Rebirth - Chapter 6
Cold. The thought filtered through the thick sludge of Chris’s mind, parting the darkness like a curtain...
★★★★★ "Astounding, outstanding and makes the maze runner series in comparison seem like elementary school games."
In 2051, the United States has fallen. The Western Allied States is the new power in North America, and ruthlessly eradicate any threat to the union. Traitors are executed without trial, their children seized for a secret program.
Runaway teenager Liz wants nothing more than a normal life, but the government’s hunters have other plans. Abducted off the streets, she’s spirited away to a facility deep in the Californian mountains. There, Liz wakes in a cage – and she’s not alone.
Beside her, eighteen-year-old Chris stands wrongfully accused of treason. The two are now volunteers in the Genome Project – an experimental program to enhance the human race. Stripped of their rights, they will soon learn the true depths of human cruelty. The two must work together to survive, but even then, their chances are slim. Of course, only the lucky get to die.
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Cold.
The thought filtered through the thick sludge of Chris’s mind, parting the darkness like a curtain. Then it was all around him, wrapping his body in an icy blanket, turning his breath to ragged gasps. A shiver caught him, rippling down his body, throwing off the last dredges of sleep.
Frozen air burned his nostrils as he inhaled, bringing with it the familiar tang of bleach. But there was more to the scent now, an underlying stench of rot and decay that made his stomach swirl. Opening his mouth, he tasted the metallic reek of blood and vomit on the air.
Sound quickly followed the return of his taste and smell. His ears tingled, catching the murmur of a breath, the creak of metal joints moving beneath restless bodies, the hiss of an air conditioner. From somewhere in the room came the rattle of chains, the familiar whine of the overhead lights.
I’m alive, the words whispered in Chris’s mind, though he couldn’t quite recall why that surprised him.
Keeping his eyes closed, Chris sucked in another breath, struggling to restore the shattered pieces of his consciousness. Dimly he remembered the fire burning up his spine, spreading to his chest, filling his lungs. But there was no pain now, only the dull ache of his muscles, as though they had lain unused for countless days.
How long? His brow creased.
How long had he lain there, unconscious, in the clutches of whatever drug the doctors had given him?
Sounds echoed from all around him, growing louder as he lay there, echoing as though from a wide expanse. Chains rattled as he moved his arms, and he felt the cold touch of steel restraining his wrists. Without opening his eyes, he realised he had been handcuffed to the bed.
Apparently they were still taking no chances with their patients.
Memories drifted through the darkness of his thoughts, rising as though from a fog. Images of the fight flashed by, the crack as Sam fell to a baton, the thud of Ashley hitting the floor. He had not seen what happened to Liz, not until the guards had overwhelmed him, and he’d found her curled up in the corner.
Helpless, he had watched as Liz was lifted onto the bed and injected. Her screams had been instant and horrifying, so deafening even the guards had retreated from her. Her agony tore at his soul, begged for him to save her from the monsters. But he had been powerless against the raw strength of the men on either side of him.
His heart beat harder as thoughts of the girl rose in his mind. A sense of urgency took him, and he shifted his arms, testing the movement allowed by the handcuffs. The links rattled as he ran a hand along the chain, and found where the handcuffs attached to a guard rail running horizontally along the side of his bed.
Other sounds came to him now: the beeping of a nearby machine, the whir of a pump, the hiss of air escaping tubes. Listening, he heard the steady beeps accelerating, matching the racing of his heart.
Somewhere in the room, a door banged. Chris froze, his fingers still clenched around the metal bar. The soft tread of footsteps moved through the room, followed by voices.
“Has the danger passed?” Halt’s voice came from Chris’s right.
“We think so.” He recognised Fallow, though her voice was strained, exhausted. “It was a close thing though. I told you it wasn’t ready.”
“Perhaps,” Halt replied. “But we expected losses. Despite our best efforts, some of the candidates were simply too weak to withstand the morphological alterations.”
