Renegades (The Praegressus Project Book 2)
Author: Hodges, Aaron
Date: 2017-05-30

RENEGADES

Book II
of

The Praegressus Project

Aaron Hodges

Written by Aaron Hodges

Proofread by Tee Ayer and Sara Pinnell

Cover Art by Christian Bentulan

The Praegressus Project

Book 1: Rebirth

Book 2: Renegades

Book 3: Retaliation

Other Series:

The Sword of Light Trilogy

Book 1: Stormwielder

Book 2: Firestorm

Book 3: Soul Blade

Copyright © May 2017 Aaron Hodges.

First Edition

All rights reserved.

The National Library of New Zealand

ISBN-13: 978-0994147523

Aaron Hodges was born in 1989 in the small town of Whakatane, New Zealand. He studied for five years at the University of Auckland, completing a Bachelor’s of Science in Biology and Geography, and a Masters of Environmental Engineering. After working as an environmental consultant for two years, he grew tired of the 9 to 5 and decided to quit his job to travel the world. During his travels he picked up an old draft of a novel he once wrote in High School – titled The Sword of Light – and began to rewrite the story. Six months later he published his first novel – Stormwielder. This book, Renegades, marks his fifth complete novel.

Fans of Aaron Hodges can subscribe to his VIP list for a free short story and the chance to receive advanced copies of his coming novels:

http://www.aaronhodges.co.nz/praegressus-project/

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Well, here it is, book two of my all-new dystopian scifi! Chris and Liz have escaped the facility and are now lost in the Californian wilderness. How long can they last before the government forces catch up with them? Well, read on to find out!

Wander.

Until you find a place to call home.

PROLOGUE

Chris gasped as he grabbed at the lip of the cliff and hauled himself over the edge. Rolling clear of the hundred-foot drop, he shivered as icy fingers of air cut through the rips in his shirt. Grimacing, he looked at the red grazes on his bare feet and hands. The frozen rock had been merciless, unforgiving of the slightest mistakes. But with the wind whirling about the mountaintop, there had been no other choice.

A dull ache started to throb in the back of his head as he settled down on the rocky escarpment and looked out over the valley they had just traversed. Beyond his desolate perch, the mountains stretched out around him, their ice-capped peaks soaring up into the swirling clouds. Cliffs peeked out between the snowy blanket, their rocky faces pockmarked and broken, while in the valley below shattered rock lay embedded in the barren earth. A frozen stream carved its way through the valley, its crystal surface as clear as day from Chris’s vantage point far above. The wind howled as it raced between the peaks, and the mountains echoed with the distant rumble of falling snow. Every so often he heard the sharp crack of breaking rock or ice, and he would flinch, expecting the bullets to follow.

Chris sat for a long time watching the valley, checking for signs of their pursuers. The broken rocks of the peak would make him all but invisible to anyone below, but even so he felt exposed on the rocky escarpment. He suppressed a shudder, imagining a black-garbed huntsman staring down the sights of his rifle, lining him up, pulling the trigger.

Closing his eyes, Chris took a breath and shoved the fear aside. He couldn’t afford the luxury of panic now – none of them could. Somewhere out there, Doctor Halt and his people were hunting for them. And Halt had already shown he would do whatever it took to stop them.

Tears burned Chris’s eyes as he remembered Ashley falling, saw her blood spraying the air and her broken body crumpling to the rocks. And Sam, lifting her into his arms, carrying her back to the torment they had just escaped – on the impossible hope she might be saved.

Angrily, Chris reached up and wiped away the tears before they turned to ice. Allowing his vision to clear, he looked out over the valley for a second longer. But there was no sign of movement, no hint of life amidst the desolate mountains, and breathing a sigh of relief he slid backwards out of the wind.

Retreating to the cliff he had climbed, he lowered himself over the side and began his descent. A hundred feet below, the others would be watching him from their ledge, but he did not look down. After the week-long flight through the mountains, his chest and abdomen ached constantly, and sharp pains prickled at the small of his back when he inhaled. It was almost a relief to use his arms and legs for a change.

Even so, his strength was flagging, starved away by the sparse meals of moss they had resorted to eating in their desperation. Only once in the last week had they eaten well – when Richard had spotted a fish trapped in a frozen pool. The ice had been difficult to break, and they had eaten it raw, but it had given them the strength to continue another day.

Since escaping the facility they had travelled west through the mountains, as near as they could tell. For the first few days, they had climbed higher into the mountains, up long gorges and narrow passes, until now, finally, they seemed to have reached the peak. Below, a new valley sloped down to the west, its floor falling gently away as it wound its way through the mountains. Beyond waited civilisation, the wide expanses of the Western Allied States.

Not that they knew what they’d do once they got there.

For Chris at least, one thought drove him on more than any other – to find his mother, and save her. He had not seen her since that night in San Francisco, so many countless weeks and months ago now, when police had come and spirited them away. His mother had been accused of treason – a death sentence for her and her immediate family. But that didn’t mean she was gone.

It couldn’t.

Gritting his teeth, Chris forced his thoughts back to the climb. The rock was slick with ice and the weight of his injuries would have slowed anyone else. But after all they had been through, the depraved experiments, the torture and imprisonment, Chris was beyond the pain now. He moved down the cliff without effort, his fingers gripping to the smallest of cracks, his toes finding the tiniest footholds. Holding his own weight no longer bothered him, the exertion of the climb was no more than a brief inconvenience. The doctors in the facility had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams.

If only it had been worth the cost.

Unbidden, a boy’s face rose through the darkness of Chris’s thoughts, his features distorted with agony, his limbs flailing as he thrashed on the floor of a padded room. A woman stood over him, a thin grimace on her lips, a metallic jet-injector clenched in one hand.

The image faded, only for a fresh memory to take its place. He saw again Angela Fallow’s body, sprawled on the laboratory floor, blood oozing from the bullet wound in her chest. And Halt, standing over her, the gun still clutched in his fist. A well of hatred opened within Chris, fuelled by the vile, despicable things the man had done to bend them to his will.

If not for Angela, they would still be his, trapped in their cages, helpless to defend themselves against his depravity. She had freed them, opened the cells, unlocked the collars, given them back their lives.

And she had died for it.

Chris’s stomach lurched suddenly as he missed his next foothold. Cursing, he scrambled for purchase, his weight falling onto his only hand-hold. The sharp rocks sliced into his fingers, and instinctively they loosened. With a shout, he fell backwards into empty space.

In that instant, time seemed to slow. His heart beat hard in his chest as he scanned the rock, spying out a fresh set of holds. Twisting in the air, his hands flashed out to catch them, even as his feet settled back into a groove in the rock. He pulled himself close to the rock face and let out a long breath.

Nice moves, Chris could almost hear Sam’s voice, rich with wry humour. Swallowing, he fought back tears and continued his climb down. When he was still a dozen feet above the ledge, he released the rock and fell the rest of the way. He dropped to his knees as he landed, and then straightened to look around at the others.

Their faces were pale with cold and exhaustion, their eyes ringed by shadows. They looked at him expectantly. For close to a week they had travelled in near silence, their conversation dimmed by what they had lost, by their own private torments, and the buzz of distant helicopters. He had expected it from Jasmine and Richard – they young couple had been nothing but antagonistic since the day he’d met them.

Yet even Liz had been distant, as though the weight of everyone they’d left behind hung between them.

He looked at her now, finding her blue eyes behind the tangles of black hair. They showed the same faraway look of the past few days, and he forced himself to look away as doubts rose inside him.

Jasmine stood beside Liz with her arms crossed, her brown eyes hard and her straight black hair billowing out in the wind. Her tanned skin matched Liz’s, but at five foot five she was taller than Chris’s feisty cellmate. Jasmine stood shoulder to shoulder with Richard, in stark contrast to his short blond hair and pale skin. Both wore their trademark grimace, their brows creased by scowls.

Pursing his lips, Chris ignored their animosity and allowed his eyes to search for the fifth member of their little party. His stomach twisted as he found the young girl sitting on the edge of the ledge. They were not even halfway down the cliff here, and her legs dangled out over a five-hundred-foot drop. Her grey hair swirled in the breeze and while he could not see her face, he could still picture her strange multicoloured eyes, one green, the other blue.

A shudder went through him as he turned back to the others. The girl could be no older than thirteen. He could not begin to imagine how she had survived the facility. But they were no closer to getting any answers from her. For the last week, she had remained stubbornly mute, and they still did not even know her name.

Letting out a long breath, Chris finally spoke. “There’s no sign of anyone behind us,” the wind howled around them, stealing away his voice. Here in the mountains it never ceased, and not for the first time he wished for more than the thin rags Angela had provided them. “It looks like we’ve reached the top. If we keep heading west, I think we’ll start to descend now.”

“Good,” Jasmine said. “I’m sick of the cold.”

Chris caught a flicker of irritation in Liz’s eyes, but she only nodded. “Should we push on further today, or find a place to camp for the night?”

Chris glanced past them to where the sun still hung between the towering peaks. The ache in his back gave a sharp throb, the pain radiating out into his chest like the threads of a spider’s web. His muscles were stiff and his stomach rumbled with hunger. Silently he wondered how much longer they could last, before their altered bodies finally reached the limits of their endurance. But there were still several hours of daylight left. They could not afford to waste them.

“Let’s push on,” gritting his teeth, Chris moved past them.

He paused at the edge of the ledge and glanced across at the girl. She sat in silence, her strange eyes watching him. Shaking his head, he turned away, trying not to show his discomfort. The new valley stretched away to the west, twisting past the sharp escarpment on which they were perched. The rocky spire made the perfect lookout, though for an ordinary human it would have taken long hours to climb. And when they reached the top, they would have faced only a long, treacherous climb back down.

The five of them did not have that problem.

Staring out into the distance, Chris’s keen eyes picked out the distant patches of tussock grass and broken boulders scattering the slopes. Low cloud drifted here and there, but for the most part the air was clear, his view unobstructed. The valley stretched out for miles, finally ending in a distant wall of rock.

Turning his mind inwards, Chris focused on the ache in his back. A twitch ran through him, radiating out through his back, waking his body for action. Bones ached and muscles stretched as he readied himself.

Looking down at the five-hundred-foot drop, Chris tried to suppress the old tingles of fear that rose in his chest. Even after all this time, he still struggled to suppress his terror. But heights held no sway over him now, and clenching his fists he sucked in another breath.

Movement came from Chris’s left, and he glanced across to see Liz step up beside him. Her eyes caught his, and she flashed him a quick grin. No more than a brief twist of her lips, shy and uncertain, but it was more emotion than she’d shown him in days. He smiled back, feeling warmth seeping back into his heart, pushing back the terrors of the last week.

Turning back to the edge, Chris closed his eyes, and stepped out into empty space.

His stomach lurched into his chest as he began to fall. Icy air roared past his ears, and opening his eyes, he saw the barren earth rushing up towards him. He turned his head as a wild scream came from beside him, and found Liz nearby, a mad joy dancing in her crystal blue eyes.

Together, they plummeted towards the rocky ground.

Grinning, Chris returned his attention to the ache in his back. His whole body burned now, the rush of adrenaline lighting up every fibre of his being. He could feel the ache spreading, tingling outwards into the foreign flesh and bone that sprouted from his back. With an eager laugh, he willed them to life.

With a sharp crack, his wings snapped open. His stomach lurched again as twenty-four feet of feathers caught the air, and sent him soaring into the sky. The earth fell away as the wind rustled his tawny brown feathers.

A surge of joy filled Chris’s chest as he looked out over the valley floor. Boulders and cliffs flashed past, as from his right came the thump of another set of wings. He looked across as Liz fell into formation, her jet-black feathers stretching out towards his own. Warmth spread to his stomach as they touched.

From behind came the familiar crack of unfurling wings as the others followed.

1

Sam groaned as the first tingle of consciousness tugged at his mind. He fought against it, clinging to the dark cloud of oblivion, desperate for its cold, numbing comfort. But slowly the light trickled in, casting out the black, dragging him back to reality, and the agony of his body.

He winced as lances of fire twisted in his muscles, and another groan tore from his lips. A low gurgle started in his chest and made its way up his throat, until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Rolling onto his side, he spat it onto the concrete. He swallowed hard, and felt the cold steel collar pressing against his throat.

Lying there with his eyes closed, his memory started to return. He saw again Ashley’s fall, her wondrous white wings folding in on themselves as she plummeted to the snowy ground. He remembered lifting her broken body into his arms, his whispers as he begged her to fight, to live. Then the short flight from the cliffs, his wings straining hard to keep them both aloft, the ground rising up to meet him.

And the guards waiting, their rifles held at the ready, watching their approach.

They had taken Ashley from him the moment he landed. Sam had made no effort to resist – the doctors in the facility were the only ones who could help her now. After securing Ashley, the guards had turned their attention on him. The hulking captain had stepped forward and slammed his rifle into Sam’s stomach, driving the air from his lungs. As he crumpled, something hard had struck the back of his head, toppling him to the ground. Steel-capped boots had descended on him then, smashing him in the face and ribs, slamming into his back and crunching the fragile feathers of his wings.

Unable to defend himself, Sam had curled into a ball and waited for death. Finally, a blow had caught him in the side of the head, and he’d gladly given way to the darkness that rose to claim him.

Hours later he had woken in this room, to a group of hard-faced men in suits standing over him. At his first signs of movement, two guards had sprung forward and pulled him to his knees. His head still spinning from the beating, Sam had met their questions with stony silence.

Who was Angela Fallow working with?

How did she free you?

Where are they going?

His refusals to answer had been answered by fists. A blow had caught him in the forehead and sent him reeling sideways. But as he tried to roll free of the guards, the collar around his neck had pulled him up short. Only then had he noticed the short length of chain connecting his collar to a bolt in the ground. Helpless, he had looked up in time to catch a hard boot in the side of his face.

For days now his captors had tormented him, until he no longer knew whether it was day or night. Time lost all meaning – only the presence of his tormentors mattered. Sometimes they left him alone for long hours – at others they seemed to reappear within minutes. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Sam found his senses crumbling, his sanity falling away.

Images flashed through his mind, some faster than thought, while others lingered, tormenting him. He saw Ashley standing in their cell, the familiar smile on her face, her movements lithe and graceful. Then he would see her lying still, her face a pallid grey, her eyes empty.

Other visions followed, filling his mind, tormenting him with the horrors of the past. He watched again the boy convulsing on the training field as Halt stood over him, smelt the stench of death and decay in the medical room, saw the blood staining the walls of the padded room.

Saw the blood on his hands, and his friend, lying still on the ground.

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.”

Silence met his words. Liz stared up at the sky, unable to find an answer, to comprehend the guilt and sorrow warring within the boy beside her. Her own fight had been simple – it had been his life, or her own. Richard was right – Joshua had been a stranger to her. It should not have made her decision easier, but it did.

Finally, she spoke again, “It was the same for Ashley and Sam. You must know that? So why do you hate them?”

“Hate them?” Richard shook his head. “I don’t hate them. They did what they had to too survive, just like the rest of us. No, I can’t face them, because every time I look at their faces, I see Joshua again, standing there, sacrificing his life for mine. I can’t face them, because all they do is remind me what happened, of what I would have done to save my own life.”

“But when Ashley fell…”

A shiver went through him then, and his voice broke as he spoke. “We were dead to each other a long time ago, Liz,” he breathed. “But, in truth, I didn’t have the courage to say goodbye.”

On an impulse, Liz reached out and wrapped her arms around Richard. The boy crumpled at her touch, his strength failing him. She pulled him tight against her, feeling his sorrow, his silent sobs as he buried his head in her shoulder.

When Richard finally pulled away, he could not meet her eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered. Slowly, he recovered his composure. “I guess, in the end, it won’t matter. We’ll all end up like her, one way or another.”

Liz flinched at the bitterness in Richard’s voice. Icy fingers wrapped around her throat, like the ghost of the collar she had once worn. Ashley’s face from the dream appeared in her mind, the accusing eyes, the pallid grey fingers reaching for her. Pushing down against the rock, she stood.

“No,” Liz breathed, closing her eyes, drawing in a mouthful of fresh air. She concentrated on her wings, felt them lift and stretch, until the black feathers tingled in the soft breeze. Looking down at Richard, she shook her head. “They won’t catch me. They won’t take me back. I’d rather die.”

Richard only gave a sad smile. “Brave words, but how long will they last? How long will any of us last against them? They’re after us now – Halt, the guards, the government, everyone. They’ll come for us with everything they have. We’ve kept ahead of them in the mountains, but out there,” he waved a hand down the valley, “in the lowlands, in the cities, that’s their territory.”

“The cities might belong to them, but the countryside is mine,” Liz growled. Clenching her fists, she looked out over the mountains. “Out here, the government is not the power it pretends to be in the cities. The Western Allied States are huge – they cannot be everywhere, see everything. The people in the countryside tolerate them, because they have little choice, but there is no love lost for them. That’s how I avoided them for so long.”

Richard shrugged. “We’re a little more conspicuous now. You know, with the wings and all.”

Liz laughed softly. “There is that,” she smiled, “But we can hide our wings. We’ll find jackets or something. We can avoid the hunters, at least until the chase dies down.”

“They’ll follow us to the ends of the earth, Liz. We’re a dark secret they want buried, especially in an election year. Even our wondrous Electors are bound to ask a few questions of the President if the truth comes out,” Richard paused, “and besides, a life on the run doesn’t sound like much of a life to me.”

Liz shivered, remembering the long days and nights alone in the wild, the uncertainty, the fear of being caught. She had spent two years living that life, not knowing when the day would finally come that they found her. “No…” she whispered, “it’s not. We need a way to fight back.”

It was Richard’s turn to chuckle. “Sure, let me know how that works out.”

Pursuing her lips, Liz shook her head. “We’ll find a way,” she recalled Ashley’s words from so long ago. “They’re only human, Richard. They’ll make a mistake.”

Richard’s emerald eyes found her in the darkness. “After all they’ve done, do you truly believe that?” he shook his head. “The things they’ve done to us, they’re not possible Liz.”

Shivering, Liz look away, the wings suddenly heavy on her back. Everything they had become, every extra ounce of strength, of agility they now possessed, was thanks to Halt and Angela and the other doctors. All seemed far beyond the realms of possibility. Liz’s stomach clenched as she realised she had no response.

Silence fell then, as each drifted into the chaos of their own thoughts. Moving back to the boulder, Liz took her seat again. Together, they sat looking out over the mountains, watching as the glow of the new day slowly appeared over the distant peaks.

As the warm glow found her on the rock, Liz closed her eyes. Whatever had come before, today was a new day, and she was determined to make the most of it.

After all, who knew how many they had left?

4

Chris sucked in a breath, revelling in the icy air filling his lungs. The wind howled around him, tugging at his lengthening hair and rustling in his feathers. His tawny brown wings stretched out on either side of him, their concave surface catching in the wind, sending him higher and higher, until the treetops were little more than specks far below.

A mile above the rugged ground, Chris watched the giant redwoods drift by. They stood in groves amongst their smaller relatives, towering above the rest of the forest, striving for glory. But their height meant nothing to Chris and Liz and the others. Their only rivals were the snow-capped mountains behind them. A cloudless sky extended around them, seeming to stretch away to infinity.

For a while, Chris allowed the others their wonder, savouring in the freedom of the open air. Just a short week ago, heights had been a terror to him, the thought of plummeting helplessly to his death his greatest nightmare. But now he was the master of the sky, his fears caged, vanquished by the power of his wings.

Sadly, they could not remain in the open for long. Outside the jagged peaks, they were exposed in the empty sky. Though there had been little sign of pursuit in the mountains, they had heard the helicopters in the distance, and there was no doubt the government would be coming for them.

Folding his wings, Chris pulled into a dive and shot towards the distant trees. The air whistled around his ears and tore at his clothing as he gave a wild scream. Slowly, he eased his wings out a few inches, lifting his body slowly from the dive. As the trees closed, he allowed them to unfurl to their full length, and levelled out just above the canopy.

The others soon joined him, and together they drifted over the tree tops. Glancing around, Chris noticed even Jasmine wore a wild grin, her eyes alive with exhilaration. Chris allowed himself to glide lower, scanning the dense branches, searching for a way through. His chest burned and pain threaded its way down his back. He desperately needed to rest, and he doubted the others were any better off.

Spotting a gap, he headed towards it, struggling to retract his wings enough to fit through without going into freefall. Even so, he felt his descent accelerating as he aimed for the opening. Lurching in the air, a branch caught his arm, throwing him off balance. Then he was through, dropping into the open space beneath the canopy.

Looking down, he found himself still thirty feet above the ground and quickly spread his wings. His descent slowed, but he was still falling too quickly when he struck the ground. The shock of the impact took his feet out from underneath him, and he quickly rolled forward to break his fall.

Coming to a rest on his back, he picked himself up and brushed off the pine needles, hoping the others had not seen his uninspiring landing. Turning, his cheeks warmed as he found them standing nearby, watching him with amused grins on their faces.

Shaking his head, Chris flashed his best scowl. “And that, children, is how not to land.”

Liz laughed. “Who are you calling children. Pretty sure half of us are older than you.”

Chris shrugged and rolled his shoulders, trying to remove the knot that had collected in the muscles beneath his shoulder blades. His wings seemed to connect in some way to just about every muscle in his back, as well as those in his chest and abdomen. The collective strength of those muscles, along with their increased muscle density, seemed to provide the power they needed for flight.

Unfortunately, it also meant every inch of his torso burned at the end of each day’s flight.

“How do we get back up?” Jasmine was looking at the canopy.

Where they stood on the forest floor, the hole in the trees was invisible. An army of tree trunks surrounded them, their red trunks straight and smooth as they stretched towards the hidden sky. Brown pine needles smothered the ground, and there was no trace of any undergrowth. Distantly, Chris recalled from biology class that chemicals from many redwood species leeched nutrients from the topsoil, preventing other plant species from colonising beneath them.

“I think we should go on foot for a while,” he said at last. Their progress would be slow, but at least they would be hidden from prying eyes. “I don’t think I can fly much farther without food, and it feels too exposed up there, out of the mountains.”

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Richard made a face, then turned and walked off through the trees. Jasmine followed him, the young girl silently shadowing her, leaving Liz and Chris staring after them.

Rolling his eyes, Chris flashed Liz a half-hearted grin and started after them. In truth, he was glad to relinquish the lead. He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up with the unofficial title of leader, but the weight of responsibility had quickly grown exhausting, and he could use the rest.

His heart warmed as Liz fell in beside him and reached out to take his hand. She flashed him a smile, her blue eyes shining with some hidden emotion. He found himself smiling back, the gesture genuine now.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Jasmine, Richard and the girl were pulling ahead of them, picking their way easily over the tree roots. But with Liz’s warm fingers clutched around his hand, Chris felt no rush to catch up with them. Liz’s sudden show of affection had stirred him from his melancholy, and he found himself thinking again of the night in the cell, when he had first fallen asleep in her bed.

Beside him, Liz shrugged. “I’m okay,” she bit her lip and looked away, “I’m sorry I’ve been… distant.”

Chris squeezed her hand and pulled her towards him. Sliding his arm around her waist, he held her close. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the rich scent of her hair. She smiled up at him then, her head nestling in beneath his chin. They walked like that for a while, until it became too awkward to manage while avoiding the twisted roots and spider webs criss-crossing the undergrowth.

“How are your wings feeling?” he asked eventually.

At their mention, Liz’s black wings lifted slightly, shivering in the air before settling back against her clothing. “Not too bad,” Liz turned and winked at him. “I’m a bit lighter than you. Less work.”

Laughing, Chris shook his head and bent himself to the task of keeping up with Richard. He had to admit, the boy set a cracking pace, and he was soon puffing hard in the morning air. The scent of the pine trees brought back memories of Christmas, and he found his thoughts drifting to more pleasant memories, to cold mornings beneath Christmas trees, opening presents with his mother and father.

Each lost in their own thoughts, they steadily made their way down through the foothills. Signs of life were everywhere now. Deep scars in nearby tree trunks showed where bears had marked their territory, some more than twice Chris’s height. Dry pine needles crunched beneath their feet, warning the forest creatures of their approach. But Chris still caught flickers of movement from the corners of his eyes, as squirrels and mice ducked out of sight. The soft chirp of cicadas marked the end of winter, and silently Chris wondered whether the world had changed during the long months of their imprisonment.

Towards sunset, the air beneath the trees filled with the buzz of insects. The first chirps of the evening chorus soon followed, as birds flitted through the air, darting between the tree trunks as they chased their prey.

Without the sun or mountains for guidance, it was difficult to judge their progress. But Chris guessed from the burning in his thighs they’d walked several miles. It was a frustrating pace after their rapid flight through the mountains, but there was little they could do about it.

At least Liz had helped fill their empty stomachs. As they walked she had collected berries and handfuls of nuts from various trees and plants. At one point, she had even gathered a few fat white grubs from beneath the bark of a tree. Hungry as he was, Chris had wolfed it all down without question, though he had hesitated maybe half a second longer with the grubs.

As darkness fell beneath the trees, they finally stopped for the night, settling down in a shallow indentation in the earth. It offered little in the way of protection, but it was the best they could find beneath the trees. As they had done every night since their escape, they set a watch, and one by one drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, Chris woke to a hand on his shoulder. Blinking in the darkness, he found Liz sitting beside him, a sly smile on her face. Before he could open his mouth, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. Still groggy from sleep, he struggled to think as her fingers twisted in his hair. Then he was kissing her back, hard and fast, his tongue darting out to taste her.

When she finally pulled away, Chris sucked in a breath. He reached out and pulled her close, his heart beating hard in his chest.

“Who’s on watch?” he breathed.

“Richard,” she smiled in the darkness. “He’s over there. Come on,” she stood, tugging at his hand.

Chris obeyed, staggering to his feet as she pulled him in the opposite direction of where Richard sat. With the thick canopy overhead, the darkness beneath the trees was complete, and even their heightened senses struggled to find a path. Still half-asleep, Chris stumbled along after Liz, barely able to keep up. But each time he slowed, she would look back, her eyes flashing in darkness, her eager smile drawing him onwards.

They managed maybe a dozen yards before Chris tripped over a tree root. Toppling forwards, he dragged Liz with him, and together they tumbled to the ground. They rolled across the soft bed of pine needles, their wings pulled tight against their backs, their laughter echoing beneath the canopy.

When they finally came to a stop, Chris found himself lying atop Liz. He stared down at her, wondering at the brightness of her sapphire eyes in the darkness, and found himself smiling again.

“Hey there,” he smiled at her.

Giggling, Liz tried to wriggle free, but he refused to move, pinning her to the ground. Instead, he leaned down and kissed her. She stilled as their lips met, her hands no longer pushing him away, but wrapping around him, pulling him closer.

She let out a long breath when they parted, and laughed again. Then her wings beat suddenly against the ground, and she rolled, sending Chris toppling sideways. Before he could recover she leapt on his chest and straddled him.

“Gotcha,” she laughed.

Chris grinned. Reaching up, he gently brushed a pine needle from her jet-black hair. Her eyes closed at his touch and her breath quickened. Silently, she reached up and pressed his hand to her cheek.

“Chris,” she breathed.

Then she was leaning down, and her lips were pressing against his, and their hands were fumbling at their clothes. A white-hot fire swept through Chris, stealing away thought and reason, leaving only the burning of desire. Blood pounded in his ears as the buttons of his shirt gave way, and he felt the heat of Liz’s hands on his chest. Need rose within him, and he fumbled at Liz’s shirt. With an awkward, desperate wriggle, she pulled it over her head, leaving it tangled in the black feathers of her wings.

Chris sucked in a breath, his eyes devouring every inch of her naked body. Her crystal blue eyes shone in the darkness as she pulled him to her. Teeth nipped lightly at Chris’s neck, and he moaned, wrapping his arms tight around her, feeling her naked flesh pressed against him.

Together they fell back to soft pine needles, bodies and wings entwined, the scent of the forest all around.

5

Darkness hung over the forest like a blanket, turning the pale trees to ghostly spectres. The dense canopy stretched overhead, the thick leaves and branches hiding even the brilliance of the half-moon. Not a breath of wind stirred the air, and only the far-off hoot of an owl broke the heavy silence.

Through the darkness came the soldiers – one, two, a dozen. They moved with measured steps, each movement taken with painstaking care, every man striving for silence. One wrong step, one twig broken beneath a careless boot, and they would be exposed. But these men were professionals, and they did not make mistakes.

Captain Scott’s eyes scanned the shadows as he moved, seeking out the first sign of their quarry. Through the green glow of his night-vision goggles, he watched his men fan out around him, rifles held at the ready. In the darkness they were indistinguishable from one another, but all were his brothers. Each was a veteran of a dozen campaigns, with tours in foreign states as far afield as Texas and Spain.

Earlier in the day they had watched from their vantage point as their quarry emerged from the mountains and entered the dense woods below. With long range infrared sensors, they had tracked the groups slow progress through the trees, unwilling to act until the party stopped for the night and slept.

It had been a long wait, but ultimately their patience had been rewarded. Maps of the Californian mountains suggested this was one of three valleys the group could travel through. Teams were stationed at the exits to each valley, but Scott had never doubted theirs would be the one. And now it seemed his faith had been rewarded.

Aware of the enhanced nature of their prey, he had waited until well after midnight to order the final approach. The dossier he had been given suggested their prey’s heightened sense of smell and hearing would warn them of the soldier’s presence, but with the group asleep, he hoped to neutralise that advantage.

Shouldering his rifle, the captain edged forward as the first glow of a sleeping body came into view. He raised a hand, signalling to his men. Throughout the trees, all movement ceased. Scott waved to his two lieutenants, and together the three of them continued on. He kept the barrel of his gun trained on the sleeping figure as two more came into view. They were armed with M16 rifles loaded with 5.56mm calibre rounds. Their orders were to capture if possible – but lethal force had been authorised where necessary. Their orders came from the very top, and Scott had no intention of allowing embarrassment to fall on his superiors.

He paused when they were still a few feet away from the campsite, his eyes flickering around the clearing in sudden doubt. Through the ghostly tree trunks, he studied the three sleeping figures, and silently cursed under his breath.

Where were the other two?

On the ground, one of the bodies moved, shifting silently on a bed of pine needles. The glowing green blob lay slightly apart from the other two, and as Scott turned, he realised the figure lay slumped sideways against a tree. He smirked as he realised the boy had fallen asleep on watch. No soldier in his team would be caught performing such dereliction of duty.

Suddenly the figure straightened, sitting bolt upright against the tree. The head lifted, and Scott cursed as eyes turned to stare straight at him.

“Go!” he screamed through his earpiece.

6

Chris jerked awake as a cry broke the night’s silence. Struggling to sit up, he bit back a cry of his own as he found himself trapped in a tangle of limbs and feathers. He heard Liz curse from nearby as he tripped over a wing, before managing to get his extended limbs under control. Pulling his feathers tight against his back, he staggered to his feet.

In the darkness, he caught movement from beside him and spun. But it was only Liz, stumbling over her own wings, her eyes wide with fear as she climbed to her feet. He reached out and caught her arm, and for a moment she stilled.

Then the roar of gunfire sounded through the trees.

Together they spun towards the sound. In his sleep, Chris had lost all sense of direction, but there was no doubt in his mind that if they followed the noise, they would find the others. He glanced at Liz, finding her crystal eyes in the darkness. She nodded back, and they began to run.

Another gunshot echoed through the trees and Chris cursed under his breath. How had the hunters found them? But there was no time to ponder the question now. Ahead, he glimpsed shadows moving through the trees, the dark silhouettes of men as they closed on their campsite.

Leaping over a fallen tree, he gritted his teeth and picked up the pace. Liz landed softly beside him, her wings partly extended, her lips drawn back in a snarl. Branches cracked beneath their feet, but Chris took no notice now. The woods were alive with the sound of movement, with the crashing of heavy bodies converging in front of them.

Ahead, Chris’s keen eyes made out the shadows of men standing in a circle. Without thinking, he leapt towards them. But Liz’s hand flashed out and caught him by the wrist, holding him back, dragging him down behind a fallen tree. She raised a finger to her lips as Chris opened his mouth to argue, and the words died on his tongue.

Silence fell as they crouched in the darkness. Chris struggled to control his breathing, to slow the wild beating of his heart. Slowly the stupidity of their mad rush trickled through his consciousness. From the brief glimpse he’d seen, there were at least a dozen men in the forest. Each would to be armed to the teeth, and would not hesitate to kill. If not for the other shadows racing towards the campsite, Chris guessed they would have been shot already.

He glanced again at Liz, offering his silent thanks for her intervention. She nodded back, and together they lifted their heads above the fallen tree and peered out.

The circle of men Chris had glimpsed a moment before stood twenty feet away, and as they watched several more shadows moved from the surrounding trees to join them. Through the darkness, Chris could see nothing of the men’s uniforms or military association, but the rifles they carried were clear enough. They held them with a professional ease, a few pointing out at the surrounding trees, while the others kept their weapons trained on the prisoners in the centre of the circle.

Richard, Jasmine, and the girl knelt between soldiers, their hands held behind their heads, eyes fixed to the ground.

Chris cursed silently to himself, wondering how the three had been taken unawares. He bit his lip as he studied the men, his heart sinking. He saw now they wore goggles over their eyes, no doubt some form of infrared technology that allowed them to see in the dark. There would be no taking them by surprise.

“What do we do?” he whispered to Liz.

“We have to save them,” she replied.

Shaking his head, Chris glanced at her. “Do you really think they’d do the same for us?”

Her eyes found him in the darkness, clear and resolute. “It doesn’t matter. Whether we like it or not, they’re all we’ve got now. We can’t leave them.”

Chris let out a long sigh and looked away. He clenched his fingers in the dirt, struggling to think, to find some argument against Liz’s words. But in his heart, he knew they were true. Friend or foe, the five of them were all that remained now of the hundreds who had suffered the horrors of the facility. For better or worse, they were bound by that experience.

“Please,” he looked up as Richard’s voice carried through the trees, “Please, don’t do this. Don’t make us go back.”

Most of the men ignored the desperate plea, but one stepped in close to the prisoners. Raising his rifle, he slammed the butt into Richard’s face. Richard reeled backwards from the blow, his arms wind-milling as he crashed to the dirt. He recovered quickly, and with a roar, leapt to his feet.

“Don’t,” the soldier spoke in a calm tone, “unless you want to sign your friends’ death warrants.”

Richard froze, his body taught, his fists clenched at his side. A tremor went through him as he looked at the man. A long moment past, as the shadowy men edged closer to the prisoners, guns raised. Then Richard’s shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head in defeat.

“Excellent,” the man nodded, then waved at the circle of soldiers, “Pack em up, boys. The other two are still out there somewhere. There’s a good chance they’ll be back. I want these subjects secured before they do.”

Several of the soldiers lowered their weapons and leapt to do the man’s bidding. Pulling handcuffs from their belts, they stepped towards Richard and the others, as the remaining soldiers covered them with their rifles.

“Now’s our chance,” Liz whispered.

Chris nodded, eying the space between them and the group of soldiers. Pre-occupied with their prisoners, the soldiers had taken their eyes from the surrounding trees. If Chris and Liz were quick, they could take them by surprise. Even with their goggles, the men would be at a disadvantage in the darkness, and in the confusion, Richard and the others might have a chance to slip free.

Silently, Chris gathered himself to attack.

Before he could move, a sharp crack came from behind them, and a voice growled from the darkness.

“Stop.”

7

Captain Scott crossed his arms as he watched his men securing the prisoners. Covered by their comrades, two stepped towards the boy, slinging their rifles over their backs as they moved. They grabbed the boy by each arm and forced them behind his back. The half-folded wings that sprouted from the small of his back made the task difficult, and the boy clearly had no intention of making things easier.

