Retaliation (The Praegressus Project Book 3)

by Aaron Hodges

10

  Sam glanced around as he moved down the street, and then pulled the hood tighter around his face. His wings tingled beneath the heavy folds of the jacket, and a tremor ran up his spine at the thought of unseen eyes watching him. The others pressed in close around him, their faces down, hidden beneath matching hoods. Together they struggled to make headway along the crowded San Francisco sidewalks.

  Ahead, Chris took the lead with Jonathan. They were keeping a close eye on the translator. Despite the man’s talk of fighting back, the others still didn’t trust him. Sam could hardly blame them after what they’d been through. But they had not seen Jonathan’s face when Sam had shown him the bodies of his wife and daughter.

  He shivered, remembering the sound Jonathan had made, a shrill, primal mode that seemed to rumble up from his very soul. The translator had dropped to his knees beside the bed where his family lay, and reached for his daughter’s cold grey hand. After witnessing his grief, Sam could not believe the man would betray them now.

  A gust of wind caught Sam’s hood and almost tore it off. Snapping himself back to the present, he quickly pulled it back down and then looked sidelong at the other pedestrians to make sure no one had noticed. A woman strode past without breaking stride, her eyes on her watch as she struggled through the crowd. No one else was looking in their direction, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Returning his attention to the pavement, he chased after the others. They were close now, and looking up he caught a glimpse of the marble and granite obelisk rising from the top of the hill.

  Independence Square.

  He had only visited the memorial once, when his father had brought him to San Francisco as a child. They had sat beneath the towering obelisk and read some of the names inscribed in the stone. They were the names of those who had fought for the Western Allied States in the American War, the soldiers who had helped win their freedom. The inscriptions stretched from the base of the obelisk all the way to the top, some seven hundred feet above.

  They numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

  None of his immediate family had fought in the war, but his father had still insisted on bringing Sam there. He had wanted Sam to know the cost their young nation had paid to survive, wanted him to understand the weight of sacrifice that had bought their freedom.

  Now Sam found himself wondering how many more names needed to be added to the obelisk.

  How many did you murder, Halt, in your quest for perfection?

  By the time they reached the top of the hill, Jonathan was puffing hard, and Sam couldn’t help but grin. He’d found the forty-minute walk through San Francisco invigorating, but he guessed the rolling hills were not so easy for those without their advantages.

  Keeping his hood low, he took a moment to studied their surroundings while Jonathan caught his breath. The towering buildings had opened out, giving way to the wide park square that marked the spiritual centre of San Francisco. The pale stone obelisk stretched up into the sky, towering over the dense trees and shrubbery ringing the park. There were no signs of disturbance, but the wall of greenery hid the open courtyard at the base of the obelisk.

  “Bit out of shape are you, Jonathan?” Sam laughed when their guide finally straightened.

  Jonathan only shook his head and nodded at the obelisk. “They gather in the courtyard every morning, from what I’ve heard. The government has been trying to keep their presence under the radar, but word’s slowly spreading.”

  “The news hasn’t been covering their protest?” Ashley asked, frowning.

  Jonathan shrugged. “Once or twice. That’s where they got the name ‘The Mad Women.’ I guess someone was trying to make a joke out of them.”

  “Well, let’s go see what we’re dealing with,” Liz walked out onto the road as the pedestrian light turned green.

  Sam and the others moved after her, and together they made their way into the park. Stepping onto the narrow path leading through the trees, Sam paused, thinking again of his father and the time they had visited San Francisco. The memory felt like someone else’s now, like a glimpse into some other life.

  How long had it been since he’d been taken? Since his father had been arrested for treason, and Sam had found himself locked away in a cage beneath the mountains? What would his father think of him now, after everything he’d done?

  I did what I had too.

  Yet the thought did nothing to fill the empty feeling in his chest.

