Havoc: Book II of The Evolution Gene, page 29
“No!” the scream tore from Chris’s throat before he could stop himself. He lunged forward, but the chain brought him up short. He cried out as the collar cut into his neck, dragging him back.
The guards ignored him and busied themselves detaching Ashley’s chain from the ground, but the Director turned and walked towards him. On the ground, Ashley had slumped against the wall, her eyelids half-closed, her wings limp against her back. Despite her brave words, there was no mistaking her terror. Even so, she made no effort to fight back.
Standing, one of the guards lifted the chain and tugged. The chain went taught, pulling Ashley off balance. She placed a hand down to steady herself, but the guard pulled again, half-dragging her across the floor. Coughing, she gripped the makeshift-leash and yanked it back. The guard stumbled, overwhelmed by her strength, but held on. Before she could pull again, the other guard drove his steel-capped boot into the side of Ashley’s head.
Still kneeling on the floor, Ashley had no room to avoid the blow, and the kick sent her reeling back against the wall. Moaning, she tried to sit up, but the guard strode across and delivered another kick to her stomach. The breath hissed between Ashley’s teeth and, gasping, she collapsed face-first on the ground. She tried to crawl away, but caught another steel boot to the side of her head.
At that, all semblance of resistance went out of her, and she slumped to the ground, unconscious. Taking up the chain again, the guard dragged her towards the door. Half-starved and sleep deprived, Ashley couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds, and he had no trouble pulling her out the doorway. The second guard followed close behind, eyes fixed on their unconscious prisoner.
Chris watched the whole series of events on his knees, his collar tight around his throat as he strained against the chain, desperate to intervene. Now, as he caught his last glimpse of Ashley disappearing into the corridor, he felt hot tears on his cheeks.
Why, Ashley? he screamed in his mind. Why?
“Christopher.” He shuddered as the Director’s voice came from overhead. Swallowing his grief for his friend, he looked around, and found her cold eyes on him.
“What?” he croaked.
“You disappointed me today.” His stomach swirled at the tone in her voice. “Perhaps you are less evolved than I thought. I’m of half a mind to send you after your friend.”
A shiver ran down Chris’s spine. Looking at the woman, he could see no trace of the warmth she’d shown him yesterday. She meant what she said. Suddenly he realised he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. One wrong step, and he would tumble down into the abyss after Ashley.
Biting his lip, he lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he breathed, “I…”
“Yes?” the Director pressed, “Tell me, what excuse do you have for your failure?”
Chris closed his eyes. “I have no excuse,” he looked up at her, blinking back tears, “I should have…I should have protected you…” he trailed off, his voice fading away. He bowed down, exposing his neck, as though waiting for his execution.
He flinched as strong fingers gripped him by the chin and lifted his head. Blinking, he looked up at the Director. Her face hadn’t changed. Her red lips were still drawn tight, her brow hard, her blonde hair hanging down around her shoulders. Her fingers dug into his chin like claws as she looked at him.
“Please,” he croaked, shivering, unable to control his fear, “I don’t want to die.”
The Director’s lips twisted into a smile. She raised an eyebrow. “No?”
He shook his head, though his movement was restricted by her grip on his chin.
“Then perhaps you can redeem yourself.” Releasing him, she reached down and tapped the control watch to his collar. It beeped and the chain fell away, though the cold embrace of the collar remained.
Standing, she offered him her hand. “Rise, Christopher.”
Chris shivered as he looked up at her. A lead weight settled in his stomach. He knew what she was asking, what it would mean if he took her hand. It was a line that, once crossed, he could not return from. There would be no redemption.
He would be hers—body and soul.
But what choice did he have? To refuse was to join Ashley, to wait in a cell for the sun to rise, and the end to come. Even as he considered the idea, he felt the gulf in his chest, the need for companionship. With Ashley gone, he was truly alone now. Isolated from his friends, from the world, what new darkness would he fall into?
Yet he would be alive. He would be safe, free of the torments Ashley had suffered. Looking at the Director, he made his decision.
Reaching up, he took her hand, and rose.
Fifty-Two
Sam squinted into darkness, his wings creaking as the San Francisco winds battered him. He was flying higher than he ever had before, and even his powerful muscles were struggling to keep his wings straight in the howling wind. They pushed him around like a ragdoll, but he only gritted his teeth and pressed on. He was almost there.
He had wanted to set out earlier, when there had still been light in the sky. But the government had proven relentless—continuing their hunt for the fugitives all through the next day. So he’d been forced to sit all day in the basement with Jocelyn and the other resistance fighters, listening to the buzzing of helicopters outside, nerves growing more frayed by the hour. But there’d been no other option but to wait them out.
Only when darkness fell once more did the hunters finally relent. Patrols still swept the streets, but the roaming helicopters had returned to their nests for the night. Sam had seen Jocelyn and the others safely out of the search grid, and then wished them luck. The men had waved him goodbye with grim faces—they all knew this would probably be the last time they saw each other.
One simply did not break into Alcatraz and expect to survive.
