Retribution (The Praegressus Project Book 5) Page 5

  Fists clenched, Liz took a slow step forward and bared her teeth. Stones clicked as the assailants took matching steps back, the guns wavering in their hands. Fury lit in Liz’s chest as she watched them, the bitter taste of disgust on her tongue.

  “You make me sick,” she spat. “What has she ever done to you? You think just because the government set the Chead on us, it gives you some right to take that injustice out on her? You think this is her fault, just because she’s from the city?”

  “What would you know, freak?” The shotgun wielder snapped back. Anger seemed to give him courage and he jabbed his weapon at her face. “Why don’t you go scampering back to your maker? I’m sure you’ve got things all nice and comfy, being his pet guinea pig and all.”

  “Is that what you think?” Liz growled. Her wings beat down, sending dust swirling through the alleyway. Slowly she advanced on the man. “You think I’ve had it good, do you?”

  The man’s face paled as she approached. The shotgun wavered in his hand. “Hey, stay back!”

  Liz ignored him. “You think it’s fun, being locked away for months? You want to try it? Maybe we should throw you in a cage and spend a few weeks prodding and poking you, tormenting you like some animal. Maybe then we’ll see who’s the freak!” her voice rose to a scream as she lunged forward and tore the shotgun from the man’s hands.

  The man stumbled back as she slammed the gun down on her knee. It snapped in two with a shriek of twisting metal. Hurling the pieces aside, she leapt as the other gunman turned his pistol on her. The roar of gunshots roared in the narrow space, but Liz was already airborne, her black wings merging with the night.

  Then she was amongst them, her wings flashing out, sending them reeling. Spinning on her heel, she leapt at the man with the gun, driving her boot down into his knee. There was a satisfying crack as it gave way. The man’s high-pitched screams filled the alleyway as he dropped his gun and staggered back.

  Recovering from his shock, the first man shouted and lunged at her. Pressed against the wall, Liz had no space to avoid him, but it hardly mattered. His fist flashed for her face, but she only reached up and caught it with a gloved hand. The colour drained from the man as she grinned. Before he could pull away, she dragged him forward into a headbutt.

  Releasing him, she watched him stagger back, hands on his head. When he didn’t go down, she leapt forward, wings beating to add to her momentum, and kicked him square in the chest. The blow hurled him back into the concrete wall. A groan rattled from his throat as he slid to the ground. He didn’t get back up.

  Liz nodded with satisfaction and turned to search for the last man. But he was already fleeing down the alleyway, his broad back disappearing into the shadows. Anger lit in her stomach. Baring her teeth she started after him, before a soft sob drew her attention back to the girl. Pausing, Liz sucked in a long breath, and dismissed the coward.

  The man who’s knee she’d broken was cursing under his breath as he tried to drag himself away from her. The pistol lay nearby and, striding across, she kicked it out of reach, before aiming a solid kick at his head. The blow flipped him onto his back. She watched with a grim smile as his eyes fluttered closed. Only then did she approach the girl.

  Her blonde hair was a tangled mess, and when she looked up at Liz there was naked fear in her eyes. Dirt streaked her pale face and covered her clothes. She couldn’t have been older than Liz’s own seventeen years of age.

  Liz offered a friendly smile as she crouched beside the girl. “Hey, it’s okay, they’re gone now.”

  Wide-eyed, the girl stared at Liz. “Please, no,” she stammered, shaking her head. “Please, just leave me alone.”

  Liz blinked, her brow creasing in a frown. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Here, let me help you up.”

  Reaching out, Liz tried to pull the girl to her feet, but screaming, she scrambled back. “Stay away from me, freak!”

  Liz flinched as the shout echoed through the alleyway. Slowly she straightened, the smile falling from her face. Where the men’s insults had slid from her like oil on water, this one cut straight to her soul. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the words to reassure the girl.

  “I…I’m only trying to help,” she stammered finally.

  “I know what you are,” the girl spat as she scrambled to her feet. She jabbed a finger at Liz like a knife. “You’re one of them, one of the Chead!”