“Please,” the boy begged as a third soldier stepped forward with the handcuffs. “You don’t know what you’re doing. What they’ll do to us.”

Stepping forward, Scott stared down at the boy, reading the terror in his eyes. The prisoner tried to flinch away, but his men held him tight, looking to their captain in question.

Scott shook his head. His fist flashed out, catching the prisoner in the face. He reeled backwards, and only the men holding his arms kept him from falling.

“Silence,” Scott growled, “By the law of our land, you should be dead. You were offered mercy, offered a chance at redemption. But you threw it all away,” he raised his fist again, his anger catching light.

Before the blow could fall, a blood curdling howl echoed through the trees. He froze, staring at the prisoner for a second, and then whirled to face the forest. The darkness was absolute, but with the night vision goggles any heat signatures approaching their position would be obvious.

There was nothing.

His men shifted nervously around him as they scanned their surrounds, weapons at the ready. Scott took a step towards the trees, unslinging his rifle as he moved. Beyond the circle of his men, the forest was empty.

Shaking his head, he cast one last glance at the pitch-black trees, and then started to bark fresh orders to secure the prisoners. Before he could finish the command, an audible thud came from behind him.

And then someone began to scream.

Scott spun, raising his rifle to fire, already cursing his decision not to execute the prisoners. Whatever their orders, he should have trusted his instincts. He had seen Chead in action, glimpsed the aftermath of their slaughter inside the facility. However pathetic the three teenagers seemed, they were far too dangerous to hold.

But as he turned, he realised the three prisoners were still kneeling on the ground where he had left them. Making a decision, he pointed his rifle, but before he could fire the glowing outline of a man staggered into his line of sight. The man reached out a hand, fumbling at his vest, and then collapsed soundlessly to the ground.

As he went down, another figure moved within the circle of his men. Even in the strange glow of his night vision goggles, Scott knew it was not one of his men. That it was not even entirely human.

He stumbled backwards as the Chead leapt, its feral growl filling the darkness. Movement came from overhead, and then ethereal green figures were falling from the trees, landing amongst his men with cat-like grace.

And the night erupted in chaos.

The roar of gunfire snapped Scott from the beginnings of panic. He lifted his rifle and took aim at the silhouette stalking towards him, but before he could squeeze the trigger it dove behind the glowing bodies of his men. Cursing, Scott spun, barking orders as he searched for a fresh target.

“Men, form up on me! They’re in the trees!”

His orders fell on deaf ears as pandemonium swallowed up the disciplined order of his team. They stumbled back from the onslaught of the superhuman creatures, their formation shattered. The Chead darted amongst them like wolves in a henhouse, rending and tearing as they went. To his left a soldier reeled backwards, his high-pitched scream dying away as a fountain of green sprouted from his chest.

Scott fired as the Chead leapt from the soldier’s lifeless body. The bullets shrieked as they tore through a nearby tree trunk, but the creature was already gone, its powerful legs sending it soaring through the air. It landed with a thump on another of his men, driving him to the ground with a sharp crack.

Flashes of gunfire lit Scott’s night vision, blinding him for a moment. Turning his face away, he shouted again over clamour, his fear rising as years of iron discipline melted away.

“Men, on me, goddammit!” he hurled himself to the side as a body flew past where he had been standing. It crashed to the ground a few feet away and did not move.

Rolling across the pine needles, he rolled back to his feet. All around him, green figures blundered between the trees, all semblance of order lost. In the chaos, the prisoners had vanished, either killed or fled, but he no longer cared. Survival was his only goal now.

Glancing around, Scott realised he had drifted from the circle in which his men had been standing. He now found himself away amongst the trees, on the edges of the desperate battle between his men and the Chead.

Heart pounding, the captain gripped his rifle tight and weighed his options. Though the chatter of gunfire still sounded, it was clear from where he stood the battle was lost. The Chead were too fast, too powerful to combat in close quarters, especially in the darkness. The moment it took his men to distinguish between friend and foe was all the creatures needed.

No, this was a lost cause now. His men were as good as dead.

Closing his eyes, Scott forced himself to turn away. Shame rose in his throat as he started to run, to flee the chaos. The screams of dying men chased after him, rising up through the howls of the Chead, piercing him to his soul. A voice inside screamed for him to turn back, to stand alongside his men, to die a soldier’s death.

But his terror was greater still, and he raced through the darkness, desperate to escape the slaughter.

Scott froze as a sudden silence fell over the forest. He glanced back in the direction of the battle, suddenly hesitant. Had they succeeded after all? Had they done the impossible, and fought off the Chead? But he heard no triumphant cries, no wild shouts, no sound at all, in fact.

Swallowing, he looked around at the forest. It seemed deathly still now, without so much as the chirp of a cricket to break the silence. A shiver went through him, and then he was running again, a pure, unadulterated horror gripping him.

He ran for what felt like hours, stumbling over roots and crashing into the pale shadows of tree trunks. He ran without thought of where he was going, only of what came behind, of the death that stalked him through the darkness.

Finally, lungs burning, body aching, he found he could run no more. He staggered to a stop, shoulders heaving, one arm clutching at a tree trunk for support. Bending in two, he gasped in a lungful of air, struggling to catch his breath. In his desperate flight, he had lost all track of time, all sense of direction, but he must have traversed several miles by now.

Straightening, he let out a long breath and looked around. Somehow in his race through the forest he had kept hold of his rifle and night vision goggles. He studied his backtrail for a moment, searching for a hint of movement, for the tell-tale glow of warm bodies. But the forest remained empty, and nodding to himself, he turned away.

And froze as an ethereal green figure emerged from the trees ahead of him.

Soft laughter whispered through the trees as the Chead stepped towards him. Through the glow of his goggles, Scott watched a vicious grin twist its features. Out of sheer instinct, the captain raised his rifle, but the Chead was faster still. With brutal ease, it leapt forward, tore the weapon from his grasp, and hurled it into the trees.

Before Scott could move, iron fingers gripped him by the throat and lifted him into the air. The Chead stared up at him, its eyes bright in the glow of his goggles.

“Human,” the creature spoke in a guttural growl.

Scott gasped feebly in its hold, mouth wide, struggling for breath. He kicked out at the creature, slammed his fists into its arms, anything to break its hold. His lungs burned and darkness swirled at the edges of his vision, but nothing he did seemed to touch the creature.

As his vision began to fade, he remembered, finally, the EPIRB on his vest. It would bring help, send the helicopter straight to his location. With the last of his strength, he slammed his fist into the bottom on his shoulder. The EPIRB gave a low beep, and then fell silent.

A smile tugged at his lips as he looked down at the creature. His lungs screamed for air and a dull pounding drummed on the back of his skull, but help was on its way.

“You will not own us,” the Chead’s teeth flashed.

Scott opened his mouth to scream as the grip around his throat tightened. Stars flashed across his vision as the creature’s fist slammed into his head. Darkness loomed, threatening to swallow him.

No! he screamed in the silence of his thoughts as the Chead raised its fist again.

And then everything went black.

8

“Go, go, go!” Chris shouted over the gunfire.

He darted under the flailing arm of a soldier and leapt towards Richard and Jasmine. The young girl was already on her feet, but the other two were slower to react. They still knelt on the ground, mouths wide, staring at the horror unfolding around them.

But there was no time to contemplate the fate of the soldiers. Springing forward, Chris grabbed Richard by the shirt collar and hauled him to his feet. Beside him, Liz did the same with Jasmine, and then they were moving again, pressing on through the dying men and howling Chead.

An instant later they were clear and amongst the trees, leaving the chatter of gunshots and blood-curdling screams behind. Chris glanced around as they raced through the forest, catching glimpses of the others as they stumbled over unseen obstacles. They made no effort to mask their passage. If the Chead had wanted them dead, they would already be in the ground.

Instead, the creatures had saved them.

Chris swallowed as he ran, remembering the Chead’s sudden appearance beside them. The creature had frozen them with a look, its cold grey eyes stealing away their voices. Silently, it had lifted a finger to its lips and shook its head. Then it was gone.

A few seconds later, the screaming had started.

Now as Chris fled, questions raced through his mind, one after another. Who were these Chead? Where had they come from? Why were the creatures helping them?

But there was no time to stop and wait for answers. Despite the Chead having the element of surprise, the soldiers were well-trained and well-armed. And if they prevailed, he doubted they would still be in the mood to take prisoners.

Leaping over a fallen log, Chris ran on, silently cursing their slow pace. They needed to get airborne, to take to the skies and leave the soldiers and the Chead far behind. Glancing up, he searched the canopy for a hole, for any gap in the branches that might allow them to escape. But the trees stretched out overhead, unbroken.

They ran for over an hour before they finally reached a clearing. By then the sounds of gunfire and the screams of the dying had fallen away, and the first rays of the morning sun were streaming through the canopy. It appeared out of nowhere – one moment they were racing through the trees, the forest floor still cast in shadows; the next there was sunlight all around, and they were stumbling to a stop, staring in amazement.

Long grass stretched out for a hundred feet from where they stood, sloping gently down towards the west. The others quickly drew up around him, shoulders heaving as they caught their breath, their wings already stretching out towards the light. They still stood near the edge of the treeline, but looking out across the grass, Chris realised they were not alone in the clearing.

A herd of goats stood amongst the long grass, their white coats glistening in the sun. Their heads were raised, their beady eyes turning to stare at the intruders. Sleek black horns twisted from their heads and blades of grass hung from their mouths as they chewed absently. A kid danced amongst the adults, ignorant to the threat the humans posed, though some of the adults were already turning away.

Yet as the herd started to move towards the opposite side of the clearing, an angry roar filled the air. And suddenly the goats were no longer running away, but towards them. Eyes wild and voices raised in high-pitched screams, they bolted towards Chris and the others, fleeing the unseen noise. A swirling wind raced after them, bending the grass beneath it, tearing leaves and branches from the trees around the clearing.

“Get down!” Chris heard someone shout as a dark shadow fell across the clearing.

Without pausing to think, Chris obeyed, hurling himself down into the long grass. He caught a glimpse of the others following, then a goat leapt past, obscuring his vision. Looking up, he saw the dark shadow of a helicopter pass by, blades whirling, sun glinting from its metallic body.

An instant later it was gone, disappearing in the direction of their camp. The angry buzz of its blades faded away, but now the reek of gasoline lingered over the clearing, staining the air.

Chris waited a moment in the long grass, listening in case it turned back, before pulling himself to his feet. Standing in the open, he felt his heart pounding hard in his chest. He clenched his fists, struggling to control his fear, to fight back the panic. But he could not control the shaking of his body, the trembling of his legs as the horrors of the night crashed down on him.

Movement came from his right, and he turned to find Liz standing beside him. Their eyes met, and then they were embracing, and Chris felt her shuddering with the same terror that swirled within him. They clung together for a long minute before breaking apart.

Taking a breath, Chris finally managed to control his fear. He looked at the others. “Are you okay?”

Richard and Jasmine stared back, their hair frazzled and faces marked by dirt where they had fallen in the darkness. Otherwise, they looked no worse for wear from their brief period in captivity. The young girl sat in the grass behind them, her grey wings hanging limply from her back as she stared at the ground. Richard and Jasmine stood with their arms folded. Richard kept his expression carefully blank as he nodded, but Chris could see the fear behind his eyes.

Beside Richard, Jasmine’s brow creased in anger. “We’re fine,” she snapped as she stepped towards him, “but where the hell were you two?”

Chris blinked, almost stepped back from the force of her fury. “What?”

“Where were you?” Jasmine hissed, jabbing her finger at them like a knife, “When the soldiers came, when we woke with guns in our faces. Where were you?” she all but screeched the last words.

She broke off as Richard stepped up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Jas, don’t,” he breathed, looking across at Chris as he spoke, “I saw them go off. I was on watch,” he bowed his head. “It was my fault. I was so tired, I must have fallen asleep.”

Chris’s stomach wrenched at Richard’s words, and across the clearing Jasmine twisted away from him. She thrust her hands into his chest, sending him stumbling backwards. “You fell asleep?”

Jasmine stepped forward and shoved Richard again. The boy made no move to defend himself, only bowed his head before her rage. Shrieking, Jasmine swung a fist at his face, catching him in the cheek. The blow sent him reeling, and tripping over his own feet, Richard fell to the ground.

Before Jasmine could land any more blows, Liz leapt forward and caught her by the arm. “Jasmine, stop!”

A low growl came from Jasmine’s throat as she turned on Liz, fist raised. Quick as a cat, Liz caught her other wrist as well. “Don’t,” she snapped, looking Jasmine in the eye. “It’s not his fault. We should have come back earlier, taken over the watch from him. We were careless, foolish even. We should have guessed they’d be waiting for us to appear, to leave the safety of the mountains. We could spend all day debating who’s fault this is, but there’s no time. That helicopter could be back any minute.”

Chris swallowed. Liz was right – there was no way of knowing whether the men in the helicopter knew what had happened to the soldiers, but it would not take them long to find out. Then they would lock the area down, trap them in the forest while their soldiers closed in from all around.

“We have to risk it,” Liz spoke again, “we have to fly. If we stay low to the trees, we’ll be difficult to pick out. But we need to get clear of this forest, and fast. The whole place is going to become a battle ground when they see what the Chead did to their men.”

“How?” Richard asked softly as he picked himself up from the ground. Ignoring the glare Jasmine shot him, he looked up at the sky, “There’s no cliffs to jump off around here, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Chris looked across the clearing, studying the gently sloping grass, and the trees rising up on the far side. “I think we can do it,” he answered, “If we run hard across the clearing, I think we’ll be able to get enough lift to take off. Just like a kite.”

He flashed the others a grim smile. Without waiting for an answer, he started to run. Darting across the damp grass, he spread his wings and picked up his pace. The air cracked as twenty-four feet of tawny brown feathers beat down. Muscles tensed along his torso as the wind caught. The soft grass bent beneath his feet, warm to the touch.

Gritting his teeth, Chris watched the trees on the far side of the clearing rapidly approaching. When there were only a few feet remaining, he sucked in a breath and sprang. His auburn wings beat down hard, and his stomach lurched as he lifted higher. He grinned as the earth fell away, then banked quickly to avoid the trees rushing towards him. Soaring around the circumference of the paddock, he watched the others follow him.

Then the five of them were airborne, and without pausing to think, Chris shot up above the treetops. He cast a glance back in the direction the helicopter had taken, but there was no sign of it. Even so, it could not have gone far. Shifting his wings, he headed in the opposite direction, down the valley towards the distant Californian plains. Wings cracked as Liz settled in beside him, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

A broad valley stretched out around them, the redwoods covering its floor like a carpet.  But to either side low cliffs hemmed them in, stretching down to the mouth of the valley, where the last of the hills gave way to the grassy floodplains.

Chris scanned the cliffs as they flew, searching for the shadow of a cave, but there was nothing. Casting a glance back, he could still see no sign of the helicopter, but over the roar of the wind, he heard the whine of an engine again now, drawing closer.

Ahead, the cliffs bent away to the right as the valley altered course slightly. Straining his wings, Chris shot for the cliff-face to the right, where the curve in the rock would hide them from the helicopter farther up the valley. Beside him, Liz’s black wings were a blur, beating hard to keep her above the treetops. They were so close Chris could have reached out and touched the pine needles.

He let out a long sigh as they passed around the curve of the cliffs and out of view. But he knew the respite would not last long. Ahead, the cliffs ended abruptly, as below the forest spilled out onto the Californian plains, before finally giving way to the grasses of the prairies. Beyond, brown fields stretched out as far as the eye could see. Sheep and cattle dotted the fields, but the open land offered little to hide them from the prowling eyes of the chopper.

He looked across as he heard Liz shout, and saw her bank to the right. Her hand rose, waving them to follow, and then she was soaring across the last of the trees. Chris turned and chased after her, his eyes travelling out over the land beyond. Far across the plains, a small mountain rose towards the sky, alone amidst the endless flat. Liz was making straight for it.

Seeing her plan, Chris increased his pace, his wings beating hard to catch her. The crack of feathers striking air came from behind as the others followed. Below the last of the forest gave way to dry grass, and their shadows flashed across the fields, their wings stretched wide to either side of them. Ahead the mountain grew larger, extending five hundred feet above the surrounding prairies. Scraggly trees covered its steep sides, though he doubted they would offer much cover. He hoped Liz knew what she was doing.

The mountain stood at least two miles from where the valley ended. Flying hard, they raced to close the gap, ever aware of the mounting buzz of the helicopter.

When they were still a few hundred feet away, the thud of whirling blades turned suddenly to a roar. Ahead, Liz folded her wings and plummeted from the sky. Chris dived after her, pulling his wings tight against his back, spiralling down towards the plains below. Less than a hundred feet from the ground Liz’s snapped back wings open. The air cracked as they caught, halting her fall. Without looking back, she shot towards the mountain.

Levelling out, Chris gave in to his fear and glanced back. The chopper had emerged from the mouth of the valley. It hovered above the last stretch of trees, a dark shadow staining the open sky. So far it did not seem to have spotted them. Filling his lungs, Chris pressed on.

The mountain rose up before them, a dark wart on the endless prairies. Liz banked as she reached its rocky edge, flying horizontal to its slopes until she disappeared around the far side of the mountain.

One by one, they followed her.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief as the shadow of the mountain fell across his wings, hiding him from view. He started to slow, expecting Liz to pull up, before he realised she was still flying hard around the mountainside. His chest burned, and a sharp cramp had begun in the small of back, but Liz wasn’t giving them any time to argue. Groaning, he followed her, the aches of their week-long flight through the mountains pounding in every inch of his body. Mutated physiology or not, they desperately needed food and rest.

Slowly, Liz drifted closer to the mountainside, the beat of her wings slowing as she neared its rocky slopes. The scraggly trees grew taller on this side of the mountain, offering at least a little cover from prying eyes. And ahead, Chris noticed a sharp split in the mountainside, as though some giant had carved a piece of rock from the steep slopes.

Chris frowned as he realised Liz was making straight for the shadows of the crease, as though she had known it was there all along. Staring ahead, he blinked as shapes took form within the shadows. A cluster of buildings clung to the side of the mountainside, all but invisible in the gloom of the valley. Thick vines and creepers clung to the aluminium roofs and wooden walls, and it was clear the buildings had been abandoned long go. Even so, the sight of civilisation sent a tingle of renewed energy through Chris, and he raced to catch up with Liz.

A few minutes later, he touched down in the broken courtyard between the buildings. His wings shook with the effort, and he stumbled slightly as his legs took his weight. Folding his wings, he groaned at the ache spreading up his back. He kneaded the side of his head, feeling the first tingles of a migraine beginning.

Liz had landed a full minute before him, and was already moving towards the largest of the buildings. Before he could call out, she pushed through the broken door and disappeared inside. Exhausted, Chris shook his head and chased after her, leaving the others to catch their breath outside.

Moving to the doorway, he paused on the threshold and looked down the empty corridor. Dust covered the floor, untouched except where Liz had left light footprints leading down the hall. A dark stain marked the floorboards at the end of the hall, and an untouched silence clung to the shadows. Taking a step inside, Chris found himself wondering why the occupants had left this place.

His ears twitched as he sensed movement from deeper inside the building.

“Liz?” he called.

When she did not answer, Chris swore softly under his breath, and started along the corridor. Apprehension growing in his chest, he followed Liz’s footprints through the dusty rooms.

He found her in what must have once been the lounge. She stood in the empty room, her back turned and head bowed, wings half spread behind her. Her shoulders shook with silent tears, and her black hair hung limp around her neck.

Chris quickly crossed the wooden floor and placed a hand on her shoulder. A tremor went through her at his touch, and a single sob tore from her throat. The first prickles of fear touched Chris as she turned, her blue eyes finding his.

“Liz, what is this place, Liz?” he whispered.

Tears streaked her cheeks as she looked up. “Home.”

9

Sam winced as the steel door clicked open. A sharp sob tore from his mouth, and an involuntary shudder ran through his body as he scrambled backwards. The collar snapped tight around his throat, halting his retreat, and a desperate moan rattled from his chest.

Every muscle, every bone in his body ached. Even the sleek copper feathers of his wings were twisted and broken. They lay scattered around the room like fallen leaves, torn from his flesh when his captors grew tired of beating his body. No matter how hard he tried to escape the pain now, it was always there.

Even in his dreams he could not escape its touch.

And now his tormentors had returned for more.

Clenching his fists against the concrete, Sam clung to the last traces of his sanity, as the soft pad of footsteps drew closer. He waited for the tell-tale squeal of the chair as someone sat, but it did not come. Another tremor went through him and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Good morning, Samuel.” Sam jumped as Halt’s voice broke the silence.

Tears stung his eyes as he finally looked up. Halt stood over him once more, arms folded, his cold grey eyes staring down. Sam had lost all track of time since he’d last seen the doctor. His torture had been left to others.

A distant flutter of anger rose in Sam, little more than a spark of the rage that had once fuelled him. And looking into Halt’s cold, remorseless eyes, even that fell away, leaving only unchecked terror. His shoulders slumped and tears spit down his cheeks. Another sob tore from his throat.

“Please,” he choked, all trace of defiance stripped away. “Please, no more, I can’t…”

Sam flinched as Halt shifted, but the doctor only crouched beside him, a grim smile on his pale face. Stretching out an arm, Halt patted him gently on the shoulder.

“My dear Samuel,” he whispered, almost pleasantly, “It pains me to see you suffer so. You are one of our chosen, one of the few deemed worthy of this gift. Do you not wish to be free again?”

Huddled on the floor, with Halt’s warm hand on his shoulder, Sam barely registered the doctor’s words. But the last few syllables clung to him, piercing the fog of his shattered body, pulling him up from the darkness.

Free again…

Standing, Halt retreated across the room and lowered himself into the iron chair. Entwining his fingers, he looked down at Sam. “I have an offer for you, Samuel,” he said.

Deep within him, Sam heard a voice shouting, telling him to fight, to resist the man’s words. In his soul, he knew anything Halt offered would be a trap, a ploy to lure him into some fresh torment. Even so, Sam clung to them like a drowning man, desperate for a lifeline against the torments of his cell.

“Please,” he croaked, bowing his head, “I’ll do anything. Just, no more, please!”

Halt chuckled as he climbed to his feet. “That is good to hear, Samuel,” behind him the door clicked open as two guards entered. Halt nodded at them and waved to Samuel, “Unlock the chain.”

Sam shrank against the concrete as the men approached. Both had their rifles slung over their shoulders and the hated batons clipped to their belts. But they made no move to use them. Instead, one produced a key and unlocked the bolt that kept the chain fixed into the ground. Lifting the chain, he offered it to Halt.

Trembling on the floor, Sam did not move as Halt took the chain and gave it a tug.

“Stand, Samuel,” Halt ordered softly, “Join me. There is someone who would like to see you.”

Goosebumps ran down Sam’s arms as the words slithered through his consciousness. Pulling himself to his feet, he allowed Halt to lead him out of the stark concrete room and into the long corridors of the facility. His bones creaked as he moved, and his muscles ached with the long days spent huddling on the ground. He stumbled after Halt, each step an agony, the weight of his half-folded wings heavy on his back. From behind him came the thud of boots as the guards followed, their rifles held at the ready now.

The trip did not take long. A few quick turns down the brightly lit corridors, and Halt drew to a stop again. He released the chain that connected to Sam’s collar and nodded at the door, “I will give you some time to get reacquainted.”

Sam shuddered as he eyed the steel panelled door, his sluggish mind struggling to comprehend what game Halt was playing. He glanced at the doctor, unable to believe this could truly be happening. Surely it was a trap, some cruel trick to shatter the last traces of his sanity.

But there was no turning back now. Swallowing his fear, his heart thudding hard in his chest, Sam reached out and twisted the door handle. As the door swung open, he stepped inside. His eyes swept the room beyond, taking in the white washed walls and grey linoleum floor. The room was empty except for a single hospital bed. But it was the girl lying in the bed that drew his attention.

Ashley lay with her eyes closed, the damp tangles of her scarlet hair swirling out across the pillows. She wore plain green hospital scrubs, the short sleeves and low collar revealing the full extent of her injuries. Purple bruises marked her face and arms, and red abrasions streaked her pale skin, bound now by stitches. Needle marks dotted her arms, and tubes and wires encased her elegant body, stretching back to the host of machines sitting at the head of the bed. Her pale white wings hung limply around her, tangled with the thin sheets that covered half her body. A familiar steel collar shone around Ashley’s throat, and handcuffs bound her arms to the metal rails running horizontal along the hospital bed.

Relief swept through Sam as he saw her chest rise. His heart lurched, his breath catching in his throat. In an instant he had crossed the room.

“Ashley,” he breathed.

Ashley’s eyelids fluttered at the sound. A crease marked her forehead as her eyes opened, her tawny yellow irises shining in the bright light. They widened when she found him standing over her.

“Oh, Sam,” she whispered, “What have they done to you?”

Sam only shook his head. Carefully taking a seat on the side of the bed, he reached out and took one of her hands.

“It was worth it,” he said softly, “You’re alive, Ashley. You’re alive.”

He could hardly believe what he was seeing. In the countless days of torment, in his darkest hours, he had long since convinced himself she was gone, that he had sacrificed himself for nothing. But now here she was, alive and breathing, staring at him with those haunting amber eyes, and it was all he could do not to crumble with the joy in his heart.

Alive.

“What did you do, Sam?” Ashley’s whispered, her voice barely audible over the beeping machines.

Sam attempted a laugh, but a sharp pain pierced his chest, and it turned into a groan. He shook his head. “What I had to do. What needed to be done, to save you.”

Ashley closed her eyes a moment, pain flickering across her face. Her fingers squeezed his hand, and then released him. “You shouldn’t have done this, Sam,” she whispered, and he saw tears glistening in her eyes. “I wanted you to be free.”

Reaching out, Sam wiped away the tear that streaked her cheek. “Sorry, Ash,” he smiled, “but you know I make poor decisions when you’re not around.”

Colour spread to Ashley’s cheeks as she shook her head again. “Sam…”

Grinning, Sam leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, cutting off whatever she had been about to say. He felt her tense for a second, then she was returning the kiss, tilting back her head, drawing him in. A warm tingle spread through Sam as her tongue darted out to dance with his, and the taste of her filled him. Reaching up, he ran a hand through her hair, drawing her deeper. The pain of his body melted, giving way to his passion.

Then a click came from the door, and they pulled quickly apart, turning to see who had entered.

A dark smile twisted Halt’s lips as he walked across the room. He ignored them as he drew up on the other side of Ashely’s bed. Standing for a moment, he studied the host of machines connected to Ashley, nodding slowly to himself.

“It looks like she will recover,” he said at last, “With the proper care, of course.”

“What do you want, Halt?” Ashley croaked.

“From you, my dear?” his eyes flickered towards her. “Nothing. At least, not until you have recovered. For now, it is Samuel we need.”

Looking into Halt’s eyes, Sam felt the agony of his tortured body come rushing back. The awful helplessness he’d felt for the past days returned. Ashley’s fingers tightened around his hand, and there was a glimmer of fear in her eyes now.

“Thanks to the unfortunate actions of Doctor Fallow, we now find ourselves short of candidates who survived the change,” Halt continued. “The PERV-B viral strain your group received has proven far less… lethal than alternative strains,” he pursed his lips, “Of those who received the PERV-A strain, only two remain intact.”

Sam clenched a fist around the sidebar of Ashley’s bed. “How many have you killed Halt?”

Ignoring the question, Halt lowered himself into the chair on the opposite side of the bed and looked across at them. “Due to our shortage of viable candidates, I have decided to forgive your past… transgressions,” his lips twisted into a scowl. “We cannot afford to terminate successful candidates, however vexing their actions.”

Taking a long, shuddering breath, Sam stared down at Halt, silently cursing the man’s cruelty. Now they could not afford to terminate candidates? For long weeks and months, he had watched children marched from the prison block, never to return. He had stood in a padded room, and been forced to choose his own life over his friend’s. Closing his eyes, Sam saw Jake’s face staring up at him, his eyes pleading.

The breath caught in his throat and he quickly pushed away the memory. “What do you want, Halt?” he echoed Ashley’s earlier question. He summoned as much defiance as he could muster, but even to his own ears, the words lacked conviction.

“If we are to convince the President and his Directors to continue funding for the Praegressus Project, we must give them results. Every successful candidate we present to the public, is a greater demonstration of the project’s viability.”

Shivering, Sam thought back to the prisoner block, to the lines of staring faces. All gone now, all dead but for the seven of them, and the two unnamed candidates who had survived the other strain of the virus. His stomach twisted at the horror, at the spectre of death that hung over their lives, the weight of the loss.

And now Halt wanted Sam to help him continue his monstrous project.

“No,” Sam gritted his teeth, “I’d rather die.”

Halt let out a long breath and shook his head. He turned to look at Ashley, his smile fading. “Such a disappointment.” The words were barely a whisper, but they sent a rush of fear through Sam.

Before either of them could react, Halt’s hand flashed out and caught Ashley by the wrist.

Sam began to rise from the bed, his lips curling back in a snarl. He clenched his fists, ready to put an end to the monstrous doctor once and for all. Even in his weakened state, he was sure he could snap the man’s neck before the guards arrived to stop him.

“Stop,” Halt’s command echoed around the room, freezing Sam in place. He nodded to the watch on his wrist, reminding Sam of the collar around his neck. “That’s quite far enough. Sit down, Samuel.”

Looking into Halt’s eyes, Sam knew he was beaten. Slowly, he lowered himself back into place on Ashley’s bed.

Halt nodded and turned back to Ashley. A cold smile lit his face as he raised Ashley’s hand. Her forehead wrinkled with pain at the movement.

“She is still quite weak, Samuel,” Halt whispered. “With the drugs and antibiotics running through her system, any ordinary human would be in a coma. As it is, they have rendered her no stronger than a child.”

At that, Halt grasped Ashley’s hand and with deliberate slowness, started to bend back one of her fingers. A low groan came from Ashely as she tried to pull away, but the handcuffs held her in place. His anger rising, Sam shifted, but Halt lifted his arm, flashing the controller on his wrist.

“Fallow’s commands have been overridden. So unless you both want an unpleasant shock, I suggest you sit, Samuel. I doubt her body is strong enough to survive the collar’s touch.”

Clenching his fists, a terrible fear rose within Sam. Ashley lay in the bed, her eyes shining with tears, her jaw locked in pain. Halt still held her finger, bending it backwards to the limits of ordinary movement. Glancing at Ashley, Sam saw the fear on her face, but as their eyes met, she slowly shook her head.

Closing his eyes, Sam let out a long, rattling breath and settled back on the bed.

“Very good,” Halt whispered. “But it is too little, too late. You are a slow learner, Samuel, and so another lesson must be given.”

Sam’s eyes snapped open as he heard something go crack. Beside him, Ashley threw back her head and screamed. She thrashed in the bed, her movements weak and restrained by the handcuffs, her face contorted in agony. Her feet kicked out, as though fighting off some unseen enemy. Sam reached for her, but her cuffed hands threw him back as she screamed again.

On the other side of the bed, Halt still held Ashley’s hand in an iron grasp. Sam’s eyes trailed down her arm, to where one finger was now bent backwards at an awful angle.

“You bast–”

Without taking his eyes from Sam, Halt jerked his hand. Another crack echoed through the room. Ashley shrieked, her free hand clawing at the metal bar, powerless to escape. Her screams died away and her eyes started to roll back in her skull. Before she could lose consciousness, Halt tugged at her broken finger, and the focus returned to her eyes. A low whimper came from her throat as her desperate eyes found Sam, begging him to save her.

“Move an inch, Samuel, and I’ll break another one,” Halt growled.

Ashley lay taught as a wire, her hair a tangled mess around her face, her good hand clenched tight around Sam’s wrist now.

“Please,” Sam whispered, biting back tears. This was worse than the cells, worse than the collars, worse than his silent beatings in the white-washed room. “Please, stop. I’ll do whatever you want.”

The smile on Halt’s face spread. “Very good, Samuel,” he whispered. “I always had faith you would come through for us.” Looking down at Ashley, he released her hand.

Tears streaked Ashley’s face as she bit back a sob. Sam’s heart warmed at the defiance in her eyes, but they both knew there was no resisting this man. He had proven time and again his cruelty knew no bounds, that no one was beyond his power.

“Tomorrow, we will be moving you both to our complex in San Francisco,” Halt continued. “You, Samuel, will join the survivors of the A strain. They are still uncomfortable in their abilities. You will show them what they are capable of. Then, in a week, the three of you will be presented to the public. You will become the new face of the government’s fight against the Chead. You will be the shining light the public will look to for hope. Do you understand?”

Sam nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.

“Good,” Halt’s gaze flickered to Ashley. “So long as you cooperate, Ashley will receive the best of treatment. And one day soon, I hope she will join you. For now though, her wellbeing is in your hands, Samuel. Fail us, and I will make you watch as I break every bone in her little body.”

At that, Halt reached down and caught another of Ashley’s fingers. With a hard jerk of his wrist, he twisted it back, shattering the bone in one swift, violent jerk.

10

Closing her eyes, Liz listened to the silence of the house around her. Darkness stretched through the empty rooms, the night hiding the walls and ceilings she knew so well. Beneath the reek of mildew and dust, the familiar smells of home remained. Gone were the voices, the life she had once lived, but the shell still endured, and with it, the memories.

Somewhere outside, a cricket chirped, and she could hear the soft breathing of the others as they slept nearby. Richard and Jasmine lay on opposite sides of the lounge. Jasmine had not spoken since the clearing, but she and the young girl seemed to have bonded. The enigmatic thirteen-year-old lay curled up next to Jasmine, her eyelids flickering gently with some dream. Chris was somewhere outside, keeping watch while the others rested. They were taking no chances now, not after what had happened the night before.

They had spent the day huddled inside the house, listening for the tell-tale buzz of the chopper, praying its search would not reach their lonely mountain. The shadow of the valley and wooden walls would not shield them from a persistent search, but at least they were hidden from casual observers. The dark contraption would have to come close to find them, and they would hear its approach long before then.

In the long hours, they had explored the house. Liz had helped retrieve what remained of her parents’ clothing. Most was motheaten and covered in mildew, but it was still far better than what remained of the rags they’d escaped in. There were also several pairs of shoes, and heavy jackets they could wear to cover their wings.

When the shadows of nightfall fell across the plains beyond the mountain, the group had finally allowed themselves to relax. Richard had ventured out into the trees around the ranch, returning an hour later with a turkey, its neck broken and dangling from a bloody hand. In the meantime, Liz and the others had gorged themselves on oranges and half-green apples hanging from the trees around the ranch.

It was dark by then, and Richard had set about lighting a fire in the long dead woodstove. He had been silent since the incident in the forest, and Liz could sense the weight hanging on his shoulders. Whether it was the remembered terror of his capture, or the guilt at having fallen asleep while on watch, Liz could not tell. But she could do nothing to help him – the burden of her own memories hung over her now, rising up from a past she had thought long buried.

She had thanked him for the meat though. The turkey had been old and tough, probably one of the birds her father had once kept, but to her half-starved stomach it had seemed a banquet. Her hunger satisfied, her strength had quickly started to return.

Now, in the darkness of night, she finally felt strong enough to face her past. Memories of her parents drifted through her mind – of them sitting around the woodstove that stood in the centre of the kitchen, the taste of her mother’s rabbit stew, of the long days manning the fields surrounding their solitary mountain peak.

Her parents and the other workers had tended to the flocks of sheep and cattle grazing on the prairies around the mountain, often spending cold nights sleeping in the fields when work took them to the furthest pastures. Though little of the profits went to her family, it was an honest living, and they had been happy here.

