by Aaron Hodges
“What was that about?” Chris asked softly.
“She’s been struggling…with what Halt did to her, and what Sam did for her,” Liz replied. “I think she’ll be okay, but…” she trailed off as their eyes met.
Staring in her crystal eyes, Chris could feel the barrier stretching between them. Ever since they’d kissed, Liz had been distancing herself from him, pushing him away until he found himself doubting everything they’d felt for each other.
But watching her now, Chris knew he had a choice to make. He could let what they’d shared between them shrivel and die, or he could push through the barricades Liz had raised around herself. Taking a breath, he stood and crossed to the other couch. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, and his stomach was tight with fear. Remembered pain laced through his veins, but he bit his tongue and forced it away.
Liz watched him come, her eyes distant. “Chris–” she started to speak, but before she could continue, Chris pressed his lips to hers.
She stiffened beneath him, and he paused, his lips lingering on hers as he waited for her to react. But when she made no move to push him away, he kissed her again. He heard a low moan rattle up from her throat, and felt her hand against his chest, as though she were readying herself to push him away.
He stilled again and their lips parted. Opening his eyes, he stared into hers, and waited for her to speak.
“Chris…” she whispered again, her eyes watering, “What if…”
Smiling, he shook his head. “What if we die tomorrow?”
Then his lips were hard against hers, and her mouth was opening beneath him, her tongue darting out to taste him. Desire throbbed in his chest as her arms went around him, and he threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her harder. All thought of pain fell away as they lost themselves in the moment.
When the pain did come, Chris did not resist. Instead, he embraced it, opening his mind to its tingling touch. He did not release Liz, but kissed her harder, his hands running down her back to stroke her jet-black feathers. Lines of fire wrapped around his mind, but it made no difference now. He could feel Liz beneath him. The warmth of her body washed over him, mingling with the fire of her touch, until he could no longer distinguish between them.
He shivered as her hands slid beneath his shirt and drifted up his back. Somehow she had lost her gloves, and her soft fingers sent tingles of pleasure rippling through him wherever they touched. The fire followed, igniting down his spine, but it no longer burned with the same pain, the same agony as before.
Emboldened, Chris slid his hands beneath Liz’s shirt. Pressed tight together, there was little room to manoeuvre, but he felt the tremor go through her as his fingers danced across her belly. Their lips broke apart as she moaned, and then he was kissing her neck, her throat, as her arms wrapped around him, pulling him harder against him.
When they finally broke apart, Liz was gasping for breath and her face was flushed red. They lay side by side on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the heat of their bodies. Chris could still feel the tingles of her venom seeping through his skin, a foreign heat in his veins, but it had been reduced to a dull ache now.
Smiling, he leaned across and kissed Liz on the forehead. There were tears in her eyes when he pulled away.
“Chris,” she reached up and stroked his cheek, “I never thought… I’m sorry, I was only trying to protect you.”
“Liz,” he ran a hand through her curly black hair, lost in her big blue eyes, “I don’t need you to protect me. I know I don’t always make the best decisions, but they’re still mine to make. I told you I could take it – you should have trusted me.”
Liz closed her eyes, and he could feel her shaking in his arms. She shook her head. “I know… I was afraid though. Afraid of hurting you… or worse.”
Chris laughed. “Let me worry about that.”
He grinned as Liz wriggled in closer. With her hands on his cheek, a few tingles of fire still touched him, but their clothes protected the rest of his body.
“Does it still hurt?” she whispered. He could see the anxiety in her eyes.
“A little,” he smiled, his hands trailing over her body, “It’s getting better though. You’re just going to have to be patient for a little longer.”
Liz tilted back her head and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m going to have to be patient?” she asked wryly, a smile on her lips now, “So none of that was you?”
Chris grinned. “Okay, maybe we both have to be patient,” he shook his head, “So, what were the two of you doing out there anyway?”
Twisting beside him, Liz sat up on the couch. He joined her, eyebrows raised in expectation.