But despite the odds, Sam knew he had to try. They’d had no word from the Mad Women, no news about what had happened at the safehouse. He didn’t want to think about what that meant. He still clung to the hope Liz, Jasmine and Mira had made it out, but he couldn’t risk waiting around to find out. It was clear the government was closing the net around the resistance. If he delayed any longer, there might not be anyone left to fight for.
Unfortunately, a storm had broken with the fall of night, and now he was beginning to doubt he could even make it to the island. The wind buffeted him again, and tensing the muscles along his back, he trimmed his wings and drifted lower. Below, the dark waters of the harbour appeared. White-capped waves churned the surface as salt spray drifted up towards him. Above, thunder clapped, and a patch of rain swept past, soaking him to the skin.
Cursing, Sam searched the waters below, and glimpsed the orange glow of a lighthouse ahead. As he drifted closer, other shapes appeared from the darkness—the buildings rising from the steep cliffs of The Rock. The lighthouse was the tallest, and shifting direction, he headed towards it, eyes peeled for signs of movement.
Fighting through the howling wind, he swooped down towards the orange glow. When he was still some twenty feet out, he glimpsed a man on the observation deck at the top of the lighthouse. The man was leaning against the rails, squinting out through the pouring rain, a sour look on his face. He carried a rifle slung over his shoulder, but Sam had no intention of giving him a chance to use it.
Approaching from above, Sam ensured he remained outside the guard’s line of sight. Then, when he was still several feet above the tower, he folded his wings and dropped from the sky. A gust of wind almost ruined him, but a slight twist of his wings put him back on target, and he crashed down on the man’s back. The impact of Sam’s two hundred pounds drove the guard face first into the railing.
Landing lightly beside him, Sam quickly delivered another blow to the back of his victim’s head to ensure he wouldn’t wake up anytime soon. Then he took a hold of the man’s legs, dragged him into the lighthouse tower, and shoved him in a nearby closet.
Moving back out onto the observation deck, Sam took a moment to assess his surroundings. His vantage point on the lighthouse looked down over the main prison building. Lightning flashed, illuminating the stark concrete walls and barred windows. A dark shadow was all he could see of the entrance, but as the lightning died away, he saw the dim glint of solid steel doors.
His heart sank. Even with his considerable strength, he couldn’t break through inch-thick steel doors. Shivering in the rain, he continued his examination of the island. Away to his right, the ground dropped away in a sheer cliff, but beyond, the rooftop of another building rose into view. From what he recalled of the history of Alcatraz, the building had once been used as a residential quarters for staff. He was hoping the island’s new managers had put it to the same use.
Returning his attention to the prison building, he slowly shook his head. In the darkness, he could see no way to force his way inside. The grounds below were empty, and as far as he could see no one was standing guard outside the entrance. There might be others patrolling the island, but he guessed the majority would be stationed within, where the real threat resided.
After all, Alcatraz had been reopened to contain the most dangerous criminals of the Western Allied States, the traitors and terrorists who posed a threat to their very way of life. Or so they said. Now, of course, Sam knew better. The prisoners inside were likely no different from his parents—falsely accused, locked away without trial, sentenced to death for crimes they had not committed.
His hands tightened on the railings as he studied the barred windows, wondering if he might force his way inside by bending the bars. But these too were solid steel, at least half an inch in diameter. He doubted he could so much as dent them.
No, he would have to wait until someone went in or out. When the doors were unlocked, then he would make his move.
He shifted back under the eaves of the lighthouse and slid down onto the steel deck. Leaning back against the wall behind him, he crossed his legs, and settled in to wait out the night…
And snapped awake to the crash of thunder. Cursing he sat up and looked around, the harsh light of dawn burning at his eyes. Somewhere in the distance, waves crashed and as he straightened a gust of wind pushed him sideways. Above, the storm had built itself up into a fury.
A clang came from somewhere inside the lighthouse and a voice carried up from below. “Jerry! You fall asleep again?”
Heart pounding, Sam stood and slid inside the building. Cut off from the wind, he could hear the steady pounding of boots on the steel staircase now, approaching rapidly. He slipped across the room and peered over the rail into the stairwell. Below, a man was climbing the winding stairs.
Sam crouched in the shadows and waited for the guard to come to him.
“Jerry, where are you hiding, man?” the guard wheezed as he reached the top of the stairs.
Sam didn’t bother to reply. Leaping forward, he punched the man square in the chest, driving the air from his lungs. Before he could recover, a blow to the head dropped him to the floor. Sam quickly dragged him across the room and tossed him in the closet with his friend. The man he guessed was Jerry was beginning to stir, but another knock to the head sent him back to sleep.
Stepping outside again, Sam crouched low on the observation deck and looked out over the island. Despite the storm, the sky was quickly brightening, and he cursed himself for falling asleep. He was more exhausted than he’d realised, but it was too late to reconsider his plans. It was now or never.
Movement near the residential block drew his attention. Squinting through the rain, he watched as a group of three figures ran from the building to a waiting golf cart. In the faint light, he thought one might have been a woman, but it was difficult to say. The three had barely scrambled onboard the cart before the driver took off. They lurched along the muddy path and disappeared beneath the lip of the cliff.