But now the ranch had been abandoned, the land left untended, the buildings allowed to succumb to nature’s encroachment. She wasn’t surprised. It would have been hard to convince the bravest of workers to return here after what had happened.

Letting out a long breath, Liz climbed to her feet. She felt a desperate need for company, to escape the lonely whispers of this place. Her cheeks flushed as she recalled the night before, of Chris’s hands around her, his lips on her neck, his flesh pressed hard against hers. A shiver went through her as she moved through the darkness. Following the old, familiar hallways, she made her way outside.

It took a long time to find him. Only when a stray root tripped her and sent her sprawling to the ground, did she hear a soft call from overhead. Looking up, she realised he was sitting on the tin roof. He smiled down, and waved for her to join him.

Without a decent runup, flight was out of the question. But taking a hold of the steel drainage pipe, Liz quickly pulled herself up the way she had done so many times before. She strode across the roof, careful to follow the rows of nails that marked the support beam, and lowered herself down next to Chris.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked. His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her close.

Liz nodded and looked out into the darkness. The clouds had gathered late in the afternoon, and now the sky was solid black, the moon and stars hidden away. Even so, her eyes could still make out the distant fields, still saw the tell-tale movement of the grass as the wind blew across the plain. The branches of the trees rustled around them as the breeze raised goosebumps across her skin. Shivering, she wriggled in closer to Chris, hoping to steal some of his warmth.

He smiled, and his wings lifted, stretching out to enfold them both in his auburn feathers. Liz settled in beneath his arm, basking in the heat of his body. They were silent for a while then, content to share the quiet beauty of the night, and the comfort of each other’s presence.

“What happened here, Liz?” Chris whispered at last. “Where did everyone go?”

Liz shuddered, and Chris tightened his grip around her, his fingers giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. She took a long time to gather her thoughts, to face the darkness of the past, but Chris waited patiently, his mouth shut, silent.

“They’re dead,” she said finally.

Chris nodded. “The Chead?”

Letting out a breath, Liz recounted her story. “It seems so long ago now. I had just gotten back for the summer, had caught the bus all the way from San Francisco. My parents lived here with the farmhands that helped them out in the fields. They managed the land all around this rock.”

Beside her, Chris stared out into the darkness. “Your family owned it all?”

Liz snorted. “Of course not. Before the American War, it was Flores land. But after…” she shrugged. “Like most rural families, my grandfather fell into debt after the war. He was forced to sell off his holdings to settle his obligations. We were lucky the landholder was happy for our family to stay on as managers.”

She waited for Chris to comment, but he said nothing. Nodding, she turned her thoughts back to the night everything had changed. “I got in late that day. It was almost dark, but I was excited to see my parents and friends. The workers were practically family. I was daydreaming as I walked up. At first, I didn’t notice the silence...”

Chris’s arms tightened around her. She looked up to find his hazel eyes watching her, soft in the darkness. Biting her lip, Liz summoned her courage and continued. “The farmhands were scattered around the courtyard – some whole, others in pieces. But there was no sign of my parents.”

She broke off again as tears brimmed in her eyes. Angrily, she wiped them away. Her fists clenched, but she forced them to relax, to breathe. “I didn’t think. I ran into the house, screaming their names. Inside, everything was torn and broken. At the end of the corridor I could see blood on the floor. It was only then that I stopped, that reason caught up to me. But by then it was too late. I couldn’t stop myself, I had to see, had to know,” she broke off, a sob tearing from her chest.

Strong arms held her close as she struggled to control her grief.

“Your parents?” Chris whispered.

Liz shuddered again, and slowly shook her head. She bit her lip, determined to continue, to speak the words she had never dared voice aloud. “My father,” she croaked. “He lay in the hallway, his blood….” she shook her head, “But my mum… my mum stood over him, her head down, her shoulders shaking. And her eyes… her eyes were grey, Chris,” she choked on the last words.

Burying her head in Chris’s shoulder, she waited for him to reply, unsure how he would respond. But he said nothing, only held her tight. When she finally looked up, there were tears in his eyes. Leaning down, he kissed her gently on the forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

They said nothing for a long time then, just sat together, staring out into the darkness. The wind began to pick up strength, shaking the branches of the trees hanging over the roof. Liz shivered, pulling her own wings closer to her back as she nestled in next to Chris. Her head lay on his chest, and she could hear the steady thud of his heart beneath her. Reaching out a hand, she entwined her fingers with his.

“What happened next, Liz?”

She sucked in a breath, her thoughts drifting back, remembering the cold grey eyes staring from her mother’s face. There had been nothing left of her crystal blue gaze, of the gentle kindness she offered to all she met. But as they’d found Liz, there had been a flicker of recognition, of something other than animalistic hunger.

“She left,” Liz whispered. “I never understood why. I stood in that corridor for a full minute, too scared to move a muscle. But she just stood there, staring. Then, she seemed to come alive. She walked past me like I wasn’t even there. I never saw her again.”

She didn’t add that it had been three days before anyone showed up, when the landowner finally reported a shipment of goods from the farm as missing. Those three days were little more than a haze for Liz. Her mind had receded, and succumbing to shock she had crumpled to the hallway floor. Hours later some form of awareness had returned, and she had found herself covered in blood. Finding her father’s dead eyes watching her, she had screamed and fled into the forest.

After that, she could remember only flashes – of her standing in a shower, the blood streaming down the drain. Then standing over a shallow grave, her father lying amidst the dirt. The taste of vomit in her mouth, and the reek of death.

It wasn’t until the police arrived that some form of sanity had finally returned. She had told them what had happened, watched as the SWAT team entered the forest, listened to their brief reassurances. But later, as she sat shivering in the back of a wagon, she had heard the policemen talking. They did not believe her story, that the Chead had spared her.

As they began to discuss where to take her, Liz’s senses had come crashing back. With them came memories of the warnings, of the disappearances. She had slipped silently away into the woods then, and never looked back.

Now, on the roof with Chris, Liz could hardly believe she had returned. An awful loneliness rose within her, a desperate grief for her parents and the life she had once lived. Sobbing, she clung to Chris, lost in the terror of her past, in the madness that had swallowed her existence.

11

Chris watched as the first light of the morning sun lit the distant horizon. It began as a soft glow far in the distance, still hidden by the curve of the earth, but quickly rising into view. Sunlight shone across the plains, turning the fields of grass to gold, and revealing the black and white dots of sheep and cattle. He closed his eyes as the first rays reached them on the rooftop, basking in their warmth.

Turning his head, he watched Liz where she was curled up beside him. One of his wings lay draped across her like a blanket, and she clutched it in her fingers, a soft smile touching her lips. Her own wings had relaxed with sleep, and now hung limply behind her.

His mind drifted, recalling again the story she had told him. He shivered, unable to comprehend the shock, the horror of witnessing her mother change. He bit back a sob as he thought of his own mother, and wondered at her fate.

Where are you, mum?

He still clung to the hope she was alive, that the government had spared her from execution, or delayed her sentence. He couldn’t bring himself to face the alternative, that she might be gone, that he might be alone.

If she was gone, he didn’t know how he would go on.

Grimacing, Chris forced his thoughts to more practical matters. They were a long way from safe yet. They had found a temporarily asylum on Liz’s ranch, but it was only a matter of time before the search reached the lonely mountain. Today, tomorrow maybe, but no longer than that. Once the helicopter found the dead soldiers, and realised the escapees had breached their cordon, the hunters would come for them. They had to be far away by then.

But with the wide plains stretching out to the west, they would be spotted in minutes if they flew.

Chris stifled a yawn and rose to his feet, struggling to free his wing from Liz’s unconscious grip before tucking them against his back. Liz stirred with the movement, her eyelids flickering briefly, before settling back into sleep. Crouching down, he gently lifted her into his arms.

Letting her great black wings trail beneath her, he moved to the side of the roof and jumped. His own wings snapped out as they fell, catching him and slowing his descent. He landed with a soft thud of bare feet on dirt and retracted his wings. Idly, he wondered again at the strange new appendages, at how quickly they had all adapted to their presence. Though he still tripped over their bulk occasionally, each day they became more a part of him.

He found Jasmine and Richard in the living area. Richard stood by the window, looking out over the plains. He glanced up as Chris entered, then resumed his silent vigil. Jasmine was in the adjoining kitchen, silently licking her fingers. A guilty look flashed across her face when she saw him, and she quickly looked away. Glancing at the countertop, Chris saw the remains of the turkey had been picked clean. His stomach gave a sharp rumble at the sight.

Shaking his head, Chris crossed the room. The young girl lay asleep beside the long dead fireplace, her grey wings pulled tight around her. He lay Liz gently beside her. To his surprise, the young girl gave a soft murmur, and her arms stretched out to embrace Liz.

Chris smiled at the sight, warmth spreading through his chest. Whatever pain Liz might be feeling, she had the rest of them now – even this strange little girl, it seemed.

He looked back at Jasmine and Richard, feeling the heavy tension that hung over the room. Yesterday, little had been said of the ambush in the forest. They had all been too exhausted, still in shock after what had happened, what they’d witnessed. Jasmine hid it well, but he could see her fear, concealed behind the anger. The encounter with the soldiers had scared her to the core.

“Good morning,” he offered softly.

Richard turned away from the window. “You didn’t wake us, for the watch?”

Chris let out a long breath and shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep anyway. I thought you could use the rest.”

Jasmine snorted as she walked out of the kitchen. “Yeah, right. Not because you were worried he might fall asleep again.”

Richard bowed his head and looked away, but she moved towards him, a fire burning in her eyes.

Quickly stepping into her path, Chris raised his hands. “It’s not his fault, Jasmine.”

“No?” her brown eyes glared at him, her emerald wings trembling on her back, “What about you and Liz then? Wandering off into the forest, leaving us to be caught. I guess we know how things stand between us, don’t we?”

“How things stand?” Chris stepped forward, until only an inch separated them, “How things stand is the two of you have never been anything but antagonistic to us. And why? Because we were forced to fight your friends? Because we were jailed with Ashley and Sam?”

Jasmine refused to back down. Her eyes were like daggers as she looked up at Chris. “They killed our friends,” she snapped.

“And you didn’t?” Richard’s voice interrupted their exchange. He stepped forward, face hard now. “You made the same decision, Jasmine. Or else Chelsea would be here instead of you, wouldn’t she?”

Air hissed between Jasmine’s teeth as her face paled. “Don’t you dare bring her into this!”

“Stop!” Chris growled, cutting over the two of them. He glanced at Liz, and was relieved to see she still slept. He went on in a softer tone. “Stop this, both of you. We’ve all been forced to do things we regret. We went through that hell together, in case you’d forgotten. But we’re all that’s left now. We’re all any of us has. We have to find a way to work together.”

Jasmine took a long breath as she looked at Chris. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice cracked, and suddenly she seemed to shrink. Shaking her head, she turned away. “You don’t understand,” she shuddered. “When they caught us… when we were kneeling there on the ground. I’ve never been so afraid, knowing they were taking us back, that there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening.”

“Jasmine…” Richard’s voice was soft as he stepped towards her.

“Don’t!” Jasmine shrank away. “Just… don’t, Richard.”

“It wasn’t his fault, Jasmine,” Chris repeated his words. “You saw how many there were, the weapons they had. They would have shot us down if we’d tried to run. I don’t think it would have mattered in the end, whether Richard was awake or not.”

A strained silence fell across the room then. Chris shivered as a cold breeze drifted in from the front door. He moved across to the kitchen and attempted to scavenge a scrap of meat from the turkey carcass.

“What happened in the forest, Chris?” it was Richard who spoke, but when he looked up he saw Jasmine shifting closer too.

Giving up on the turkey, he picked up a loose apple and took a bite. The image of the Chead falling from the trees flickered through his mind, punctuated by the screams of the soldiers. His stomach twisted and he tossed the apple back onto the bench.

“The truth? I don’t know. We were watching you from the trees, talking about how to free you,” he eyed Jasmine pointedly at that. “But before we could act, the Chead appeared. I didn’t even hear them approach. One stepped between us and the soldiers, while the others melted into the trees. A few minutes later, the screaming started.”

Jasmine shuddered as she wrapped her arms around her chest. “Why would they help us?”

Chris shrugged. He had been asking himself the same question ever since their appearance. That, and where they had come from, what they had been doing in the forest in the first place. He started to speak, to voice his own questions, when a movement came from the doorway.

As one, the three of them spun towards the doorway

12

“Well... what do we have… here?”

For a second, time seemed to slow. As Chris spun, he glimpsed the figure in the doorway, heard the voice, but he was already moving. Stepping forward, he placed himself between the intruder and the sleeping girls, raising his fists in defiance. His lips drew back in a snarl, but inside a desperate fear wrapped around his chest, draining away his strength.

The Chead reclined in the doorway, arms crossed, its features twisted with amusement. Long black hair hung around its face, but there was no missing the familiar grey eyes. The orange jumpsuit it wore was torn and stained, the sleeves ripped clean off at the shoulders. Sleek, powerful muscles rippled along its arms as it stepped into the room. It looked to be around Chris’s own eighteen years, though there was no telling with the Chead. Its sickly-sweet scent reached Chris’s nostrils as it looked around, its very presence a threat.

Chris’s stomach lurched as he realised he knew the creature. It was the same Chead from the facility, the same one he and Liz had fought – and spared. He swallowed as its eyes fixed on him. He tensed, preparing himself.

The Chead smiled. “Come now,” the words seemed almost hesitant, but there was no mistaking their strength, “if we wished you dead… we would have left you to… the soldiers.”

“Stay where you are,” Chris bared his teeth, his wings snapping open, “Don’t come any closer.”

The Chead’s grey eyes lingered on his wings as it took another step. “Curious…” its voice grated. Lifting a hand, it reached out to touch his wing. Chris took an involuntary step backwards, and the Chead laughed.

Swallowing his fear, Chris growled. “Get out.”

The Chead’s face went blank as its cold eyes drilled into him. Chris shuddered, but forced himself to stand strong. He could sense the others behind him, hovering close, and drew strength from their presence.

“You’re outnumbered,” he breathed. “Leave, now!”

A sly grin spread across the Chead’s lips as it began to cackle. Movement came from around them, as the other creatures Chris had glimpsed in the forest filed in from the hallway. Unable to control his fear, Chris retreated into the centre of the room, until he collided with Richard. The Chead spread out around the room, forcing the three of them back towards the fireplace. Looking around, Chris counted eight pairs of grey eyes watching them.

The first Chead moved forward, until it stood face to face with Chris. He flinched as it reached out and stroked the feathers of his wings, but there was nowhere left to retreat now.

“Curious,” it repeated, its words smoother now. It looked at him. “So… I was not wrong.”

Chris took a long breath, struggling to control his panic. “What do you want, Chead?”

“So… impatient,” a broad grin split its face as the grey eyes travelled past him, to where Liz still lay asleep. Absently, Chris wondered whether the girl would sleep through a hurricane. “We are not yet… all present.”

It started to step past him, but Chris moved to intercept it, anger taking light in his chest. Whatever these creatures were here for, he wasn’t about to let them harm Liz. Not without a fight.

Before he could take two steps, two Chead leapt forward from the circle and caught him by the arms. Grunting with effort, they hauled him back as he fought to break free. A soft smile on its lips, the first Chead strode past, moving across to where Lis and the young girl lay by the fireplace.

“The other… one,” it turned and grinned at Chris, its stilted voice touched by humour, “my... champions.”

Chris was about to reply when a movement came from the floor. Before anyone could react, Liz leapt from the ground and tackled the Chead from behind. Her weight sent it stumbling forward as she wrapped an arm tight around its throat.

As the Chead fought to regain its balance, Liz spread her wings and beat them hard. Still off-balance, the Chead lost its footing and was dragged backwards, as Liz lifted its full weight off the ground. She landed in the corner, and turned to face the remaining Chead.

“Back!” she snarled, teeth bared.

The other Chead exchanged uneasy glances. Then the creature in Liz’s grip twisted, and its elbow flashed back into her face. A harsh crack echoed through the room as the blow staggered her. With a violent jerk, the Chead tore itself free and sprang free.

Chris tensed against the Chead holding him, preparing to fight, to defend Liz against the creatures.

But the first Chead only laughed. Shaking its head, it turned its back on Liz and stalked across to Chris.

“The girl is… spirited,” its teeth showed as its lips curled back, “She is… yours?”

Shrieking, Liz launched herself across the room. Quick as a minx, the Chead spun. Parrying a wild blow from Liz, its hand flashed out and caught her by the wrist. A low rumble sounded in Liz’s chest as she swung her other arm, but the Chead easily caught the blow. Grinning, it stared down at her. Liz looked back helplessly, both fists trapped in its iron grasp.

Then her knee flashed up, straight into the Chead’s crotch. The thump as the blow landed made even Chris wince, and the Chead folded like grass before the wind.

“My name is Liz,” she growled, staring down at the gasping figure, “and I belong to no one.”

The Chead chuckled as it straightened. “Such fire…” it bowed its head, “my… apologies.”

“Artemis!” Chris jumped as a new voice shrieked from the corner of the room.

Every face in the room turned as a ball of grey hair and feathers barrelled past, and leapt at the first Chead. The Chead stumbled backwards, surprise showing on its face, but at the last second the young girl pulled up short. The wild grin fell from her face as her jaw fell open.

“Oh…” she gulped, and retreated a step.

The Chead stared at her, its brow creased in confusion. The girl took another step back, then turned and hurled herself at Jasmine. Jasmine staggered as the tiny girl wrapped her arms around her leg. Righting herself, Jasmine looked around the room, eyes wide with shock. Then she reached down and put her arms around the trembling girl.

The first Chead had not moved during the exchange. It stood staring at the girl, its grey eyes suddenly hesitant, as though perplexed. Finally it looked back at Chris and raised an eyebrow. “Strange…” its nostrils flared, “strange… company, you keep.”

Shaking his head, Chris moved between Jasmine and the Chead. A feral anger rose in his chest as his patience snapped, giving way to steely resolve. He took a step forward, until he stood face to face with the Chead, and stared into its icy eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he growled. “Why did you save us from the soldiers?”

He clenched his fists, bracing himself for a fight. He could guess now where these Chead had come from. They had to have been prisoners of the facility. They must have escaped at the same time as Chris and the others. But that still did not explain their appearance in the woods.

The smile fell from the Chead’s lips at Chris’s words. The grey eyes stared back at him, unreadable.

Then the Chead shrugged. “A debt…. was owed,” the creature shifted, licking its lips, “You spared… Hecate’s life. You suffered… for me.”

Its grey eyes flickered towards Liz as it spoke, and Chris saw again the scene in the padded room, saw Liz writhing in agony, the shock collar flashing around her neck. He shuddered and his hand drifted unconsciously to his throat. But the steel chains were long gone, and angrily he pushed the memory away.

“Your name is Hecate?” he asked, the angry words dying in his throat.

The Chead smiled, a dull laughter rattling in its throat. “You thought... we would call each other… Chead?”

The whisper of laughter came from the other Chead, reminding Chris of their presence. A shiver ran through him at the inhuman quality to the laughter. Though they looked like ordinary teenagers, there was no doubting the absence of humanity in their grey stares.

He turned his eyes back to the first Chead. “Thank you, Hecate,” he paused, unsure how to continue. “How are you here? How did you escape the facility?”

“The woman… released us,” its eyes flashed, the grin turning feral, “The fun we had… before we left.”

Chris blanked. Finally, they knew how Angela Fallow had distracted the guards long enough to free them. She had unleashed the captive Chead on the facility. He shuddered at the slaughter they would have left behind them, and wondered how anyone had survived to come after them. But then, a well-placed bullet would still stop a Chead in its tracks, and in the long corridors of the facility, the guards would have eventually overwhelmed the creatures.

“How did you find us?”  Liz asked.

“After… our brothers and sisters… began to fall, we left.” The Chead eyed them with a grin. “You fly slow… sleep too much. And your stench… was not hard to track.”

Chris wrinkled his nose, trying to ignore the cloying sweetness the Chead carried with them. It filled the room, overpowering, though he had never heard it mentioned in the news reports about the Chead. He guessed an enhanced sense of smell was yet another alteration he could chalk up to Halt and Fallow’s meddling.

But sense of smell aside, he knew there had to be more to Chead’s actions than Hecate was letting on. Folding his arms, he shook his head. “You did not follow us all this way, save us from those soldiers, just to say thank you.”

The Chead smiled again. “You are… correct,” its teeth flashed as its grin widened, “We came to see… if you would join us.”

“Join you in what?” Liz asked softly.

Hecate turned to look at her. “In the war… to come.”

Chris blinked. “The war to come?”

“For all our existence… we have suffered,” the Chead’s eyes flashed. “Beaten. Tortured. Murdered. We were born into captivity... destined to die there. But now we are free… and we will make our tormentors pay.”

“You want to fight the government?” Liz breathed.

“The government?” the Chead’s head bent to the side, “It is humanity… that made us suffer… It is humanity… that must pay with its blood.”

Chris blinked, and behind them Richard snorted. “All of humanity?” Richard asked, his voice rich with sarcasm. He stepped up beside them, suddenly bold.  “There’s eight of you. The government has thousands of soldiers. And there are millions of people in the Western Allied States.”

The Chead shifted, turning to face the taller boy. “Their soldiers are nothing,” it growled. “The Chead are legion.”

Though Chris could make no sense of Hecate’s words, he felt himself grow cold. Ice trickled down his back as he looked at the unyielding figure of the Chead, imagining an army of such creatures. Then he shook his head and dismissed the image. The facility could not have contained an army. Hecate was clearly deranged, driven mad by the long years of imprisonment.

Beside him, Richard laughed. Before any of them could react, Hecate sprang forward and caught him by the shirt. Growling, the Chead hauled Richard into the air. Richard swore as his feet left the ground, and then lashed out with a fist. The blow caught the Chead square in the face and sent it staggering backwards.

Richard stumbled as Hecate released him, his wings flaring out to steady him.

“Some legion,” Richard spat. He looked around the room, defiant, a wild anger in his eyes. “Maybe you’re not a match for us, after all.”

Hecate straightened, but made no move towards Richard. Instead, it turned back to Chris. “Consider my offer,” the Chead grated out the words, “are you with us… or with them?”

Closing his eyes, Chris shook his head. Pity swelled inside him, a sadness for the hate and torment that had shaped these creatures. Despite their brutality, despite the slaughter and destruction that followed their awakening, he sensed a depth to the Chead. There was more to them than the feral creatures he had seen on the television.

They were more human than anyone realised.

Yet Hecate and these others, born within the cold walls of the facility, had never been given the chance to discover that humanity. The vile cruelty of Doctor Halt had shaped them, moulded them with hate and fear, allowing nothing else to grow.

“I’m sorry, Hecate,” he addressed the Chead, “we cannot help you. Doctor Halt and the ones who supported him are our enemy. Not humanity. After all, we are human ourselves.”

Now it was the Chead’s turn to laugh. “So you think… but will they?”

13

Liz let out a long breath as the last Chead slipped through the doorway. Heart still pounding, she moved to the window and watched as eight shadows slid from the house into the surrounding trees. For a long time she stood watching the woods, waiting to see if they would return. But the only movement came from the wiry branches swaying in the morning breeze, and finally she turned back to the others.

Richard and Jasmine still stood in the centre of the room, their faces pale. The girl clung to Jasmine’s leg, the occasional tremor of her wings belaying her fear. As Liz moved away from the window, Chris stepped back in from the hallway and looked at her.

“They’re gone?”

She nodded, and he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. Holding him tight, Liz struggled to relax, to cast aside her fear. But now, with the heat of the moment gone, it clung to her, spreading until her whole body was trembling. Her breath rattled in her chest as she closed her eyes, and saw again the boy’s grey eyes staring down at her.

After a few moments, the terror began to pass, and she loosened her grip on Chris. Their eyes met as they parted, and she nodded at Chris’s unspoken question.

“I’m okay,” she looked at the others. “What about you, Richard, Jasmine?”

“I’m fine,” Richard shook his head, “they’re not so terrifying is person.”

Taking a breath, Jasmine stepped away from him, taking the girl with her. A hurt look spread across Richard’s face and his shoulders slumped, but Liz ignored him. Jasmine would get over what had happened in the forest eventually. They all would.

Beside her, Chris chuckled softly. “They’re terrifying enough for me,” shaking his head, his eyes settled on the young girl still clutching at Jasmine’s trousers. He crossed the room and knelt beside her. “Hey there.”

The girl whimpered and shrank back as Chris offered his hand. Her wings rose to hide her face, the grey feathers shivering with her fear. Chris let out a long sigh and looked up at them, eyebrows raised.

“Any ideas?” he asked. “This is getting a little ridiculous.”

Liz rolled her eyes and shook her head in amusement. She looked across at Jasmine. “How about you boys go out back and pick some fruit. Give us girls some time to talk.”

Richard and Chris shared an awkward look, before doing what she said. Liz watched them go, and then turned to face Jasmine. Jasmine stared straight back at her, her eyes hard and arms folded defensively.

Letting out a long sigh, Liz attempted a smile. Ignoring Jasmine’s frosty glare, she strode across and lowered herself to the wooden floor. Crossing her legs, she nodded to Jasmine, indicating she should do the same. The taller girl hesitated, then with a snort she joined Liz on the ground. Sitting cross-legged, she watched with bemusement as the younger girl crawled into her lap and hid her face beneath her wings again.

Liz smiled, and even the corner of Jasmine’s lips tugged upwards. Scooting forward on her bottom, Liz reached out a hand and rested it gently on the girl’s wings. A shudder went through them, her terror obvious. Silently, Liz began to stroke the girl’s feathers, waiting for the trembling to stop.

When the girl finally seemed to have calmed, Liz spoke in her friendliest voice. “Hello again,” she paused, struggling to find the words she needed. “I thought it was about time us girls had some alone time. Richard and Chris have gone to find us some breakfast, and those creatures aren’t coming back. You’re safe, you can talk to us.”

Somewhat to her surprise, the girl’s wings retracted, revealing her pale, tear-streaked face. She blinked up at Liz, then turned to look around the room. Liz withdrew her hand and sat up straight, waiting to see what the girl would do. The mismatched blue and green eyes swept the room once, then again, before she was apparently satisfied they were alone. With a quick burst of movement, she scrambled from Jasmine’s lap and sat beside them, crossing her legs in a mimic of the older girls.

Jasmine and Liz shared a glance, before turning back to the girl.

“My name is Liz, and this is Jasmine,” Liz spoke again, then, “You can speak?”

The girl nodded silently, her eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Can you tell us your name?” Jasmine asked now, leaning in, a friendly smile on her lips.

The girl swallowed, looked around the room again, then nodded. “My name is… Mira,” she whispered.

Grinning at her success, Liz carefully held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mira.”

Mira stared at her hand, her eyes wide, as though unsure what to do with it. After a minute Liz gave up and retrieved her hand. Ignoring the awkward moment, she pressed on. “Where do you come from, Mira?”

The girl blinked. “Come… from?” she looked from Liz to Jasmine, “I don’t know…”

Mira’s lips quivered and tears gathered in her eyes. Jasmine let out an impatient sigh. Seeing her frustration, Liz spoke quickly, before the other girl drove Mira back into her shell.

“It’s okay, Mira. Maybe we can help you,” she moved forward and put an arm around the young girl.

The girl shuddered, and with a violent shove pushed Liz away from her. Liz gasped at the girl’s strength. She fell backwards onto the wooden floor as the girl leapt to her feet, her eyes flashing with grief and anger.

“It’s not okay!” Mira screeched, the words tumbling from her now, “He’s gone! They took me away and now he’s gone and there’s no one left to look after him!”

Jasmine and Liz stared up at the girl. Her wings had spread with the angry words, and her shoulders shook with every harsh intake of breath. Slowly, Liz drew herself to her feet. Jasmine rose to stand beside her. She glimpsed movement in the hallway, but raised her hand, signalling for the boys to stay out of it.

“Mira,” she said softly. “Who’s gone? Who took you away?”

“Artemis,” Mira’s voice trembled. “Artemis is gone. That man in the white coat took me away from him. He left Artemis there to die!”

“What man?” Jasmine asked.

“Who is Artemis?” Liz questioned at the same time.

“The man you call Halt,” Mira answered Jasmine’s question. A shudder went through Mira as she spoke the name, and her feathers stood on end.

“And Artemis?” Liz repeated.

“Artemis… he’s… he’s my father.”

14

“Your father? Why would your father look like a Chead?” Liz muttered, half to herself. How could the girl mistaken the Chead, Hecate, for her father?

But her words had driven Mira back inside her shell. Silently cursing herself, Liz stepped towards her, but now Mira retreated across the room. Reaching the corner, she crumped to the ground and curled into a ball on the wooden floor. Harsh sobs tore from her throat as the grey wings rose to cover her again.

To Liz’s surprise, Jasmine moved across and crouched beside Mira. Wrapping the girl in her arms, Jasmine glared up at Liz. “Well done,” she hissed. “And I thought I was the blunt one.”

Guilt welled in Liz’s chest but as she stepped towards them, a low growl came from the girl. Liz froze, her heart inexplicably beginning to race. She took a quick step back again. She had felt the girl’s potency just a moment earlier, and despite her own strength, one look at the girl’s mismatched eyes was enough for her to back away.

Movement came from the hallway, and the boys stepped quietly into the room. They had found an old potato sack somewhere and filled it with fruit from the trees behind the house. Her stomach growled at the sight.

“You did well,” Chris said softly as he joined them, offering her an apple. He grinned. “Well, better than me anyway.”

Liz took the apple with a smile and pulled him to her. Her fear fell away as his arms went around her, and for a second she closed her eyes, letting the worries of the world recede. But even in Chris’s strong embrace, she could not quite banish her dread.

She knew it was not just the girl, but everything that had happened since their escape. The soldiers, the helicopter, the Chead. It felt as though things were spinning out of control, like they were racing towards some awful fate, over which they had no control.

When they finally separated, Liz kissed Chris lightly on the cheek before facing the room. Mira seemed to have recovered somewhat, but her lips remained tightly shut, and no amount of prodding would get her talking again.

Moving to the window, Liz looked out through the dust streaked glass. Her stomach clenched as she realised that with the boys back inside, there was no one keeping watch. She cursed under her breath as she stared out the window, her heart suddenly racing.

Outside, the cluster of buildings remained unchanged, untouched by movement. The midday sun beat down across the iron roofs, harsh and unforgiving despite the cold winds blowing down from the mountains. The relentless heat was a grim reality of life on the prairies. Her parents and their farmhands had worked the early mornings and late evenings to avoid the scorching sun, taking siesta through from midday and into the afternoon. But even with those precautions, heatstroke and dehydration was common.

Liz stood for a long time at the window, her eyes searching the shadows. Her stomach twisted with unease, refusing to be quelled by the silence outside. It swirled and shrank, and a wave of nausea rose in her throat. Prickles of fear spread down her spine as she finally turned back to the others

“I think we should get out of here,” she announced, surprising even herself.

The others stared back. Richard frowned and Jasmine snorted. Even Mira took a moment to look up. Only Chris seemed to take her seriously.

“What?” he asked.

Crossing the room, Liz looked around the little group, her urgency growing. “I think we should get out of here, right now.”

Jasmine pulled herself to her feet, one hand still resting in Mira’s grey hair. “It’s got to be a hundred and forty outside,” she argued. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to keep my skin intact.”

“What’s wrong, Liz?” Chris ignored the others, his eyes fixed on hers.

Liz shook her head. “I’m not sure. It just doesn’t feel right, staying here. Not after the Chead…”

“They were pretty quick to take off, Liz,” Richard replied. “I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“I know,” Liz murmured. She bit her lip. “But I still don’t like it. If they could find us so easily, how long before the soldiers do the same. And what if the Chead were followed here?”

As she spoke the words, the sense of urgency exploded in her chest, like sparks catching in leaf litter. In her mind, she saw soldiers creeping through the forests around the house, rifles held at the ready. Suppressing a shriek, she reached out and grabbed Chris by the wrist.

“They could have led Halt’s people right to us,” she said.

Chris stared back, his hazel eyes dark in the shadows of the room. Then he was nodding, spinning to face the others, the words tumbling from his mouth. “Liz is right,” he said, already moving. “If they’re tracking the Chead, Hecate might have led them right to our doorstep.”

Sweeping up the heavy jacket he had claimed as his own, Chris looked around the room. Liz’s sense of urgency was spreading now, as the others realised the truth of her words. Richard moved into the kitchen and collected the potato sack of fruit, while Jasmine swept up the bundle of jackets they had piled in the corner. She tossed one to Richard as he emerged from the kitchen, before offering one to Liz.

Then they were moving towards the doorway. Richard took the lead, the potato sack slung over one shoulder and jacket bundled under one arm. Jasmine came after him, leading Mira by the hand, while Liz and Chris took the rear.

Liz paused in the doorway, turning to cast a final glance back over the living room. She swallowed as grief rose in her throat. Even empty, without furniture or family, this was still her home. Her two years on the run had not changed that. This was where she had taken her first steps, where her father had taught her to tie a lasso. It was where she had been loved, where she had been safe. It was the last connection to her past, to her mother and father and friends.

She turned away as tears blurred her vision. Something tore inside her as she moved down the corridor after the others, as though something precious and fragile had shattered. She held her breath, struggling to hold back the tears, and rushed out the front door into the courtyard.

“Where do we go?” Richard asked as she emerged into the sunlight.

Liz swallowed. “Into the forest,” she croaked. “Up the mountain to the edge of the treeline. We can make better time moving at the edge of trees, but we’ll still be under cover.”

Richard nodded and started off into the woods. Together, they worked their way into the scrub and started up the mountain, using the low-lying trees as cover. Thick branches twisted overhead, pressing in on them and making movement difficult. But they would shield them from the air, if there was anyone watching.

Liz had made the climb many times as a child, but she was older now, no longer small enough to slip easily between the dense branches. Small, sharp stones covered the steep slope, making her grateful for the boots they had scavenged from her house. She grasped at tree trunks as her feet slipped on the loose stones, clambering upwards, fear driving her on.

Within minutes they were all panting, even their newfound strength and endurance struggling with the steep mountainside. The unstable slope required time and patience, but their frantic rush to clear the ranch left no room for caution. So despite their exhaustion, they pressed on, ever upwards through the dense trees.

It took them an hour to reach the treeline.

They were just in time.

Gasping for breath, Liz lowered herself to the rocky scree as the others collapsed around her. The mountain stretched up another hundred feet to the summit, but from here the slopes were barren of life. She looked back at the trees, past the scraggly branches reaching out towards them, searching the valley below for a last glimpse of her home.

For a second, everything was quiet. Below, the brown fields stretched out from the mountain, the tiny specks of cows and sheep moving slowly over the flat surface, while the grey lines of empty rivers wound their way across the plains. Amidst the trees below, she glimpsed the dull gleam of a metal roof, but otherwise the ranch was hidden from view.

Then movement on the horizon drew her gaze. An ugly black speck marred the endless blue sky, far off in the distance. But as she watched it grew, and with it came a far-off rumbling. In seconds it had doubled, then tripled in size, a menacing presence racing towards their little mountain sanctuary.

Sunlight glinted off steel as the jetfighter banked, its speed slowing as two dark shapes disconnected from its underbelly. They shot across the sky, leaving long white streaks of cloud behind them. The shriek of the jet engine rose to a roar, its angry voice echoing from the slopes around them, all but deafening.

Liz rose quickly to her feet, but there was no time to run, to take flight. Only to stare as death raced towards them. Beside her, Jasmine screamed and tripped on the loose gravel. Richard caught her before she fell, and she clung to him, their eyes fixed on the approaching missiles, their animosity forgotten.

