Renegades (The Praegressus Project Book 2) Page 12

  “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 th
e 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.