  Within a few minutes, the trees opened out again, revealing the full expanse of Independence Square. Stone tiles covered the ground in a five hundred foot square around the towering obelisk. The colours varied from blue to black to red, and when viewed from above they created a giant mosaic of a blood red sunset. But just then, only a small patch of tiles was visible beneath the crowd that had gathered around the square.

  The Mad Women.

  Sam shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Jonathan had told the truth – that much was certain. They were gathered around in the centre of the square, their faces lined with age, their bodies withered by the cruel passage of time. They held no placards or megaphones, and they were silent as they made their way around the base of the obelisk. Many wore the faded army uniforms and shining medals of their fallen husbands.

  A tremor went through Sam as he watched their slow progression around the obelisk. Though they made no sound, their message was clear to all who watched. And people were watching. They stood around the edges of the square, hundreds of wide-eyed onlookers, drawn here by the whispers spreading through the city. They had come to see the spectacle, to watch the women who dared stand in defiance of the government.

  Despite his despair, Sam couldn’t help but admire the women’s courage. They might not have the power or the influence to bring down the President and his Directors, but here they were anyway. Here they stood, in open defiance of the powers that ruled them, with only the honour of their fallen loved ones to protect them.

  Watching them, Sam could almost bring himself to hope things might change, that they might have a chance after all.

  Almost.

  He looked up as a shout carried to them across the square. Beyond the slow march of the Mad Women, the crowd on the other side of the square were drawing back, retreating before the thud of marching boots. A cold fist wrapped around Sam’s chest as he glanced at the others. Before anyone could move, Jasmine leapt forward and caught Jonathan by the front of his shirt.

  “You betrayed us!” she hissed.

  “No!” Jonathan gasped as her fingers reached for his throat, “This wasn’t me!”

  Jasmine looked around at them, her eyes alight with fury, and even Sam was loath to interfere. He glanced at the oncoming soldiers and then back the way they’d come. But the trees were empty and he shook his head at Jasmine.

  “They’re not here for us,” he said softly. “Or we’d already be surrounded.”

  For a moment, he thought Jasmine would ignore him. Jonathan was standing on his toes to keep her grip around his collar from strangling him.

  “Jasmine,” Chris cut in. “Put him down, before someone notices.”

  Chris’s warning seemed to cut through Jasmine’s rage, and snorting, she released the translator without any further argument. Jonathan coughed and bent in two, and Sam moved across and patted him on the back.

  “Sorry, she’s a bit jumpy,” he offered.

  Shaking his head, Jonathan straightened. “They’re probably here for the Mad Women,” he glanced at them as he spoke, “After the attack on the courthouse, gatherings like this have been banned.”

  “What will they do?” Ashley asked.

  Hearing the tremor in her voice, Sam reached out and took her hand. His heart twisted as she glanced at him, and he saw the fear in her amber eyes. The thud of boots echoed loudly in the square now, seeming to come from all around. Beneath the obelisk, the Mad Women had drawn to a stop and stood watching the approaching soldiers. They made no move to flee as men
in sharp green uniforms pushed through the onlookers and drew to a halt in front of them.

  Then a woman strode forward through the ranks of soldiers. She moved with purpose, as though possessed of an unwavering confidence. The men parted before her like the red sea, eager to avoid the hard look in her eyes. Her thin lips twisted into a frown as she stopped at the head of the soldiers and studied the old women around the obelisk. The look on her face suggested she thought it beneath her just to stand in their presence.

  Which probably wasn’t far from the truth. There was no mistaking the Director of Domestic Affairs, and Sam nervously pulled his hood tighter around his face. This was the woman who had called them terrorists – the person supposedly in charge of bringing them to justice.

  The Director placed her hands on her hips and slowly shook her head.

  “What would your husbands think?” she spoke in a soft voice, but Sam heard her easily from across the square, “To see the lot of you standing here, undermining the nation they gave their lives to defend? And while we are in the middle of a crisis?” She shook her head again.

  A soft whisper went through the Mad Women, but for a long moment, it looked like they would not respond. Then one woman stepped from the group. She wore a faded green uniform, and on her chest a silver cross gleamed. She stood with her shoulders held high and stared down the Director. From beside him, Sam heard someone gasp, but the old woman was already speaking.