“We lost forty percent!” Chris winced as Fallow’s voice cracked. He heard a long inhalation of breath, before she continued in a calmer voice. “I expected mortality to be less than fifteen. As it is, we barely have a viable population… If we’d had more time…”
“More time?” Halt laughed. “That is the cry of a coward, Fallow! More time, more money, always more something!” he took a breath. “As Archimedes once said: ‘Give me a lever and a place to stand, and I will move the earth.’ But we only have the time and resources the government has provided us with. And our time is up.”
“The government will not be satisfied with a forty percent mortality rate, Halt,” Fallow growled.
“No,” came the head doctor’s swift reply. “But if the survivors show promise, you will have won the time you need to find perfection, Fallow.”
Silence followed. Slowly their footsteps came closer. Listening to the beep of the machine beside him, Chris held his breath, struggling to slow his racing heart.
“And have we succeeded, Fallow?” Halt’s voice was eager.
It was a while before the woman replied. “The results are mixed. Tissue samples taken over the last few weeks have shown steady integration between the host chromosomes and the viral DNA. Candidates who received the PERV-B strain have advanced more rapidly than PERV-A, and now show complete integration. However, we are yet to determine whether the altered genomes are expressing correctly.”
“Excellent,” there was unmasked glee in Halt’s voice. “When do you expect them to be ready to test genome expression?”
“We’ve taken them off the immunosuppressants, and so far, they have shown no adverse reactions. We expect them to begin waking from their comas over the next few days. Once they’re conscious, we can begin testing their basic motor skills and cognitive function, to determine whether the virus had any degenerative effects…” Fallow trailed off as Halt snorted.
“We don’t have time to waste on your procedures, Fallow. We need results.”
“I don’t see how–” Fallow began.
“Don’t give me that, Fallow,” Halt snapped. “You know very well there is no need for those tests. As far as the directors are concerned, we have either succeeded or failed. There is only one test the candidates need to pass to show that.”
There was a long pause before Fallow replied. “Halt…” her voice was entreating now. “That’s simply not possible. They’ve been unconscious for weeks. The recovery time alone… They’re in no condition–”
“If the experiment succeeded, recovery time should not be an issue,” Halt’s voice sounded like he was just a few feet away. “Look, this one appears to be conscious.”
On the bed, a tingle raced up Chris’s spine. Silently he held his breath, fighting the instinct to leap from the bed and flee. His arms prickled as goose bumps spread along his skin.
“You’re right,” Fallow’s murmur seemed to come from directly overhead. “Her heartbeat has recovered to normal levels.
A girl’s cry tore the air, followed by the angry rattle of chains. Chris cracked his eye open a fraction, desperate to see what was happening. Pain shot through his skull as white light streamed between his eyelids, momentary blinding him. Then the light faded and the room clicked into sudden focus. Beyond the rails of his bed, rows of beds stretched out across a wide room, each occupied by an unconscious patient dressed in green scrubs. A tangle of tubes and wires wrapped around each body like a spider web spun around a fly. From the brief glimpse he caught, Chris guessed there were some thirty beds, though many were empty.
The girl Halt and Fallow were discussing was sitting up in the hospital bed directly across from Chris. Her back was turned to him, and she had both arms chained to the bed. Curly black hair tumbled down the back of her scrubs, and with a shiver of recognition, Chris realised it was Liz.
She’s alive!
Chris struggled to muffle his sharp intake of breath. Beside him, the beep of the machine started to race. Silently he clenched the sidebar of his bed until his palms hurt. Through the shadows of his eyelashes, he watched Halt move to stand over Liz.
“Incredible.” Halt was studying the machine beside Liz’s bed. Lines and numbers flashed across the screen, he guessed providing readings from the long tubes and wire that covered Liz. “Look at her vitals.”
Fallow stood in silence beside him, shadows ringing her eyes, her lips pursed tight.
Halt shook his head and looked at her. “I would say she is fully recovered, wouldn’t you, Doctor Fallow.”
Reluctantly Fallow nodded, a look of resignation coming over her face.
“Excellent, then I see no reason to delay. Get her ready.”
Blood pounded in Chris’s head as a sudden rage swept through him. He didn’t know what Halt had planned for Liz, what fresh horror he had in store, but he refused to lie quietly while she faced it alone. Whatever happened, they were still in this together. For all he knew, Sam and Ashley might already be gone, but Liz still lived. He would not lose her now.
