The Way the World Ends (The Evolution Gene Book 3)

by Aaron Hodges

  37

  Chris lay in bed staring at the ceiling. His mind was adrift, set loose by the confrontation with Liz. His thoughts swirled, drowning in the cocktail of drugs being pumped into his arm. A deep sense of lethargy clung to him, a hopeless resignation to his fate. Thinking back, he could hardly believe what he’d done, the atrocities he’d committed. It seemed almost a dream to him now, an awful nightmare he could not wake from.

  But there was no escaping the truth. Mike was dead—his blood was on Chris’s hands. There was no changing that, no denying it. The whole world had seen him execute the helpless Texan. One way or another, he would have to pay the price for his actions.

  What form that price would take had yet to be determined. In the corner, the television buzzed as images flickered across the screen. They showed the riots engulfing San Francisco, the buildings burning and protesters marching in the streets. People were screaming for justice, for the fall of the government and all those involved with the spread of the Chead.

  Chris watched the rioting without emotion. After all this time, after everything he’d suffered at the hands of the government, he felt strangely disconnected from the outside world. Thinking back to the boy he’d been, to the teenager looking forward to finishing school and graduating with his friends was like looking into another life, another world.

  His grandmother had been his last connection to that life, to a time before Doctor Halt’s insane experiments. But now she was gone, and he felt more alone than ever. It was as though each new loss pushed him farther and farther from humanity.

  Without Liz, without Ashley and Sam, what would he become?

  He shuddered, recalling the raw hate in Liz’s eyes. Was that the price his crimes demanded? That he be left completely and utterly alone?

  Gritting his teeth, Chris forced aside his self-pity. If that was the case, if his friends and the world no longer wanted anything to do with him, so be it. He deserved no better.

  A harsh beep from the corner drew Chris’s attention to the television. He frowned as the screen flashed red. With a sigh, he reached for the remote. But flicking through the few available channels, he saw they were all the same. He was about to switch the television off when the screen returned to life. An image of a broad mahogany desk appeared.

  Chris’s blood chilled as a man stepped into sight and sat down. The President wore a broad smile as he straightened his tie and looked into the camera.

  “My fellow citizens of the Western Allied States,” he began. “It is with regret that I come to you today from hiding. Terrorists and political traitors have undermined our great nation, driving your elected representatives from government and inciting violence across the country. I have been forced to take leave from my office in fear for my own life.”

  He paused, eying the camera, and Chris swallowed. The glint in the President’s eyes was not one of a defeated man. If anything, he looked invigorated, as though this week of chaos had revitalized him.

  “It grieves me that our great nation has come to this. But fear not. I will not let chaos stand. I will not allow treacherous generals and foreign devils to overthrow our nation. This will not be the end of democracy in the Western Allied States.”

  Chris scowled, cursing the man’s hypocrisy. The President himself had been the first to undermine the country’s democracy. Who else could have been behind the spate of disappearances, the bribery scandals and treason charges brought against opposition leaders? By the first postwar election, the opposition party had plummeted to record lows in the polls. Eventually they had crumbled to infighting, fracturing into half a dozen minor parties who could never truly challenge the President’s party.

  “Myself and a few loyal souls have already begun preparations to restore order. While our armies are fractured, we will soon have the force needed to bring peace to New Mexico. We expect Arizona, California, Oregon and Washington to quickly follow.

  “In the meantime, I ask those of you who believe in this great nation to have patience. Have faith that this is not the end, that our union will win through. The chaos of today is not our fate—peace will be restored. Though our foes surround us now, their greed will be their downfall. We will prevail.”

  A shiver went through Chris. Gripping the rails of his bed, he tried to sit up. The steel cuffs cut into his wrists as he strained against them, teeth clenched with rage. Hands trembling, he searched for the remote to hurl it at the television, but somehow he’d lost it in the folds of the sheets. The speakers screeched as the President continued his address.