  “Who are you to talk of our husbands’ sacrifice?” she asked, her voice firm, “Who are you to ask what they would think of us?”

  For a second, the Directors mask slipped, and Sam saw the fury in her eyes. “I am the Director of Domestic Affairs, second only to-”

  “You are a liar and a murderer,” the woman interrupted the Directors words. She spread her arms to indicate the women behind her. “We are the Western Allied States. We are what our husbands fought for, what they gave their lives for.”

  The Director was shaking her head again. “This cannot continue,” she said, pursing her lips, “Disperse, now. Or you will force me to act.”

  A smile flickered across the old woman’s face as she crossed her arms. “We aren’t going anywhere. Touch us if you dare.”

  “So be it,” the Director snapped, “Men, take these women into custody.”

  “No!” Sam spun as Chris shouted behind him.

  Before anyone could react, Chris charged forward. Sam lunged after him, trying to drag him back, but Chris was already tearing off his jacket. His tawny brown wings snapped open, and in a single bound he was airborne. The crack of his wings echoed across the square as he raced towards the Mad Women.

  “Chris!” Sam swore as Liz leapt past him and raced after Chris.

  “About time,” Jasmine charged past with a wild grin on her face.

  Sam watched, helpless as the two girls followed Chris into the air. His mouth hanging open, Sam turned to look at the others. Jonathan, Ashley and Mira stared back at him, each wearing a mixture of shock, fear and amusement on their faces.

  Eyebrows raised, Sam shook his head and looked at Mira. “Is this just something we do now?”

  Grinning, Mira walked past him, her grey wings already starting to beat the air.

  “Let’s make them hurt.”

  11

  “Goddammit, Chris!” Liz shrieked as she lifted off from the courtyard.

  But Chris didn’t look back. His wings glinted as they beat down, lifting him out of reach. The thump of feathers striking the air was barely audible over the thud of marching boots. The soldiers spread out across the square below, moving to surround the Mad Women. But as they looked up and saw Chris, they stumbled to a stop again.

  Even from two hundred feet away, Liz could see their confusion. The onlookers gasped and the Mad Women shrank back as Chris’s shadow fell across them. They retreated towards the obelisk, their composure broken by the appearance of the government’s new weapons.

  Liz smiled as her black-feathered wings carried her higher. In their eagerness to unveil the success of the Praegressus Project, the government had unwittingly given them an advantage. Those below only had eyes for their wings – not even the soldiers seemed to have realised who they were. In that moment they weren’t terrorists, they were allies of the government, come to bring peace to the Western Allied States.

  Only the Director knew the truth. She was already retreating through the ranks of soldiers, waving frantically at the sky and screaming as she went. But her orders only added to the confusion of the men around her. The front ranks had already reached the Mad Women, while the rear were caught looking from the Director to Chris in bewilderment.

  Before the woman could restore order, Chris folded his wings, and plummeted towards the soldiers.

  Finally seeing the danger, the men around the Director struggled to bring their rifles to bear. But they had obviously not been expecting the old women to put up a fight, and most still had their weapons slung over their backs. Before they could ready them, Chris slammed through their ranks like a wrecking ball.

  The wind shrieked in Liz’s ears as she beat her wings harder. Half a dozen men had fallen in Chris’s initial attack, felled by flailing wings and fists. But they were only glancing blows, and most were already regaining their feet. Behind Chris, the old women were trying to retreat, but they were hemmed in by the obelisk and the crowd of onlookers, who were pressing closer, eager for a glimpse of the winged teenagers.

  Liz heard the crack of another pair of wings and glanced across as Jasmine drew level with her. Below, Chris was a blur of movement. He seemed to be keeping half the soldiers preoccupied, but beyond him, the men around the Director had dropped to their knees and were lifting their rifles.

  “Dive!” she screamed as the first bullet screeched past.