“Leave her alone,” he growled, sitting up in the bed.
On the other bed, Liz turned towards him, her eyes widening with shock. Behind her, Fallow’s face seemed to crumple, while a grin spread slowly across Halt’s face. In that instant, Chris felt a pit open in his stomach; a sudden realisation he had made a terrible mistake.
Still, it was worth it to see the relief sweep across Liz’s face.
“Excellent.” Halt clapped his hands. “Bring him too. It may even the odds.”
Liz shivered as Fallow unlocked the cuffs around her wrists. Blinking, she stared at the woman’s face. Her features faded in and out of focus, and a bolt of nausea swept through her stomach. She wrapped a hand around the sidebar to steady herself and blinked again.
“Are you okay?” Liz flinched as a hand touched her shoulder.
“Don’t!” she growled, leaning back.
Closing her eyes, Liz willed her stomach to settle, then opened them again. To her relief, the features of Fallow’s face finally snapped into place. She blinked again, surprised to see the dark rings beneath the woman’s eyes, the patchwork of tiny cracks across the skin of her cheeks, the thin red capillaries threading her eyes. Her head swam; she had never noticed such detail in someone’s face before.
“I’m sorry.” Liz’s ears twitched at the sound, before a harsh shriek cut through the words.
She recoiled and slapped her hands over her ears. Distantly she heard the doctor’s voice over the ringing. A hand reached for her, but she twisted, falling sideways on the bed. Fallow paused, staring down at her, and then retreated a step.
Slowly the ringing died away, and Liz finally removed her hands from her ears.
“I’m sorry,” Fallow’s voice was a whisper now, but she heard it with perfect clarity, “How do you feel?”
Grating her teeth, Liz shook her head and looked across at Chris. As their eyes met her heart gave a lurch, and she felt again the relief that had swept through her when he’d sat up.
He’s alive!
Despite the apparent odds against them, somehow the two of them had survived whatever demented experiment the doctors had performed on them. Beside her, Fallow had busied herself removing the various tubes and wires that had been hooked up to the machine. Swallowing the surge of hate clogging her throat, Liz faced her.
“Why are you doing this?” Liz could not keep the resignation from her voice.
Fallow sighed, her eyes closing a moment before she looked at Liz. “You’ll find out soon enough, Elizabeth.”
Liz stared at the grief shining from Fallow’s eyes. Despite herself, Liz felt pity for the woman. Even so, the doctor’s words triggered a sense of foreboding within her, and she pressed on, desperate to exploit the woman’s weakness.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “Halt’s gone. You could let us go, unlock these collars.”
A faint smile twitched at Fallow’s lips. “A tempting proposition,” she shook her head. “They’d kill you both before you even reached the front door. Then they would come for me.” Her amber eyes locked on Liz. She stared back in silent appeal. But Fallow only smiled and continued on with false humour. “Besides, you are the culmination of my life’s work.”
“What about our lives?” Chris’s snarl came from behind Liz. “What right–”
He broke off as Fallow raised a hand. She shook her head again, her smile fading. “You know the law, Christopher. Your mother was found guilty of treason. In due time, she will answer for those crimes. As her son, you would have faced the same fate.”
Even to Liz, Fallow’s words sounded hollow, spoken like they left a bad taste in her mouth. Even so, after that the woman ignored their pleas. Moving across to Chris, she removed the cuffs and wires. Within a few minutes she had them on their feet and staggering around the room like senior citizens.
Liz’s legs trembled with each step, refusing to obey the simplest instructions. A dull ache was quickly spreading up her hamstrings, and several times she had to grab at neighbouring beds to steady herself. Chris was no better; managing to knock over a series of machines within two steps of leaving his bed, after which he promptly crashed to the linoleum floor.
From the corner of her eyes, Liz caught movement from several of the beds, but the doctor was too preoccupied with Chris to notice. Steadying herself, she took a moment to search the room for Ashley and Sam. But as the fluorescent light caught in her eyes she found their focus shifting again, and the room began to blur. By the time her vision cleared, Fallow was already shepherding them towards the doorway.