The ground shook as the missiles struck, slamming into the slope far beneath them. A scream built in Liz’s throat as she watched a blossom of flame rise from the side of the mountain. She caught a glimpse of an iron roof flung high into the air, of wooden boards disintegrating, then Chris was there. He pulled her to him, wrapping her in his arms, drawing her away from the sight. But even turned away she could still see the image in her mind, see the flames consuming everything she had ever known. She could feel the heat on her back, even from where they stood high above, and hear the wild howls of the flames.

Sobbing, she buried her head in Chris’s shoulder. For a long while, they stood together like that, unable to move. Eventually she heard the others stirring, and felt Chris preparing to pull away. She hugged him harder for a second, and then released him. Turning to stare down the slope, she watched the flames licking the hillside, spreading through the forest, consuming all they touched.

And silently, she turned away.

15

Sam sucked in a breath as he walked across the open hall, the wooden boards creaking softly beneath his boots. His body felt fresh, all but recovered from the relentless beatings. Even after everything he’d witnessed over the past few months, he was still shocked by how quickly he had healed. Within a day, the dark bruises and swelling around his eye had begun to fade. Yet another boon of their genetic manipulation, he guessed.

Even so, his heart was heavy. He had not seen Ashley since the day he’d watched Halt torture her. He had expected to see her when they shifted him to San Francisco, but he had been alone in the prison van. With his collar chained to the floor, he had spent the long journey with nothing but the roar of the engine and the stench of gasoline for company. The road had been old and rutted, and he had been bounced around like a sack of old potatoes. The air had quickly grown hot and suffocating, the steel walls burning with the heat of the sun.

Sam had suffered the journey without complaint though, thankful to at least be free of his empty prison cell, of the relentless torture.

Now as he strode across the hall, his body healed, with fresh clothes on his back, he could almost imagine himself free. Almost – if not for the unrelenting pressure of the collar around his neck.

He kept his wings pressed tight against his back as he moved. Like the rest of his injuries, they were healing nicely, and he now felt at ease with the strange appendages. Distantly he recalled the difficulty he’d had even standing when his wings first appeared. It would have been embarrassing, if he’d not been so preoccupied with escape.

Armed with the memory, he knew he should have viewed the spectacle taking place in the centre of the hall with more compassion. But he could not help but grin as he watched the antics of the boy and girl he had come to meet.

They clung desperately to one another as they staggered across the wooden floor, their long black wings hanging behind them like dead weights. Their mouths were wide open, panting as they struggled to remain upright. Every so often one would shriek and topple to the ground. They seemed to lack any control over their wings, which would shift position almost spontaneously, throwing them off balance just when they seemed to find their feet.

The girl sported long blonde hair and plain brown eyes, and stood at least a foot shorter than Sam’s own six foot five. Her features were sharp and pronounced, and dark bruises spotted her pale skin. She seemed to have the better control over her faculties, though it was a close match.

The boy’s dark skin and athletic build stood out in stark contrast to his partner. Even half-stooped-over by the weight of his wings, the boy was an equal of Sam’s height. The only feature that matched between the two were the brown eyes and black wings – and even those differed vastly in size.

Neither had noticed Sam’s approach, and when he finally drew to a stop beside them he was forced to clap his hands to get their attention. Their eyes widened when they looked up and found him standing beside them. Then they promptly toppled onto their backsides.

Sam laughed, and then quickly masked it with a cough. Shaking his head, he raised an eyebrow. “That was graceful.”

The boy scowled up at him. “I’d like to see you do any better.”

Sam smiled. With a sharp crack, his wings snapped open, the copper feathers spreading out to shade the two teenagers from the overhead lights. Their mouths dropped to the floor and the colour fled their faces.

As Sam slowly contracted his wings, the girl stuttered. “How… how did you do that?”

Sam laughed as he offered her a hand. Pulling the girl to her feet, he held her steady and smiled. “What’s your name?”

The girl hesitated. “Francesca,” she mumbled finally, then waved at the boy who was still finding his feet. “This is Paul. You look familiar. Who are you?”

“My name is Sam. We were probably neighbours in the facility. It seems we belong to the rather exclusive group of unfortunate souls lucky enough to have survived that nightmare,” he paused, “but the two of you look like you just woke up.”

The two shared a glance. “The last thing we remember was the injections in our cell, and passing out from the pain,” Francesca took a breath, her face paling, “Next thing we know, we’re in some prison van. And there was just the two of us. Well, us two, and the girl.”

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. “What girl?”

“Didn’t get a name,” Paul finally found his feet, “She looked pretty beaten up. Big bandages around her chest and things.”

Sucking in a lungful of air, Sam struggled to contain his excitement. “Describe her.”

“Ahhh,” Francesca bit her lip. “Skinny girl, pale skin, red hair?”

Sam closed his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

Ashley.

“You know her?” he heard Paul ask.

Sam nodded as he looked back at them. “Did she say anything?”

“Not much,” Francesca offered. “Like we said, she was pretty beaten up. She just warned us about… well, these,” she gestured to her wings with a shrug.

“Yes, you do seem to be having some problems,” he smirked. “You looked like new-born foals, stumbling around like that.”

Paul scowled. He crossed his arms defiantly, but the effect was somewhat diminished as his wings shifted suddenly, throwing him back off balance.

Sam chuckled as the boy stumbled sideways into Francesca. “Halt wasn’t kidding when he said you might need some help.”

The two exchanged a glance as they steadied themselves. “Halt sent you?” Francesca asked.

The smile fell from Sam’s lips as he nodded. He eyed them both, weighing them up. They were vaguely familiar, though he could not recall any particular time he had seen them in the facility. Both looked fit and well-toned, in good shape considering the time they had spent in the coma. The girl looked like she could have been a cheerleader in her former life – her long blonde hair and pale skin certainly matched the stereotype. In contrast, the boy could easily have been a line-backer in a college football team.

But who were they really? And could he trust them?”

“I’m here to teach you how to use those,” Sam said at last, deciding to withhold judgement for the moment, “to show you what you’re capable of.”

“What we’re capable of?” Paul frowned.

“Yes,” without warning, Sam sprang forward and grabbed the boy by the shirt. With one hand, he lifted him from the ground.

Paul gasped, his eyes bulging as he stared down at Sam. “What–”

He broke off as Sam released him. He landed easily on his feet, but the weight of his wings pulled him off balance again, and he crashed back to the wooden floor. He stared up at Sam, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“How did you do that?” Francesca whispered finally. “He must weigh 250 pounds, at least.”

Grinning, Sam offered Paul a hand. When the boy was back on his feet, he glanced between the two of them. “Oh, that’s just the tip of the iceberg, kidos.”

16

Chris sighed as he lowered himself into the plastic chair. His legs ached from the long march across the mountain slopes, and his arms and face throbbed where sunburn had started to set in. His pale skin had darkened over the days since their escape, but it was no match for the scorching rays of the midday sun.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back in the seat and rested his head against the cold brick wall behind him. Not for the first time in the last few hours, he sent up silent thanks for Liz’s quick thinking. If not for her, they would have been caught in the inferno that had swallowed the ranch. Whether the missiles had been meant for the Chead or themselves, they would probably never know. But it didn’t matter now – it was clear their pursuers were after blood.

Afterwards, Liz had led them around the mountain in silence. Her movements had been stiff, almost robotic, and his attempts to reach her had fallen on deaf ears. Chris and the other had been little better. Chris could barely comprehend the display of power they had witnessed, how close to death they had come. And so they had followed Liz across the mountain slopes without complaint.

An hour later, Liz had finally turned and started down the side of the mountain. Chris and the others breathed sighs of relief as they re-entered the trees. Before the wiry branches closed over them, Chris had caught a brief glance of the plains below. The brown fields still stretched out in all directions, but here the thin line of a road cut away from the mountain. It led off towards the western horizon, where a cluster of distant buildings hovered beneath a shimmering haze.

They descended rapidly through the trees, struggling to keep up with Liz. She leapt between patches of bare earth, landing on roots and grabbing branches, barely pausing to recover her balance. Chris and the others followed as best they could, even their newfound agility struggling to keep pace with the silent girl.

When they reached the bottom, Liz had glanced briefly at the sky, and then stepped out into the open. She moved without hesitation, striding determinedly out into the long brown grass. As she walked, she pulled on the jacket she had taken from the house, hiding her wings beneath the denim fabric. Even folded tight against her back, they still left a bulge beneath the jacket, but Chris hoped it would fool the casual observer. He and the others quickly followed suit.

They had already weighed the risks of taking flight, and dismissed the idea. During the day, it would be suicide. A bunch of winged teenagers were bound to be spotted, even in the sparsely populated countryside. At least on the ground, they might pass as ordinary people, and be overlooked by the governments spotters. And while the long grass offered little cover, it was better than nothing.

They had walked for an hour through the open paddocks, keeping parallel to the road, before Liz paused suddenly and looked back. She squinted, her gaze travelling past Chris and down the road to where it twisted around the mountain. Chris followed her gaze and saw a cloud of dust approaching. The clatter of iron hooves and the hard thud of wheels reached them a second later.

He shared a glance with the others, and then ducked down into the long grass. Waiting in the meagre cover, Chris watched the dust cloud closely. It quickly grew larger, though from the sounds that reached them, he knew it was not a car. A few minutes later, he saw the horses take shape amidst the cloud, followed by a cart on steel rimmed wheels. A man sat on the bench up front, reins held in one hand as he urged the horses onwards.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Chris had settled down in the grass to watch the wagon pass by. But as it neared, movement came from away to his right as Liz lifted herself from the ground. He swore as she walked towards the road, waving at the man with the reins.

A shout came from the road and the clatter of hooves started to slow. Glancing around, Chris had searched for the others, but the long grass hid them from view. He swore again, then pulled himself up and started after Liz.

“Woah!” the driver’s voice carried across the field as the wagon drew to a stop.

Liz was already on the road, grinning up at the driver. Chris stumbled after her, Jasmine, Richard and Mira emerging from the grass around him.

“Hey there, little missy,” Chris noted a southern twang to the man’s accent as he spoke. “Whatcha doing all the way out here?”

“We’ve come down from the Huerta property,” Liz replied easily. “The landowner’s kids are visiting. My sister and I wanted to show them the town while they’re here.”

The wagon driver looked up and noticed the rest of them for the first time. His eyes slid over Jasmine and Richard without concern. But his brow hardened as his gaze settled on Chris and Mira, taking in their pale skin and short-cropped hair. Chris stared back, surprised at the sudden hostility in the man’s eyes.

“The Huerta’s is a long way off,” his tone had turned gruff. “Don’t see ya folks around here a lot. Ya walk the whole way?”

Liz nodded, displaying her best smile. “Camped under the stars last night. Shoulda seen the city slicker’s eyes when they saw them.”

The man laughed at that, and after another moment’s hesitation, he nodded. “Righto. Let it not be said old Ronaldo forgot his manners. Jump in the back, folks. You can ride up here with me, missy.”

Laughing, Liz had joined him, while the others climbed warily into the hay stacked high in the back of the wagon.

A few hours later, after a bumpy ride that left Chris’s backside aching, the cart had finally rumbled into the town. The driver pulled over in the main street to let them out before waving goodbye. He was heading to a property further down the highway, but he gave them directions to the only motel in town.

Once he’d driven off, Liz had promptly ignored his instructions and led them down a side street. As they wound their way through the town, Chris could not help but stare at the world in which he now found himself. It was as though they had stepped backwards through time. He glimpsed the occasional old car or truck parked in the streets, their paint long since faded away and their bodies speckled with rust. But it seemed most of residents made do with wagons and horses. They lined the streets, waiting outside the old buildings as their owners came and went.

Taking in the spectacle, Chris half-expected men in cowboy hats to stumble from the local pub and start a gunfight in the street. But with the sun creeping towards the distant horizon, the roads were quiet, and most people avoided the strangers passing through their midst.

Only when Liz drew up outside the bus station had Chris finally guessed her intentions. Before he had a chance to stop her, she walked up to the lady standing behind the only ticket booth. Pulling a thin black wallet from her pocket, she handed over a wad of bills, and then returned soon after clutching a bundle of tickets in her hand.

“Where did you get that?” Richard asked, nodding at the wallet.

Liz only shrugged, her eyes hard, expressionless. “We needed it more than him.”

Chris swallowed. Ignoring the others, he stepped in close to her. She flinched back from him, but he grabbed her before she could move, and wrapped her into his arms. She resisted for just a second, stiffening and trying to pull away. But he refused to release her, and all of a sudden, she crumpled in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. He drew her quietly away from the ticket booth, where the woman still stood watching them.

Liz was shaking in his arms, her hot tears soaking into his shoulder, harsh sobs tearing from her throat. Unable to find the words to comfort her, to make everything okay, Chris did the only thing he could. He held her in silence, and waited for her grief to pass.

Slowly the tears had faded away, her shaking lessening. When she finally pulled away, her eyes were wet, but with a gentle smile she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Chris smiled. “For what?”

But she only shook her head. Taking a breath, she looked across at the others, who waited nearby. Richard and Jasmine still stood apart from one another, the wounds not quite healed. Mira had wandered off amongst the rows of plastic chairs, her hands in her pockets as she eyed the tiny food stand opposite the ticket booth.

Looking back to Liz, Chris reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “So, where are we going, Liz?”

Liz’s lips tightened. “San Francisco,” she looked around defiantly as she spoke, as though daring them to object. “I’m tired of running, of hiding. Sooner or later, they’re going to kill us. Or worse, catch us and take us back. We have to find a way to fight back, to put an end to this once and for all.”

“And going to the capital is how we do that?” Richard scowled. “That sounds like suicide to me. You can count me out.”

Chris’s stomach twisted. “Are you sure about this, Liz?”

Pursing her lips, she nodded. Her eyes locked with Richard’s. “You were right, that night in the mountains, Richard. Living on the run, never knowing when the hunters will finally catch up, it’s not a life at all. Trust me, I’ve lived it. We have to find a better way.”

Jasmine had been unusually silent, but she stepped forward then. “There’s hundreds of street cameras, police, informants. How do we avoid them?”

Liz shrugged. “We keep our heads down, stick to the crowds. San Francisco is a city of millions. However hard they try, they can’t keep them all in line,” she paused, her eyes sweeping over them. “Besides, they’ve got our families. If they’re still alive, we can’t turn our backs on them.”

That last point had marked the end of any further argument. The discussion carried on for a few more minutes, but the thought of finding where their parents were, of possibly rescuing them, had taken the fight from Richard and Jasmine. Even Mira had returned from her wandering, asking whether they could find Artemis as well.

Now, as Chris settled back in the bus station chair, he smiled at the thought of the five of them taking the bus. It was genius of Liz, really. With the wide-open plains, they could not fly during the day, and at night they would have no way of telling which direction they were heading in. The bus would have no such problems. And better yet – it was the last thing Halt and his hunters would expect. After all, who would take the bus, when they could fly?

The only problem was the wait. For the last two hours, the five of them had tried lying in various positions on the rows of plastic seats, struggling to get comfortable. The bus was already an hour late, and there was still no sign of its arrival.

He hoped it would be in better condition than the other vehicles they’d seen in town, but from the state of the bus station, it wasn’t looking good. A corrugated iron roof stretched overhead, still radiating the heat of the day, but there were no walls to keep out the wind. The ticket booth was even smaller than their prison cells in the facility. The lady behind the glass had her feet up on the bench, and was reading from a book titled Wild.

Opposite the booth stood the food cart. From the pictures on its side, it offered an array of burgers and hotdogs. None looked particularly appetising, but the faint scent of food still made Chris’s stomach rumble. Unfortunately, there was not enough cash left in the stolen wallet for hot food, and they were forced to make do with the fruit in their bag.

A television flickered on the wall of the ticket booth, facing the row of a seats in which they sat. Glancing at the screen, Chris frowned as the image went black. A second later a new image shifted into focus. It showed a man standing on a steel podium, facing a crowd of journalists. The man wore a dark red tie and his short grey hair was slicked flat against his skull.

He held his shoulders straight as he looked out over the crowd. Prominent cheekbones gave his face a harsh look in the glow of the overhead lights. His hazel eyes fixed on the camera as he waited for the reporters to settle.

Chris stared at the screen, his heart starting to pound, as a sense of premonition tingled in the back of his mind. Swallowing, he glanced at the others. The man’s face was one they all knew. In fact, it was impossible to forget.

The man standing on the podium was the President of the Western Allied States.

17

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the President began, his voice smooth, his tone sombre. “I am here today with news on our recent troubles.”

As he spoke, the President stared straight into the camera, his eyes seeming to reach through the television itself. Chris shivered, glancing around to see if the others were watching. The volume was low, but his ears had no trouble picking up the words.

“As you know, we have recently stepped up our domestic counter insurgency efforts. Acting on intelligence provided by the Director of Domestic Affairs, numerous rebel groups and their foreign benefactors have been apprehended in recent months.”

“Mr President!” a woman’s voice carried through the speakers as a reporter stepped forward. Two men in suits moved to intercept her, but the President waved them down, and nodded for the woman to continue. “Could you provide some indication of the sources used to identify these groups?”

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” the President stared down his nose at the woman, “but I assure you, both myself and your Electors have scrutinised the source and can testify to its legitimacy. There can be no doubt, these are dangerous persons – both to our individual security, and the safety of our nation.”

The President paused then, waiting to see whether the woman would interrupt again, before continuing. “We have brought the full force of our laws down on individuals associated with these groups. Enhanced interrogation methods have allowed us to identify ringleaders, and collapse networks of foreign spies who work to undermine our sovereignty. Those found guilty of treason have been executed, while their families and close associates have been detained and sentenced to follow them.”

The others were all staring at the television by now. This was the first news they’d heard about their abductions, and how their disappearance had been presented to the public. It seemed Doctor Halt had been telling the truth when he’d said their families were accused of treason.

Chris’s stomach twisted at the mention of execution. He felt a hand on his arm, and glanced up to see Liz watching him. He attempted a smile, but the effort was a miserable failure. Silently he turned his head back to the television.

On the screen, the President was still speaking. “While we are confident our actions have discouraged further resistance by these groups, there has been an unfortunate setback,” he paused, and Chris’s heart lurched as he realised what was coming. “Several associates of these traitors recently escaped from a secure facility in the Californian mountains. While we had hoped to quickly reacquire these individuals, to date they have evaded our militaries best efforts to bring them to justice. Our soldiers have suffered several casualties due to their actions. Unfortunately, we believe they may have now reached civilian populations.”

The President broke off as the mob of reporters started to shout questions. Across the bottom of the screen, four faces flashed into view. Chris swallowed as he saw his own face staring back at him, alongside mugshots of Liz, Richard and Jasmine. Strangely, Mira’s face was missing, and again he wondered about the girl’s strange past.

He looked up at the woman in the ticket booth, and the man working the food stand, but neither were paying any attention to the broadcast. He looked around at the others, wondering what they should do. Liz shook her head, her lips pursed tight, and nodded back to the screen.

The reporters had quieted now, allowing the President to continue. “As I said, these four individuals are considered armed and highly dangerous. They should not be approached under any circumstances. The parents of each were apprehended for their involvement with rebel activities, and were sentenced to death for high crimes against the state. Their sentences were scheduled for the December executions, and carried out as part of the New Year’s Eve celebrations. Unfortunately, this only makes these individuals more dangerous – they have nothing left to lose.”

On the screen, the President’s mouth continued to move, but Chris could no longer hear the words. Blood pounded in his ears as he stared at the screen, drowning out all other sound. An awful pain lanced through his chest, as though someone had just driven a knife into his heart. He gasped, struggling suddenly for breath, as the pain swept out to consume him. Inside, he could feel something breaking, something shattering into a thousand pieces. A low moan built in his throat, as from some great distance he heard Liz’s voice, calling his name.

Almost in a trance, Chris turned to stare at her. Liz spoke again, her lips moving, her eyes watering with unspilt tears, but no sound reached Chris’s ears. She leaned forward, her arms wrapping around his chest, pulling him to her, but still Chris felt nothing. An empty void had opened inside him, stretching out to swallow him whole.

His stomach swirled and a sick nausea rose in his throat. Pushing Liz away, he staggered to his feet. He felt a desperate need to scream, to shout and shriek and rage, to lash out until the world felt his pain. Then an image of his mother rose in his mind, her eyes warm and lips curled in a smile, and despair swept away his fury.

Silently, Chris sank back onto the twisted plastic seat, and buried his head in his hands.

18

Liz winced as the bus lurched over another pothole, sending her bouncing towards the roof. The engine roared as they raced down the gravel road, its maintenance long forgotten by a government intent on expanding their own wealth. A massive network of railroads criss-crossed the prairies, carrying harvests from distant properties to the cities and their shipping ports, but for the locals, the bus was their only option for transportation. No one Liz knew had the money to afford the passenger train, let alone a car.

Now, some eight hours into the bus ride, Liz was still struggling to sleep. When they’d first boarded, the bus was already packed, and they had been forced to stand for the first few hours. The bus stopped and started constantly to pick up and drop off passengers though, and slowly they edged further down the aisle in the hope of finding seats.

Even with the fall of darkness, the heat in the bus was suffocating. The breeze from the open windows barely reached them in the aisles, and by the time a seat opened beside Liz, her head was swimming.

Unfortunately, Liz knew from experience the cramped seats were little better than standing. The old benches were meant to fit two passengers, but the cramped conditions meant three people squeezed onto each seat. This left Liz perched half in the aisle, still far from the cool breeze coming through the windows. To make matters worse, she could feel the muscles of her wings beginning to cramp beneath her jacket, and when she leaned back against them, a sharp ache quickly developed in her back.

Finally, the two large women in the seats beside her rose and shuffled their way off the bus. Liz quickly moved across to take the window seat, allowing the others to figure out who would take the two remaining spaces. Mira and Jasmine soon slid in beside her, while Richard and Chris stayed standing.

Her heart twisted as she looked up at Chris. He had not spoken since the news broadcast. His eyes had taken on a haunted look, and his skin was a pallid grey mixed with the red of his sunburn. She desperately wanted to pull him into her arms, to hold him and love him until he was whole again.

She had tried to comfort him, the way he had comforted her just a few hours earlier. But Chris had been as stiff as a board, his eyes blank, void of emotion. He had pushed her away and boarded the bus without looking back.

Now, closing her eyes, Liz prayed he would be okay. They had to stick together, had to be strong if they were to survive. They were alone now – truly alone, the five of them against the world.

Mira seemed to be the only one of them capable of sleeping through the hellish bus ride. She nestled between Liz and Jasmine, curled up on the seat with her knees tucked up to her chin. Glimpsing a tangle of feathers hanging out from beneath her purple jacket, Liz carefully reached down at tucked them back out of sight. She smiled, realising it was one of her mother’s favourites. She had often worn it when the winter storms rolled in, bringing with them the howling wind and drenching rains.

But the memory only brought back the image of her home, of the last connection she had to her parents, disintegrating in the flames. She turned away, struggling to banish the image, lest she fall back into an abyss of her own.

“They didn’t have her picture up,” Jasmine’s voice whispered from the darkness.

Liz looked across at her. The bus was full, but most of those sitting appeared to have nodded off. Even the people standing looked asleep on their feet, their eyes closed and heads leaning against arms clenched around steel polls. Only Chris and Richard remained awake, their eyes staring vacantly into space.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Liz replied finally. She eyed the girl carefully. Since the incident in the forest, and with the Chead after, something had changed with Jasmine. Maybe she had become less antagonistic, less distant. It was difficult to tell. “And she thought the Chead was her father.”

“And she was taken by Halt himself,” Jasmine added her eyes alight. “Halt wasn’t involved with any other abductions, as far as I heard.”

Liz frowned at the new information. She bit her lip, trying to make sense of what they knew about Mira, but the answers refused to come. They fell silent as the bus pulled to a stop in front of a tiny shack, and a new passenger stumbled aboard. The man leaned against a pole and closed his eyes, apparently well used to the torture of the night bus.

As the bus’s engine roared once more, Liz changed the subject. “Do you really think… do you believe what the President said?”

“He had no reason to lie,” Jasmine replied quietly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Liz reached out and squeezed Jasmine’s shoulder. She could hear the grief in the girl’s voice, the unspoken sorrow. They had all been so focused on staying alive, on surviving the horrors of the past weeks and months, that the fate of their parents had become a distant worry. Now it seemed that distance had crumbled, giving way to harsh reality.

She looked away after a while, and stared out into the darkness outside the bus. Clouds had rolled in with the evening, and now the sky was dark, the open plains hidden beneath the blanket of night. In the faint light of the bus’s headlights, Liz saw her reflection in the clouded glass. Her hair was a wild tangle, her eyes hard, her brow creased by frown lines.

She stared at the face, so different from the girl she had once been. Even before she had been taken, her life after the loss of her parents had been harsh. It had taken its toll. She had become hard, unforgiving in her desire to survive. It was a fate she would not wish on anyone.

“I hope it was quick,” she turned back as Jasmine spoke. Tears streamed down the other girl’s face as she continued, “I hope they didn’t suffer.”

Liz looked at the girl, surprised by her strength. She remembered then how she had reacted in the forest, when the soldiers had captured them. While Richard had begged, Jasmine had been silent, offering only a frosty glare to the circle of soldiers. And now, after hearing the fate of her parents, it seemed like she was coping better than anyone.

“What did they do, your parents?” Liz asked suddenly, sensing a need in Jasmine to talk, to remember.

The other girl fell silent, and for a moment Liz thought she’d misread Jasmine’s thoughts. She was starting to turn away, preparing herself for another attempt at sleep, when Jasmine finally spoke.

“They were managers in a rural meat packing plant,” Jasmine’s voice barely rose above a whisper, “They didn’t even put up a fight. We were sitting around the table, just starting dinner, when the SWAT team kicked down the door. They told us we were under arrest, cuffed our hands behind our backs before we could even think of resisting. Then they led mum and dad out of the room, and pulled a black hood over my head. A few minutes later, I heard a woman’s voice speaking, then something cold pinched my neck. That’s the last thing I remember, before I woke up in the facility.”

Liz shivered at the simplicity of Jasmine’s story. The passiveness with which her parents had surrendered only served to highlight the absurdity of their charges. Surely traitors would fight, would resist capture to their dying breath.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“Don’t,” Jasmine cut in. She looked away, staring into the darkness of the bus. “I don’t need your false pity, Liz. We both know we’ve only stuck together this long because it’s our best chance of survival.”

Liz blinked at the harsh tone to Jasmine’s voice. She fell silent, turning over the other girl’s words, wondering whether they were true. She was right, in a way. There had been little love lost between them in the past, though she had thought that might be changing.

“You’re wrong,” she said at last. When Jasmine didn’t turn around, she continued, “We’re in this together because, whatever you may think, we’re family now. The five of us are all we have left.”

“Yeah, right,” Jasmine hissed, struggling to keep her voice under control. She looked at Liz then, her eyes hard. “In the forest, if the Chead hadn’t come, you would have left us for dead.”

“No,” Liz cut her off, “If the Chead hadn’t come, we would have found a way to save you.”

Jasmine snorted, but she didn’t reply. Liz sighed as the silence stretched out between them. Glancing down, she watched Mira sleeping, thinking idly that at least one of them was enjoying the ride. She reached out and stroked the girl’s soft grey hair, wondering again at the mystery surrounding her.

“Whatever you think, we are family, Jasmine,” she said at last. “Maybe this is just about survival for you, our little group. But it’s not for me, and it’s not for Chris.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Jasmine replied.

Liz nodded. Her gaze turned back to the aisle, where Chris stood with his head leaning against a steel pole. His eyes were closed, though she doubted he was sleeping.

“I’m worried about him,” she said suddenly, not caring whether Jasmine listened or not. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when we reach San Francisco, what he’ll do.”

“Probably something stupid,” Jasmine said wryly.

“I’m serious,” Liz growled. “I’m afraid he’ll do something reckless, something that will get him killed. I’m afraid I’m going to lose him.”

“Maybe,” Jasmine’s breath whispered on the air, “and maybe he’d be right to do it. I mean, what’s our alternative? Our parents are dead. We’re wanted fugitives. And you haven’t exactly been forthcoming with ideas to bring down the government. Maybe reckless is what we need,” she paused. “Besides, I’d rather go down fighting, than go back to being a slave.”

Jasmine’s hand drifted to her throat, to the soft flesh where her collar had once rested. Liz found herself shivering as she remembered the awful devices, the agony as electricity lit every nerve in her body on fire. Even so, she shook her head.

“It doesn’t need to come to that,” she argued. “Not if we’re smart, if we lay low. Our parents wouldn’t have wanted us to throw away our lives.”

Soft laughter came from the darkness. “Lay low? We’re heading into the very heart of the government’s power,” her eyes flashed as she looked at Liz. “No, Liz. If we did what our parents wanted, we would have never left those mountains.”

Liz fell silent at that, unable to find an answer to Jasmine’s words. Closing her eyes, she turned them over in her mind, wondering if they were true, what her parents would have thought of her now. What would they want her to do now?

She smiled as she recalled a time when she was young, when bandits had come to their lands and started stealing livestock. Her mother and father had gathered up the farm hands and started handing out rifles. They had ridden off at dawn, and returned by dusk, the missing livestock in tow.

“You’re wrong, Jasmine,” she said at last. “They would want us to fight back.”

19

Chris staggered as he stepped off the bus, his legs almost giving way beneath him. The trip had passed by in a blur of anger and grief, the long hours trickling away with every lurching mile. The journey had extended through the night and most of the next day. Now, almost twenty-four hours after they’d first stepped aboard the steel contraption, they had finally reached San Francisco.

Blinking in the fading light, Chris looked around at his surroundings. They were on the edge of downtown San Francisco, somewhere amidst the cramped jumble of buildings that was the National Bus Station. People crowded the footpaths and asphalt, racing between the lumbering buses, struggling to find their way through the packed space.

Since the end of the American War, the population of San Francisco had exploded, and available land had quickly dried up. With expansion in their downtown location all but impossible, the National Bus Service had been forced to cram the last twenty years of growth into the eighty-year-old station. Now the facility was bursting at the seams. Their bus had taken an hour just to manoeuvre its way through the queues of buses waiting outside.

Chris sucked in a breath as he watched the crowd, unable to summon the energy to care about the bodies pressing in around him. Without checking to see whether the others followed, he moved off through the station. A dull emptiness swelled within him, a lonely gulf that sucked away all emotion, leaving him alone, stranded amidst his sorrow.

Threading his way through the garbage littering the footpath, Chris scanned the crowds, searching for an exit. Concrete walls surrounded the boarding area in a U shape, with a narrow entranceway for the buses on the opposite side of the station. But there were numerous doorways through which passengers could enter and exit. Spotting one nearby, Chris headed for it, wrinkling his nose as he stepped over a puddle of liquid that smelled distinctly of urine.

The doorway led him indoors, where the press of people was even denser. Without fans or air conditioning, the heat inside was stifling, even compared to hellish nightmare that had been the bus ride. His frustration building, Chris shoved his way through the crowd and made his way towards a glowing blue sign that read ‘exit’.

Outside, the crowds thinned a little, though the sidewalks were still a mess of human refuse. But before he could go further, a hand grabbed him by the arm, and a voice called his name.

“Chris…” Liz looked up at him as he turned, pain shining from her crystal blue eyes.

Chris paused for a moment, looking down at the girl, searching for the emotions she’d had once ignited within him. The pit in his chest twisted, and something flickered inside him. Then it was gone. He shuddered as the sense of loss spread. In its place was a desire to run, to escape.

Shrugging off Liz, Chris turned away from her. He heard her call out, but through the noise of the crowd, her words were unrecognisable. His feet carried him quickly down the sidewalk, away from the others, away from his grief.

Around the station, a host of makeshift market stalls had been erected on the sidewalk, though many were beginning to pack away their wares for the night. Steel braziers burned on the street corners, hotdogs and hamburger patties charring on the blackened grills. Beggars sat beneath their piles of rags, squeezing in between the host of humanity around them. Some held out their hands in silent beseechment, but most just sat staring into space, their eyes devoid of hope, of life.

Chris moved on in silence, head down, refusing to meet the eyes of those he encountered. A woman tried to step into his path, pushing some jewelled necklaces at him, but he quickly shoved his way past. The woman staggered backwards into an overflowing garbage can. Her screams of abuse carried after him, but Chris was too consumed to hear her rage.

His own anger was far greater.

As he made his way through the tangled streets, darkness slowly fell over the city. He left behind the bustling marketplace, moving onto quieter sidewalks, and darker streets. The only pedestrians around now went quickly about their business, eager to be home. This was not a safe neighbourhood, and with nightfall only the boldest of citizens would dare to be out.

Footsteps came from behind Chris as the others struggled to keep pace with him. Soft voices called after him, but still he did not turn back. Overhead, the streetlights flickered on, but with half of their bulbs broken, they did little to illuminate the darkness.

“Chris!” Liz’s voice was insistent now. “Chris stop! We need to get off the streets before–”

Liz broke off as a scream echoed down the road. Chris paused midstride, the high-pitched shriek cutting through his thoughts, lifting him momentarily from his spiral of despair. He looked up as it came again, recognisably female now.

A need rose in Chris’s chest – a need to act, to fight, to do something. His mother was dead, publicly executed as part of some sick New Year’s celebration, and he had been powerless to stop it.

But he was powerless no longer.

Fists clenched, Chris began to run.

He leapt over a pile of garbage, his keen eyes scanning the sidewalk ahead, picking a path through the refuge. Ahead, he glimpsed the dark shadow of an alleyway. The scream came again, echoing out from the darkness of the alley, and he turned towards it.

As he came around the corner, he took in the scene without breaking stride. In the shadows, a young girl lay sprawled on the ground, her eyes wide with terror, staring at the two men standing over her. A gash marked her forehead, and her long brown hair lay in tangles across her face. Her coat was torn, its copper buttons lying scattered on the concrete around her.

Her eyes looked up as Chris appeared, her mouth opening to scream again. Before she could speak, one of the men stepped forward and slammed a boot into her stomach. She crumpled beneath the blow, gasping against the filthy concrete.

A low growl rose from Chris’ chest as he stepped towards the men. His boot brushed against a can as he moved, sending it rattling across the ground. The men spun at the sound, their eyes finding Chris in the shadows.

Chris hesitated as he saw the police badges shining on their chest, and the blue uniform stretched over their muscular frames. One held a baton casually in his hand, and both wore guns holstered on their belts.

The one who had kicked the girl rested a hand on his gun and growled. “You’d best turn around, kid.”

The other moved towards the girl as the speaker stared Chris down. Chris bit his lip, weighing up the distance between himself and the man. Less than ten feet separated them – he could cross that distance in a second. He looked back at the man, and smiled.

The policeman’s eyes widened as Chris leapt. His hand tensed, hesitating just a second, before he began to pull the weapon from its holster. But to Chris, the man could have been moving in slow motion. By the time the gun slid free, Chris had already closed the distance. With casual ease, he reached out and caught the man by the wrist.

His foes’ eyes widened as he struggled to break Chris’s hold, his teeth flashing in the light of a distant streetlamp. But he quickly found he was no match for Chris’s mutated strength. Grinning, Chris started to squeeze. A satisfying crack came from the man’s wrist, and the gun dropped uselessly to the ground.

A flicker of movement came from the corner of Chris’s eyes, and turning he saw the other policemen drawing his gun. Tensing, Chris grasped the first man by the collar, lifted him over his head, and hurled him at the other officer. The man flew through the air, his arms wind-milling, and landed on his colleague with an audible thud.

Chris strode towards them, watching as they tripped over themselves trying to get back to their feet. He grinned as he saw the terror in their eyes. Gone were his days of running away, of hiding and sulking while his tormentors enjoyed their privileged lives. The President was right about one thing – he had nothing left to lose now. He would act, would watch the government and all its members burn if he could.

