creased and his thin lips pursed as he looked down at Sam.

  Looking into Halt’s hard grey eyes, Sam failed to supress a shudder. There was no hint of compassion in the doctor’s expression.

  Finally, Halt leaned back in his chair. Tapping one finger against his elbow, he spoke. “Fallow has caused us a considerable setback, Samuel,” he looked around the room, slowly shaking his head. “The President wants answers – answers we do not currently possess.”

  Sam bit his lip and looked away. An image flickered through his mind – of Angela Fallow sprawled on the laboratory floor, her life blood pooling around her. He tasted bile in his throat and swallowed hard.

  “Samuel, you must see the folly of protecting her,” Halt whispered, his voice cutting through Sam’s thoughts. “The woman is dead. Just tell us who aided her, and this torment will cease. You will be moved to more comfortable facilities, provided with regular meals. Just give us what we want.”

  Closing his eyes, Sam almost wished he had the answers Halt wanted. But in the scant minutes they had spent in the medical room, he had never asked how Angela had freed Chris and Liz, or why. He’d been too preoccupied with other things – like why wings had suddenly sprouted from his back.

  Sam looked up and forced a smile. “Look,” he coughed out the word, then turned his head and spat out a gob of bloody spit. “I wish I could help you, Halt. The woman called me fat. Believe me, I’d sell her out in an instant, if I could.”

  A weary look passed across Halt’s face. “So you say,” he turned his head, staring at the grey wall, as though there was more to its plain surface than met the eye. There wasn’t – Sam had spent enough time staring at the blank walls to know that. Shaking his head, Halt went on, talking almost to himself. “The survivors of the A-strain will have to suffice. They’re all we have, for now.”

  Sam’s heart lurched. “Ashley,” he wheezed, his fingers clawing at the concrete. “She’s not…”

  Halt’s lips twitched. “How quaint, that the two of you formed a bond,” he waved a hand. “The girl is recovering.”

  Tears stung Sam’s eyes as he bowed his head. He gave a low sob – one of pure relief, that Ashley lived, that his sacrifice had not been in vain. The weight of the chain around his neck grew the faintest bit lighter.

  Shivering, Sam looked up at Halt, his vision blurring. “Thank you.”

  Halt only shook his head. “I did what was necessary,” his voice was cold, “Thanks to the damage caused by Doctor Fallow, we are short on resources. The President is demanding a demonstration of our success. We will need as many healthy candidates as possible to ensure the survival of the project.”

  Swallowing hard, Sam looked up into Halt’s eyes, and felt his sudden hope wither and die. He clenched his fists, summoning his last reserves of defiance. “I won’t help you, Halt.”

  Doctor Halt stared at him a moment, and then slowly pulled himself to his feet. “A shame,” he shook his head, a harsh smile spreading across his face. “You don’t really think they will escape, do you, Samuel?”

  Sam looked back up as Halt turned and moved to the door. Pulling it open, he glanced back. “If so, you are mistaken. Our hunters will have them soon. Perhaps I will have them join you in here,” Halt spoke harshly as he turned to the guards who still stood on either side of the chair. “For now, I will entrust you to the care of these gentlemen. When you’re ready to cooperate, do let me know.”

  With a swirl of his lab coat, Halt was gone. The hulking guards stepped forward as the door slammed shut behind the doctor. Grim smiles spread across their faces as they drew steel batons from their belts.

  Sam looked up as the two men closed on him, the defiance withering on his tongue. He shrank away, but the chain brought him up short, leaving him crouched helpless on the ground. A low groan rose in his throat, and he fought the urge to beg for their mercy.

  As one raised his baton, Sam closed his eyes, and waited for the pain to resume.

  2

  Darkness pressed in all around, encasing her, locking her away from the light. Liz struggled against it, flailing at unseen tendrils, desperate to break free. But her hands found only empty air, and when she opened her mouth to scream, darkness poured down her throat, suffocating her cries.

  An instant later the scene changed. A dull black surface formed beneath her feet, though the darkness still pressed in all around. A long, beastly howl echoed from somewhere in the pitch-black. The sound sent tingles of fear racing down her spine. She started to run, then sprint through the darkness, as scrambling footsteps came from somewhere behind her.

  The howl came again, conjuring up spectres of the unseen beast. A desperate cry tore from her lips as she slipped on the smooth surface. Scrambling for purchase, Liz raced on, her mind spinning out of control, her thoughts panicked.

  But however hard she ran, the footsteps behind still grew nearer, the howling louder.

  Heart pounding, Liz gasped for air. She could feel the beast approaching, could sense its very presence. Fear flooded her, robbing her of strength. Her chest burned, her lungs screamed for air. Step by step, her pace slowed.

  At last she could go no further. Panting, Liz drew to a stop, and great sobs tore from her throat. She turned to face the swirling darkness, and waited for the beast to appear.

  The darkness boiled around her, spreading like a cloud, reaching out to touch her. She flinched and scrambled back, and with the movement the fog parted, giving way to the approaching footsteps.