Outside, Liz’s legs finally began to obey, though they remained stiff and sore. Chris was steadily improving too, but he still needed her shoulder to keep moving down the narrow corridor. Two guards stood on either side of the door to the room, but they made no move to follow them. Fallow kept pace several feet behind them though, no doubt ready to use the collars should they place a foot out of line.
Step by faltering step, they made their way through the facility, obeying Fallow’s direction whenever they came to an intersection of corridors. After a few turns, Chris could walk unaided, though it was a while before he managed more than a slow stumble. Fortunately for him, the doctor did not seem to be in any hurry.
But despite their slow pace, the journey could not last forever, and far too little time had passed before they found themselves outside a familiar white door. Liz shivered as she recognised it, memories of her fight with Joshua spiralling through her mind.
She turned as Fallow spoke from behind them. “Go in.”
Wordlessly, Liz shook her head. Dread wrapped around her stomach as she reached out and took Chris’s hand. Together they faced the doctor, standing straight now, the strength slowly returning to their limbs.
“We won’t,” Liz drew herself up and stepped towards Fallow. “I won’t.”
Fallow retreated a step. She lifted her arm, the watch on her wrist flashing in warning. “Won’t what?” Fallow asked.
“I won’t fight her.” Chris coughed, stepping up beside Liz. “I’d rather die.”
Fallow’s shoulders slumped and she gave a little shake of her head. “That’s not… no,” she gestured with a hand. “Just go.”
Liz and Chris shared a glance, still hesitating. Despite Fallow’s strange reassurance, fear gnawed at Liz’s stomach; a dread she could not shake. The last time she had entered this room, an innocent boy had lost his life. And she had almost lost her own. Her hand drifted to her throat, but there was no pain now, only the cold reminder of the collar nestled beneath her chin.
How long were we asleep?
“Don’t make me use the collars.” Fallow lifted her finger to her watch.
They went.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Liz found herself standing again in the padded room, blinking in the brilliant light. An awful smell wafted through the air, a sickly sweet that caught in her throat. As her vision cleared, and the room came into focus, she realised with a sharp breath they were not alone.
A boy stood in the centre of the room. He wore the same plain orange jumpsuit they had sported in the cells, though she had never seen him there. His head was bowed, and his breath came in ragged gasps, his shoulders trembling with each violent exhalation. He held his hands clenched at his side, and though his eyes were open, he did not seem to have noticed them. Black hair dangled in front of his face, obscuring the rest of his features.
Liz edged towards him, her heart beating hard in her chest. Behind her, Chris gasped, and she felt his hand on her shoulder. But she twisted free, her panic rising. Gripped by a desperate need to see, to know for sure, she slid closer.
Leaning down, she peered into the boy’s eyes.
Hard grey eyes stared back, their surface glazed with sleep, unseeing.
But as she stared, they blinked, the life behind them stirring.
And Liz screamed.
Chris recognised it the instant they stepped into the room. Though outwardly it looked no different than any other boy, a strangeness hung about his hunched figure. The stench of him was strong in the room, a sickly sweetness that clung to the air.
He didn’t need to see the grey eyes to know what it was.
Chead.
He had tried to stop Liz as she stepped towards it, but she only shook herself free and crept closer. Clenching his fists, he tested his strength, feeling it quickly returning. Silently, he watched as Liz bent to peer into the boy’s face.
Then she was staggering backwards, her screams reverberating around the room. The Chead’s features contorted, the ripple of awakening sweeping across its face, and then Chris was retreating too, fumbling at the door, shouting for help, knowing it would not come.
Beside him, Liz screamed again and staggered sideways. His hand flashed out, catching her by her scrubs, dragging her back to him as she began to thrash. Her panic swept over him, waking him from his stupor, and he shoved her behind him.
When he looked up, he caught the iron-grey eyes of the Chead staring at him. A smile spread across its face, and sent pure terror screaming through every fibre of his being. Another shriek came from behind him as Liz pounded on the padded door.