  “And to those who would oppose us, to the traitors marching in our streets, and those powers threatening our borders, I say this: defy us at your peril. Foreign acts of aggression will not be ignored. Any movement of troops across our borders will be met with swift and fatal recourse.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, the President stared through the screen, eyes alight. “I have taken refuge with loyal soldiers at the Kirtland Air Force Base. In doing so, I now have sole command of our nuclear defense system. Should foreign powers seek entrance into the Western Allied States, I will have no choice but to unleash these powers. Mexico City, Houston, Austin—every major urban center you possess will be wiped from the map.”

  At that the President leaned back and smiled. “And to those domestic traitors who desire my position, well, you know where I am.” He spread his hands. “I’m waiting.”

  38

  The setting sun stained the skyline red as Liz drifted down towards the city. For once, the San Francisco winds had died away, and she glided easily through the open air, her feathers making miniscule adjustments in the shifting air currents. Banking left, she slid between the skyscrapers, watching the hills rolling up towards the peak of Independence Square, then back down towards the suburbs.

  Breathing in the fresh salt air, high above the chaos, Liz struggled to relax, to forget for a few minutes about Chris and Mike, about Mira and Maria, about Jasmine dying in her arms. But it was hopeless. The ghosts of the past chased her wherever she went.

  The skyscrapers fell away as Liz soared over the suburbs. The hills flattened, the buildings changing to a miss-match of single-story villas and dense townhouses packed into the narrow San Francisco streets. Trees lined the sidewalks, their branches flourishing with the green of summer. A few cars dotted the roads, but most residents had retreated to their homes to wait out the night.

  Liz hadn’t left the embassy with a purpose or destination in mind, only in the knowledge she had to get out, had to escape the narrow hallways and rooms and put as much distance between herself and Chris as possible.

  Now though, she began to recognize the landscape below, the trees and twisting streets. With a jolt, she realized where she was going.

  It didn’t take her long to reach the park. Tucking her wings in close, Liz dropped from the sky, watching as the pine trees grew in her vision. When she was some thirty feet above the ground, her wings snapped back open, and she lurched to an abrupt, mid-air stop. The muscles along her back clenched, tying themselves up in knots, but in a way the pain was welcome. At least it was real.

  She drifted down to the ground, scanning the familiar parking lot, taking in the seedy public bathroom and the distant row of pines. The faintest whiff of ash drifted on the air. Steeling herself, Liz walked around the corner of the toilet block.

  The breath caught in her throat as the burnt-out car came into view, her chest swelling with anticipation. It was as though she expected to find Jasmine waiting there for her, eyebrow raised, foot tapping impatiently against the concrete.

  Instead, Liz found herself alone. Her gut clenched. Tears streaming down her face, she crossed to the car. A sob wrenched its way up from her stomach as she placed a hand on the blackened roof and looked through the shattered window.

  The flames had licked the old sedan clean, melting the paint from the exterior and leaving the steel frame a twisted wreck. The back seat where she’d laid Jasmine down and said her g
oodbyes was bare. There was nothing more than a pile of ash where her friend had been. It was as if Jasmine had never existed.

  A wave of nausea struck Liz. Staggering sideways, she dropped to one knee. Panting, her vision blurring with tears, she grabbed at the car to steady herself. Her stomach cramped, and she groaned as her legs turned to jelly. She sat down hard, pulled her knees to her chest and leaned back against the car.

  “You were right, Jas,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the empty asphalt. “We should have listened to Richard, back in the mountains. We should have just disappeared, run away and never looked back.”

  A soft breeze blew through the parking lot, rustling the leaves of a nearby tree. She waited as the breeze died away, as though somehow her words might reach through the veil and draw back a response. The last glow of the setting sun had fallen beneath the treetops. Darkness pressed in around her. But there was no response, only the calm silence of night.

  Liz shook her head. “It’s all been for nothing. Everything we’ve sacrificed, everything we’ve done, it’s only made things worse.”