The second man still had his gun, and he pointed it at Chris from the ground. Chris sprang to the side as the barrel flashed, and heard the crack as lead struck the brick wall behind him. He scowled as the man fired again, leaping to the side, then dove forward and kicked out at the gun. It flashed one last time before his boot sent it flying sideways into the wall.

A sharp pain came from Chris’s arm and for a second he reeled back. Then a flash of red passed across his eyes, and the pain faded. A boiling rage rose inside him as his breath came in ragged gasps. The man whose wrist he’d broken was on his feet again, swinging his baton with his good arm.

Snarling, Chris reached up and caught the baton mid-swing. The man’s face paled, but Chris gave him no time to retreat. Grabbing his arm in an iron grip, Chris dragged him forward into a crunching headbutt. The man staggered beneath the blow, but Chris wasn’t finished with him. Grasping his arm, he swung the man around, and hurled him head first into the wall.

A sickening crunch came from the man’s skull on impact. Sliding down the wall, he lay unmoving on the ground, a dark stain marking the bricks where he’d struck.

Ecstasy swept through Chris as he turned on the remaining policeman. Rage boiled through his veins, numbing the pain in his arm. He took a step forward, watching with satisfaction as sheer terror lit his victim’s face. Then he leapt.

The policeman raised his hands in front of his face in a desperate effort to fend him off. But he was like grass before the wind to Chris, and he crumpled beneath Chris’s fist. As he fell, Chris landed on his chest, his weight driving the breath from the man’s lungs. His mouth gaped wide, desperate for air, as Chris threw back his head and laughed.

A wild joy swept through Chris as he slammed another blow into the policeman’s face. The cop’s head snapped back from the force of the impact, bouncing into the concrete. His eyes rolled into his skull and a low groan rattled in his chest, but Chris no longer cared. He lashed out again, his knuckles cracking as they slammed into flesh, the sound of blows echoing down the alleyway.

By the time Liz and Richard pulled Chris away, he was covered in blood. Red rage drowned his thoughts, and hissed as they grabbed him, struggling to break free. Twisting, he lashed out at the others, but Richard and Liz held him tight, their strength more than a match for his own, and finally the fight began to drain from him. The red faded from his vision and his heart-beat slowed.

Chris slumped in their arms, gasping as the pain returned. Agony shot from his arm, pins and needles radiating down to his hand. But it was still nothing to the ache in his heart, the agony of his loss.

A sob built in his chest, persistent, undeniable. It tore from his lips as the first hot tears spilled down his face. He cried out as Liz pulled him to her, burying his head in her shoulder, holding her tight, as though his life depended on it. A fear rose inside him, that if she let him go, he would slip away, would lose himself in the depths of his despair.

“What are we doing, Liz?” the words rose from somewhere inside of him, “It’s all out of control.”

He felt a shiver go through her as she pulled him closer. But she did not answer, and they stood together in silence, amidst the long shadows of the alleyway.

Closing his eyes, Chris gave in to his grief. He let it wash through him, to ebb and flow with the pain of his body. He embraced it, accepted it. Slowly, the tension went from him, the mad chaos that had taken hold falling away. And through it, he sent up an offering, a thought, a final farewell to the woman who had raised him.

Mum, I love you.

20

Sam ducked as Paul’s fist flashed for his face, then backpedalled as the smaller boy chased after him, giving Francesca time to regain her feet. He shook his head as the boy stumbled. Paul recovered quickly, but the second it took allowed Sam to leap clear, his copper wings beating slightly to carry him across the hall.

He watched as Paul and Francesca gathered themselves and came after him. They moved with more confidence now, already growing used to the alien weight of their wings, though they were still far from perfect. Unlike Sam and the others, they were taking longer to adjust. Their wing movements were still stiff and robotic, their responses delayed, as though the connection between mind and wing was not quite complete.

They stalked towards Sam now, faces grim as they watched for a hint of his next attack. Grinning, Sam let them come. It had been days since their first meeting, but the two had proven slow learners. He had been wondering whether the lack of immediate danger might be slowing their progress. After all, it had been the rush of adrenaline, the desperate need to escape, that had driven Sam and the others to leap from the cliffs and fly.

So Sam had decided a change of tack was needed.

As Paul stepped into range, Sam tensed and sprang at the younger boy. Paul’s eyes widened, but Sam was on him in an instant, his wingtip swinging out to catch the boy in the face. He felt a satisfying thud and grinned as Paul stumbled back clutching his nose.

Growling, Francesca stepped in to take Paul’s place. Her sudden charge caught Sam by surprise, and he staggered sideways as her fist crashed into his ribs. Wincing, he retreated a step, silently admiring her strength. Whatever problems they had with their wings, there was nothing wrong with their other enhancements.

Sam scowled as the girl came at him again. Twisting sideways, he reached out and caught her by the wrist. Francesca yelped as he used her momentum to fling her over his shoulder and across the room.

He grinned as the girl hurtled through the air, arms raised to break her fall. Then her black wings shot outwards, catching in the air and slowing her descent. Francesca yelped in surprise, then dropped lightly to the ground. Blinking, wings still half-spread, she turned to stare at Sam, eyes wide.

“Very good,” Sam grunted, “Now show me what you’ve got.”

Ignoring her still gaping face, Sam leapt high into the air, his wings snapping out as he moved. With one powerful stroke he crossed the hall, and drove his booted foot into the girl’s midriff. The blow sent her bouncing across the wooden floor until she came to rest near the far wall. Wheezing, she tried to right herself, her mouth wide and gasping.

An angry growl came from behind Sam, and he spun in time to block a savage blow from Paul. His fist crashed into Sam’s wrist and sent a shock juddering down his arm. Grimacing, Sam retreated, twisting to avoid another wild swing from Paul. Then his knee flashed up and caught the other boy in the stomach, stopping him in his tracks.

They drew back a step then, pausing to weigh each other up. Sam had to admit, the two were good fighters, but that was no surprise. They had to be, to have survived this long. If not for his own skill and greater experience with his wings and strength, Sam doubted he could have taken them both. As it was, he was enjoying the chance to vent his frustration.

As Paul came at him again, Sam tensed, readying himself for the next attack. It came in a rush of flashing fists and elbows, but Sam blocked each of them calmly, and then leapt forward and grasped Paul by the shirt. Pivoting on his hip, Sam turned and hurled the boy across the room in the same manner he had Francesca.

Unfortunately, Paul’s wings did not come to his rescue. He rose in an arc, and then crashed down into the wooden floor with a hard thud. Shaking his head, Sam watched the boy stagger to his feet, his lips drawn back with rage.

“You need to stop thinking, and act,” Sam hissed as he leapt, slamming a fist into Paul’s stomach to send him reeling backwards.

Pale-faced and gasping, the younger boy struggled to recover. He raised his fists and deflected another blow from Sam. Then he was charging forward, his arms grasping Sam around the midriff and tackling him to the ground. The breath exploded from Sam’s lungs as he landed on his back.

Rolling on the ground, Sam sent Paul stumbling backwards with a sweep of his wings. They beat again as he leapt into the air, carrying him out of range.

Landing lightly, Sam struggled to regain his breath as he berated himself for lowering his guard. Across the room, Francesca had re-joined Paul. They stood together, waiting for him to make the next move. Gritting his teeth, Sam flashed an unconvincing grin and stepped towards them.

It was their turn to watch him come now, both suddenly looking confident in their abilities. It seemed he might have been right, that the rush of adrenaline was what they needed to help their minds gel with the alterations to their bodies.

They attacked together as he stepped within range, Paul half a step ahead of Francesca. Working in concert, they forced Sam to a standstill, then back a step, and another. Sam reeled as a blow struck him in the face, followed immediately by a kick to the hip. Anger flared in his chest, and growling, he allowed it free reign. It swept out to engulf him, sending fresh energy to his limbs.

For a second, Sam’s head spun, and his vision flashed red. Heart pounding in his chest, he twisted as Paul came at him again. Lashing out, he caught the boy by the throat and hauled him into the air. Blood pounded in his head as he watched the boy kick feebly in his grasp, hardly feeling the blows as Paul struggled to free himself.

Blood pounded in his ears as elation swept through him. Dimly he heard a voice scream, and turning he raised an arm to fend off a blow from Francesca. She stumbled sideways as he struck her, but quickly righted herself and came at him again. Snarling, he hurled the boy aside and faced her, his delight turning to rage at her defiance.

Fear flashed in her eyes and he grinned. She stumbled backwards, but it was too late now. He leapt forward, reaching out to catch the arm she raised to defend herself. In a single movement, he hoisted her above his head and hurled her at the wall.

The girl’s wings flared open in a desperate attempt to stop herself, but this time her momentum was too great, and she struck the wooden wall with a hard thud. She fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and feathers. A low moan came from her throat as she struggled to rise.

Sam clenched his fists, revelling in his power, feeling the throb of anger within him. Smiling, he stepped towards the girl. She was still straining to right herself. Reaching down, he grasped her by the hair and hauled her up. Her brown eyes flickered up to stare at him, filled with a helpless terror.

Sam paused, a whisper of doubt cutting through his scarlet rage. For a second, another image imposed itself over the girl’s face – of a boy, his face bloodied and bruised, on the ground, gasping for breath.  He saw the boy struggling to stand, to regain his feet and continue to fight, but unable to find the strength.

And he saw the blood covering his hands, the bruises on his knuckles.

Jake.

Releasing Francesca, Sam staggered backwards as his friend’s face rose his memories. Guilt swelled inside him, sweeping away the rage, and the red faded from his vision. A low whine came from his throat as he sank to his knees.

He glanced around, his heart racing as he found Paul on his knees nearby, clutching at his bruised throat, gasping for breath. And Francesca, stumbling to her feet, her legs unsteady as she looked across at him. In his chest, the guilt turned suddenly to fear.

“What the hell was that?” Francesca gasped.

Before Sam could answer, a slow clapping carried across the open hall. They turned as one, and stared as Halt walked slowly across the wooden boards. He wore a smile on his thin lips as he looked at them.

“Well done, Samuel,” he breathed, his eyes shining. “It looks like we’re almost ready.”

21

Liz shifted nervously on her feet as she listened to Daniella stutter through her story. The girl had been speaking for five minutes already, the words tumbling from her in a rush as she told her mother the story of her rescue. The older woman stood beside the girl, her eyes wide and face pale as she watched them – the five intruders on her doorstep.

After the confrontation in the alleyway, Liz had soon realised Chris had been shot. Though the wound was hardly bleeding, Chris had quickly gone into shock. As he started to shake, Liz had lowered him to the ground and then emptied the last few apples from their potato sack. She used it to bind his arm, but looking around at the filthy alleyway, she knew it would need further attention, and soon.

It was then the girl Chris had rescued had reminded them of her existence. Staggering to her feet, she had introduced herself in a wavering voice as Daniella. She looked around twenty years of age, and though still terrified, she had managed to stammer her thanks, before Chris’s bullet wound caught her attention.

To Liz’s surprise, instead of terrifying the girl, the sight of Chris’s injury seemed to galvanise Daniella. Pulling herself together, she insisted they come with her to her mother’s apartment. She had been heading there late from the train station when the policemen had offered to escort her home.

Despite her reluctance, Liz and the others had had little choice but to accept Daniella’s offer. While some of the colour had returned to Chris’s face, the risk of his wound becoming infected was too great out in the street. It needed to be cleaned, at the very least, and there was no way they could take him to hospital.

Now Daniella was finally wrapping up her story, finishing with how Chris had been shot and how he needed help. As she fell silent, her mother’s eyes turned back to the group. Liz’s cheeks grew hot as the woman’s gaze fixed on her. She suddenly found herself uncomfortably aware of the filthy state of her clothes, and that it had been a long time since her dip in the mountain river. The five of them were well used to their own stench, but she winced at what the woman must think. Gritting her teeth, she readied herself for the woman’s rejection.

All of a sudden, Daniella’s mother clapped her hands. “Thank you, children,” she all but shrieked. Her words trailed off as she continued to stare. Her eyes drifted to Chris, who Liz supported over her shoulder, and finally seemed to take in the blood-stained bandage. The woman blinked. “You’re injured.”

“Yes, mum, I told you!” Daniella said.

That seemed to finally snap the woman out of her trance. She flicked another glance at her daughter, then without speaking, crossed the room and drew Chris and Liz into a gentle hug. “Oh, thank you, thank you so much,” her voice was warm as she released them. She looked at Chris. “We’d better take a look at that, hadn’t we?”

Chris nodded silently, his lips drawn tight. The tension fled from Liz as the woman moved to a cupboard in the wall of the apartment. She closed her eyes, relieved at the thought of an adult taking control of the situation. The constant tension of their flight had drained her, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep for the next week, and let someone else worry about their problems.

“Take a seat,” Daniella’s mother gestured to the couch as she rifled around the closet. “Don’t worry about the mess. I can’t believe this. Now where is that first-aid kit. It’s not much, you should really see a doctor, go to the hospital or something… but I suppose you can’t really do that, can you? What is this city coming too, policemen assaulting ordinary citizens, it’s like we’re out on the farms or something. My name is Danny, by the way. Short for Daniella, but went and gave that name to my daughter, didn’t I?”

Anger flared in Liz’s stomach at Danny’s casual insult about the farms, but she pushed it down with an inward shake of her head. While the police in her local village had technically worked for the government, they had generally been valued members of the community. They had certainly never gone around trying to rape young girls.

Dismissing her anger, she led Chris across to the couch, and let out a sigh of relief as they sank onto the soft cushions. She winced as she glanced back and saw the dirt staining the white fabric.

“Ah ha!” Danny emerged from the closet holding a red pouch decorated with a white cross. She moved across the living room, stepping around the coffee table, and took a seat on Chris’s other side.

She seemed to have regained her composure now, and quickly threw herself into the task of patching Chris up. Idly, Liz wondered how much good the little first aid kit could do for a bullet wound, but there was no doubt the wound needed to be cleaned.

Beside her, Chris winced as the woman began to unwrap his makeshift bandage. Liz smiled, and reached out to take his good hand. His fingers clenched around her hand, and his hazel eyes glanced at her. She flashed him her best smile. “Don’t be a baby.”

Before Chris could respond, Daniella crossed the room and lowered herself onto the coffee table in front of them. She flashed Liz a scowl before reaching out and patting Chris’s knee. “It’s okay,” she said warmly. “Mum will patch you up.”

Chris nodded his thanks and returned her smile. Liz suppressed a growl, reminding herself of the trauma the girl had just experienced. She was only reaching out to Chris to show her thanks. But she could not help but feel a twinge of jealously at the way Chris smiled back at her.

Beside them, Danny hissed as the last layer of bandage came away, revealing the jagged tear the bullet had left in Chris’s arm. Blood had congealed around the wound, while black dirt spotted the red where grime had worked its way into the wound. Tsking to herself, Danny turned to rummage in her first-aid kit.

She came up a second later with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Chris’s eyes widened, and Liz gave his hand a quick squeeze. As she did, she flashed a look at Richard, hoping he caught its meaning. If the pain became too great, they might have to hold Chris down.

“Hey,” Chris grumbled. “I saw that. Don’t get any ideas, you two. I’ll be good,” with that he leaned back into the couch and silently offered his arm to Danny.

Chris flinched as Danny brushed the alcohol soaked cloth across his wound, but Liz held his hand tight and he steadied. A low whimper came from his throat as Danny began cleaning out the dirt.

“You big wuss,” Liz whispered in Chris’s ear, then smiled as he turned to look at her.

Ignoring Daniella’s presence on the coffee table, and her hand still on Chris’s knee, Liz leaned in and kissed Chris hard on the lips. Her heart fluttered as he melted beneath her, relaxing into the couch as she pressed herself against him. She heard a snort of indignation and a thud as Daniella stood and stamped away. She felt a twinge of guilt – the girl had only been trying to help – but at least she had distracted Chris from the pain.

Liz pulled back after a long moment. “That help?”

Chris gave a wry grin and nodded. Raising her hand, she stroked his cheek, feeling the soft hairs of his unshaved jaw brushing across her skin. Chris closed his eyes, relaxing at her touch, though Liz knew well the agony of rubbing alcohol on exposed flesh.

A few minutes later, Chris let out a long sigh as Danny announced she was done. “Looks like the bullet passed straight through,” the woman chattered as she started to apply antiseptic cream. “Definitely should be seen by a doctor though. I hate to think what might happen if it became infected. You could lose your arm! Oh I don’t know, such a mess, I wish we could do more for you. You look like such nice kids. Where are you from?” she looked around the room as she spoke, taking in the state of their clothes and filthy faces. “It looks like you’ve come a long way?”

Liz nodded, thinking quickly. “We came down from Seattle. Just finished school and heard there might be work here. Our bus broke down on the way though – took days to get here, by the time they sent a replacement and all that.”

The woman nodded. “Oh dear. Well, I’m not sure about the work – I’m just a lowly office lady – but why don’t you help yourselves to the bathroom? Clean yourselves up and spend the night. Really, it’s the least we can do!”

“Yes, stay,” Daniella seemed to have recovered from her earlier dismay. She stood in the doorway to what looked like the kitchen, arms folded as she watched them.

Glancing at the others, Liz hesitated. She knew they should leave, that there were soldiers out hunting for them, and a price on their heads. Staying meant risking the lives of Danny and Daniella, or possibly alerting the two to their status as fugitives. But even as she thought of refusing, she felt the constant ache of her body, the utter exhaustion from the bus ride and the strain of the long days on the run weighing on her. They were all at the end of their endurance, near the point of collapse.

And the thought of a hot shower was all but irresistible.

22

Liz closed her eyes as the hot water rained down over her face, basking in its heat. It engulfed her head, muffling the distant sounds she could hear from the neighbouring apartments. The water filled her nose too, washing away the stench of her body. The loss of sensation came as a welcome relief, as she realised suddenly how stressed she had become, strained by the constant barrage of her senses.

She shivered, wondering then how long she could take it, whether the human mind was designed for so much input. Or would the sensory overload one day grow too much, the barrage of sights and smells and sound too much for her mind to process. What would happen to her then?

Sucking in a breath through the running water, Liz pushed the thought away.

Live in the moment, she thought to herself.

She savoured the heat of the water running off her naked skin. It ran over her head and through her long hair, dripped from her shoulders, down to her matted feathers. How long had it been since her last hot shower? Certainly not in the facility, where they had been lucky if the guards remembered to feed them, let alone take them to the showers. Nor while she’d been on the run. There’d been no chance of that, not while she had moved from rural village to town, never knowing when her next meal might come, let alone a bath.

No, it had been at the boarding school her parents had sent her too. Much as she had hated the place, hated being the only rural girl amidst the ranks of rich kids from the city, she could not deny the place had its luxuries. Though her parents’ ranch had had hot water, it had been heated by the fireplace, so it was only available during the winter. And only then if you were one of the first to rise in the mornings.

Which as a teenager, meant there had been as much chance of her getting a hot shower, as her finding the cure for cancer.

Rubbing her hands over her skin, Liz watched the dead skin flake away. Dirt, skin and blood dripped to the tiled floor as she scrubbed her body clean. There it swirled with the gathering water, and disappeared down the drain. She watched it go, strangely entranced. Silently, she wished she could wash away darkness inside her the same way, that she could turn back the clock to before all this happened.

Liz jumped as someone knocked on the door and she heard a voice call out to her. “Liz?”

She smiled as she recognised Chris’s hesitant tone. Silently she slipped out of the shower and moved across the bathroom, her wings clenched tight against her back to keep them from dripping. Standing behind the door, she pulled it open, reached one hand out into the corridor, and pulled Chris inside.

His eyes widened as he saw her standing naked, her hair and skin wet from the shower, her wings slowly spreading out behind her. She laughed as his cheeks reddened, secretly pleased at the effect she had on him. Though he still wore his filthy clothes, she stepped in close, until their faces were just an inch apart. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pulled him into a kiss, taking care not to bump his injured arm.

As their lips met, she felt him stiffen against her. Then he was kissing her back, his lips hard against hers, his tongue darting between her lips. She moaned as his good hand slid up to her breast. Biting his lip, she began to undress him, tugging him towards the shower as she did so. Before they went any further, she wanted him clean.

Dragging him beneath the hot water, she pulled him to her, her heart racing as his naked chest brushed against her. Her skin tingled as his good hand slid up her back, to where her wings stretched out behind her. They brushed against her feathers, sending ripples of pleasure down the length of the alien limbs. Then his fingers continued on, and they were in her hair, pulling her lips to his, and he was kissing her hard, pushing her back against the wall of the shower.

Giggling, Liz slid sideways away from him. Snatching up the soap, she tossed it to Chris. “Soap first. Before you get that wound dirty again. We’ll bandage it up afterwards.”

Chris laughed, his eyes burning with desire. But with a wry smile he obeyed. She watched the dirt and dried blood run from him with the same curiosity she had felt before. Even now, amidst the heat of their passion, she could feel the pain radiating from Chris. It rose from his core, sharp and demanding, with a strength that threatened to consume them all. He had been so reckless since the news report, as though he no longer cared what happened to him. Boarding the bus, walking through the dangerous neighbourhoods of San Francisco, it was all so different from the Chris she knew, the Chris that would fight to the death for the ones he loved, but never think of putting them in danger.

Thankfully, he seemed more himself now, more like the Chris that had suffered and escaped the facility alongside her. The pain still shone from his eyes, a sharp, more recent reflection of her own, but it seemed contained now, under control. Silently, she prayed she was right.

Chris gave a low growl as he scrubbed the last patch of dirt from his skin and tossed the soap aside. He looked across at her, his hazel eyes almost feral as he drank her in. Liz smiled, basking in his gaze as she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” she placed her arms on her hips. “I’m all yours…”

Eyes dancing, Chris stepped forward, and pulled her to him…

When Liz finally moved from the shower, she was panting hard. Warmth spread from her stomach, seeping outwards to fill her, lighting every nerve in her body afire. She smiled as Chris followed her out, his fingers sketching out a trail along her waterlogged feathers. Closing her eyes, she trembled with his touch, still surprised at the sensitivity of her strange new limbs. Idly she wondered if Daniella or Danny had noticed the lumps beneath their jackets. She supposed they hadn’t – otherwise who knew what they would have done.

Pulling two towels from the rack, she handed one to Chris before starting to dry herself. Watching Chris from the corner of her eye, she smiled as he struggled to dry himself with one hand. She was surprised how little it had slowed him. In fact, the bleeding already seemed to have stopped. Even so, she knew from her time working with animals on the farm that it should be stitched. Unfortunately, hospital grade stitching did not come in your standard first-aid kit.

Still, at least his wound was now clean and dry, and they could bandage it when they returned to the living room.

As they dried themselves, they spread their wings in the tiled bathroom, letting their damp feathers bask in the overhead heating lamp. Their feathers stood on end, and every so often a shiver would go through them, sending out a fine spray of water.

Afterwards they pulled on the clean clothes Daniella’s mother had given them. Her husband was apparently away on business – he was a translator of some sort – and she suggested it was a good opportunity to get rid of his old clothes. Looking at the fine shirts, Liz lamented the need to tear holes in the back to fit their wings. Even on her, the shirts would not fit over their feathery bulk.

Once they were dressed, Liz eyed her old jacket with distaste. Her wings were enjoying their freedom – being cramped under the jacket did not agree with them. And now she was clean, she could smell the reek of sweat and dirt coming from the heavy denim. But unless they wanted to terrify their friendly hosts, it seemed they had little choice. Reluctantly, they pulled on the jackets before sliding out the door.

Warmth touched Liz’s cheeks as she found Jasmine, Richard and Mira waiting in the hallway outside. Her mouth dropped open and she flashed a glance back at Chris. “You didn’t mention they were outside!”

Chris’s cheeks were beet-red, but Jasmine cut in before he could respond. “It got a little awkward in the living room,” she glanced at the others and shrugged, “Guess I’m next.”

She disappeared into the bathroom before Richard or Mira could argue. Richard bowed his head, his lips curling downwards as he tucked his hands into his pockets.

Taken by a sudden empathy, Liz reached across and squeezed his arm. Richard looked across at her, his eyes shining in the light of the hallway. No words passed between them, but after a moment Richard nodded and looked away.

Stepping back, Liz took Chris’s hand and led him back towards the living room. She frowned at the other’s lack of courtesy – and foresight. Someone should have stayed with Daniella and her mother, if only to ensure they were safe. As they moved down the corridor, she heard voices speaking, and recognised the faint whine of the television. The floorboards squeaked beneath their feet to announce their approach, and the voices suddenly broke off.

The door clicked as she pushed it open and moved back into the living room. She hadn’t really taken it in earlier, but now her eyes passed slowly over the room. The apartment was plain and rundown, but still displayed far more wealth than her parents could ever have hoped for. Steel bolts held the front door closed directly opposite them, while to their left was the door to the kitchen. To their right was the square dining room table, and beyond that the white fabric couch and flat screen television. Past the television, a broad window looked out over the city, at the distant skyscrapers and steep hills of San Francisco.

To her surprise, the television was dark, though she was sure she had heard it just a moment earlier. Daniella was still sitting on the couch, but her mother was standing, already starting towards them.

“How was your shower?” Danny smiled.

Liz’s ears twitched at the tone of her voice. Had it been slightly higher than before? She closed her eyes, weariness settling around her shoulders like a cloak. Forcing a smile, she nodded at Danny, dismissing her worry as exhaustion.

“Wonderful, thank you,” Chris said beside her. She glanced across and saw him smiling, apparently at ease. “Just what we needed after that bus ride.”

Danny nodded absently as Daniella lifted herself from the couch and moved across to them. Reaching out, she tugged at the sleeve of Chris’s jacket. “You’re wearing your jacket. Wasn’t what I picked for you… more comfortable?”

“Leave him alone, Daniella,” Danny said sharply. Liz jerked her head up as the woman strode across and pulled Daniella away. “They’ll wear what they want.”

Daniella scowled as she pulled herself free. “They don’t have too,” she retorted.

Danny folded her arms and stared down at Daniella. The girl held her ground for a moment, then with a grunt, she turned and pushed past Liz, disappearing down the hallway. Shaking her head, Danny looked back at them and flashed a smile. “Would you like some coffee, dears?”

Exhausted as she was, Liz wanted nothing more than to sleep. Coffee was the last thing she needed. But the woman was already moving away, muttering about boiling water as she disappeared through the door to the kitchen. Liz glanced at Chris, but he only shook his head. She noticed his face was pale, and taking his arm they moved across to the couch.

Reaching across the coffee table, Liz picked up the first aid kit. Carefully rolling up the sleeve of Chris’s jacket, she applied a fresh layer of antibacterial cream to Chris’s wound. She was surprised by how fresh it looked already. She had been right earlier – the bleeding had stopped, and was it her imagination, or did it look smaller? Shaking her head, she dismissed the absurd thought, and started applying a bandage to Chris’s arm.

Jasmine appeared as Liz was finishing up the bandage. Her skin was red from scrubbing and her black hair hung damp around her face, but she looked cleaner than Liz had ever seen her. She still wore the jacket from earlier, and Liz wriggled on the couch, reminded of the damp feathers slowly dripping water down her back.

She smiled as Jasmine approached the couch, noticing the girl was looking relaxed. “Good shower?”

Jasmine smiled back. “I could barely bring myself to get out. Where’s Daniella and her mother?”

“Daniella is down the hall somewhere,” Liz replied. “Her mother is making coffee.”

Jasmine wrinkled her nose. “I hope its decaf. Who’s taking first watch?”

“I think Richard still owes us one there,” Liz replied softly.

She watched Jasmine’s face darken, but Liz had decided in the hallway the feud between the two had gone on long enough. Richard had made a mistake, and he would have to live with it. But if they were to survive, the five of them needed to get along.

“You have to forgive him sometime, you know,” she whispered.

Jasmine looked up at that. Her eyes softened for a second, before her jaw clamped tight. “Do I?” she growled. “And why is that?”

Liz did not back down. “Because you love him,” she replied. “Because he’s family.”

“I…” Jasmine closed her eyes suddenly, her shoulders slumping. She dropped to the couch beside them and drew her knees up to her chest. “They almost caught us. Because of him.”

“Yes,” Liz shrugged, “But in the end, we’re just kids, Jasmine. We’re not soldiers, we’re not trained for this, whatever mutations they managed to cram into our DNA.”

Jasmine lowered her eyes at that, but did not respond. Liz smiled, hoping she had gotten through to the girl. Then she leaned back into the crook of Chris’s good arm and closed her eyes. Basking in his warmth, they waited in silence for Richard and Mira to return.

Mira was the next to appear. She moved silently across the room and quickly climbed up onto Jasmine’s lap. Liz smiled inwardly as Jasmine rolled her eyes at her. She was beginning to suspect the other girl enjoyed Mira’s affections more than she let on. Eventually Richard emerged too, still drying his hair with a towel as he looked around the room.

He paused beside the couch and looked around again, his forehead creased. “Where’s Daniella and her mother?”

Liz blinked, struggling to look around, her mind foggy with sleep. She shook her head, suddenly realising Richard was right. Daniella’s mother still had not returned with the coffee. What was taking the woman so long?

Just as she was struggling to sit up, Danny finally appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. She paused there, a steaming mug in each hand. Then she moved across the room and placed the mugs on the coffee table.

“Everyone clean? Good, good, I’m so glad, must be a relief after that trip. Where did you say you came from again? Seattle right? Such a long, long way,” she paused, looking at Jasmine and Richard. “More coffee?”

Before either could speak, she turned and raced back into the kitchen.

Shaking her head, Liz struggled to muster her thoughts, and decided the coffee might not be a bad idea after all. Much as she’d like to sleep, and leave their worries for the morning, they needed to figure out a plan. Reaching across the table, she lifted the mug and took a long gulp of the hot liquid.

Beside her, Chris groaned and sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes. He spotted the other mug and swept it up before anyone else could claim it.

Liz sighed as the hot liquid warmed her chest. Though winter was behind them, the nights were still icy, and the house felt cold after the heat of the shower. The others remained where they were, Richard standing, Jasmine and Mira curled up on the couch beside her.

“That was… strange,” Richard remarked, his eyes fixed on the kitchen doorway.

Taking another sip of her coffee, Liz’s mind finally began to tick over again. She frowned, thinking of the voices she’d heard earlier, how she’d been sure the television had been on. Idly, Liz realised Danny must have switched it off when she’d heard them coming.

“Danny switched the television off, before we came in…” she mumbled her thoughts out loud.

Richard looked around. “What?”

“They were watching the television, while we were getting clean. I heard it. But they switched it off when they heard us coming.”

Frowning, Richard reached down and picked up the remote from the coffee table. They all turned to stare as the television flickered into life. The speakers started to blare, but Richard quickly hit the mute button. The five of them stared as a man appeared on the screen, pointing to a map of the Western Allied States, and the rainclouds approaching San Francisco.

But that was not what drew their attention.

A banner ran along the bottom of the screen, bright red with white text that spelled out ‘wanted for treason’. Beneath the writing, four faces stared from the screen. Liz’s stomach twisted as she stared at her own face, an awful fear clamping around her chest.

Richard flicked off the television and turned back to them. “We have to get out of here.”

And then the lights went out.

23

Chris threw himself to the floor as the door to the apartment shattered inwards. He heard a thud as something skittered across the floor, then a blinding flash of light and sound exploded through the room. A scream came from his right as red lines streaked across his vision. Rolling to the side, he screamed at the others, but over the ringing in his ears, Chris couldn’t even hear his own voice.

Blinking in the darkness, Chris struggled to regain his night vision. Pain came from his arm, but he pushed it aside, fear sweeping through his chest. Scrambling on his hands and knees, he looked up as he heard the thud of boots on tiles. White lights danced across his vision, but through them he saw shadows moving through the darkness.

They’re here!

“Get away from the door!” he called a warning as he rolled behind the couch.

As another thud came from the doorway, he began to crawl towards the window, praying the others would have the same thought. The apartment was on the fifth floor – if they could break the grass and jump, the hunters would not be able to follow them.

His heart leapt as he heard glass shatter, and straining his eyes, he tried to see who had made it to the window first. Red streaks still flashed across his vision, but they were already fading, giving way to darkness. The room slowly came into focus, every inch easily visible in the dim light from outside.

He smiled at their hunters’ mistake. With their altered senses, the darkness was no hindrance to them. Now, even with night vision goggles, the soldiers would be at a disadvantage. Crawling out from the cover of the couch, he looked back at the window, expecting to see Liz or one of the others already there.

Instead, he froze as the hulking figures of two soldiers stepped through the broken window. Sleek black night vision goggles covered their eyes and they held heavy rifles at the ready. Glass cracked beneath their boots as they fanned out.

How? They were five stories up, how could the soldiers have gotten in through the window?

Chris quickly backpedalled behind the couch, but this time he was too late. As he ducked out of sight he saw the men turn towards him and raise their weapons. Gunfire crackled through the room, and Chris hurled himself to the ground, bracing himself for the bullets. He knew the flimsy sofa would offer no resistance against hot lead.

To his surprise, the pain did not come. A series of heavy thunks came from the sofa, as muzzle flashes lit the room. Pulling himself up, Chris glanced over the edge of the cushions, and then dropped back down with a curse. Half a dozen darts had embedded themselves in the fabric. So the hunters weren’t here for blood – they wanted to take the five of them alive.

Over my dead body, Chris thought grimly.

Reaching up, Chris tore off his jacket and flexed his wings. He gathered himself, listening for the tell-tale crunch of heavy boots on broken glass. Before he could move, he sensed movement beside him, and turned in time to see Liz scramble around the edge of the couch. Her wings were already out, her sleek black feathers blending in with the shadows.

The tread of a boot carried to their ears. He smiled, pleased by the caution their hunters were showing. These men were clearly wary of them. Chris just hoped they lived up to their reputation.

A roar sounded from the other end of the room, and glancing around the corner of the couch, Chris watched Richard and Jasmine charge at the soldiers by the window. Wings out, lips drawn back in wild snarls, they attacked like avenging angels descended from heaven. The soldiers moved with painful slowness, unable to match the speed of their winged prey. In a second Richard was on them, Jasmine just one step behind.

The first of the two yelled out as Richard tore the rifle from his grasp and hurled it at his face. Leaping to his feet, Chris moved to join them, but movement near the door drew his attention. Silhouettes strode through the darkness, fanning out from the doorway, already raising their weapons to take aim.

Knowing they had Richard and Jasmine in their sights, Chris did not hesitate. Roaring, he dived at the nearest figure, catching him off guard and hurling him backwards. The others turned at the sound, momentarily distracted, and then Liz launched herself into their midst.

The five silhouettes staggered back from her fury as one went down in a pile of feathers and fists. A second later Liz sprang back up, already moving towards her next target. The soldier she’d struck did not get back up.

One of the men turned to point his weapon at Liz, but Chris was on him in an instant. He only had one good arm to work with, but in close quarters, that was all he needed. Balling his fist, he slammed it into the soldier’s chest. Even with body armour, Chris heard the distinct crack of breaking ribs. As the man gasped and sank to his knees, Chris spun on his heel and drove his boot into the side of the man’s head.

He moved on as the man dropped to the ground, his keen eyes searching the darkness for another victim. Chaos had spread through the soldiers, the fury of Liz’s attack scattering them across the room. Muffled thuds came from the window as Richard and Jasmine finished off the hunters there, while only two soldiers were left standing on Chris’s side of the room. Grinning, he stalked towards them.

But now the shock of their attack had worn off, and the soldiers were regaining their senses. More men swept into the room, charging through the doorway in a stream of bodies. Chris swore as rifles pointed in their direction, and he dove towards the dining table. Liz was already ahead of him, and she hurled it on its side as they dove behind it. The crack of steel darts on wood echoed through the room as the soldiers opened fire.