“We needed some fresh air,” Liz said softly.
“Where did you go?” Chris asked.
Liz’s cheeks turned beet red and there was a long pause before she answered. “The Golden Gate Bridge.”
Chris blinked, and then started to laugh. “Wow, so much for laying low!”
Leaning back in the couch, Liz turned sideways and looked at him. “You don’t feel frustrated, sitting here, trapped like this?”
“A little,” Chris admitted, looking away. His stomach clenched. “But it’s for the best. When Mike gets back, we’ll know what our next move should be. Until then, we don’t have anything to gain going out there.”
“What if the results don’t prove anything?” Liz pressed, “Or what if he doesn’t come back. What’s our plan C?”
Chris groaned, shifting in his seat. He just wanted to rest, to have a few days or weeks without the weight of the world hanging over him. Let someone else make the decisions for once – after all the mistakes he’d made, he was the last one they should be turning to now. He still found himself replaying the fight in the courthouse in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently.
What if they hadn’t split up? Or if they hadn’t gone after Liz? Of if they’d left Artemis behind?
And then of course there was chaos that had swallowed them in Independence Square, and the bullets Sam and Mira had taken for his recklessness.
No. Let the Texan and the Mad Women make the decisions. He was done.
He looked across at Liz. He could see in her eyes what she wanted him to say. She wanted him to admit she was right, that they should go out and do something, anything to help undermine the government’s power.
But he couldn’t do it.
Because what if he was wrong, and someone else died?
Closing his eyes, he looked away, unable to meet Liz’s eyes any longer. “Mike will know what to do. He’s the professional.”
“And what he if doesn’t come back?” firm hands gripped him by the shoulder, “Chris, even if he does, Mike isn’t one of us. He doesn’t know what we’ve been through, he hasn’t seen what these people are capable of. You have. We have. We need to stick together, make our own decisions. All of us… including you.”
Chris swallowed. He looked back at her, and found himself trapped by the fire in her eyes.
“I don’t know what’s happening with you, Chris,” she said softly, “But you need to snap out of it.”
With that, Liz rose and disappeared back down the corridor, leaving Chris alone in the growing daylight. He sat staring at the worn carpet for a long time, wondering at her words, wondering whether she was right.
Yet even if she was, what could they do?
21
Susan groaned as she woke, the sharp pounding of a headache tearing her from sleep. Opening her eyes, she squinted into the dim light, struggling to make out her surroundings. They slowly came into focus, lit by the single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.
She was in some kind of wooden hut, its single room furnished by two sets of bunk beds and a bench that must have served as a kitchen. The mattresses on the beds were half-rotten, and dark stains marked the ceiling where the rain had seeped through. Outside, the wind howled, and she shivered as a breath of cold air swept through the
room. The place stank of mildew and age, but another, sweeter scent lingered too.
The only sound was a dim whirring, and turning, Susan froze as her eyes found one of the portable refrigerator units from the facility. Her stomach twisted as it all came rushing back. She looked down at her hands, a scream building in her throat as she saw the dried blood covering her.
What have I become?
“Susan,” she jumped as a voice called from behind her.
Spinning, she stumbled backwards as she found the old Chead woman watching her. She sat on a worn-out sofa, her murky white eyes shining. A smile twitched on her lips as she stood and moved across the room.
“Welcome, Susan,” the old Chead spread her arms.
Shaking her head, Susan backed away. “Where am I? What… what did I do?”
The old Chead laughed again. “We are someplace on the way to where we need to be,” the wrinkled faced tilted to the side, “Would you like to eat?” she ignored Susan’s other question.
Something lodged in Susan’s throat as images of the laboratory flashed through her mind. Bending in two, she gasped, struggling for breath as her stomach swirled. Over the sounds of her distress, she could hear the Chead laughing again.