  Who could have imagined the truth would have such disastrous consequences? That it would turn rural on urban, and send the nation to the brink of another civil war? In the last week, she had witnessed the true depths of humanity’s evil, had watched as society unraveled and her country reverted to mob rule.

  Not that Liz could blame the refugees for their rage. After all, they were her countrymen. She had grown up alongside them, had suffered the same poverty and rampant depredation that had come after the American War. The postwar depression had crippled the rural economy, bankrupting farmers across the country. With their land lost to wealthy investors from the cities, rural communities had spent the last two decades scraping a living from the pennies left to them.

  Now, that brooding resentment had been set aflame by the Director’s confession.

  Slowly the pains in Liz’s stomach faded away. She sucked in fresh air as her grief relaxed its iron grip. Staring into open space, Liz remembered again her fiery friend, remembered the tears they’d shed together after Richard’s sacrifice, after they’d thought Chris and Ashley lost. Despite their rocky beginning, Jasmine had become like a sister to her. More than anything, Liz regretted pushing her away in those final weeks.

  She would have given anything to have her there, to talk with her about Chris. No doubt she would have ended up crying into Jasmine’s shoulder. Liz smiled at the thought. Closing her eyes, she bid a final farewell to her friend. Then she placed her hands against the asphalt and pushed herself back to her feet. Brushing the stones from her gloves, she gave the burnt-out car a final glance, and turned away.

  Wandering through the park, Liz found her thoughts drifting to the future. She wondered whether she was destined for the same fate as Jasmine. They had won the battle, had defeated the Director and driven the President from the western seaboard, but the war was far from over. So long as the madman lived, he remained a threat. The President had proven in his two decades of rule to be a man without rival. If he said he would return, Liz had no doubt he meant it.

  But with the President’s finger on the button of a nuclear arsenal, there was little anyone could do to act against him. Anyone that is, but Liz and her friends. They were the only ones who stood a chance of getting close, the only ones powerful enough to take on whatever forces the man had gathered around himself. Yet if they did, any one of them could be next on the funeral pyre.

  Shuddering, Liz gathered herself and leapt skyward. Her wings beat down, sending dust swirling around the empty parking lot. Airborne, she raced across the treetops, her wingtips barely missing the tallest branches. Her heart hammered in her chest, and an icy fear crept through her veins. Her wings moved faster, hurling her through the sky. The park flashed past below, then gave way to the dark waters of the harbor.

  Taking a breath, Liz forced all thought of the future from her mind. Her heart slowed as her fear fell away. Banking, she turned back towards the coast. The houses here had once been the pick of the city, golden mansions that looked out across the harbor to the scarlet expanse of the Golden Gate Bridge. Now they stood empty, great stone and metal monuments to the arrogance of man.

  Concrete seawalls had protected them from the incremental sea level rise of the last thirty years. But it had only been a matter of time before the warming oceans brought the devastating hurricanes of the tropics to San Francisco. Hurricane Huerta had spared most of the city, but its low-pressure eye and howling winds had driven waves up above the high tide mark, smashing seawalls to pieces and sweeping through the mansions below.

  With the storms only forecast to worsen, the owners had finally abandoned their properties to the ocean. For ten years they had stood empty, their lower floors inundated, their walls crumbling to neglect and decay.

  Looking at them, Liz realized a new group had taken up residence. The refugees who’d streamed into the city were quick to occupy any available space, and the upper levels of the mansions were still untouched by the rising waters. A shantytown now packed the spaces between the buildings, as desperate souls threw up makeshift walls and corrugated iron roofs to protect themselves from the elements.

  There, finally, Liz spied people. Unlike their urban cousins, the people below had no fear of the darkness. They stood in the open, gathered around flaming barrels and spreading out into the streets beyond the shantytown. Most looked harmless, wandering the maze of crude alleyways with empty hands, eager just to go about their lives safe from the hordes of Chead roaming the countryside.