Heart racing, Chris crouched behind the table with Liz and waited for the firing to stop. He prayed Richard and Jasmine had not been caught in the cross-fire. He had not seen what had happened to Mira, but he hoped the girl had found cover somewhere.

Silence fell as the gunfire ceased. Chris glanced around the corner of the table in time to see Jasmine and Richard make a break for the window. The path was clear now, the men that had crashed through lying slumped on the ground. Jasmine was in the lead, her long legs carrying her across the room before the soldiers near the door could take aim. Her wings spread as she neared the open window.

Movement came from beyond the curtains as the silhouette of a soldier stepped through, rifle already raised. Caught midstride, Jasmine had no time to react as the barrel flashed. But beside her, Richard was already moving, shoving her aside. An instant later, half a dozen darts sprouted from his chest.

His eyes widened as he stumbled, then with a roar he threw himself at the man in the window. The soldier staggered sideways as a blow caught him in the temple, but two more were already stepping forward to take his place.

And Richard was slowing now. Another dart sprouted from his chest as he staggered backwards from the men, still shielding Jasmine with his body as they retreated behind the sofa.

The soft squeak of a floorboard reminded Chris of the soldiers near the door. He glanced at Liz, and found her crystal blue eyes watching him in the darkness. He swallowed, and flashed a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I’ll take the ones on the right. You get the left,” he whispered.

Liz nodded, and gripping the edge of the wooden table, she hurled it across the room. The intruders had spread out as they moved to encircle their hiding place, but a group near the door still stood close together. They lifted their guns as Liz moved, but it was already too late. The dark mass of the table crashed into them, crushing them against the far wall.

Then Chris was charging at the soldiers, taking advantage of their momentary shock to cross the distance separating them. But they were ready for him this time. Two already had their rifles at their shoulders, and the barrels flashed as Chris reached the first of the intruders. He felt a sharp pinch in his side as he leapt and drove his foot into a man’s face.

The force of his kick sent the man flying back into his comrades. Swearing, Chris reached down and tore the dart from his side. Tensing his fist, he quickly tested his strength, but he couldn’t feel any difference. A dull ache came from his wounded arm, but otherwise the bullet wound had not slowed him. He chalked that up to some increased resistance, and then hurled himself at his next victim.

In the cramped quarters of the apartment, the men struggled to bring their bulky rifles to bear on the winged teenagers. Guns flashed, but with Chris and Liz amidst their ranks, they were just as likely to hit each other as their prey.

Wings flaring, Chris leapt at another man, driving both feet into his sternum and hurling him across the room. Beside him, Liz crashed into another man, driving her shoulder straight into his chest. The force of the impact sent the man staggering into the soldier alongside him, and the two went down in a pile of limbs.

But even as the soldiers fell around them, more poured in through the door and window. On the other side of the room, Chris caught glimpses of Jasmine laying into the men around her. Richard crouched at her feet, head bent, his wings limp, and the beginnings of despair clutched at Chris’s throat. Outnumbered and surrounded, there was no escape now.

A sharp pain came from his back, and Chris spun to wrench the weapon from the soldier’s arms. Clubbing the man over the head with the heavy rifle, he turned again and hurled it into another soldier. The force behind the projectile sent the man crashing to the ground.

A scream came from Liz and he turned in time to see her go down under a pile of soldiers. A second later she was up again, hurling the soldiers from her, scattering them like leaves before the wind. Chris moved towards her, and staggered as his leg went numb. His vision whirled and his stomach wrenched as a wave of nausea swept through him.

Another soldier came at him, gun raised to finish him off. Straightening, he twisted as the gun flashed, but too slow. As the dart caught him in the shoulder, he grasped the barrel of the gun and tried to wrench it from the soldier’s grip. To his surprise, the man held on, and the barrel flashed again, sending a dart straight into Chris’s chest.

The strength fled his legs and suddenly Chris found himself on his knees. An eerie calm settled over him as he looked up at the soldier, watching the bright flash as the rifle sent another dart into his flesh. This time he did not feel the pain as it struck. A great weariness settled around his shoulders as he swayed.

“Liz,” he breathed, watching her across the room.

He looked down at his chest, at the darts protruding from his flesh. He fought to reach up, to tear them out, but his arms refused to obey. They hung limp at his side, dead weights as the soldier drove his boot into his stomach.

“Chris!” he heard Liz’s voice from a distance.

He struggled to keep his eyes open, to find her in the growing shadows. But the darkness rose up to swallow him, and he fell away into oblivion.

24

“Chris!” Liz screamed as she saw him go down.

Hurling aside a soldier, she leapt over the bodies scattered across the floor and charged at the man standing over Chris. He looked up as she closed on him, even managed to lift his rifle, before her fist caught him in the face. The force of the blow sent his head whiplashing backwards and he crumpled without a sound.

But she had turned her back on the other soldiers now, and two raised their guns and opened fire. Her wings cracked open, the long black feathers brushing aside the darts. But she still felt a pinch from her shoulder as one got through. Gritting her teeth, she crouched and hauled Chris up, and then stumbled away from the door.

She heard the click of guns being reloaded, and ahead she saw Jasmine stumble. The girl still stood over Richard, half a dozen bodies scattered around her. Liz felt a surge of hope, that maybe they could carry the boys to the window, that they might still escape. Then she saw the tips of the darts protruding from Jasmine’s shoulder and arms, saw her wings beginning to slump, and the hope withered in her chest.

Lowering Chris to the floor beside Richard, Liz drew back her teeth and snarled. Beyond Jasmine, more men poured through the window. Past the shattered glass, a steel cable lead across to a neighbouring building, where a dozen men still waited to join the fight. Ignoring them, she moved to stand beside Jasmine.

Hissing, Jasmine gathered herself and leapt at a cluster of men, scattering them with her fury. Teeth clenched, Liz followed after her. But already it was clear the darts were having an effect. Even as she joined the other girl, she could see Jasmine slowing, her blows now lacking power. She watched her tear a weapon from a soldier and slam it into his stomach – but a moment later the man straightened and drawing a baton from his belt, he leapt forward to re-join the fight.

Jasmine staggered as the steel baton caught her in the side of the head. She retreated a step as Liz sprang between them and sent the soldier reeling with a blow to the head. This time he did not get back up. Side by side, they retreated to where Richard and Chris lay.

“Go, Liz,” Jasmine panted, “Get out of here, before they get you too.”

Liz shook her head and reached out to steady Jasmine as the girl stumbled. Glancing sideways, Liz forced a smile. “I told you, we’re family. And we’re not finished yet.”

Baring her teeth, she tore into another intruder as Jasmine slumped to her knees. As her fist crashed into his face, she felt a sharp pinch from her backside. Swearing, she caught the soldier by the shoulder and spun towards the hunters creeping towards them from the door. In one fluid movement, she hurled the man into their midst.

She grinned as the men scattered, then swore as her leg suddenly went numb. She clenched her fists, fighting back the weakness, as soldiers closed in around them. They must have been running short of ammunition, because they hesitated before firing, waiting to see whether she would collapse.

Liz swayed on her feet. She glanced across at Jasmine, and her heart clenched as she saw the girl collapsed over Richard. Swallowing, she faced the circle of soldiers, alone now against a dozen men. She sucked in a breath, and then stepped towards the nearest man.

Crack.

A gun roared, and another dart tore into Liz’s side. She staggered, the numbness spreading, but she took another step. Gunshots sounded again, and she felt two more stabs of pain from her back. By then she had reached the man, and stretching out an arm she clawed at his weapon. But he only retreated a step, before slamming the butt of his rifle into her face.

Light flashed across Liz’s vision as the blow struck, driving her to her knees. She looked up at the man, cursing her weakness, struggling to regain her feet. But the tranquiliser pumping through her veins was too much for her now, and with agonising slowness, she toppled backwards to the ground.

The soldier smiled down at her. Reaching for a radio strapped to his shoulder, he spoke into the black microphone. “Targets neutralised. We’re ready for you, boss.”

Liz’s stomach clenched and tears stung her eyes as she looked up at the man. Despair wrapped around her throat and she found herself begging. “Please, just kill us. Don’t let him take us back.”

Grinning, the man drew back his boot and drove it into her face. The blow slammed her head back into the floor. She tasted blood in her mouth as the man lifted his foot again and hammered the steel-capped boot into her side. The force of the blow lifted her from the ground and sent her sprawling across the ground.

Laying on her side, she listened as the man’s footsteps retreated. Staring at the open door, she struggled to sit up. But her limbs refused to obey, and she found she could no longer even blink her eyes.

Around the room, the soldiers were reaching up to pull the night vision goggles from their faces. An instant later, the lights flickered back on, filling the room with blinding white. Pain stabbed through Liz’s eyes, and she willed them to close, without success.

A moment later, footsteps came from the hallway outside. A man appeared in the doorway, wearing a familiar white lab coat. Liz’s stomach clenched as she looked up at his face, and felt the last traces of courage crumble within her.

Halt wore a cold smile as he crossed the room. He stood over her and folded his arms. “Well done, Commander. They are all present?”

Before the soldiers could respond, a wild shriek erupted from the corridor. Mira tore into view, grey wings flashing as she emerged from her hiding place and shot straight at Halt. He staggered backwards as the girl crashed into his chest, her unnatural strength knocking him back.

Liz’s heart fluttered as Mira tore at Halt’s face, her lips drawn back in an animalistic snarl. Around the room, the soldiers retreated from her fury. Hope tingled in Liz’s chest as she found herself hoping Mira would tear Halt’s head from his shoulders.

Then Halt straightened, and his arm shot out to catch Mira by the throat. Liz’s heart lurched in sudden fear, before she reminded herself Mira’s augmented strength was more than a match for an ordinary human’s. She would snap Halt’s arm like a twig.

Mira squirmed in Halt’s grasp, then lifted her hands and brought them down on Halt’s elbow. Liz watched, waiting for the sharp crack of breaking bone, for Halt’s scream and for Mira to slip free.

Instead, Halt smiled. Snarling, he lifted Mira higher, even as she kicked and tore at him. Then with casual ease, he hurled her head first into the wall. Mira shrieked as she struck, and then slumped unmoving to the ground.

Turning back to the commander, Halt shook his head. “I suggest you secure the subjects properly, Commander. We wouldn’t want any more… incidents,” he looked around the room, eyes sweeping the shattered remains of the apartment. “When you’re done, take care of the woman and her daughter. They did a great service to this country, reporting the fugitives. But we can’t have any witnesses of this… unfortunate incident.”

As he spoke, Halt turned and looked down at Liz, the smile still frozen on his thin lips.

And his cold grey eyes pierced her.

25

Agony pulled Chris back from the darkness, dragging him slowly to wakefulness. He made to sit up, but flopped sideways as he found his arms fastened behind his back with steel cuffs. A sharp ache came from the wound in his arm and he bit back a cry. Rolling onto his side, he clenched his teeth, swallowing the pain, before forcing his eyes to open.

His heart sank as the room shifted into focus. The first thing he saw was a wall of thick wire mesh. A quick glance around confirmed his suspicions – he was lying in a cage. Apparently, someone had decided handcuffs were not enough to hold them.

He allowed his eyes to roam across the rest of the room, and breathed a sigh of relief as he found the others lying nearby. They had each been given a cage of their own. He spotted Liz lying unconscious on the floor of the next cage, her wings hanging limply around her. Richard, Jasmine and Mira were on her other side, while half a dozen empty cages stood to his left.

Chris struggled to sit up, cursing the steel cuffs holding his hands fastened behind his back. His wings shifted behind him, stretching out to help steady him. In the narrow confines of the cage he had little room to manoeuvre, but he finally managed to get to his knees.

A moan came from Liz’s cage, and he scooted across to the wire and peered through. A purple bruise darkened Liz’s forehead, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. He breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes fluttered open.

“Chris,” she murmured.

Before he could warn her, she tried to sit up, and promptly fell on her face. A string of curses rolled off the concrete walls as Chris suppressed his laughter. Movement came from the cages beyond her as the others woke.

Trying a second time, Liz managed to rock back on her haunches. Her blue eyes focused on him and she shot him a look. “You never saw that,” she looked around then, taking in the row of cages and plain concrete walls. “Where are we? Trying to recreate our first date, Chris?” her tone was light, but he could hear the fear behind her attempt at humour.

Chris looked away, blinking back sudden tears. He strained his wrists against the cuffs, but as pain shot through his arm, he realised it was hopeless. With them locked behind his back, he could leverage the full extent of his strength against them.

“I don’t know, Liz,” he said finally. He bowed his head. “I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

His voice cracked as guilt swept through him. What had he been thinking, rushing off the way he had? They’d had no business in that alleyway. If not for his stupidity, he would never have been injured, and they would never have found themselves in Daniella’s apartment.

“Don’t be stupid, Chris,” Liz leaned her head against the wire and closed her eyes. “You couldn’t have known Daniella and her mother would betray us. And besides, do you really think I would have just stood there while those policemen attacked her? You were just a step ahead of the rest of us.”

“I was reckless,” Chris argued. “I rushed in without thinking, without caring what happened. If I’d been more careful, had listened to you, none of this would have happened.”

“Maybe,” Liz shrugged, “They had guns though, Chris. If you hadn’t acted so quickly, we would never have gotten close to them. How’s your arm?”

“It’s a bit sore. Not as bad as last night though,” he replied.

Liz smiled, but before she could respond, the door on the opposite wall clicked and swung open. Three men stepped through wearing the familiar blue uniform of the guards at the facility. Chris’s heart sank.

No, we can’t be back.

His worst suspicions seemed to be confirmed as Doctor Halt followed the guards inside. He wore the same white lab coat and sleek black pants as the last time Chris had seen him. A thin smile on his lips, Halt strode towards them, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Awake at last, I see,” his voice was cold as he walked down the row of cages, surveying each of them in turn. Chris noticed Jasmine, Mira and Richard were sitting up now, their eyes plastered to the ground, unwilling to meet Halt’s gaze.

Reaching the end of the row, Halt turned and marched back, stopping finally in front of the guards.

“All still in one piece, it seems,” he clenched his arms behind his back, “Fallow’s little escapade did not prove so disastrous after all. We’ll call it as an unplanned test run, I suppose. The President and his Directors will certainly be pleased with the results.”

Chris stared up at the man, struggling to shake off the clutches of despair. But crouched on the ground, his arms bound behind his back and the wire mesh hemming him in, he could not summon the energy to fight back.

“This isn’t the end, Halt,” Liz growled from her cage. She struggled to sit up straight, her wings flailing against the wire.

Halt stepped up to her cage, the smile falling from his lips. “You’re wrong, Elizabeth Flores. This is very much the end. The President will soon approve the extra funding I need to continue the Praegressus project. Once I have finalised matters here in San Francisco, I will have you shipped back to our primary facility. There I will watch you torn apart, piece by delicate piece, and use what we find to perfect our recombinant DNA. You and your little friends will be consigned to the pages of history; remembered as nothing more than stepping stones in our path to evolutionary perfection.”

Chris shuddered and looked away. There was an almost fanatical rage in Halt’s grey eyes as he glared down at Liz.

But shaking her head, Liz laughed in the face of Halt’s fury. “I know what you are, Halt,” she replied. “I saw what you did, before I passed out. You’re Chead!”

Chris gaped at Liz’s accusation. He stared at Halt, watching for some reaction. The doctor’s grey eyes hardened and his posture seemed to stiffen. He slowly shook his head. “You had best keep such notions to yourself, Elizabeth. Or I may decide to dissect you right here in San Francisco.”

Liz snorted. “Go ahead. I’d rather die than go back to that place.”

A long silence stretched out as the two locked eyes. Finally Halt shook his head and smiled. “As invigorating as this conversation is, I am needed elsewhere. When I return, I will introduce you each to fresh new collars – and a lesson in etiquette to go with them. For now, you’ll have to make do with the company of these men here. I’m afraid they’re quite new, but they’ll ensure you don’t have any mishaps.”

With that, Halt turned and walked from the room. The three guards edged forward to take his place, their weapons held loosely against their chests. Their eyes flickered over the rows of cages, lingering on Liz and her outstretched wings. While Chris had tucked his wings tightly against his back, hers extended across her cage, their black feathers shining in the overhead lights.

All the fight seemed to have fled Liz with Halt’s dismissal. She sat with her head bowed and shoulders slumped, unaware of the guard’s attention, until one of them spoke. “You think they’re real?”

Another of the men laughed. “You heard the doctor – they’re experiments,” the man stepped closer to the cage as he spoke, and raising his riffle, slammed the butt into the mesh.

The wire of Liz’s cage rattled with the impact, and Liz glanced up, her eyes widening. The guard laughed again as her wings lifted slightly from the ground. He turned back to the other two. “Look pretty real to me!”

The others stepped closer, peering through the wires at the dark feathers filling the cage. The cages were only ten feet wide, while at their full extend Liz’s wings spread more than twenty, leaving them pressed up against the wire. Chris could hardly blame the men for their curiosity, though it made him sick to his stomach, to see Liz treated like a caged animal.

“You think she can actually fly?” another of the guards muttered.

“Of course she can fly,” the first replied “You think these people are stupid or something? Why would they give her wings if she couldn’t use em?”

“Piss off,” Liz snapped suddenly. Crouched on the ground, she retreated to the back of the cage.

Outside, the guards looked at each other and then burst into laughter.

“Feisty, isn’t she?” the first guard grinned as he leaned against the wire. “What’s your name again, pretty girl? Elizabeth, wasn’t it?

Liz pursed her lips and looked away.

“Leave her alone,” Chris growled from his cage, but the men ignored him.

“Let’s take a closer look, shall we boys?” the man who appeared to be the ring leader suggested.

The others paused at that, sharing a glance. “Don’t think that’s a good idea, James. The doctor seemed pretty keen on keeping them where they were.”

James only laughed. “Who’s going to know? Look at her, she’s tiny! And her hands are cuffed behind her back. You think we can’t take her?”

The second guard fell silent, as the third shrugged. “Can’t hurt. You heard the doctor. He’s gonna put her down when he gets back anyway. Give us something to tell the boys at the pub about, at least.”

That was enough for the first guard. He reached down and removed a set of keys from his belt and turned back to Liz’s cage. Heart thudding in his chest, Chris scrambled to get his legs beneath him, and finally managed to haul himself to his feet. Stumbling forward, he threw himself against the wire to catch the men’s attention. His wings stretched out, slamming against the steel.

The men paused and turned to stare at him.

“Leave her alone,” Chris growled. “If you touch her, I swear I’ll kill you all.”

The men glanced at one another, momentarily frozen by the ferocity of Chris’s gaze. Then the man called James grinned, glancing down the row of cages. “What do you know, they’ve all got wings, boys,” turning his back on Chris he stepped up to the door of Liz’s cage, “This one’s still the prettiest though.”

Chris swore and threw himself against the wire again, but the men ignored him now. Inside her cage, Liz crouched on the ground, still struggling to find her feet. Gritting his teeth, Chris strained against his cuffs, ignoring the agony that lanced down his arm. The cold steel sliced into his skin, but did not give. With his arms locked behind his back, he could not exert enough force to break them.

He watched on, helpless, as James unlocked Liz’s cage. The other two stood back, as the door swung open, their rifles trained on Liz. Rage flashed in her eyes as she gathered herself, obviously ready to launch herself at the men, guns or no.

James paused in the doorway, studying her closely. Smiling, he raised his hand and pointed at Chris. “I wouldn’t, my dear. Alex, Oliver, shoot the boy if she tries anything.”

Inside her cage, Liz’s shoulders slumped. James laughed again and stepped into the cage, ignoring the string of curses Chris hurled in his direction. Reaching down, he grabbed a fistful of Liz’s hair and dragged her to her feet. Her screams echoed through the room as he hauled her from the cage. Her wings cracked the air, slamming into the wire mesh, but with her hands pinned behind her back, she had no means to defend herself.

Chris stared, helpless, as the guard shoved Liz into the middle of the room. She stumbled forward, a gasp tearing from her throat as he released her. Eyes wide, she spun, her wings fanning out to fill the room. Her skin had paled, the dark bruise on her forehead standing out in stark relief. Rage shone from her eyes as she faced the ring of men.

A low growl rattled from her throat as one of the men reached out and grabbed a handful of her feathers. She spun towards him as he tore a fistful of black feather loose. He held them up in triumph. “They’re real boys!” he laughed as he looked at Liz. “You don’t mind if I take a souvenir? Don’t think you’ll be needing them, where the doctor is taking you.”

Liz stalked towards him, but James stepped in quickly behind her. Before Liz could turn, he slammed the butt of his rifle into the back of Liz’s head. She staggered at the blow, losing her balance and crashing to the floor in the tangle of feathers. Without her arms, she could do nothing to break her fall. Before she could recover, James drove his boot into the small of her back, pinning her to the concrete.

Grinning, he looked at the others. “Who’s first?”

26

Sam stood silently in the shadows of the stage, looking out over the crowd that had gathered beyond the podium. They stood in silence, staring up at the figures on the stage, waiting for the announcement. The press stood at the front, their cameras pointed up at them, red lights flashing as they prepared to broadcast to the nation.

Swallowing, Sam glanced at Paul and Francesca. They stood to either side of him, their faces tight with fear, their eyes lingering on the man standing beside Halt. A dozen black-suited bodyguards ringed the two men, their hard eyes scanning the crowd. They were clearly taking no chances.

Not with the life of the President of the Western Allied States.

Whispers spread through the crowd as the President squared his shoulders and stepped into view. Striding across to the podium, he looked out over the gathered faces. He moved with a regal grace, with the air of a man used to power. Not surprising, after the long decades he had served as President.

Gently placing one hand on the smooth mahogany of the podium, he waved to the crowd. The whispers died to sudden silence, as every person present looked up with expectation. Even the sharp clicking of cameras died away. It had been a long time since the President had spoken in such a public setting. Usually he spoke from his office, or to private press conferences. Now the whole nation was waiting with baited breath to see what he had to say.

“My fellow citizens of the Western Allied States,” he began, his smooth voice carrying out over the crowd. “Thank you for joining me here today. I know recent times have been hard. I appreciate your courage today, to stand with me here and defy the threats of local terrorists and foreign states against our proud nation.”

He fell silent, his eyes sweeping the crowd, as though he were speaking to each and every one of them. “But I have come here today to tell you the dark days are numbered, that a solution is at hand.”

Whispers spread through the crowd as heads turned to one another. Then the President spread his hands, and silence fell once more. On the stage, Halt stepped from the shadows and approached the podium.

“My people have been working on a solution to combat the menace of the Chead,” the President continued. “Though our enemies abroad would see us fall to the chaos they have seeded, their efforts will only make us stronger. The terror they seek to spread will only unite us in our effort to defeat them. And now we have an answer to their monstrosities, a beacon of hope to light our way.”

He paused, letting his words sink in, the anticipation build. Then he continued. “Our scientists have taken inspiration from the evil of the Chead. They have studied their physiology, identified their weaknesses, and developed a response.”

Sam let out a long breath. That was their cue. He glanced at the others, hesitating on the brink. It was not too late to turn back, to flee the stage and deny Halt and the President their victory. But even as he tensed, an image of Ashley flashed across his vision, of her strapped to the bed, and Halt standing over her.

The fight fled him, and he hesitated no longer.

The crowd stilled as Sam stepped into the light. He could sense Paul and Francesca at his shoulders, but he kept his eyes fixed on Halt, on the triumphant grin on the doctor’s face. His heart sank, but there was no going back. Slowly, he strode to the front of the stage, and looked out over the mass of humanity gathered for their presentation.

They were on Fisherman’s Wharf, gathered around a makeshift stage at Pier 39. The crowd stretched out along the waterfront in either direction, as far as the eye could see. A stillness came over them as they looked up at the three teenagers standing alongside the President, their foreheads creasing in sudden confusion.

The President raised a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the future.”

At the President’s words, Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Forgive me.

With a sharp crack, his wings snapped open, and the great expanse of copper feathers spread to fill the stage. Behind him he heard the whisper of feathers as the others followed suit. Opening his eyes, he looked out again at the crowd.

A thousand faces stared up at him. Mouths hung open and eyes bulged at the impossibility of what they were witnessing. Not a soul moved. Not a voice spoke. The silence was absolute, stretching over the crowded streets like a blanket.

Then the whispers began, quietly at first, then in a rush, as though a dam had been broken. As one, the reporters began to shout questions. Cameras flashed and the crowd jostled forward, desperate for a closer look.

On the stage, Sam bowed his head, struggling to hold back tears. The collar pressed tighter around his throat, and shivering, he silently retracted his wings. Glancing at Halt, he saw the exaltation on the doctor’s face, as he basked in the triumph of the moment. He closed his eyes again, unable to face the shame welling up within him, the sense of helplessness.

What have I done?

27

“Liz!” Chris cried.

His chest constricted as he heard the others screaming from the neighbouring cages. He threw himself at the wire mesh, felt the cold steel cutting into his face, and stumbled sideways. His wings beat the air, keeping him upright, tearing at his steel confines, desperate to escape. But nothing he did made a difference. Heart racing in his chest, he watched the nightmare unfolding outside his cage.

Liz lay pinned beneath the guard’s boot, her hands still cuffed behind her back, her wings beating weakly against the cold concrete. She kicked out with her feet, but the other guards stood out of range and only laughed. Then one drew back his boot and drove it into her side. The blow folded Liz in two as the breath was driven from her lungs.

In his cage, Chris cursed the men, threatening bloody murder, but they continued to ignore him, intent on their victim. On the ground, Liz shrieked as James crouched over her and grabbed a handful of her hair. Jerking back her head, he forced her to look at him.

“You be good now, Elizabeth,” he sat back on his haunches and nodded at the cages, “or an accident’s going to happen to one of your buddies there.”

Liz only growled and strained against her cuffs. Her wings swung out, catching James in the ribs toppling him to the floor. He cursed as he landed on his backside. Cursing, another of the guards stepped forward and stamped on Liz’s wing. Liz arched her back as he ground her feathers into the concrete, a silent scream tearing from her throat.

Regaining his feet, James dusted himself off and scowled down at Liz. He drove his boot into Liz’s side again, smiling with satisfaction as Liz gasped into the concrete.

“Please,” Liz’s voice quivered. “Just leave us alone!”

The grin on James’s face grew as he crouched beside her again, but Chris felt a touch of premonition at Liz’s words. He frowned, leaning against the wire, peering out at the tangle of bodies. Liz lay stiff against the concrete, her wings retracted protectively against her back now. She did not move as James reached out and stroked the black feathers, speaking softly. “Just be a good girl, and we’ll put you back in one piece.”

The hackles stood on Chris’s neck as the guard brushed the hair from Liz’s face. A scream built in his throat, a desperate cry of anger, or untold rage. He strained against the cuffs, the steel cutting into his wrists. Pain streaked from his bullet wound, but he didn’t care, hardly noticed.

In the centre of the room, Liz had gone deathly still. Smiling, the guard bent down, reaching for her…

As his hands brushed across her skin, a blood curdling scream filled the room, so loud it sent Chris staggering backwards. It went on and on, tearing at his ear drums. Unable to cover his ears, Chris sank to his knees, and watched as the men went reeling.

As quickly as it had begun, the scream cut off. The guards blinked, and James cursed as he stepped towards Liz. Before he could reach her, a sound like nails on a chalkboard rent the air, followed by the sound of steel chains striking concrete.

A feral growl rose from where Liz lay huddled on the ground. A shudder went through her feathers, her black wings stretching out to cover her. Then Liz was crouched on all fours, her hands suddenly free, her black hair pasted across her face. Her eyes flashed in the glow of the overhead lights, falling on the three guards standing over her, tainted by some indescribable hatred.

Chris staggered back from the wire of his cage. The breath caught in his throat and he struggled to breathe, to comprehend what he was seeing. His stomach twisted and he shook his head, clenching his eyes closed.

But when he opened them again, nothing had changed.

Liz still crouched on the ground, her lips drawn back in a snarl, her wings tensed behind her. And her eyes… gone was the crystal blue he knew so well.

In their place was the cold grey eyes of the Chead.

The guards stumbled backwards, their mouths wide, fumbling for their weapons. Before they could so much as scream, Liz sprang.

The first man collapsed as Liz collided with his chest and bore him to the ground. He managed half a shriek before Liz’s fingers flashed out and caught him in the throat. Blood sprayed the air, cutting off his screams, as a low gurgling started in his chest. He gaped, eyes wide as blood filled his lungs. Laughing, Liz leapt at her next victim.

The second guard almost managed to raise his rifle before Liz was on him. Tearing the weapon from his terrified hands, she hurled it aside and reached out to catch him by the neck. His mouth widened, but he could not even scream as she slammed him backwards into the wall. A sickening crunch came from his skull, and his eyes rolled up into the back of his skull.

Tossing the man aside, Liz stepped over the lifeless body, her grey eyes tracking James as he stumbled across the room. He screamed, fumbling for his rifle, but she was already on him. He staggered backwards as she stripped it from his hands, until his back pressed up against Chris’s cage.

“No, please, no, don’t!” he shrieked the last word as Liz charged.

He raised his arms to protect himself, but Liz’s hands flashed out to catch him by both wrists. With a sickening wrench, she tore her arms apart.

Chris blanked and forced himself to look away. But he could not block out the sounds of rending flesh and breaking bones. His stomach churned as James screamed and started to beg. Another thud came, followed by another scream, and wild laughter filled the room.

When the guard finally fell silent, Chris could hardly bring himself to look. Sucking in a breath, he turned to face the slaughter.

Liz stood outside his cage, her clothes covered with blood, even the black feathers of her outstretched wings stained by it. Her shoulders rose and fell in a rhythmic fashion, as her cold grey eyes studied him. Her lips drew back in a snarl as he moved, and slowly she reached out a hand to the wire. Gripping it between her fingers, she began to squeeze.

Chris swallowed as the steel wires bent before her strength. He retreated backwards until his back pressed against the rear of the cage. Fear wrapped its way around his stomach as he stared at Liz, searching for the girl he loved, begging for this all to be a nightmare.

But there was no sign of blue in Liz’s eyes, and snarling she threw herself at the wire. The steel rattled and bent beneath the impact, but did not give. Chris strained against his handcuffs, as the others screamed at him from the other cages. Blood pounded in his ears, muffling their words, but it didn’t matter. The handcuffs refused to give.

He looked up at Liz as she attacked the wire again. He recognised the madness in her eyes. It was more than just the cold grey of the Chead. In the facility, Chris had proven he could match the Chead’s strength. But he could still remember the fury that had come over the Chead at the end of their fight. And with that fury came a renewed strength, a fresh power that had left Chris begging for mercy.

He saw that rage in Liz’s eyes now. She would tear him limb from limb.

Unless he could reach her.

“Liz,” he breathed. Summoning his courage, he stepped towards her. “Liz, please, it’s me, Chris. Please, come back to me.”

He flinched as Liz roared and threw herself at the wall of the cage. His heart pounded hard against his ribs as the steel poles supporting the corners of the cage bent beneath the force of the impact.

“Liz, stop!” Chris screamed as she attacked again.

But his words fell on deaf ears, and he retreated to the corner, watching as the poles slowly bent towards him. He glimpsed the others standing in the nearby cages, watching now in terrified silence, desperate not to draw Liz’s attention.

Despair rising in his chest, Chris slumped to the floor. He couldn’t stand to lose Liz, not like this, not now. She alone had drawn him back from the brink, from the gulf of despair into which he had fallen. If he lost Liz too, he didn’t know how he would go on.

He looked up into her grey eyes, watching her throw herself against the wire, still not quite believing what he was seeing.

How could this happen?

Finally he had to look away, to close his eyes and wait for the end to come. But to his surprise, a sudden silence fell over the room. Looking up, he found Liz still standing outside his cage, her grey eyes staring. Then they blinked, and her chest swelled as she sucked in a great, shuddering breath.

For a long while, she stood still, fists clenched at her side. Chris stared into her eyes, searching for a trace of her crystal blue, hardly daring to breathe. Time stretched out, long seconds uncounted.

Then Liz shook her head, and her grey eyes blinked as she retreated a step. Her head twisted, her gaze sweeping the room, seeming to take in the devastation for the first time. A shudder went through her as she lifted her head, her nostrils flaring.

A low growl came from her throat as she turned and stared at the door. Her shoulders rose as she drew in another breath. She shook her head, snarling at the bodies lying scattered around her.

“Liz,” Chris whispered, desperate to reach her.

She whirled at his voice, eyes wide, flashing with sudden fear.

Then she spun back to the door, and fled.

28

The Chead roared as a bullet grazed her shoulder. Then she was amongst the men with their puny weapons, tearing and rending, and they were falling back before her rage. Their screams sent a warm thrill through her veins, but they quickly fell silent. She stood amidst their bodies, the taste of blood strong in her mouth, as she searched for fresh victims.

Alone.

Growling, the Chead moved on. Turning a corner, she found the woman she had missed, staggering away down the corridor. Rage spread through her veins as she leapt, bearing the woman to the floor. The woman’s screams cut off as the Chead’s fingers tore through her throat.

Straightening, the Chead scanned the corridor, searching for movement. Blood stained the walls, but none had escaped her vengeance. Lifting her head, she tasted the air, seeking out the strange smell. It called to her, alien but familiar. Desire tingled in her veins as she breathed it in. Turning, she moved towards it.

The Chead moved down the long corridors on silent feet, her senses reaching out, searching for signs of life. But there were no more sounds, no hint of movement. The stark white corridors were empty, the group she had slaughtered perhaps the only occupants.

Turn back, the Chead hesitated as a girl whispered in her mind. Then, snarling, she pushed the voice aside and continued after the scent. It filled the air, growing stronger with every step, rich and sweet and irresistible. Her pace quickened, desire mingling with rage, muting the need to rend and tear.

Long minutes later, the Chead found her way barred by a steel door. She paused outside. Lifting her head, she breathed deeply, tasting the scent she tracked. It hung heavy around the door. There could be no doubt. The source was beyond.

Clenching her fists, the Chead charged. Again and again she hurled herself at the door, feeling it bend and shift with each blow, rattled by her power. She sensed movement beyond, and redoubled her efforts, determined not to let the source of the scent escape her.

Stop, the voice came again, but she ignored it.

Roaring, the Chead drove herself against the door a final time. Steel hinges shrieked and with a crash it buckled inwards, collapsing to the ground beyond. Triumph quickened the Chead’s racing heart, and teeth bared, she stepped inside.

29

Chris sagged against the wall of his cage as Liz fled through the door. His shoulders slumped and he slid to the concrete. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep, shuddering breath.

What the hell was that?

His mind was still reeling, struggling to comprehend what he’d witnessed. But there was no denying it – Liz had changed, succumbed to the relentless rage of the Chead. The vile guards had never stood a chance. And neither had he.

“Chris?” Richard’s voice came nearby.

Chris opened his eyes and looked through the wire at the others. They huddled in their cages, wide eyes staring back at him, faces pale with shock. Richard had found his feet, but Jasmine and Mira still sat on the floors of their cages, their faces lined with exhaustion. He could feel the same fatigue throbbing in his muscles, and he found his mind drifting.

What did they use in those tranquilisers?

Shaking his head, he fought against his weariness. “What did you say, Richard?”

Richard was looking out at the room, his eyes lingering on the bloody slaughter Liz had left behind. Blood and limbs and bodies lay scattered across the floor, barely recognisable as the three men that had stood there a few minutes earlier.

“We have to get out of here,” Richard said grimly. “Can you get out?”

Chris took a second to assess the damage Liz had inflicted on his cage. The poles had bent, but not broken, and the thick wire still hemmed him in on all sides. Grimly, he shook his head.

Then he saw a glimmer of metal amidst the bloody mess on the floor outside his cage. He scrambled forward eagerly. “The keys,” he said.