  Liz moaned as a woman stepped into view. Her skin was a pale white, the scarlet locks of her hair stained with darkness. Her lips were twisted with hate, and her tawny yellow eyes glowed in the pitch-black. Great white wings beat hard on her back, sending the darkness swirling out towards Liz.

  Frozen with fear, Liz stood fixed in place as Ashley stepped forward. Her fingers bent in claws as she reached out and caught Liz by the shirt. In one movement, she lifted Liz into the air. A wild snarl slid from Ashley’s lips as she raised a fist.

  “You left me!”

  With a half-muffled scream, Liz tore herself from the dream and sat bolt upright. For a moment the swirling darkness clung to her, choking her, filling her with panic. Then her gaze found the jewelled stars stretching across the night sky, and the bright glow of the half-moon, and she let out a long breath.


  Clutching her chest, Liz willed her heart to slow. She shivered as she recalled Ashley’s face in the dream – the pallid grey of her skin, the darkness clinging to her. Silently, she wondered whether it was an omen, whether her friend had truly passed from the light.

  Was your sacrifice for nothing, Sam?

  Wrapping her arms around her chest, Liz banished the thought. Her wings rustled and tightened around her, sealing in the warmth. She smiled then. The alien presence of the strange limbs faded more each day, settling into the rhythms of her body. Flight was becoming easier, her muscles slowly learning to cope with the strain, though her chest and abdomen still ached at the end of each day.

  Hunger was their most pressing concern now. They had hardly eaten since escaping the facility a week ago, and the pangs of her empty stomach were quickly sapping her strength. The fish Richard had found in a frozen pool had saved them, but Liz wasn’t sure whether she could last until they got lucky again.

  Finally, as all thought of sleep had left her, Liz pulled herself up and moved away from the others. Her stomach gave another growl, and she placed a hand over it, willing it to silence. Tomorrow she hoped they would reach the mountain forests. There she would know where to forage for food, for berries and grubs and edible roots. In the harsh alpine tussock she was out of her depth, but the forest she knew well.

  Moving across the rubble-strewn slope, Liz headed towards the distant chatter of the stream. Despite the darkness, her eyes easily made out the edges of rocks and boulders. Though the half-moon was bright, she knew such eyesight was not natural. She had spent enough time walking the countryside at night to know she should be struggling to find her way through the field of boulders. Yet now she threaded easily between them.

  She could picture the stream now, its white waters cascading between the boulders. Until today, the rivers they’d passed had been frozen solid. But it seemed they had finally descended low enough to escape the ice.

  Her thoughts turned to Chris as she continued across the barren ground. They had hardly spoken since the day Ashley had fallen. Almost unconsciously at first, Liz had found herself raising old walls around her heart, distancing her from the boy. Now she could feel the lonely gulf that spanned between them, and sadness touched her. She mourned for Ashley and Sam, but she did not want to lose Chris too.

  A few minutes later she drew to a stop on the banks of the creek. Her feet ached from the cold, though they had slowly toughened over the last few days. Shivering, she looked down at the stream. Here the bank was only a few feet high, with piles of smooth gravel pushed up around its base. The opposite bank was maybe fifteen feet away, though the waters themselves were just a few feet wide.

  Lit by the moonlight, the stream swirled over its rocky bed, the current fast and uninviting. But further upstream, Liz caught a glimpse of calm water, a pool where the creek widened. When she’d left the others, Liz had had the vague idea of splashing water on her face. But now she felt the urge to submerge herself, to allow the icy waters to wash away her nightmares.

  Slipping off her shirt, Liz clenched her teeth against the mountain breeze and quickly kicked off her pants. Moving to the edge of the pool, she slid one toe into the water, and gasped as it immediately went numb. Already regretting the idea, she pressed on, her wings folded close against her back. Step by step, she moved into the pool, moaning as the water reached her knees, then waist, then chest. Finally, when Liz could barely breathe for the cold, she ducked beneath the surface.

  Two minutes later Liz returned to the bank, teeth chattering, panting for breath, the oxygen sucked from her lungs by the icy waters. Goosebumps stood up along her arms and legs, and her waterlogged wings weighed heavily on her back. A shiver spread down their length, and her feathers stood on end to shake the water free. Silently Liz rushed to her clothes, desperate for their scant warmth. Another tremor went through her wings, sending a spray of water into the air.

  Smiling, Liz pulled her wings tight against her back again, and slipped her shirt over her head. As it settled into place, she allowed her wings to relax again, and they extended out through the holes she’d cut in the back of her shirt. Then she scrambled into her underwear and pants, eager for their warmth. Though her skin was still damp, they at least offered some protection from the wind.

  As she turned to face the water again, a rattle of stones came from overhead. She froze at the sound, before a voice called down from overhead.

  “How’s the water?”

  3

  Slowly turning her head, Liz found Richard perched on the bank above her. Warmth spread to her cheeks, before her brow knitted into a furious scowl. Unsure how much he’d seen, Liz crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, trying to hide her embarrassment.