  “What? No! I’m not Chead,” Liz gave a hesitant smile and nodded at her wings. They lifted gently from her back, though in the darkness her black feathers were almost invisible. “See?”

  But the girl’s face only paled further at the sight of her wings. She backed away, her feet stumbling over the garbage littering the ground. “No, you are! I heard on the radio…you and that boy, you’re just the Chead in disguise, come to take us away, to make us all into freaks like you!” She was screaming at the top of her voice now, gesturing wildly with her hands as her high-pitched voice drilled into Liz’s skull.

  Liz fought for calm. “What? That’s ridiculous, I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” She nodded at the unconscious men behind her. Trying to keep her voice light, she continued, “Look, it’s not safe out here. Why don’t you tell me where you live, and I can take you home?”

  Smiling, she held out her hand again. But one look at the girl’s face told Liz she wasn’t buying it. Eyes wide, tears shining in her eyes, the girl shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Drawing herself up, she spat at Liz’s feet. “I’d rather die than become one of you.”

  All Liz could do was stare at the girl. Hate and fear warred on her youthful face. Shivering, Liz glanced at the men she’d downed. With the chaos gripping the city, there was a good chance more men like these would be lurking the streets. Could this girl really hate her so much? Was she really so afraid she’d rather risk being mugged, or worse, than accept Liz’s help?

  Blinking back tears, Liz shook her head. “I only want to help you,” she tried one last time.

  “I’m sure that works on rural tramps like you,” the girl sneered, “but us city girls aren’t so gullible.”

  The girl glared at Liz, as though waiting for a response. But Liz couldn’t find the words to answer. She stood there in silence, eyes downcast, the wings hanging from her back like lead weights. Finally, the girl snorted and spat again, then spun on her heel and marched off down the alleyway.

  Liz bit back tears as the girl disappeared into the shadows, leaving her standing there alone in the alleyway. The rush of the fight had left Liz, and now she felt lost and empty. Loneliness clung to her like a dark shadow. She yearned for someone to hold her, for the warmth of love to fill her chest. Instead, there was nothing but a vacant hollow.

  She stood alone in the alleyway for a long time, listening to the sounds of the night, the distant echoes, the whisper of voices. She tried to pick out the girl’s footsteps, but either she was too far away, or she had already made it home. Despite the pain in her heart, Liz hoped it was the latter.

  Finally, as the dim glow of the half-moon lit the alleyway, Liz turned and faced the sky. A sudden yearning filled her, a need to see the man she had once loved, to go to Chris and listen to his story. Every day her hope for the future faded, as the hole in her heart grew and the walls hardened. She didn’t want to be that person anymore, that girl who shut out the world.

  No, she needed to talk to Chris, to hear him out. She might never love him again, but maybe if she could just understand why he had betrayed them—why he had betrayed her—she could at least move on. Maybe then the jagged hole in her heart would begin to heal.

  Taking a breath, Liz reached up and wiped the unspilt tears from her eyes.

  Then she spread her wings, and hurled herself into the sky.

  Chapter 10

  “So, I understand you want my help?”

  Sam sat quietly at the boardroom table, watching as the speaker paced
the length of the room. The man wore a dark green military jacket sprinkled with an impressive array of medals and ribbons, which no doubt meant he held a position of some prestige. Not that military rank meant much these days. However, the thousand loyal troops the man commanded were an entirely different matter.

  “That’s right.” Though he spoke softly, Harry’s voice carried easily across the room. The veteran sat in a simple wooden chair at the head of the table, fingers folded in front of him.

  Reaching the end of the room, the commander turned and made his way back to the table. Coming to a halt beside Harry, he looked down at the old man. “And who are you to request my help?” There was no mistaking the disdain in his voice.

  Towering over the table, the man made an imposing sight. But Harry met his steely gaze calmly, a smile twitching on his lips. “Why, I’m just an old man, Commander. I am no one. I only hope to serve my country one last time. I believe I have earned at least a little trust in the community since the government’s collapse. Perhaps if we work together, your men can help me restore some peace to San Francisco.”