Twisting, he tried to reach them through the wire mesh. But with his hands cuffed together, he couldn’t manoeuvre enough to reach them. He looked up at Richard and Jasmine, despair welling in his chest.

“I can’t reach them,” he said.

Jasmine snorted. “You clearly haven’t watched enough television.”

So saying, Jasmine lay down on her back on the floor of her cage. With her arms still cuffed behind her, she stretched them down until her hands rested behind her knees. Then, lifting her legs, she bent her knees and strained until the handcuffs passed beneath her feet. Climbing to her feet, she waved her hands in front of her in triumph.

“Now you,” she grinned.

Chris, Richard and Mira quickly repeated the procedure. When Chris looked back up, Jasmine was staring down at her hands, her forehead creased. Veins stood out along her arms as she strained. With her hands in front of her, she could now bring the full force of her strength to bare. Slowly, the chains of her handcuffs buckled, until with a violent jerk, they snapped apart.

Looking up, Jasmine grimaced. “These people have underestimated us for the last time. Come on, Chris, get the keys.”

Chris nodded. Gritting his teeth, he tensed his arms and pulled them apart. Pain streaked down his wounded arm, but he resisted it, determined not to let the others down. A second later the steel gave way with a sharp shriek. Dropping to his knees, he reached a hand through the wire links and lifted the keys from the bloody floor.

Within minutes the four of them were standing outside the cages, looking around at the carnage their friend had left behind. The keys had also unlocked the broken remains of the handcuffs, although it had taken time to find the right key amidst the bulging chain.

Staring at the slaughter, Chris forced himself to avert his eyes. Looking at the others, he saw the questions in their expressions, the same ones whirring through his own mind. Why had Liz changed? And were they destined to follow her? Would they all one by one turn into monsters?

Shuddering, he pushed away the thought. “We’d better get out of here. Liz can’t have gone far.”

Richard frowned. “Chris…” he lowered his head and looked away, “Chris, Liz is gone. You saw her eyes. Whatever that was, I don’t think she’s coming back from it. We can’t waste our time looking for her. Halt could be back any minute.”

Chris stared back, the first embers of rage catching in his chest. “How can you say that?” he growled. “After everything we’ve been through, how can you even think about leaving her?”

“I don’t like it any better than you do,” Richard met Chris’s eyes for just a moment, long enough for him to see the sorrow there, “but we have to be realistic. She turned, Chris. She’s Chead now. She’s gone.”

“No.” Chris stepped in close and grabbed Richard by the arm. “She’s not. She’s still in there. You saw her, she had the chance to kill me, but she didn’t. I’m not leaving her.”

Richard pulled his arm free and turned to Jasmine. “Jasmine…” he started, then stopped, still unsure of himself with her, “Jas, tell him we have to go.”

Chris looked across at Jasmine, pleading silently for her help. He was so tired, his strength at its end. He couldn’t do this without them.

Jasmine’s eyes flickered from Chris and back to Richard, a frown twisting her lips. Finally she let out a long breath, and stepped up beside them. Her eyes fixed on Richard as she drew him into her arms.

Richard’s eyes widened at her sudden show of affection, but a second later his arms went around her, and they stood for a second in silence. Finally, Jasmine pulled away again and looked up at Richard.

“Thank you, Rich,” she smiled. “You took a bullet for me, back in the apartment.”

“Well, they were darts, but…” Richard trailed off as Jasmine placed a finger on his lips.

Then she turned back to Chris, her eyes resolute. “And so did Liz. I told her to run, to leave us behind. She could have gotten free, but she chose to stay and fight for us,” she looked back at Richard, “If our positions were reversed now, she wouldn’t leave, Rich. We’re family, we have to help her.”

The two of them stood staring at each other for a long moment, before Richard closed his eyes and nodded.

Just then, a low whimper came from Mira. Chris turned and staggered backwards as she sprang at him. Her wings beat the air, carrying her past as Chris leapt out of her path. But she was not aiming for him. With another beat of her wings, she disappeared through the open door.

Chris swore, and no longer hesitating, he started after her. He heard footsteps and muttered curses as the others followed, but outside Mira was already racing down the long corridor. Sucking in a breath, Chris sprinted after her, desperate to catch the girl before she got them all killed.

At the end of the corridor, Mira took a sharp turn to the right. Chris picked up the pace, afraid of losing her, as his eyes scanned the path ahead. A trail of bloody footprints led in the direction they were heading, and silently he prayed Mira did not encounter Liz before they caught her.

Turning the corner, his stride faltered as he found a fresh scene of slaughter. But Mira was already halfway down the corridor, sprinting hard on her short legs, her grey wings beating sporadically to hurry her along. Panting, Chris leapt after her.

Two men lay slumped one over the other halfway down the hallway, their blood making the floor slick beneath his feet. A rifle lay on the floor nearby, while another had been embedded in the plasterboard wall.

Ahead, Mira vaulted around another bend. Chris barrelled around the corner after her. She was still fifty feet ahead, but he was closing fast. The hushed voices of the others chased after him as he glanced around, expecting guards or doctors to appear. But the hallways remained empty, and he guessed Liz had killed those men before they had a chance to sound the alarms.

Slowly he closed the gap with Mira, until only a few feet separated them. But as he reached out to catch her, Mira’s wings beat down and sent her soaring forward out of reach. Swearing, Chris tried to do the same, and crashed to the ground as the length of his wings struck the walls on either side. The narrow corridors were perfect for her smaller wingspan, but it left his all but useless. Climbing back to his feet, he chased after her again.

The game of cat and mouse ended as Mira abruptly drew to a stop. Chris’s arms windmilled and he staggered sideway into the wall to avoid smashing the girl from her feet. Coming to a stop, he quickly reached out and grabbed Mira by the arm.

As the others drew up behind him, he straightened, finally paying attention to where Mira had led them. The first thing he noticed was the bloody footprints – fainter now, but there was no doubt in his mind they had been left by Liz. Then his eyes travelled a few feet further down the corridor, to where a steel door lay crumpled on the ground.

His stomach twisted and he glanced sideways at Mira. She stood beside him, staring through the broken doorway, her shoulders rising and falling with each shallow breath. Her wings shuddered on her back, and her whole body was coiled tight as a spring.

“Where have you brought us, Mira?” Chris whispered.

Her strange eyes looked up at him, their green and blue irises shining. “Artemis.”

30

Eyes closed, Liz rose from the darkness, following the soft whispers of an ancient voice. Tendrils of madness wrapped around her, threatening to pull her back down, but the voice was urgent, insistent. It lifted her from the haze, pulling her into the light, returning her to reality.

She shuddered as sensation suddenly returned. A scream built in her throat but she swallowed it down. Blinking, she looked around, biting back a sob as memory of the Chead flashed through her mind. Trapped in her own body, she had witnessed the creature’s slaughter, helpless to intervene, a silent witness to its madness.

When the men had grabbed her, when she had realised their intent, a wild fury had taken her. Laying on the ground, helpless and threatened, she had felt a pressure build within her. As they reached for her, that pressure had snapped, and the rage had swept her away. Powerless against it, Liz had closed her eyes and succumbed.

When they opened again, it had been the Chead staring out.

The steel handcuffs had given way like paper before her power, and her tormentors quickly followed suit. She could still remember the ecstasy, the wild joy of the slaughter, the pleasure she’d taken ripping the guards limb from limb. But now the memory made her sick, and tasting bile in her throat she rolled onto her side and threw up.

Her arms shook as she finally sat up. A memory flickered through her mind, and she recalled the voice that had called her back. Blinking, she looked around the room, and finally noticed the man sitting beside her.

They were on a narrow hospital bed in some kind of infirmary. She could not quite recall how she’d come there, only that the Chead had followed a scent, that she had been drawn through the facility by it. Looking at the man, there was no doubt he had been the source.

He sat watching her, an old man out of time. His face was lined, the skin hanging from his arms in heavy folds. His skin was ghostly pale and he wore a plain white shirt to match, stained with age. A rattling came from his chest as he sucked in a breath. Only his hair had remained untouched by the years. Its long black strands hung across his face, out of place on his ancient body. The cold grey eyes of the Chead stared from the wrinkled face.

“Welcome, my child,” the old Chead whispered, a smile touching his lips. “I have been waiting for you.”

As he spoke, a dam seemed to shatter within Liz, and she felt all the horror, the terror and anger, the devastation of the past week come crashing down on her. She suddenly found herself sobbing, overwhelmed by the emotions boiling within her. Then frail arms were wrapping around her, and shuddering, she buried her head in the Chead’s chest, and cried until she thought she would surely drown in them.

The ancient Chead said nothing, only held her, his soft hands stroking her hair and wings.

Time passed. Nestled in his lap, Liz could almost imagine herself a child again, wrapped in the warm embrace of her parents. Closing her eyes, she breathed in his scent, the strange sweetness that marked the Chead. Only now, with him, it no longer seemed threatening.

They waited in silence, staring across at the broken door.

Liz sat up straight as Chris stumbled through the doorway, her heart lurching in her chest. His eyes widened as they swept the room and found her on the hospital bed, sitting beside the ancient Chead.  She closed her eyes, expecting to see his face twist with the horror of what she’d done. Blood covered her clothes and wings and hair, forming a gruesome paste she feared might never come out. Biting back a sob, she waited for his anger.

A soft hand brushed across her cheek, lifting her chin, pulling her up. Her eyes fluttered open and found Chris beside her, arms open to embrace her. “Liz,” he breathed, his voice filled with wonder. “Your eyes, they’re blue.”

With a half-choked cry, Liz threw herself into Chris’s arms. His hands went around her back, stroking her wings, even as her arms wrapped around his back. His shirt slipped up and she felt the warmth of his flesh beneath her fingers. Desire flickered within her…

Then Chris was screaming, stumbling back from her, his face twisted with pain. He staggered across the room, crashing into another hospital bed and crumpling to the floor. Mouth open, Liz stepped after him, reached out to help him.

A wrinkled hand caught her wrist and pulled her back. “Stop, child,” the Chead’s voice whispered, “You’ll only hurt him further. It will pass.”

Liz stilled, staring in horror as Chris writhed on the ground, his hands clawing at his back. His wings slammed into the hospital bed and sent it crashing to the floor. A sound came from the doorway, and Liz looked up to see Mira, Richard and Jasmine staring in. She swallowed.

What have I done?

On the floor, Chris’s movements slowed. He panted softly in the quiet, his eyes clenched shut, as he fought some unknown battle, some unspeakable pain.

Finally he stilled, and his eyes flickered open again. Liz groaned as she looked into his bloodshot eyes, desperate to go to him, but the Chead still held her back. Slowly, Chris picked himself off the floor, his limbs trembling with the effort.

“What…” he croaked, his voice trailing off. Grimacing, he tried again, “What is going on, Liz?”

Tears filled Liz’s eyes as she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

She turned as the Chead released her wrist, looking up into the ancient face. The grey eyes stared back at her, filled with a soft compassion. “I am sorry, my child. Sometimes, the change has… unpredictable outcomes.”

“Artemis!” Mira’s shriek echoed through the room as the girl shot through the open door, apparently willing to wait outside no longer.

Leaping across the room, she threw herself into the old Chead’s arms. The Chead chuckled as he stumbled backwards and sat down hard on the hospital bed. “Mira,” his voice was warm as he addressed the girl, “My child, what has he done to you?”

Mira froze on his lap, suddenly uncertain. Liz watch the girl look away, saw the tears gathering in her eyes. “It was that man, Doctor Halt,” she murmured. “He gave me some injection.”

“Ah tsk my child, don’t cry. You are still my child, my little Mira,” the old Chead pulled the girl into a hug as he spoke.

Irritation prickled Liz’s stomach, fuelled by her gnawing fear. “What do you mean, unpredictable outcomes?” she all but shrieked, interrupting the reunion.

The old Chead looked up, the smile falling from his face. “The Chead virus is complex. Of the genes it integrates into its hosts DNA, many are never activated and remain dormant. Nematocysts are rarely triggered during the change.”

“Nematocysts?” Liz croaked.

“Stinger cells, found in marine jellyfish. The virus has incorporated them into your skin cells. When disturbed, they respond by delivering a sting. The neurotoxin they deliver can be fatal with long exposures, although some of us have developed a resistance.”

Liz’s skin tingled and the hackles on her neck stood on end. She shook her head, shrinking backwards against the bed. Instinctively she reached out and clenched the sheet between her fingers. “No,” she whispered. “We’re not… how can… I’m not Chead!”

Her voice rose to a shriek and she staggered away from the old Chead. Her eyes swept the room, seeking out some escape from the waking nightmare. For the first time, she took in her surroundings. Hospital beds lined the room, most empty, but a few had plastic curtains drawn around them. She guessed they were also empty though from their lack of response. A television was bolted onto the far wall, but otherwise the room was unadorned.

“My child…” Artemis said.

Liz’s head whipped around as the old Chead stepped towards her. “Stop saying that!”

Artemis only smiled. “It is the truth, my child. You are all children to me, for I am Artemis, first of the Chead, father to all who have come since.”

31

Chris’s mind was reeling as a heavy silence fell over the infirmary. His body still throbbed from Liz’s sting, a burning pain radiating out from the small of his back. But with Artemis’s words, his thoughts were suddenly occupied with more pressing questions. He found himself staring at the Chead, studying his weathered face, as though somewhere in his wrinkles was the explanation for his words.

But there could be no explanation, no logical reasoning out of his proclamation. It simply wasn’t possible. If this creature was the first of its kind, the first Chead to exist, it meant…

He shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

The old Chead stepped towards him, his grey eyes glistening. “And why is that, my child?”

Richard approached, his fists clenched. “Because no one knows where the Chead came from,” he said.

The ancient eyes turned to the taller boy. “A lie. We were created here, within these very walls, at the glorious heart of the Western Allied States.”

There was bitterness in the Chead’s words as he turned away. Artemis made his slow way across the room, his movements weary, and lowered himself onto the bed. The grey eyes looked at them again, passing over each of them in turn.

“Who are you, Artemis?” Chris whispered.

The ancient eyes found his. “Once I was Dean Chester of Salt Lake City, Utah, born to Mary and John Chester, immigrants to the United States from South Africa. Once I was like you, young and filled with innocence. As a child, I watched my proud nation elect a half-mad oligarch to President, and witnessed first-hand the disintegration of the nation I had come to call home. And before my eighteenth birthday, I watched the forces of the Western Allied States gun down my family, and take the children of Salt Lake City as prisoners of war.”

Silence fell across the room as they stared at the old man. Chris swallowed, his mind spinning as he struggled to grasp the implications of the creature’s words. He frowned as he realised the dates did not add up. The American War had ended in 2030, twenty years ago, but the Chead looked at least eighty years old.

Before he could question him, Artemis continued. “We were brought back to San Francisco, to this very building. It was then we learned how desperate the Western Allied States were becoming. Though they had the backing of Canada and Mexico, they remained outmatched by the forces of the United States. They were desperate for something, anything to change the course of the war,” he paused and took a heavy breath. “They were working on a virus, one that would turn their troops into unstoppable killing machines, that would allow a soldier to run for days on end, to tear ordinary men to pieces, and shrug off bullet wounds like scratches.”

“No,” Liz whispered, shrinking back from the old man. “No, the Chead… my people, we have suffered for decades. The government, they couldn’t, they wouldn’t…” her words trailed off as tears shone in her eyes.

Chris started towards her, his own heart twisting with the horror of the Chead’s words. Then he froze, the remembered pain giving him pause. Her fingers had touched him like fire, sending burning waves rippling through his body, setting his every nerve ending aflame. He had lost himself in the agony, though it had only been the briefest of touches.

Artemis stepped up in Chris’s place, his voice soft. “My child,” opening his arms, he drew Liz into his embrace.

“How?” Chris croaked, seeing his hands gripping the bare skin of Liz’s arms.

“As I said, some of us have developed a resistance,” Artemis replied softly.

Beside Chris, Richard cast a nervous glance at the door. “Chris, we need to get out of here.”

Chris could sense his agitation, but he shook his head. Everything the old Chead said, every fresh revelation, only raised more questions. Questions that demanded answers. “What happened to the other children?”

Artemis closed his eyes. “For years, we suffered here. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of us at first. But we were nothing to them. Uneducated country hicks that had no place in their world. Children and teenagers, boys and girls, they all died horribly, their bodies warped by terrible mutations. For the longest time, all I could hear when I closed my eyes were their screams.”

“When my turn finally came, I fought them, and when that failed, pleaded for them to just kill me. Death would have been preferable to the things I had witnessed. But there was no resisting them, no escape, and I received my injection, just as all the others had before me.”

“But you survived,” Chris breathed.

The old Chead nodded. “Ay, I survived. By then they knew they were close to a viable solution. Even then, I thought I was lost. All I remember from that time is the pain, the awful fever that gripped my body. Then there was just red, only a burning rage that consumed everything I was, everything I had ever been. There was only the Chead.”

Chris shuddered, his eyes flickering to Liz and back. “But it did not last?” he asked. “You remembered yourself, who you were?”

“Yes,” Artemis grimaced. “I don’t know how long I was lost, but eventually I began to find my way back through the rage, to resurface. It was then they realised they had succeeded, had turned me into their perfect weapon. Only, my mind had returned too late – they had won the war by other means.”

“Washington, DC,” Chris said, remembering pictures of the smouldering ruin. The surprise detonation of a ground based nuclear warhead had decimated the leadership of the United States, as well as millions of civilians. In the ensuing chaos, the forces of the Western Allied States had gained the foothold they had needed, and shattered the backbone of the USA.

“So why did they do this to us?” Liz shrieked as she pushed herself away from the old Chead. “Why would they unleash those monsters on their own people? The war was won!”

“Fear,” Artemis replied.

“Fear?” Jasmine questioned, speaking for the first time. “What do you mean, fear?”

“After the war, it was only a matter of time before people started questioning the government. Especially your rural communities, whose youth had been conscripted and their wealth decimated by taxation. The government needed a new enemy to fight, a demon for the populace to hate.”

“So they created one,” Richard growled, his arms crossed, fingers clenched around his arms.

“So it would seem,” Artemis replied. “The Chead gave them the excuse they needed to alter laws, to send the army into unruly communities, to impose curfews and hunt out foreign ‘traitors’.  They gave your people a monster to fear, while your leaders quietly stole your freedom.”

As Artemis fell silent, Chris asked the question that had plagued him since he’d watched Liz’s eyes turn grey. “But none of this explains why Liz changed, why you think we’re your children. We were created by the government, but we’re not Chead. A doctor named Angela Fallow created the virus that changed us.”

A dry, rasping laugh came from the old Chead. “No, my child. I have seen many variations of the Chead over the years. I have heard those here speak of your Fallow, of the young doctor they thought might finally perfect their virus. By then, the Directors had restricted knowledge of our origin to a select few. But that did not prevent them manipulating young minds into continuing their work,” he bent his head and smiled. “The wings are new, but at our core, we remain the same.”

“What were they trying to perfect?” Chris pressed, as Richard shifted nervously alongside him.

Artemis spread his arms, gesturing to his wrinkled skin. “Surely you have noticed, my child, that I do not look well for a forty year old. That, and our habit of losing control and tearing innocent bystanders apart.”

“Chris,” Richard hissed through clenched teeth. “That’s enough. There’ll be time for questions later. We need to get out of here.”

Jasmine nodded her agreement and Chris swallowed his next question. He turned back to Artemis. “Let’s go, we’re getting you out of here.”

Artemis smiled. “But what about your friend? You can’t leave her behind.”

Turning, he nodded at the far corner of the room, where plastic green curtains had been drawn around one of the beds. Chris frowned, glancing back at Artemis a second, unsure of the man’s meaning. Then, stomach clenched, breath held, he moved across the room. Hands trembling, he reached up, and pulled the curtains open.

32

The breath caught in Liz’s throat as she stared at the bed Chris had just revealed. Time seemed to slow, and all noise fell away. She took a trembling step towards the bed, then another, past Chris as he stared in disbelief, beyond the curtains, to where her friend waited.

Ashley lay on her side, her eyes closed, red hair spread across the white pillow, her white wings hanging half-folded behind her. Her shoulders rose and fell with each gentle breath as she murmured softly in her sleep. Her skin was ghostly pale, the last traces of purple bruises still marking her arms and face. A steel collar shone around her throat, and an IV bag hung from the wall beside her bed, a thin tube stretching out to deliver the contents through a stent in her arm.

“Ashley,” she whispered.

Taking care not to touch skin, Liz reached out and placed a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. She shook her gently, and watched as the girl’s eyes flickered. She caught a glimpse of her tawny yellow eyes, before they drifted close again.

She looked back as Artemis spoke. “They have her drugged.”

Growling, Liz gently pulled the tube from Ashley’s arm. She looked down at the girl, unable to believe her eyes, to trust Ashley was really here. Last she’d seen her, Ashley had been a broken mess, her chest torn open by the bullet, her wings shattered by the fall. Yet here she was, still sporting a bandage around her chest, but whole, alive.

Liz shook her head, counting the days. Had it been a week, or two since their escape? Somewhere in the chaos she had lost track, but however long it had been, this should not have been possible.

“Guys, save the reunion for later, we need to get out now,” Richard spoke from behind them.

“She’s still unconscious,” Chris replied. “And what about the collar?”

“Try the keys,” Richard hissed, insistent now. “And we can carry her. But it’s been too long. Sooner or later, someone is going to stumble onto those bodies and sound the alarm.”

Beside her, Chris came alive. He nodded and produced a set of keys from his pocket. He started to flick through the ring, searching for a key that might match, glancing at Artemis as he worked. “We can bring them all down with your story, Artemis. Once people find out the truth, it’s only a matter of time before the whole government crumbles. Will you come with us?”

Artemis smiled. “My child, I have spent twenty years locked in this prison. My body is failing me, and I have been confined to this infirmary for months. But I would like to take my final breaths in fresh air. Of course, I will come.”

Chris grinned as the collar around Ashley’s neck clicked open with the third key he tried. Then the smile fell from his lips. “What about Sam?” he looked at Artemis again. “What about our other friend?”

“I have scented others here, since she arrived. But I have never seen them,” Artemis replied. As he spoke he lifted his head, his nostrils flaring. “And they are not within the building now.”

Liz swore, her heart sinking. What would Halt do to Sam, when he discovered Ashley gone? But they could not leave her here, to suffer whatever torments Halt had in store.

The smile had fallen from Chris’s lips, but he shifted into action at another prompting from Richard. Reaching down, he slid his hands under Ashley’s back and gently lifted her into his arms. He staggered forward a step, struggling with her weight.

“Chris, your arm!” Liz hissed, stepping towards him.

“I’m fine,” Chris grated through clenched teeth, his face pained. “It’s okay, I can do it. It’ll be slow, but I don’t want to hurt her anyway.”

“Don’t be stupid, Chris,” Richard stepped towards him. “Let me take her.”

Chris shook his head. “No, she’s our friend, I’ll take her. You should go ahead with Artemis. We need to get him to safety. Once he talks, its all over. This place, the Praegressus Project, everything.”

Richard hesitated, glancing at Jasmine before facing them again. “She’s our friend too, Chris. I won’t leave her, not again,” he drew himself up. “We’re in this together, all of us.”

Chris smiled. “I know. But he needs to be our priority. If you can get him clear, nothing else will matter. Do you know a way out, Artemis?”

The old Chead nodded and Chris smiled. “Good, tell me.”

After Artemis had repeated the directions they needed to reach the exit elevators twice, Chris finally nodded. “Okay, I’ve got it. You guys had better get out of here then,” he paused, his eyes wavering. “If anything goes wrong, meet us at Daniella’s apartment. It’s the last place they’d expect us to go.”

As the others moved off, Liz turned and looked at Chris. He started to speak, but she cut him off. “If you think I’m leaving you, you can think again,” she paused, the smile fading from her face. “I’m sorry, Chris, that I hurt you.”

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault.”

Yet she could see the hurt in the tightness of his face, the distress in his eyes. Silently, feared things might never be the same between them again. But there was no time to linger on the thought.

Turning towards the door, Liz nodded. “Let’s go.”

33

“I want to see her, Halt,” Sam growled as he settled into the back of the limousine.

Halt stared back from the opposite seat, his grey eyes hardening. Beside Sam, Paul and Francesca shifted nervously, their mouths clenched shut. Swallowing, Sam felt the cold metal of his collar press against his throat. But this time he would not back down.

“Is that so?” Halt whispered, his tone threatening.

“I’ve done what you asked,” Sam replied. “I’ve taught them to use their wings. I’ve shown myself to the public, gotten you your funding,” his shoulders slumped and nausea swelled in his stomach, “Please, I just want to see her, to know she’s okay.”

He was begging now, but he no longer cared. He had to know it had been worth it, that he had not sacrificed his integrity, had not betrayed everything he believed for nothing.

Turning, Halt stared out the window at the passing crowds. His face was impassive, his eyes unreadable. Only his voice when he spoke betrayed his excitement. “The President is impressed,” he looked back at them, a smile warming his lips. “I will have all the funding I could ever need. You have done well, Samuel. I will reward your good behaviour. When we return, I will grant you an hour with the girl.”

“Thank you, Halt,” Sam croaked, bowing his head. He closed his eyes, already picturing Ashley, already imagining her in his arms again. She was alive, and he would see her soon. It had all been worth it.

Or had it?

His joy curdled as he thought of the countless lives he had sentenced to the horrors of the facility, of the sons and daughters who would now vanish into the Californian mountains, never to return. How many more would die now, because of him?

And what would happen once the Praegressus Project succeeded? Once they perfected their virus, and turned it loose on their soldiers?

The drive back to the San Francisco seemed to take an age. The four of them sat in silence for the rest of the journey, Halt in his triumph, Sam and the others lost in their own personal nightmares. When the car finally pulled to a stop, Sam could hardly wait to escape the stifling compartment. But he sat patiently with the others, waiting for Halt’s command. Like mutts on a leash, they knew the consequences of disobedience.

Once outside, Halt called for them to follow, and one by one they filed out of the limousine. To Sam’s surprise, they were not in the grim basement carpark where they had been picked up earlier. Instead, they found themselves on the sidewalk outside a massive marble courthouse. They were at the base of a broad staircase leading up to the building, where a large revolving door waited between thick stone pillars.

Sam glanced at Halt. “I thought we were going back to your facility.”

Halt smiled. “We are.”

Without waiting for a response, he started up the staircase, gesturing for them to follow. Sam glanced at the others, but they kept their lips shut tight. There had been a strained truce between them since the incident in the training hall, and Sam quickly looked away again.

Clenching his fists, he started after Halt. He still didn’t know what had happened that day, what had driven him to attack them with such ferocity. One second he’d been enjoying the chance to stretch his wings and test his new strength, the next he’d found himself pounding the two teenagers into the ground. He shuddered at the memory, and the nightmares it conjured.

At the top of the stairs, Halt paused and waited for them to catch up before continuing through the revolving door. Inside, a tall-ceilinged entrance hall stretched out before them. Marble pillars towered to either side of them. Overhead, the domed ceiling had been decorated with a mosaic mural depicting the story of the American War. Down the length of the hall, brave WAS soldiers were shown fighting off the villainous forces of the United States, while at the end a mushroom cloud sprouted from the ruins of the once-famous Whitehouse.

The hall was mostly open space, but around its edges wooden benches lined the walls. On the benches, men and woman in expensive suits waited in silence, their rigid postures and gold embossed wristwatches belying their importance. At the far end, several reception desks stood in front of a row of elevator doors.

Straightening his shoulders, Halt strode towards the desks, waving them after him. Together, they made their slow way across the hall.

Sam scowled as the men and woman on the benches looked up and saw their approach. His wings shifted uncomfortably – he had pulled them tight against his back, but they were still evident to anyone that looked. And just a few hours earlier his face had been plastered all over national television. Within seconds, every eye in the hall was transfixed on Sam, Paul and Francesca.

Whispers rose around them, as their audience turned to one another. “Is that? It can’t be! It’s them… look at those feathers!”

His cheeks warming, Sam closed his ears to the sounds and stared straight ahead. It was easy to tell what Halt was doing. He wore an arrogant smile as he strode across the room, basking in the attention. This was his moment, his victory, and he was making sure everybody knew it. In his white lab coat, there could hardly have been a greater contrast between the doctor and the rich men and women around them – and yet there was no mistaking who held the power here.

The woman behind the reception desk stood as they approached, her eyes flicking nervously between Halt and his slaves. “Welcome… Doctor Halt,” she faltered, then smiled, “Congratulations on your announcement.”

Halt smiled. “Thank you, Janet. We’ll be needing the elevator to the subterranean department.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

As the receptionist turned to her computer, a whirring sound came from one of the elevators. The numbers above the door started to flash, but Halt had already turned away, and was now languishing against the desk, the smug grin still on his lips.

Sam’s eyes widened as the steel doors to the elevator slid open and a girl stepped out. An old man, a young girl, and a boy followed after her, then froze as they looked around. They hesitated only a second, before silently starting to creep away from the elevators.

Sam could only stare as Richard and Jasmine slid around the far end of the receptionist’s desk. His heart pounded in his chest as he glanced at Halt, wondering how the doctor had not noticed them. Breath held, he clenched his fists against the desk, and silently screamed for them to move faster.

They made it another two steps before Halt finally looked up.

34

“Artemis,” Halt hissed. “What are you doing out of your cage, old man?”

A hushed silence fell over the hall as all eyes turned to look at the group huddled around the far side of the receptionist’s desk. Richard and Jasmine stood frozen in terror, their wings half-spread, staring across at Halt and Sam. Behind them, the old man straightened and stepped past them.

“Doctor Halt, it’s been a long time,” the old man’s voice was hushed with age.

Halt brushed past Sam and strode towards the old man, a scowl darkening his face. “You thought you’d just walk out the front door, did you? Thought you’d finally do something,” he shook his head, “I should have killed you years ago.”

“Death would have been preferable to the life you allowed me,” the old man took another step, closing the distance between himself and Halt. “To watching you slaughter my children.”

Behind the old man, Jasmine was struggling with the young girl from the first facility. She was snarling across at Halt, her grey wings flapping in Jasmine’s face as she struggled to break her hold. But the old man Halt had called Artemis only had eyes for the doctor.

“I will happily oblige, Chead,” Halt growled. As he spoke, his hand flashed out and caught the old man by the throat.

Artemis’s eyes widened as he fought to break Halt’s hold. “How?” he croaked the word.

Smiling, Halt lifted him into the air. “A little experiment of my own. Did you not notice my eyes?”

With that he tossed the old man casually aside. He went crashing into the heavy metal desk with a thud and slumped to the floor. Halt followed him, hauling the old man back up.

“I thought I’d finally deciphered the Chead’s developmental issues,” Halt spoke in a casual tone as he smashed a fist into the old man’s face. Beyond him, Jasmine, Richard and the young girl could only look on in shock. “Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

He slammed the old man back into the desk, and grinned as his victim groaned. “But your sweet Mira will soon show me the answer. Do you like her pretty wings? She is something else now, Chead no longer. And soon, when the virus is perfected, I will follow her.”

Halt laughed as he yanked the old man back into the air. “But you, Artemis, you are obsolete.”

At that, Halt wrapped both hands around the old man’s neck and twisted sharply. A loud crack echoed down the hall. The old man went suddenly limp, his eyes fluttering closed. Smiling, Halt tossed him aside like a ragdoll and then turned to look at the others.

“No!” across the hall, the young girl screamed and tore herself lose from Jasmine’s arms.

Sobbing, she threw herself on Artemis’s broken body, her wings spreading out to enfold the old man. Her body shook as she buried her head in his chest, her sobs echoing out across the hall.

A bemused smile played across Halt’s lips as he turned to look at Sam and his companions. He nodded across at the winged intruders. “My patience for our guests’ insolence grows thin. Take care of them.”

Sam hesitated, glancing from Richard and Jasmine and back to Halt. Behind him, Paul and Francesca took a reluctant step forward, their eyes wary. The collar seemed to constrict around Sam’s throat as he swallowed, reminding him of Halt’s unspoken threat.

He looked again at Jasmine and Richard. There was no love lost between the three of them, not now, not since they’d faced the final test in the facility. Since that day, there had been blood on all their hands, a shared guilt, a common hatred.

Even so, he had no wish to fight them.

Seeing Sam’s hesitation, Halt raised his wrist, flashing the watch on his arm. “Do it. I can still kill your girlfriend from here, Samuel. Don’t reverse all your good work now.”

Sam gritted his teeth and nodded. He stepped up beside Paul and Francesca, squaring off against the two intruders. Jasmine and Richard shared a reluctant glance, their emerald wings spreading out to either side.

“Give up, Richard, Jasmine,” Sam called across to them. “You’re out numbered. We don’t want to hurt you.”

Richard stared back, contempt in his eyes. “Give up?” he asked. “What have they done to you, Sam? How can you stand there and ask us to go back? You know what they’ll do to us.”

Sam ran a hand through his long hair, struggling to keep the pain from his face. He knew the truth of Richard’s words, but he could not turn back now. He had come too far now.

“So be it,” he breathed.

To either side of him, Paul and Francesca started forward, and growling, Sam leapt. His wings beat down hard, carrying him into the air and straight for Richard. But with a snarl, Jasmine bounded forward to intercept him. He staggered as her fist caught him in the ribs and sent him reeling, the fury of her onslaught catching him unawares.

On his other side, Richard charged in, but Paul and Francesca threw themselves into the fray, diverting Richard’s attention away from Sam. The three of them went down in a rush of flailing limbs and feathers.

Sam swore as Jasmine’s wingtip flashed out and caught him in the face. Lurching back, he raised his fists and gathered himself, narrowing his eyes as she came at him again. He tensed as she stepped within range, but before he could attack she leapt into the air, and her foot flashed out to slam into his collar bone.

“Traitor!” Jasmine shrieked.

Sam finally managed to duck her blow, and then drove forward. Catching Jasmine around the midriff, he hurled her backwards. She spun, her wings beating hard to break her fall. Smiling, she lifted into the air. Adrenaline thudding in his skull, Sam stretched his wings and leapt after her.

Above, Jasmine rose to the ceiling, her emerald wings shining in the fluorescent lights, and then dropped like a stone towards him. The move caught him by surprise, and her boot slammed into his face with a crunch. He crashed back to the floor, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. Gasping for air, he struggled to sit up.

A scream came from overhead, and through sheer instinct Sam rolled to the side. Jasmine struck the ground where he had lain with a harsh crack. Porcelain chips sliced the air as the force of her attack shattered the tiles.

Recovering, Sam rolled to his feet as she straightened. Spinning, his wings flashed out and caught Jasmine square in the face. Taken unawares, she staggered, and he saw his opening.

Sam lunged forward, his fist flashing out to catch Jasmine in the shoulder. His arm shook with the force behind the blow, and it sent the smaller girl stumbling backwards. But she wasn’t about to go down so easily. Growling, she bared her teeth and straightened, but Sam was already on her, his boot flashing out to catch her in the stomach.

Jasmine gasped as the blow connected and she slumped to her knees. Seeing his opening, Sam clasped both hands together, and as Jasmine tried to regain her feet, brought them down on her head.

At the last second she looked up, but there was no time to avoid his attack. The force of the blow drove her face first into the tiles. Her wings thrashed as she collapsed, forcing Sam to leap clear. When he looked back, she was struggling to stand. But as he watched, her eyes rolled back in her skull, and she toppled back to the ground.

Panting softly, Sam stood over her. An awful guilt ate at his stomach as her eyes flickered open. A low moan came from her throat as she looked up at him, her brown eyes half-glazed.

“Please, Sam,” she coughed. “Don’t make me go back. Kill me, but don’t make me go back.