  “Enjoy the show?” she growled.

  Shaking his head, Richard jumped from the rock and landed lightly beside her. He moved past, his eyes looking up at the moon. “Sorry, I didn’t look,” he murmured, taking a seat on a boulder beside the river. “I was just… walking.”

  Liz ground her teeth together, struggling to control her rising anger. A red glow flashed across her eyes as she clenched her fists. She fought the urge to pick him up and hurl him into the water. But Richard sat with his back to her, seemingly ignorant to her rage, and after a long moment she let out her breath. Even through her anger, she sensed a difference about Richard.

  “What happened to him?” Richard finally murmured, still staring up at the sky. “To Joshua?”

  The tide of Liz’s anger retreated, as cold fingers of guilt rose to take its place. She bit her lip, the horror of her fight with the boy Joshua rushing back. She saw him again atop her, felt his fingers wrapping around her throat, the burning in her lungs. Glancing away from Richard, she reached down and picked up a stone, then tossed it across the pool. It skipped twice before landing on the other side of the stream.

  “I killed him,” she replied at last, “Not the doctors, or the guards. I did it.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Richard nod. “I thought so,” from his tone, Liz guessed that would be the end of the conversation, but he continued, “I saw the marks on your neck, when you walked past our cell. What happened?”

  Blood pounding in her ears, Liz moved across and seated herself next to the boy. They sat in silence for a while, staring at the glistening waters, as she turned the memories over in her mind. Then slowly, reluctantly, she recounted the fight. How she had struck Joshua down in the first minutes, and thought him beaten. How he had taken her by surprise, caught her and overpowered her before she could scramble free. And how she had killed him with one final, desperate blow.

  Beside her, Richard said nothing as Liz spoke. When she finally finished, the silence resumed, marked only by the whisper of the river as it tumbled over its stony bed. Strangely, Liz felt a weight lifting from her chest with the confession. She had not spoken to anyone but Chris about Joshua, and even then, she had not told him the full story.

  She had expected Richard to rage at her when she finished, to scream and shout, accuse her of murder. Joshua had been his cellmate, presumably his friend. But he said nothing, just sat quietly beside her, watching the water as it made its long journey through the mountains towards the distant coast.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

  Richard shrugged. “We weren’t close,” his eyes flashed in her direction, “After what happened last time, Jasmine and I weren’t keen to bond with the newbies.”

  Liz swallowed at the despair in Richard’s eyes. She wanted to ask more, to discover the truth behind their feud with Sam and Ashley, but the words stuck in her throat.

  “We were all close in the beginning, the eight of us,” Richard seemed to pluck the questions from her mind, “We were in separate cells from Ashley and Sam and the… others, but we spent time on the training field together. That was before things got bad, before people started to die.”

  “How long were you there for?” Liz managed to croak.

/>   “Eight weeks before you lot showed up,” he replied. “For the first three weeks, there were no deaths. Then things changed, the doctors became more urgent, pushed us harder. They started taking us away in twos…” his voice trailed off as he swallowed. “Faces began to go missing.”

  “And then they came for you?”

  Richard nodded. “It wasn’t until I ended up in that padded room with Jeremy that I realised how evil the doctors were, how perverse. We refused at first, when the voice told us to fight. But they made us, made me…” his voice broke off as he started to sob.

  “You killed him,” Liz murmured.

  Richard did not look up. “He was my friend,” his voice was filled with self-loathing, “I told them I’d rather die. But those damn collars… and then Jeremy…”

  Tears streamed down Richard’s face. Silently, Liz reached out a hand and squeezed his shoulder. A shiver went through him, spreading to the dark green wings that hung limply from his back.

  After a long pause, Richard sucked in a breath and continued. “Jeremy refused to play their games. I’ll never forget his face, when he looked at me that last time. He had a sad smile on his lips, but his eyes… there was no give in them. He shook his head, then turned and walked across to the one-way mirror. Before anyone could react, he slammed his head into the glass,” Richard swallowed, his voice trembling. “He did it three times before the guards reached him. They tackled him to the ground, but by then he barely had the strength to stand. The mirror was covered in his blood. It didn’t take long for the doctor to come.”

  Liz closed her eyes, imagining the scene, the horror. Chris had told her what had happened when his opponent in the padded room could no longer fight. A doctor had entered and given the boy a lethal injection. He had died writhing in agony.

  “You didn’t kill him, Richard,” she whispered. “His blood is on their hands.”

  Richard’s green eyes turned to watch her. They glinted in the moonlight, and she quickly looked away, unable to face the despair lurking in their depths. “You and Chris, you have no idea what it’s like. You didn’t know Joshua and William, when you were forced to fight them. It was different for us. We had faced the horrors of the facility together, suffered hand in hand against whatever those monsters threw at us. And then to stand there, to face that choice. No, I didn’t kill him,” Richard let out a long, shuddering breath, “but I would have. And I think he knew that.”