  Then, as Liz drifted over the maze of crude alleyways, a scream pierced the night.

  39

  Susan settled back on the rags and closed her eyes. The weight of five tiny bodies lay across her stomach and breasts. Their fiery heat radiated through her, reassuring her that they lived, that her babies had survived. She could hardly believe she’d survived the ordeal herself. Yet here she was, alive and whole, basking in the warmth of her future.

  Three girls and two boys.

  Stones rattled, and Susan watched as Hecate entered their cavern. He slid through the shadows until he stood over her. His grey eyes glowed in the light of the candles, staring down at them.

  Smiling, Susan gestured to the empty rags. A smile appeared on Hecate’s face and he quickly settled himself beside her. She shivered as he embraced her, embraced them all. Closing her eyes, her worries faded away, a soft blanket of contentment wrapping around her.

  Resting her head against Hecate’s chest, she breathed in the scent of him, of their family, their life. Settled there, she could almost forget the trauma of the past hours, almost ignore the hot cramps still wrapping around her abdomen.

  “My congratulations, Susan, Hecate,” Talisa whispered in the flickering light.

  Susan’s eyes snapped open, her heartbeat quickening. Hecate stirred, and one of the boys on her stomach started to wriggle. She stroked his head as the elder Chead approached them. A flicker of red drifted across her vision. There was a bitter taste in Susan’s mouth as Talisa took a seat on the outcropping of rock beside their makeshift bed.

  Finally remembering herself, Susan nodded. “Thank you, Talisa.”

  A smile spread across Talisa’s aging face. “You have done well, ensuring our people’s survival. The Chead could not have asked more of you.”

  Lying flat on her back, staring up at the ancient Chead, Susan felt small. With the tiny bodies wrapped in her arms, she was vulnerable, trapped by their presence. She didn’t dare move for fear of waking them.

  “It’s not over,” Susan whispered, glancing at the sleeping faces of her children. “This world will never…be safe for them, not while…humanity hunt us.”

  Talisa’s bleached white eyes studied Susan closely. “That is a worry for others now, my child.” Her voice was dry, rasping as it echoed from the cold rocks. “Your children need you.”

  Susan frowned and she tried to sit up. A sharp cry came from one
of the girls, and cursing under her breath, Susan stilled. But she wasn’t about to give in so easily. “I will not stand idle…while the humans plot against us. I cannot rest…until the world is safe for them.”

  “My child, we have warriors who will carry the fight to the humans,” Talisa replied, her voice hardening. “Tomorrow they will leave these caves and travel through the mountains. Hecate and I will lead them. We will kill this President and leave the humans leaderless. But you must remain.” She grinned. “We cannot risk such a fertile female beyond our safe haven.”

  Anger lit in Susan’s chest. She sat up, taking care to place her babies gently on the rags beside her. One of the girls started to shriek, but Susan only handed her to a surprised Hecate. Standing, she faced Talisa. “You think killing their leader will stop them?” she asked, the words coming easily for once. “You think they’ll leave us alone, now that you’ve revealed our strength?”

  Susan suppressed a shudder as Talisa stepped in close. The elder Chead’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, but Susan refused to bow down.

  “You would defy me, child?”

  The edge to Talisa’s voice raised the hairs on Susan’s neck. There was a warning there, a threat. Swallowing hard, she lowered her gaze, suddenly unable to meet the elder’s eyes.

  “No, Talisa,” she murmured demurely, “but…I have another idea…something I remembered.”

  A long silence stretched over the cavern, broken only by the soft murmuring of Susan’s upset children. Her heart wrenched as she looked back and saw Hecate cradling two of the girls to his chest. For a moment she was filled with a yearning to obey Talisa’s command. The desire to wrap her children in her arms, to give her life to them, was all but irresistible. It would be so easy to remain here, to forget the dangers of the outside world, the cruelty of humanity, and dedicate herself to the Chead.