Finally managing to swallow her nausea, Susan straightened and shook her head. The old Chead only grinned in response, and then moved across to the kitchen bench. A pan sat on an old gas burner, and removing the lid, the Chead revealed the contents – a haunch of white meat that might have come from a turkey.
“We only consume… raw meat when the rage is upon us,” lifting the pan, she carried it across and offered it to Susan, “Most times, cooked is preferable. We are not animals.”
Susan stared at the turkey leg, her stomach rumbling, suddenly ravenous. She glanced one last time at the old Chead, and then snatched up the leg.
The Chead cackled as she tore into the meat. She moved past Susan and returned to her seat on the couch. Swallowing, Susan paused for breath, and then took another bite. As she ate, she studied the Chead. Back in the facility, she had been terrifying. Susan had watched those wrinkled hands crush the life from a woman as easily as she would swat a fly. Yet now the Chead was calm, almost kind. And sniffing, Susan realised the old Chead was the source of the sweet scent filling the cabin.
“Who…” she frowned, struggling to form the words, “Are… you?”
“Your speech will return, eventually,” a smile spread across the wrinkled face, “And I am Talisa.”
Susan shivered, her thoughts whirring. Frowning, she tried to find the words for her next question. “Where… did you… come from?”
“The wild,” the Chead replied.
That’s impossible, Susan thought, but the words would not come. But seeing the look on Susan’s face, the Chead continued.
“The humans hunt us, when we change,” she whispered, “But they are slow and weak, and many of us escape. Our scent draws us together, and over the years we have gathered. When I first woke, I wandered alone for a time, until I found a new family.”
Finishing the meat, Susan tossed the bone on the floor. She still stood in the middle of the room. The sweet scent lingered drifted in her nostrils, seeming to call to her, and without thinking she moved across and sat beside the old woman.
“How… long?” she croaked.
The wrinkles around the woman’s eyes crinkled with sadness. “I was a woman grown… when I changed. But time passes differently for us,” she looked at her arms, “I have only lived a few years, with my new children. Already my time draws near.”
“No…” Susan whispered, her heart twisting with a strange sadness.
The woman smiled. “I will not pass before my task is done.”
At her words, Susan found her eyes drawn back to the storage container, and the stocks of virus frozen inside. The cabin must have a generator – she could hear it whirring somewhere outside. She opened her mouth, but the words would not come, and she shook her head.
“Hecate was a blessing, when he came to us,” the old Chead continued, “He must be rewarded for leading us to your home.”
Remembering the hunger in Hecate’s eyes, Susan shivered. “How… how could he… have found you?”
Susan shivered as the old woman reached out a hand and stroked her cheek. “He followed our scent, as so many others had before him. My pack and I found a haven, and over the years our numbers swelled, as others were drawn across to plains to our home.”
Fear turned the blood in Susan’s veins to ice. “How… many?”
A soft laughter came from the old woman’s throat. Standing, she offered her hand. “Come, let me show you.”
Somewhere in Susan’s mind, a voice screamed for her to run, but her body acted as if by a will of its own and took the woman’s hand. She rose to her feet and allowed the Chead to lead her to the door. The hinges squealed as they moved outside. The dark of night greeted her. Not a single star shone in the sky, and she blinked, expecting to be blind.
Instead, as she stared into the gloom, the world came into perfect focus. Open plains stretched out around the cottage, and in the distance the dark shadows of the mountains rose into the sky. But her eyes were quickly drawn back to the fields. Shadows moved through the grass, shifting closer. She shuddered, and again the voice shouted for her to flee. But with the iron grip on her hand, there was nowhere to go, and she stood and watched as the Chead gathered around them. There were hundreds of them.
She shuddered as Talisa turned to face her.
“Welcome home.”
22
“What are you doing out of bed, young man?”
Sam looked around at the woman standing in the doorway, and tried not to roll his eyes. Eve had shown him nothing but kindness – stitching up his leg and changing his bandages each day – but her motherly care was beginning to grate.