Looking around, Sam noted a track running from the prison building to the clifftop, where it disappeared down to the lower levels of the island. Watching the spot where the track dropped over the edge, he crossed his fingers. If the cart was heading for the prison building, he guessed that would be the route they took.
A few minutes later, the cart reappeared at the top of the track. He caught the distant whir of the electric engine as it settled back onto flat ground and raced towards the prison. A clang came from somewhere below. Leaning out over the edge of the platform, Sam watched as the prison doors swung open, emitting two men in blue guard’s uniform that matched the ones in his closet. Both carried rifles, but they appeared at ease, wandering across the muddy ground to wave at the cart.
As the golf cart approached, Sam climbed onto the rails of the observation deck. The guards were preoccupied with the approaching cart, and he moved slowly so as not to draw their attention. Stretching his wings, Sam waited until the cart had pulled to a stop in front of the entrance to the prison, and then hurled himself from the lighthouse.
The passengers in the golf cart were just stepping off when he landed amongst them. Taken by surprise, the guards never stood a chance. He dropped the driver first, a blow to his neck sending him sprawling against the steering wheel. Spinning, he took in the empty hands of the three passengers, and then leapt at the guards by the door.
They were still frozen in shock as he landed between them. One tried to lift his rifle, but Sam was already too close and a blow to his chest dropped him like a rock. The other turned and tried to make it through the steel doors, but Sam caught him by the back of his shirt and hauled him back. He finished him off with a blow to the head, and then turned his attention to the passengers.
As he’d hoped, the three were civilians, unarmed and clearly terrified by his sudden appearance. They flinched as one as he stepped towards them. Before any of them thought to yell for help, Sam darted forward and caught one by the shirt.
“Not a word, or you won’t live to see tomorrow,” he growled.
The man struggled to break free, until Sam lifted him into the air and shook him. His head rolled around and he gasped, but when Sam dropped him to the muddy ground, he didn’t make a sound. Scrambling back towards his colleagues, he stared up at Sam, lips clamped shut.
Sam grinned. “That a boy,” he looked at the others, inviting them to try their luck, before nodding, “Good, you’re quick learners. Do what I say, and you might just make it off this rock alive.”
Eyes wide, the three of them stared back at him. Of the two still standing, one was a man, the other a woman. After a moment’s hesitation, each of them nodded.
“Good,” Sam waved at the doorway, “Shall we get out of this rain then?”
Fifty-Three
Stepping through the giant steel door, Sam found himself in a grim, bleached-white room. Steel beams reinforced the walls and ceilings above, while a series of unidentifiable grey stains marked the linoleum floor. A metal detector waited ahead of him, and beyond a steel bench stretched down the middle of the waiting room. To the right, a window looked into an office booth where the guards who had unlocked the doors had obviously been stationed. Through the glass, he could see a computer screen displaying camera feeds of the facility. One depicted the muddy ground outside where the unconscious guards still lay, another the room in which he was standing.
There was no one else in sight, but Sam doubted he’d seen the last of the island’s guards. The cameras would only help them notice him faster. Turning, he found the camera on the ceiling in the corner, and wandered over. Leaping up, he tore it from the wall, before moving back outside and taking down that camera as well. Hopefully it would buy him a few more minutes.
On the far side of the room, another pair of double doors waited, but there was no obvious lock or handle to open them. Looking at his guides, he nodded at the doors.
“How do they open?” he asked.
The woman swallowed and held up her arm. A familiar steel watch shone on her wrist.
“What’s on the other side?” Sam pressed.
The woman glanced at the others, but any thought she had of lying evaporated as Sam stepped towards her. “The control room,” she stammered, “There’ll be more guards.”
“How many?”
She only shook her head, her mouth hanging open, eyes wide. She’d obviously run out of words.
“It varies,” the man Sam had dumped on the ground earlier answered for her, “Five, ten, depends who’s on duty, what’s happening with the prisoners and…” he trailed off, clearly realising he’d said too much.
“And the experiments, right?” Sam snapped. His eyes narrowed and he stepped towards the group, wings trembling. “What exactly do you three do here?”
“We’re…we’re no one,” the man stammered quickly.
Sam snorted. “I doubt that,” he nodded to the watches they all wore, “I recognise those. Pack quite a punch, when your prisoners are wearing shock collars, don’t they? Must be terrifying for you, having one of us free.”
The three of them exchanged glances, but wisely kept their mouths shut.
Scowling, Sam held out his hand. “Hand them over, all of you. Now!” he snapped when they hesitated.
Sam pocketed two of the watches, and then nodded to the woman. “You, unlock the door for me,” he held out the third watch.
The woman didn’t move, and growling Sam stepped forward and grabbed her by the wrist. She yelped and tried to pull away, but he didn’t budge. Shoving the watch into her trembling hands, he bared his teeth.
“Do it,” he growled.
Sobbing, the woman tapped a few buttons on the screen. Behind him, the steel doors groaned and started to open. Taking back the watch, Sam released the woman. She backed towards her comrades.
Sam started towards the double doors. “You might want to lock yourselves in that guard booth,” he called over his shoulder, “I’d say things are about to get ugly.”
Then he turned and darted through the gap that had appeared between the doors.