Taking a breath, Chris took a step towards the Chead, an eerie calm coming over him. He placed himself squarely between Liz and the creature, ignoring the urge to turn and shake her, to pull the girl back from the depths of her terror. But her words were still fresh in his mind, and he heard again the agony in her voice as she told him of her parents’ death.
He could not blame her for panicking.
Staring into the eyes of the Chead¸ Chris searched for a sign of life, for a hint of the human it had once been.
In the centre of the room, the Chead raised an eyebrow. “Welcome,” the word sounded strange, almost metallic, as though speech did not come easily to it.
For a second all Chris could do was stand and gape. He blinked, moving his mouth, struggling to find the words. “Wha– what?” he finally managed.
Grey eyes flickered from Chris to Liz. Then with deliberate slowness, the Chead turned and began to pace. It walked towards the mirror first, pausing as the boy’s image rose up before it, a snarl twisting its lips. Then is spun, moving back past Chris and Liz until it reached the far wall, where it turned to make another pass. Metal shone around its neck, and for the first time Chris realised it wore a collar around its neck.
“What. Am. I?” The creature ground out the words. It paused and looked straight at Chris. “You already know that…”
Chris did not reply. His mind was still reeling, struggling to comprehend one irresolvable fact: it spoke. The Chead could speak – not just that, it could understand him. No newspaper, no television channel had ever mentioned a Chead speaking, never mind being self-aware. As far as the public were concerned, the Chead were monsters – uncontrollable, terrible, killing machines.
They did not think.
They did not speak.
“How?” Chris croaked.
By the door, he could sense Liz slowly regaining her composure. The thuds on the door had ceased, her screams dying to soft gasps. Movement came from beside him and on trembling legs Liz re-joined him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched a shiver run through her and reached out an arm. Their hands touched, their fingers entwining. He gave her hand a quick squeeze and turned back to the Chead.
It had stopped its pacing and stood again in the centre of the room, its grey eyes watching them. Its nostrils flared as it inhaled.
“You… smell different,” it grated, then. “How do I speak?” it finished Chris’s question.
Chris nodded his confirmation.
A smile spread across the Chead’s face. “I learnt,” it nodded, its head leaning to the side. “I remembered…”
A tremor ran through Liz’s hand, but when he looked at the girl her eyes remained fixed straight ahead, her lips pressed tight together.
The Chead’s head twisted strangely again, as though in curiosity. “You are different,” it said again, its smile spreading, though there was no humour in the grey eyes. “Like me.”
Chris’s stomach clenched at its words.
What does it mean?
“What did you mean, you remembered?” Liz interrupted his thoughts.
The Chead’s eyes flickered in her direction. “I remembered. Who I was… Before…” the boy shrugged.
Liz’s fingers tightened around Chris’s hand. He waited for her to speak, but she had fallen silent again.
“What do you mean? That we’re like you?” Chris croaked.
An awful laughter crackled up from the thing’s throat. “They succeeded, these jailers of ours,” the boy’s face twisted horribly, until it seemed some demon now possessed the boy. Speech seemed to come easier to it now. “But I wonder, is it enough?”
It stepped towards them then, the grin fading.
As one, Chris and Liz retreated across the padded floor, until their backs pressed against the door.
Chris raised his hands in surrender. “Please, wait, you don’t have to do this.”
The Chead paused, the hard glint in its eyes wavering. Then it shook its head. “But I do. It is my nature, isn’t it?” It took another step, its eyes flickering to the one-way glass. “Besides, it’s what they want.”
Snarling, the Chead leapt towards them.
Without pausing to think, Chris pushed Liz away from him and stepped up to meet the creature’s charge. From the corner of his eye he saw Liz stagger sideways, then the Chead was on him, its fist flashing for his chest. Acting on instinct, he threw up an arm, and the blow glanced from his forearm.
Chris gasped as pain jolted through his arm. Then the weight of the creature crashed into him, flinging him back into the wall. Before he could recover, the Chead had him by the shoulders. His stomach twisted as the long arms lifted him. Panic took him, and he kicked out with a foot, sending a desperate blow into the boy’s head.