Sam shivered as he looked down at her, his heart clenched in a vice. His breath caught in his throat, and images rose from his memory. Looking down at Jasmine, listening to her beg, he saw again the padded room, saw the pain in Jake’s eyes, as Sam chose his own life over his friend’s.

And he knew he could not do it again.

Letting out a long breath, he shook his head. “I can’t do this.”

He turned away from Jasmine then, closing his ears to her pleas. Looking out across the hall, he saw Richard pinned against the far wall, desperately trying to hold off Paul and Francesca. The young girl still crouched over Artemis, sobbing into his chest, her grey wings drooped across the ground. Halt was standing over her, a dark scowl on his face.

As Halt reached down and lifted the girl into the air, Sam stepped towards him.

“Halt!” he growled. “Leave her alone.”

35

Chris stumbled as Ashley’s weight shifted in his arms, and pain flashed from his bullet wound. He gritted his teeth, but the pain wasn’t half as bad as the night before. It was clear now the virus had changed more than just their muscles, done more than give them wings. It was the only explanation for Ashley’s miraculous recovery. Before they’d left the infirmary, Liz had checked the wound beneath her bandages – it was almost healed.

A whimper came from Ashley and Chris slowed his pace. He took the opportunity to catch his breath, as he glanced ahead at Liz.

She strode down the long corridor, following the directions Artemis had given, her shoulders rigid. Chris swallowed, fighting the need to go to her, to spin her around and tell her everything would be okay. Remembered pain flared across his skin and he turned his eyes to the floor.

In his arms, Ashley moved again. He glanced down as her eyes fluttered open, a frown creasing her brow. “Chris?”

His heart fluttered at her words. A smile spread across his face as he drew to a stop. Ashley wiggled in his arms, lifting her head to look around. “Liz?”

Liz grinned as she turned back. “In the flesh,” she stepped forward, and then paused, her shoulders falling.

Ashley closed her eyes with a groan. “Argh, I feel like I’ve been hit in the head with a brick.”

“Chris probably bumped it on the way out of the infirmary,” Liz commented wryly.

Chris laughed. “Please, I was careful. And besides, I’ve been shot, so join the club, Ash.”

Ashley raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I joined that club first,” she grinned. “But put me down if you’re that much of a baby. I think I can walk.”

Grinning, Chris carefully put Ashley on her feet. She swayed slightly, and he offered her his good arm. “Easy there.”

Nodding, Ashley panted softly as she straightened. Her snowy wings hung behind her, flexing slightly with each breath. Her fingers gave Chris’s arm a squeeze and he smiled back at her.

Then her eyes shifted to Liz. “What, no hug for an old friend?”

The smile fell from Liz’s face and she quickly looked away. But Chris had caught the shimmer of tears. Ashley looked at him quizzically as Liz started off again, but Chris only shook his head. “It’s a long story. It can wait. Come on.”

They started off again, moving slowly still to allow Ashley time to recover. She was still uneasy on her feet, no doubt the result of the drugs lingering in her blood stream. But that she was standing at all, just a few weeks since being shot from the sky, was a miracle in itself.

“What are you guys doing here?” Ashley asked softly as they walked. “What madness made you come back here?”

In the lead, Liz snorted. “Blame Chris,” she replied, apparently having recovered some of her humour. She looked back. “He was distracted by a pretty girl. Got us all caught.”

“Sounds about right,” Ashley laughed.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Chris half-heartedly defended himself. He shifted Ashley’s weight on his shoulder, and continued after Liz.

“Hmm, let’s see. You got shot,” Liz counted off his failings. “Got us caught and locked away. Is there something I’m forgetting?”

“Hey, we found Ashley, didn’t we?”

Liz snorted again and Ashley laughed. They drifted into silence as they made their way down the long corridors. No one appeared to stop them. There was not another living soul in sight, and Chris remembered what Artemis had said about the operations being moved. He guessed their new headquarters had been the facility they’d escaped from in the mountains.

Idly, he wondered where they were now, where such a place could be hidden amongst the packed buildings of San Francisco. The facility was massive, and there had not been a single window in sight. The weight of the concrete walls and ceilings pressed in around him. His wings twitched, and a longing for the escape of open skies rose within him.

Soon.

Chris breathed out a sigh of relief as they turned the final corner and found steel elevator doors waiting for them. Artemis’s directions had been perfect – but from here on, the way forward was a mystery. Artemis had never been beyond the elevators. He had lived his entire adult life within these concrete walls, never allowed to see the sun, to feel the breeze on his skin. The thought of such an existence almost brought Chris to tears.

Liz strode into the elevator as Chris and Ashley staggered after her. Ashley was taking more of her own weight now, and she disengaged herself from Chris as they stepped inside and leaned back against the wall. Moving to the control panel, Liz pressed the button for the lobby.

“Hope there’s no one home,” she murmured.

To their surprise, the elevated shuddered and began to move upwards. Chris glanced at the others, sharing in their disbelief.

We’re underground, he realised.

“Where’s Sam?” Ashley said suddenly.

Chris bowed his head. “We don’t know.”

Ashley’s eyes shone, but she nodded.

“We’ll find him, Ashley,” Liz said as the elevator lurched to a stop.

They looked around as the doors slid opened, readying themselves for whatever lay without. But nothing could have prepared them for what they saw.

A massive hall spread out before them, lined columns stretching up to the domed ceiling high above. A row of reception desks stood in front of the elevators, where three women were huddling in fear. Beyond, pure chaos had engulfed the gallery. Men and women stumbled across the tiled floor, rushing for the revolving door at the far end, while in the centre of the open space, five winged figures fought in a blur of sound and movement.

A flash of green and copper feathers came from overhead as Sam soared upwards to clash with Jasmine, only for a sharp kick of her boot to send him crashing back to the ground. Then a shriek drew their attention to where Richard stood wrestling with two newcomers. Chris stared as Richard leapt into the air, his wings beating hard, only for the boy to jump on his back. Black wings tore the air as he dragged Richard back down. They crashed into the tiles and rolled across the ground. Richard was up first, but the girl was on him before he could recover, sending him staggering back towards the far wall.

And in the centre of it all, Halt.

The doctor stood with arms folded, a calm smile twisting his thin lips. His grey eyes watched the scene with detached interest, as though this was no more than a game to him. The body of Artemis lay at his feet, his neck twisted at an awful angle. Mira crouched over the old Chead, weeping into his chest. As Chris watched, Halt reached down and pulled her from the body.

Hauling Mira up by her hair, Halt held her in front of his face. “Ah, my little Mira,” he laughed as she tried to break free, but her strength was no match for the doctor’s.

Liz was right, Chris thought as he stepped from the elevator. He had not had time to think about Liz’s accusation back in the cages, but here was the evidence. Mira had more strength in one arm than an ordinary man. Halt shouldn’t have stood a chance.

Chris slid towards the reception desks, Ashley and Liz following close behind as they sought to understand what was happening. Ashley was moving without aid now, and some of her old sharpness had returned to her eyes. They crouched together behind the desks as the women fled into the elevator, and shared a glance.

“Halt!” a familiar voice echoed through the hall. “Leave her alone.”

Chris peered over the desktop and watched Sam striding across the hall, his copper wings spread, his face filled with rage.

Halt stared for a second, seemingly taken aback by Sam’s pronouncement. But his surprise did not last long. Scowling, he tossed Mira aside and then he reached down to press a finger to the watch on his wrist.

A collective scream carried through the hall as Sam and the two winged strangers crumpled, their hands clutched desperately at their necks. Face dark with rage, Halt strode across to their incapacitated friend. Lifting his boot, he drove it into Sam’s side, sending him sliding across the tiles.

“How dare you defy me!” Halt’s rage echoed from the ceiling as Sam clawed at the tiles, his body still convulsing. Caught in the clutches of the shock collar, Sam could do nothing to defend himself.

On the other side of the hall, Richard stood over the boy and girl he had been fighting, blinking in surprise. A smile tugged at his lips as his gaze travelled across the hall and found Chris and the others. But Chris was already moving, racing towards Halt. He leapt past Mira as she staggered to her feet, gesturing for her to stay back. This had gone on long enough. It was time they rid themselves of the vile doctor. And this time, he wasn’t going to let anyone get in this way.

Chris was still a few feet away when Halt looked up and saw him coming. He drove a final kick into Sam’s chest before turning to face the greater threat, his grey eyes flashing with rage. A wild grin spread across his lips as Chris leapt.

At the last second, Halt twisted away, and his fist flashed out to catch Chris in the stomach. The breath exploded between Chris’s teeth as he staggered back. But he straightened quickly and went for the doctor again.

Now Halt leapt at him, and through sheer instinct Chris turned, shifting himself from the doctor’s path. As Halt barrelled past, Chris flicked out with his foot and caught the doctor square in the stomach. Halt crumpled beneath the blow, and grinning Chris stepped in to finish him.

An awful growl rattled up from Halt’s throat as he straightened suddenly. Before Chris could jump back, a fist caught him in the side of the head. He reeled away as stars flashed across his vision. Staggering, he felt the strength flee his limbs. Then a second blow caught him in the chin and hurled him backwards.

Chris gasped as he crashed down on the hard tiles. Bones creaking, he struggled to sit up, before a heavy boot crashed down on his chest. He collapsed back to the ground, ears ringing as his head struck.

With a blood curdling scream, Liz appeared from nowhere and slammed into Halt. Wings flashing, the force of her attack lifted Halt off the ground and sent him hurtling through the air. Heart pounding, Chris struggled to sit up, to find the strength to help Liz.

But she didn’t need it.

Liz stood a few feet away, her lips drawn back in a snarl, wings extended, fingers clenched like claws. As the doctor staggered back to his feet, she sprang, her hand flashing out to catch him by the throat. With inhuman strength, she hauled him above her head and held him there.

Halt growled as he struggled in her grasp. Then his eyes bulged, and a short, sharp shriek rattled up from his throat. Liz’s eyes flashed blue and grey as she lifted him higher, watching as his feet kicked helplessly at empty air. His flesh paled and veins bulged in his forehead, his skin turning an angry red where Liz held him.

Chris shuddered as Halt began to moan, the low, pitiful sound of a dying animal. He couldn’t imagine the pain, the pure agony sweeping through the doctor’s body. He had only felt Liz’s touch for an instant, but it had been enough to take his feet out from under him. This… this could only be infinitely worse.

Purple lines spread up Halt’s neck, radiating out from Liz’s touch. His struggles weakened, the whites of his eyes now stained red. A low whine hissed from his mouth, but Chris could see the life fleeing his body, suffocated by Liz’s touch.

Then he was still.

With a casual shrug of her shoulders, Liz tossed Halt’s lifeless body aside.

Chris swallowed as she turned towards him. Grey speckled eyes stared down at him, and for a moment he wondered who was looking out – Liz, or the Chead. Then she blinked, and the grey faded away, the blue swelling to replace it.

She shuddered as her shoulders sagged. Chris found his feet and stepped towards her, and then froze as memory of her touch returned.

Hurt flashed across Liz’s face as she saw him hesitate.

Without speaking, she turned away.

36

A dagger twisted in Liz’s chest as she saw the fear flash across Chris’s face. She sucked in a breath, fighting back the sting of tears, and turned away from him. Across the hall, she saw Ashley and Sam embracing one another. The collar that had been around Sam’s neck lay on the ground beside them, the key she had passed Ashley earlier still in the lock. Beside them, Jasmine had staggered to her feet. Mira huddled under her arm, her cheeks streaked by tears.

Pushing aside her pain, Liz moved to join them. She heard Chris’s footsteps as he followed her, but did not look back. In that moment, she could not face him, though all she wanted was to bury her head in his shoulder. Glancing down at her hands, despair rose in her chest, threatening to drown her. Would anyone ever hold her again?

Artemis was dead, and with him the hope they’d had of exposing the government’s corruption. No one would believe them without proof, without the Chead that had witnessed it all, the supposed monster who spoke like a human. No, the secret had died with Artemis.

But against all chances, they had found Sam and Ashley, had rescued them from the clutches of the government. They just had to make it through the front door, and they were free. The last of the crowd had fled through the revolving door, leaving them alone in the hall.

Her eyes drifted beyond their little group, and found Richard still on the far side of the hall near the elevators. He was crouched over the strangers he’d been fighting, trying to remove their collars. Sam and Ashely were too preoccupied in their reunion to have noticed, but wearily she moved towards Sam’s collar to retrieve the key.

Before she could reach it, a bell dinged from the direction of the elevators. Looking up, she saw the metal doors slide open. A woman stepped into view. Her gaze swept the hall, and lifting her arm she pointed at them. Men stepped from the elevator behind her, lifting their rifles to take aim.

Then there was no more time for thought.

On the far side of the hall, Richard looked up as the first of the men stepped from the elevator. His eyes turned towards Liz, and she saw the fear that flashed across his face. Their eyes met, and Liz saw the fear fall away from him. He nodded across at her, and turned away.

“No!” Liz screamed.

But it too late; Richard was too far away. He was closer to the elevators, already cut off from the exit by the men and their heavy guns. Straightening, he spread his wings and roared. The guards swung round at the sound, and Richard charged.

The others turned as the first gunshot rang out. Still several feet from the men, Richard lurched as the bullet took him in the shoulder, but he did not slow. He ploughed into the first man, baring him to the ground as he tore the weapon from his grasp.

He was up again a second later, already charging at the next guard. A gun roared again, and blood blossomed from Richard’s chest. He stumbled, almost went down, before reaching out and smashing another man off his feet.

Then he spun, his eyes meeting theirs from across the hall. “Go!”

Another gunshot tore through the room, and then they were sprinting for the door, half-dragging Jasmine with them, even as she pleaded for them to go back, to leave her behind.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Liz winced with each gunshot, but she did not look back. Every step she expected hot lead to tear through her body, for a hail of bullets to bring them all down. They raced towards the exit, wings spread and beating hard, half-sprinting, half-flying.

They shoved Jasmine through first as they reached the revolving door, and crammed Ashley and Mira in after her. Chris and Sam followed, as Liz cast one final look back.

Richard was still on his feet, swaying as he looked around at the ring of guards. His wings slumped to either side of him, torn and broken by bullets, and blood stained his shirt. He staggered for a second and then straightened, his green eyes looking up to catch Liz’s gaze. A smile tugged at his lips as he lifted his arm.

Liz turned away as the roar of gunfire filled the hall.

Epilogue

Hecate drew to a stop at the edge of the empty stream and looked back, checking the others were close. They trickled in one by one, picking their slow way across the plains. The harsh sun beat down from overhead, burning at their pale skin, even as the orange globe dropped towards the distant peaks. Their shadows cast long silhouettes across the grass.

As the seven Chead drew up around them, Hecate’s thoughts drifted back to the strangers they’d left behind. In his mind’s eye, he saw again the explosion that had erupted from the side of the mountain, engulfing the buildings in which the group had been hiding. Out on the empty plains, Hecate had watched the flames, waiting to see whether anything had survived.

But there had only been the flickering of the flames, and as dusk fell, he had finally turned away.

Now, days later, Hecate still felt the pang of regret.

Such a waste.

The boy and girl had been talented, strong. They could have used their strength. Still it didn’t matter now.

For days they had raced across the grasslands, their powerful legs carrying them easily across the flat ground, following a distant scent.  They rarely stopped to sleep, and ate as they moved, slaughtering chickens and other livestock when their hunger demanded it. They revelled in their freedom, in the touch of the breeze over their skin, the sun on their faces.

Though they had been born within the facility, each of them possessed a rugged endurance, an ability to run for endless days and nights. Their imprisonment had not lessened them – the doctors had been sure to keep them healthy and fit, the better for their experiments.

Now Hecate could sense the wind changing, carrying with it fresh traces of the scent they followed. A delicious sweetness filled the air, familiar and at once alien. It was close now, its source at hand.

The others smelt it too. They shifted around him, faces lifted to breathe it in. They growled, hunger rattling up from his throat. Hecate nodded. Tensing his legs, he leapt down onto the streambed.

Starting upriver, he listened to the crunch of gravel as the others followed. His eyes scanned the riverbed ahead, searching for the source, but finding only plain grey stones. There was no water in sight, only the empty bed what had once been a great river. Perhaps as Spring set in, the snow on the distant peaks would melt, and return the waters to the dried-out bed.

But for today, the river remained dead.

Ahead, Hecate’s keen eyes alighted on a dark shadow amidst the stones. Drawing to a stop, he allowed the others to gather around him. His lips twitched as he looked down at the entrance to the cave. The worn bedrock around the entrance suggested the river had once plunged underground here, falling down to depths unknown. Now though, with the waters gone, the entrance to the cave stood open.

The sweet scent of the Chead hung thick in the air.

Grinning, Hecate dropped down into the darkness.

Phase Two: Complete.

The Project Continues In:

RETALIATION

Note from the Author

Sorry, I know, I’m awful. I hope you guys didn’t get toooo attached to Richard, because I’m afraid unlike Ashley, he won’t be coming back. Mutated muscle density and regenerative abilities or not, he ain’t bulletproof! Feel free to vent your frustration in the review section of Amazon though, maybe even let me know who your favourite characters are so they don’t have a little accident ;-)

If you’re enjoying my books, also be sure to signup below for the chance to get future books free and before release!

http://www.aaronhodges.co.nz/praegressus-project/

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AND FINALLY!

If you’ve enjoyed this book, you might also like my original works.

Be sure to read on below for a free preview of my first ever novel:

Stormwielder

Stormwielder: Prologue

Alastair stared into the fire, letting its heat wash through his damp cloak. The autumn storm had caught him in the open, drenching him before he could reach the shelter of a band of trees. The sudden violence of the storm was a grim warning of winter’s fast approach.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Alastair shifted position, groaning as his old joints cracked in the cold. He added another stick to the fire. A greedy tongue of flame licked up the tender wood. Wind rustled the dark branches above. The fire flickered in the breeze and blew smoke into his face. Its feeble light cast dancing shadows across the clearing.

A head appeared in the trees nearby, its long face staring at him. Alastair gripped his sword and fought to control the pain in his chest. His horse snickered at his fear and retreated into the shadows. It was only Elcano, his constant companion for almost a decade. Shivering, he released his sword hilt. He knew all too well the dangers of the night. Once he had been one to stand against such things. Now, though...

He shook his head to clear the morbid thoughts. He was still a warrior, and creatures of the dark still feared his name. Yet lately doubt had crept into his mind. It had been a long time since he’d fought the good fight, long before the ravages of time stripped away his strength. The old man shivering at autumn shadows was but a spectre of the Alastair who had once battled the demons of winter.

“If only...” he whispered to himself. The words haunted him, carrying with them the weight of wasted decades. If only he had known, if only he had prepared himself. Instead the great Alastair had settled down and put the dark days behind him.

Then two years ago, Antonia had come. She shattered the peaceful world he had built for himself and dragged him back into a life he had thought long buried.

“Find them,” she ordered, and he had obeyed.

If only it were so simple. Things were never as they seemed when she was involved. Two years of searching and he was now farther from the truth than when he started. The trail was ancient, his quarry adept at disappearing without trace. He himself had taught them the skills, but for generations they had perfected them. Alastair had tracked them as far as Peakill but there all trace vanished. For all he knew they were dead. He prayed to Antonia it was not so.

The wind died away and the chirp of crickets rose above the whisper of the trees. The fire popped as a log collapsed, scattering sparks across the ground. He watched them slowly dwindle to nothing and then looked up at the dark canopy. Through the branches he glimpsed the brilliance of the full moon.

Alastair gritted his teeth. She would come tonight. His hands began to shake; he had dreaded this moment for weeks. The sickly taste of despair rose in his throat. The world would feel the consequences of his failure.

“Not yet, there is still time,” the soft whisper of a female’s voice came from the shadows.

Antonia walked from the trees. A veil of mist clung to her small frame, obscuring her features. Her violet eyes shone through the darkness, making the firelight seem pale by comparison. Those eyes held such power and resolve that he shrank before them. The scent of roses filled the grove and cleansed the smoky air. Her footsteps made the slightest crunch as she glided towards him.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re gone and I don’t have the strength to continue. Find someone else to fight this battle, I’m done!” he lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes.

“There is no one else like you. You know that,” there was anger in the girl’s voice. “Look at me and tell me you would abandon everything we have worked for!”

Alastair glanced up. “I abandoned my family for your cause,” he forced the words out, struggling to hold back tears. “I have given everything for you, and it has all been in vain. It’s over, they’re gone.”

He stared at Antonia, expecting anger, scorn, disappointment. She smiled. “It has not been in vain, there is still hope. Elynbrigge has found them.”

A rush of strength surged through Alastair. “Where?”

Antonia laughed. Absently she flicked a strand of hair from her face. “The trail was years old, but they are alive and well in Chole. Look for them there. He will watch over them until you arrive.”

Alastair jumped to his feet, scattering firewood into the flames. The blaze roared and leapt to devour the fresh meal. He ignored it. The fire be damned, they were alive!

“Wait,” the tone of Antonia’s voice gave him pause. “First you must go to Oaksville. There is someone there who needs you. When you find him, take him with you. Be quick; Archon won’t be far behind.”

“Who is in Oaksville?” the town was close, but the detour would cost precious time.

“Eric.”

Before he could reply, she was gone.

For a long time Alastair stood staring at the space where she had vanished. Her words spun through his head. His anguish was gone, replaced by a fragile spark of hope. Despair still prowled at the back of his mind, but for now the spark was all that mattered.

He did not sleep that night and the sun was approaching noon as he neared the town. As he cleared the last of the trees he saw the sickly pillars of smoke curling up from the city. He kicked Elcano into a gallop.

Stormwielder: One

A pillar of smoke rose from the burning house. The roar of the flames was deafening. Heat scorched his eyes but he could not look away. The blaze lit the night, chasing the stars from the sky. Amidst the fire the silhouette of a boy appeared. He stumbled from the wreckage, clothes falling to ashes around him. Sparks of lightning leapt from his fingertips, leaving scorch marks on the tiled street. Soot covered his slim face, marred only by the trail of tears running down his cheeks. The wind caught his mop of dark brown hair and revealed the deep blue glow of his eyes. He wore an expression of absolute terror.

“Help me!”

Eric sat bolt upright, the nightmare tearing him from his sleep. He gasped for breath, eyes darting around in search of escape. A wall of vegetation loomed above him. The dark fingers of branches clawed at his clothing. He scrambled for his dagger but it tumbled through his hands. He dove for the falling blade.

His knees hit the dirt and with a sudden rush he remembered where he was. Eric took a deep breath; slowing his racing heart as he rose to his feet. The clearing had not changed while he slept. The trees still stood in a silent ring, their leaves speckled with the red and gold of early autumn. Where the canopy thinned above he could make out the blue sky, but below the dark of night still clung.

Eric shivered and wished he had more than a holey blanket and worn leather jacket to ward off the cold. Reaching down he stuffed the blanket into his bag with the rest of his measly possessions – dried meat, a water skin, and the steel bracelet his parents had given to him as a child. The familiar dream clung to him, the boy’s face lurking in the shadows of his memory. He knew that face. It was his own.

A tremor ran through his body. He flung the bag over his shoulder with a little too much energy, determined to forget the bad omen. Just through the trees was the Gods Road and about a mile west was the town of Oaksville. There he planned to make a fresh start for himself.

Eric paused long enough to pull on his travel worn boots and brush the leaves from his hair, then he was away through the trees. Excitement quickened his pace – this was it. Today he would end his exile. In the two years since his fifteenth birthday he had wandered alone through the forests and plains of Plorsea. In that time he had kept his own company. It had very nearly driven him insane.

The trees either side of the Gods Road soon began to thin, giving way to the grassy steeps of a valley. Eric squinted into the rising sun, straining for his first glimpse of Oaksville. A layer of fog clung to the slopes, but it was quickly fading in the rising sun. Buildings began to take shape – wooden houses with tall smoking chimneys, the three-pronged spire of the temple, an old castle set in the centre that towered above the town walls.

Eric’s spirit leapt at the sight. Then the first gust of wind reached him on the hilltop, carrying with it the clang of hammers and clip clop of hooves. His nose twitched at the tang of smoke and humanity hanging in the air. The image of a burning house flickered into his mind.

He paused mid-stride. A voice whispered in his mind. Go back – it’s too dangerous!

Fear gripped him. What if I’m not ready? His knees shook. His heart pounded like a runaway wagon on a cobbled street. His vision swam and he felt the warmth of tears on his cheeks.

Eric turned his head and looked back up the hill. The long grass rippled in the wind, the trees beyond shadowing the movement. The forest could offer him nothing more. He drew a breath of air and faced the town.  He took a step forward. The terror returned. His chest constricted until he could hardly breathe, but this time his nerve held. Eric walked down the valley towards the gates.

Soon the outer wall loomed over him, its great stone blocks casting the path in shadow. Ahead a gaping hole in the stonework swallowed the road whole. A guard stood to either side of the gates, dressed in the chainmail and crimson tunic marking the Plorsean reserve army. Each held a steel tipped spear loosely at their side and a sword on their belt. The one to the right spared Eric a glance as he passed by, then returned his eyes to the road. Until recently Plorsea had enjoyed decades of peace. But now bandits had moved down from the mountains and were plaguing the countryside. At first they had only targeted travellers, but lately raids had been launched against some of the smaller settlements.

Eric passed between the open gates and into the darkness of the tunnel. Moss covered the giant slabs of rock on either side of him. Iron grates peeked from the ceiling, once used to pour burning oil on invaders who breached the outer gates. These walls dated back to darker times, before peace had come to the Three Nations.

With a deep breath Eric stepped from the tunnel and back into sunlight. A bustling marketplace spread out around him. The air was heavy with dust and the stink of human bodies. The buzz of a hundred voices assaulted Eric’s ears. To his left bakers stood at their booths waving loaves of bread in the faces of passers-by. Elsewhere he could see others plying their wares; butchers and jewellers, fishermen and carpenters, all chaotically crammed into the small square before the city gates. Each was doing their best to draw the early morning crowds to their stalls.

A jeweller caught Eric’s eye and began motioning for him to look at his array of golden necklaces laid out on the table. Eric smiled and shook his head, but suddenly the jeweller was out of his stall and moving through the crowd towards him shouting, “Sir! Sir!”

Eric shrank back towards the cool comfort of the tunnel. His feet stumbled on the uneven surface and sent him tumbling to the ground. His head struck the cobbled pavement. His ears rung. Groaning he looked up, straining to see while his vision spun.

A face appeared overhead. “Careful there, mate,” the man offered a hand. Eric immediately recognised the western twang of a Trolan accent.

Eric took the hand and the man hauled him to his feet. He stumbled for a second, trying to regain his balance.

“That looked like a nasty fall,” the Trolan offered. “You okay?”

The man wore a dark brown cloak and towered over Eric’s own five feet and seven. A poorly trimmed beard and moustache matted his face, while a broad smile detracted somewhat from the twisted lump serving him for a nose. His hazel eyes looked down from beneath bushy eyebrows. Silver streaked his black hair.

Eric nodded.  “It was my fault,” he stuttered. “Everything is so… overwhelming.”

“A country boy then?” the man gave a booming laugh. “I remember my first time in a town like this. They stole every penny I had, not the pickpockets, those crooked merchants! Bought a dagger that snapped the first time I dropped it. These townsmen prey on the weak. Well don’t you worry mate, us country folk look after our own. The name’s Pyrros Gray, what can I do for ya?”

Eric grinned. The man reminded him of the warm manner of people in his old village. “I’m Eric. Is there some place quiet I could sit for a while? My head is spinning.”

“My pleasure, Eric. There’s a tavern not far from here, it’s usually quiet at this hour. I know the owner; he won’t mind you sitting down for a bit. Just follow me and we’ll have you there in no time. Only try not to catch the eye of any of these vultures, or they’ll soon convince you to trade everything you own for one of ‘em statues that grants luck with woman.”

Pyrros set off through the crowd. Eric followed close behind, afraid to lose him in the press of bodies. His legs felt unsteady and his head throbbed with each step.

A big woman stepped between them and thrust a wet trout in his face. “Cheapest fish in town! You buy!” she demanded.

Eric shook his head and side stepped the merchant, trying to avoid any further contact.  She shouted after him but he ignored her words. He scanned the crowd, searching for Pyrros.

“Didn’t think I’d leave you behind, did you?” Pyrros’ voice came from behind him.

Eric spun around, relieved to see the bulky man right beside him.

Pyrros laughed. “So what brought you to Oaksville, mate?”

Eric shrugged. “I wanted a fresh start.”

“Well we’ll have to see what we can do about that. Now come on, we’re almost there.”

They slipped into a narrow alleyway which twisted away from the marketplace. Tall brick walls hemmed them in on either side, casting the alley in shadow. The drone of the markets died off as they rounded the first corner. Dead wood and discarded garbage lay in piles along the alley, but someone had maintained a trail through the mess, leading deeper into the town.

Eric wrinkled his nose as they passed a pile of decomposing fish heads. He stepped around it and hesitated. “Are you sure this is the way?”

Pyrros turned and grinned. “It’s a short cut. The streets surrounding the marketplace tend to get so crowded you can hardly move. This way goes around.”

A chill breeze blew through the alley. The hairs on Eric’s neck stood up. He did not like the way Pyrros was grinning. The man no longer seemed so friendly; suddenly the way he towered over Eric was threatening and a strange glint had appeared in his eyes. Eric’s gut churned in warning.

“I think I’d prefer the crowd to this mess, thanks,” Eric turned to leave.

Two men blocked his path. One spun a wooden baton in his hand and the other held a heavy club. Each stood a head above Eric. They were dressed in plain clothes, but the smiles they wore lacked any trace of warmth. A coil of rope was slung over the baton wielder’s shoulder. They spread out to block Eric’s escape.

“Don’t bother running, mate,” Pyrros’ voice was menacing now. “You’ll make this easier on everyone if you come willingly.”

Eric half turned, keeping the other men in sight. “What do you want?”

Pyrros shrugged. “Fair trade’s not the only business that’s booming. Slaves have grown popular in southern Trola. So long as we’re discrete, take the ones no one misses, people turn a blind eye. You’re one of those, aren’t you mate?”

He shook his head. “No, my parents are waiting–” he was interrupted by a harsh cackle.

Pyrros scratched at his beard. “So you were lying earlier? About starting a new life?”

Eric clenched his fists, tense as coiled wire. He glanced at the men behind him, gauging the distance between them. Fear made his breath come in short, ragged gasps.

“No, I think you’re lying now, mate. I don’t think anyone is out there waiting for you. I don’t think there’s anyone in the world who will miss you.”

This cannot be happening!

Pain pounded at Eric’s head, but he fought it down. He glanced at Pyrros, and then leapt at the man with the club. Grinning, the thug lifted his weapon. A moment before he swung Eric dived sideways, twisting for the gap between the men. He almost made it.

A club to his chest stopped him cold. For the second time that day he found himself flat on his back. Winded, he choked for air, the faces of the two men spinning above him. He could feel his anger taking hold. Overhead, thunder clapped. Drops of rain began to fall.

Footsteps came from nearby. Pyrros appeared above him, a frown on his face. “The first thing a slave must learn is obedience. You disappoint me, Eric. I took you for a quick learner.”

The man’s boot came up and crashed down on Eric’s stomach. The breath exploded from his lungs. Pain constricted his chest and he gasped, eyes watering, desperate for air. Inside, Eric felt the embers of his fury take light.

“Stupid boy,” by now the rain was bucketing down, soaking through the clothes of his attackers. Pyrros’ foot lashed out again, smashing into his ribs and head.

Eric curled into a ball as the assault rained down. He choked back his tears, fear and rage battling for control. There was a sudden roar as something within snapped, giving way to the chaos of his emotions. A terrible power exploded through his mind, slipping from the darkest recesses of his conscious. He no longer felt the blows, or the rain, or the dirt beneath him. All that remained was an all-consuming hate; a need to lash out. A scream of torment echoed through the alleyway. The last barrier in his mind shattered.

Eric opened his eyes. Blue light lit the stone walls of the passageway, freezing the men in a sudden blue glare. He saw the hate in Pyrros’ eyes turn to terror, saw the men beside him glance up, heard the crackling and smelt the burning as it came. Then the lightning struck.

The men vanished into the blue light, their screams cut short by the roar of thunder. There was no chance for escape. One second the three were there, the next the lightning had consumed them. But it did not stop there.

With a deafening crack the sky tore asunder, unleashing a hail of lightning. The screams of the villagers rose above the crash of thunder, as destruction rained down on the defenceless village. Splinters of wood and stone flew through the air as the blue fire tore buildings apart.

Eric struggled to his feet. His anger had vanished, his hatred spent. He stumbled towards the marketplace, mouth agape. Horror clutched his soul.

No, no, no, this cannot be happening – not again!

Eric watched the lightning burn a deadly trail through the marketplace. Booths exploded before its wrath, filling the air with smoke and debris. Dozens had already fallen, their clothes blackened and crumbling, their bodies broken. Gusts of wind swirled through the square, picking up tiles and rubble and flinging them into the air. The rain poured down, but even that could not wash away the smell of burning. Eric stumbled amid the chaos, powerless to save his hapless victims.

There was no escape from the storm’s fury. It tore through the market, an unstoppable force of nature. Eric fell to his knees, his tears mingling with the torrent of rain. Lightning struck his frail body but he felt nothing. Bolts of energy danced along his skin, raising goose bumps wherever they touched. Yet he remained unharmed. He buried his head in his arms.

Why?

The thunder died away, leaving a devastating silence in its wake. Eric could hardly summon the courage to look. At last he opened his eyes. His gaze swept the wreckage with growing shock. There was not a stall left standing. Burnt beams and canvas covered the square and flames were already beginning to spread. Bodies lay scattered amid the ruin, at times half-buried by the rubble. Eric choked at the sight, his mind rebelling against the truth.

This is my doing.

Movement came from his right. He looked across as a man struggled to his feet. Their eyes met. Eric saw the horror grow in the stranger’s eyes. He looked down and saw that lightning still played across his chest and arms. Noise came from elsewhere now as more survivors rose to view the shattered remains – and to see the boy with lightning dancing on his skin.

Eric watched them, heart filled with despair. The faces of those around him wore only hatred. He had to say something, but could not find the words. His body ached and his muscles burned but he struggled to his feet. A surge of blood rushed to his head. He swayed. Then, determined, he opened his mouth to speak.

An angry buzz of voices assailed him. To his left a man drew a dagger from his belt. He started towards Eric. Another quickly followed suit, ripping a makeshift club from a pile of rubble as he approached. The broken ground crunched beneath their booted feet. Each wore a grim mask of determination. When they were a few feet away they hesitated, eyeing him with caution.

Eric struggled to find some words of explanation. He wanted to tell them it had not been him, that he could not control this curse. Yet he knew in his heart it would be a lie. He had known his presence brought a terrible danger to all around him. A heavy weight settled on his shoulders. There was nothing he could offer these souls but his life.

More survivors joined the first two men, arming themselves with whatever makeshift weapons were within reach. Each sported burns across their arms and clothing, and dark bruises on their faces. A fire burned in their eyes, fuelled by the horror they had just witnessed.

Eric trembled, staring at the blades and cudgels held by men and women alike. His heart pounded in his chest. He clenched his fists, struggling to ignore the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. His rib cage ached where the club had struck him earlier. Bruises from the beating were already starting to swell on his arms and legs. His mind shuddered at the thought of the pain still to come.

Cautiously the survivors edged towards him, numbers fuelling their courage.

Eric backed away, his own courage fading with each step. The villagers moved faster, sensing his fear. He stumbled backwards over the rubble, unable to tear his gaze from the madness in the eyes of the crowd. He stumbled over a pile of rubble and crashed to the ground. The shock lifted the spell. Eric scrabbled to his feet and ran for his life.

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