It was understandable, of course. Eve was over seventy years old, and had seen more than her fair share of wounds. She said his wound might take months to fully heal, and Mira’s might be even longer. But then, she had never treated anyone with wings before. Ashley’s wound had only taken weeks to heal, and neither Sam or Mira were anywhere near the state she’d been in.
“I’m fine, doc,” he forced a grin. He stood on one foot and waved his wounded leg in the air. “See?”
Eve tisked and shook her head. Moving across the room, she grabbed him by the ankle. He squawked as she lifted his leg and touched a finger to his bandages. “Oh really?” she raised an eyebrow, “Doesn’t look fine to me. You’ve broken another stitch.”
“Sorry, doc,” Sam said sheepishly, and the woman rolled her eyes.
“You need bedrest, young man. So does that girl, come to mention it. Where’s she got to this time?”
Sam shrugged, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. If he was a difficult patient, Mira was an impossible one. Despite Eve’s best efforts, the girl came and went from the infirmary as she pleased. Even posting a guard in the hallway hadn’t helped – Mira could move as silent as a mouse when she wanted too, and seemed to take great joy in scaring those on watch half to death.
“She’s in the living room with Jasmine,” Sam’s heart lurched as Ashley’s voice came from the doorway.
He looked up, the breath catching in his throat. Ashley looked back at him, her amber eyes unreadable, her wings tucked away behind her. She stared at him for a moment before turning to Eve.
“I’ll make sure he gets back in bed, Eve,” she said, “Promise.”
Eve nodded and flashed him another look. “Yes, maybe he’ll listen to his girlfriend,” she said observantly.
“We’re not,” Ashley and Sam said together, but the woman was already gone.
Sam’s cheeks flushed as he looked back at Ashley. He hadn’t seen her in over a week, not since she had fled the infirmary talking about blood on her hands.
“It’s good to see you,” Sam said cautiously.
Their eyes met, but for a long moment, Ashl
ey said nothing. Then she was crossing the room, her soft white wings and arms stretching out to embrace him. Sam gasped as she kissed him, taken aback by the sudden change. He staggered back, and he moaned as his injured leg took his weight.
He fell heavily against the bed and pushed Ashley back, still struggling with the pain. Her face paled and she pressed a hand to her lips. “Sorry, I didn’t mean–”
Sam shook his head and forced a smile. “It’s okay,” he straightened on the bed and frowned up at her, “Not that I’m complaining… but what’s gotten into you, Ash?”
A smile tugged at Ashley’s lips and she climbed up onto the bed. Lying down beside him, she reached out and pulled him into her arms.
“I’ve been so afraid, Sam. Afraid of letting you all down, of being captured, of dying. Afraid of loving you,” she kissed him again, softly now, “I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
Her hands stroked his cheek, and he pulled her to him. Their lips met, and Ashley seemed to melt in his arms. She felt so small, so fragile, and yet as she pressed herself against him, Sam could feel her strength. She had been through the furnace, but here she was still, alive, ready to face her fears.
His hands slid down her back, exploring the curves of her wings, feeling her feathers trembling at his touch. Slowly his fingers venture further down, raising goosebumps across her skin. Their lips parted, and then she was kissing his neck, and her hands were sliding beneath his shirt, lighting fires wherever they touched.
Sam moaned as she climbed on top of him. An ache came from his leg, but then she was tugging off her top, and the pain was forgotten. Sitting up, Sam kissed her, tasting her soft skin beneath his lips. Her hands tugged at his shirt, tearing it off. He jumped as her teeth nipped his neck, but he only pulled her tighter. His heart raced as her breasts pressed against his naked chest.
A gasp tore from Ashley’s throat, and then her hands were on his chest, pushing him down. He lay back on his pillow and stared up at her, feasting on the sight of her naked body. Her pale skin glowed in the incandescent light, a stark contrast to his own. Her white wings extended out to either side of her. Desire burned in his chest and he reached for her again.