  The Commander eyed Harry for a moment, then gave a snorting laugh. Pulling out the chair beside the old veteran, he sat down and looked around the table. Sam shrank in his chair, but the man’s eyes travelled around the table without seeming to note his presence. Most of the other faces in the meeting Sam didn’t recognise, but he smiled as he met Jocelyn’s eyes across from him. Hers at least was a friendly face—the others had regarded his appearance with either cold indifference or outright hate.

  The eight men and women at the table made up the ‘council’ Harry had brought together to help him restore order to the city. They included a captain from the small group of police who’d fallen in with Harry, the new leader of the Mad Women, a doctor and several former politicians, Jocelyn, and a couple of self-appointed leaders from the rural refugees. It was them who had given Sam the darkest looks as he sat down. No doubt they recognised him from his press conference with the President.

  “And I suppose you’d like my men and I to fall under your command, Harry? Can I call you Harry?” the commander laughed and patted the old veteran on the shoulder so hard it almost knocked him from his chair. Shaking his head, the commander went on. “I’m not sure that’ll work for me, Harry. You see, you’re just a civilian. My men, they don’t respect civilians, not with the way your lot have let things go to hell. I hear a General up in Oregon has declared martial law, taken control of the city himself. Not a bad idea, if you ask me.”

  A strained silence fell over the room. The members of Harry’s council shifted uncomfortably in their seats. In his chair, Harry took a moment to straighten his tie. A smile spread across his wrinkled cheeks as he nodded at the commander.

  “I suppose that’s fair,” he said in his soft voice. “I know how they feel, these men of yours. My comrades and I, we used to talk about the injustice of it all ourselves, back during the war. How we had to take orders that might very well get us killed, while the ones giving them sat back in the safety of San Francisco.”

  The commander’s eyebrows knitted together. “You were in the war?”

  Harry’s smile spread. “Oh yes. Lieutenant Harry McCrae, Third Division, Artillery, at your service. Well, that was my position for most of the war, anyway.” Placing his hands on the table, Harry slowly pushed himself to his feet. Wandering around the room, he continued to talk. “Not at the end, mind. You see, those politicians back in San Francisco were devious creatures. They came up with a plan, one that would save thousands, maybe millions of lives.”

  He had circumnavigated the table by now. Coming to a stop behind his chair, he leaned his arms against its back and stared down at the commander. “Only thing was, they needed a few brave soldiers to see it through. They needed a few men to face almost certain death, and light the fuse of the new world.”

  Sam’s heart hammered in his chest as he stared at Harry. All eyes were on the old veteran now. Slowly Harry pulled back the chair, its wooden legs scraping loudly against the tiles, and resumed his seat. Clasping his fingers together, he smiled grimly at the commander.

  “My friends and I, we were those men. I was the only one who made it out of DC, the one who drew the short straw. So I got to live on, and see the world my friends died for become corrupted. To watch as the rich and powerful turned it into their plaything.” His eyes drilled into the commander, unblinking. “So when you say your men won’t respect a civilian, after the mess the President and his Directors have created, I understand.” Harry leaned forward in his chair, his voice turning hard. “Now you understand this, commander. I will not let the Western Allied States fall.”

  Sam almost smiled as the commander’s throat contracted. The man’s eyes had widened during Harry’s speech, becoming great globes in his pale face. As the silence stretched out, he continued to stare at the old veteran. It seemed to take an effort of will to finally tear his gaze away.

  “Yes, well, with certain conditions, perhaps we could come to some arrangement, sir,” the commander mumbled.

  A smile broke out on Harry’s face. With it, the tension hanging over the room seemed to melt away. “I’m glad to hear it.” He gestured around the room. “I’m sure my friends and I can oblige.”

  The commander nodded, and after taking a moment to gather himself, continued. “I see you have one of them with you,” his eyes flickered across the table to where Sam sat. “Mind explaining to me why?”