  As one, the two girls tucked in their wings. Chris and the soldiers were still too far away, but the sky was no longer safe, and Liz shrieked a warning to those below as she shot towards the ground. At the last second she snapped open her wings, lurching painfully in the air, and then slammed down hard into the tiles.

  Cracks spread through the granite as Jasmine landed beside her. The Mad Women scrambled back as Liz and Jasmine straightened. Their eyes were wide with fear, but Liz resisted the urge to reassure them. There was no time.

  Turning, she searched for Chris, but he had disappeared behind the crowd. Cursing under her breath, she pulled her wings tight against her back and started in the direction of the soldiers. The crowd parted before her, all too eager to get out of her way.

  A soldier appeared ahead of her, and heart pounding in her chest, Liz charged. The man was standing over the prone body of an old women, a pair of handcuffs in one hand. He looked up as Liz closed on him, but he had no time to react before her fist slammed into his chest. Pain shot through her knuckles as they connected with the body armour beneath his uniform, but it did little to soften her blow. The man’s face went white as he collapsed.

  “Nice work,” Jasmine grinned as she leapt past, already aiming for another soldier standing nearby.

  They had reached the front of the centre of the conflict now, where the soldiers were clashing with the Mad Women. Liz glimpsed more men standing over prone bodies, and anger flared in her chest. Whatever Chris’s reasons were for charging in so recklessly, he was right about one thing. They couldn’t stand by and let the government crush the helpless women.

  She jumped as a second soldier came at her, twisting to slam the heel of her boot into his face. The man’s head whipped back with a sickening crack and he toppled over without a sound. Liz strode over his body without hesitating, still scanning the ranks of soldiers for Chris.

  Ahead, Jasmine bore down on another soldier. The man saw her coming and wisely tried to flee, but Jasmine caught him by the arm and hauled him back. Screeching like a harpy, she spun, and hurled the soldier face first into one of his comrades. Jasmine didn’t wait to see whether either recovered. Wings still unfurled, she spun in
search of another victim.

  In such close quarters, the soldiers were struggling to bring their rifles to bear. Without them, the men were almost helpless against their altered physiology. Liz and Jasmine moved faster than thought, able to see danger and react before the soldiers could even lift their rifles. It also didn’t hurt that some of the enemy still seemed confused about whose side Liz and the others were on.

  A soldier with a steel baton leapt at Liz, but as she turned to meet him he hesitated, his eyes flickering from her wings to her face. Then his eyes widened with recognition, and roaring, he continued his charge.

  Liz batted away his attack with a casual swing of her arm, and then slammed the palm of her hand into his abdomen. He staggered and fell to one knee. As he tried to regain his feet, she drove her elbow down on the back of his head, and sent him crashing to the pavement.

  Spinning, she looked for Chris again, and caught a glimpse of his tawny wings through the press of soldiers. Before she could move towards him, Sam and Mira crashed down beside her. They nodded at her and she pointed in the direction in which she’d seen Chris go.

  Before they could start after him, gunfire erupted from their right. Fire sliced across her arm as something grazed her skin, and swearing she dove to the side. She struck the pavement hard and started to roll as the rifles roared again. Stone chips sliced her face as the bullets thumped into the ground around her, then she was up and leaping into the air. Her wings beat down, carrying her over a body on the ground. Then the men who had started firing were right in front of her, and she slammed into their midst with uncontrolled fury.

  One man went down, his neck shattered by a swift blow from her boot, and then Jasmine was beside her. Wearing a savage scowl, she tore the gun from the hands of a soldier and swung it like a club at the man’s head. Blood sprayed across Jasmine’s face as it struck, and the man went down screaming.

  Cries came from behind them as Jasmine struck down the last gunman. Glancing back, Liz glimpsed blood on the granite tiles. Her stomach wrenched. The soldiers had fired indiscriminately into the crowd, and several of the Mad Women had been caught in the crossfire. They lay deathly still in the shadow of the obelisk.