  “Samuel is here at my invitation,” Harry replied. “He was instrumental in the Director’s fall. We all owe him for his actions in bringing down Alcatraz. I thought it appropriate he join us.”

  The commander said nothing, but a man sitting at the other end of the table had apparently had enough. “Rubbish,” he growled, pulling himself to his feet. Sam tensed as he looked around. The man’s sun-kissed skin marked him as one of the rural leaders. “I’ll not sit here and discuss the future of our country while one of them sits here listening.”

  Anger lit in Sam’s chest as a rumble of agreement carried around the table, but Harry cut across the whispers before he could respond. “We would not be sitting here at all, if not for him, Smith.”

  “We only have your word for that,” the woman beside Smith replied.

  “And in the brief time we’ve known each other, Margery, has my word ever betrayed you?” Harry replied.

  Margery pursed her lips. “No, but these days that’s hardly much reassurance.”

  “Then let me reassure you,” Jocelyn cut in. “I can vouch for Samuel as well. He rescued myself and my children, when the government would have executed us as traitors. I would, and have, trusted him with my life.”

  Still standing, the man Harry had called Smith snorted. “You might trust him, but I don’t. Not after what I saw his friend do. His kind, what they can do, they’re not even human.”

  “My kind?” Sam asked dangerously, climbing to his feet.

  The man sneered. “Would you prefer ‘abomination’?”

  “Why don’t you come over here and say that,” Sam said dangerously. A tremor ran through his wings, and they lifted slightly from his back.

  “Enough!” Harry hardly lifted his voice, but his command cut through the tension like a knife.

  Blinking, Sam glanced at the old war veteran. His gaze swept around the room, and he realised his wings were almost completely extended now, their copper feathers shading the table. The other members of the council stared up at him, eyes wide and faces pale. With his teeth bared and fists clenched, he looked for all the world like a winged demon, ready to tear them all to pieces.

  Letting out a long breath, Sam quickly furled his wings and sat down. On the other side of the table, Smith looked from Sam to Harry, and then resumed his seat. “I only want justice for my people,” he muttered.

  “Then we want the same thing,” Sam replied. Their eyes met across the table and he shook his head. “Do you think we had any choice in this? That I
had a choice when I stood on that stage beside the President? They murdered my parents, kidnapped me and threw me in a cage to be their guinea pig. There were hundreds of us, hundreds of kids just like me, who weren’t lucky enough to make it this far.”

  He fell silent then. Smith stared at him for a long moment before looking away. Sam doubted the man had heard a word of what he’d said.

  “You will have your justice, the both of you,” Harry said quietly. “The President will not escape the laws he swore to uphold. The Texan army is poised at the border, ready to strike when we give the green light. They can be at the Kirtland Airforce base in a matter of hours.”

  “That’s too long,” Jocelyn replied. “He’ll have eyes on them—they won’t make it a mile before he launches his arsenal. Unless you think he’s bluffing?”

  “He’s not bluffing,” Harry replied. His eyes took on a haunted look as he stared at the table. Remembering Harry’s tale, Sam bit his lip as the veteran continued. “He was the one in charge, when we burned DC. He had no qualms then—he won’t now. He’ll wipe us all out in a heartbeat if he thinks he’s threatened.”

  “Then it’s a stalemate,” the commander replied. “We can’t act against him, and with my men, he doesn’t have the numbers to act against us. I say we leave him there to rot.”

  “Didn’t you hear what he said?” Sam cut in. He looked around the table. “He said he already has the numbers to control New Mexico. If we leave him alone, he’ll only grow stronger. He’ll come for us, sooner or later. It’s what the man does.”

  The commander snorted. “No one in their right mind would follow him after the Director’s confession. He may not be bluffing about the nuclear codes, but he is about this so-called army of his. I doubt he has more than a handful of supporters left by now.”

  Sam gritted his teeth. “You’re wrong,” he grated out. “There were plenty who knew about what he was doing to us, but they still followed him. So long as he lives, so long as he holds an ounce of power, others will flock to it. It’s what you—what we—do.”