To his surprise, the Chead reeled back from the blow. A savage growl came from its throat as it tossed him aside. Chris bent his head and braced as the ground raced towards him. With a thud he struck, then he was rolling forward, spinning to come to his feet in one fluid movement. Straightening, he turned to face the Chead.
The creature stared back, the grey eyes watching him like a predator stalking its prey. Slowly it lifted an arm and wiped a trickle of blood from its lip.
His gaze flickered as he caught sight of Liz. She moved to join him, eyes flashing. “Don’t do that again,” she growled.
Nodding, Chris turned his attention back to the Chead. It seemed hesitant now. Chris was glad for its caution. On the television, he had watched Chead tear policemen apart, seen throats torn out and skulls shattered by a single blow. Tasers did little to slow them, and bullets only seemed to anger them unless they struck something vital.
Unarmed and trapped in the tiny room, Chris did not like their odds.
Yet somehow his blow had rattled it.
Pushing down his fear, Chris edged away from Liz. Whatever their chances, they had to try. Between them, they at least outnumbered the Chead two to one. They had to make the most of that advantage.
The Chead snarled as he moved, its head turning to follow him. From the corner of his eyes, Chris watched Liz slide sideways in the opposite direction. The Chead ignored her though, clearly seeing Chris as the greater threat.
Chris just hoped Liz had the strength to prove it wrong.
The Chead’s grin returned as Chris came to a stop. A low rumble quivered in its chest. It stepped towards him, legs tensing to spring. In reply, Chris raised his fists. He slid one leg back and twisted sideways, placing himself in a defensive stance. Flashing a smile he did not feel, he gestured the creature forward.
His impudence ignited a flash of anger in the Chead’s eyes. Adrenaline pounded in Chris’s veins as it stepped in close, washing away his fear. He reacted without thought, years of training taking over. One hand swept up to deflect the blow sweeping for his face. His arm shook as the force of the blow sent him reeling, but stepping back he kept his balance, his eyes already watching for the next attack.
Another fist flashed towards him and he ducked. As he moved, his surprise grew. He had seen a blow from a Chead shatter a man’s arm with a single blow. By all rights, his arm should have been crushed. Yet somehow he was holding his own.
The Chead had realised this too, and snarling it hurled itself at Chris with renewed fury. A fist flashed beneath his guard and smashed into his stomach. The breath hissed between Chris’s teeth as his lungs emptied. He squeezed a half-choked groan from his chest as the Chead stepped in close.
Then with a shriek, Liz leapt into the fray. Bent in two and gasping, Chris caught a glimpse of her tangled hair and flashing blue eyes as she drove her foot down into the back of the Chead’s knee.
Screaming, it collapsed beneath the blow.
The second Liz saw the stony grey eyes of the Chead, the memories had come flooding back. For a second she had found herself back in her parent’s house, in the home she had been raised in. Once it had been a safe place, a sanctuary amidst the harsh world outside.
Now though, in her memories a perpetual shadow hung over its wooden hallways, sucking out the light, the life it had once born.
In her mind, she saw again the rubble-strewn corridor, the broken floor boards and pooling blood. She saw herself turn the corner, saw the body lying in the corridor, strangely whole, where those outside had lain in pieces.
And her mother, standing over the body, her grey eyes staring.
With a scream, Liz tore herself from the memory, returning herself to the present, to the room and Chris.
And the Chead.
Still reeling, caught in the clutches of remembered horror, she had barely heard the conversation between Chris and the Chead, the revelations it offered. She already knew the truth, that some semblance of their former lives clung to the creatures.
Why else had she been spared?
She had only truly woken when Chris pushed her from the path of Chead’s charge. Angry flames had lit her stomach, waking her from the fear, restoring her to life.
Now as she edged sideways around the Chead, she let that anger grow, fed it with every injustice she had ever suffered. It was her only weapon now, her only strength against the sheer ferocity of the creature standing between them. Opposite her, Chris faced the creature, drawing it away, until its back was turned to her. But before she could strike, the Chead leapt for Chris.
Fear chilled her stomach as blows crashed against flesh. But to her surprise, Chris did not go down. Edging closer, she saw him deflect another blow, his arms moving faster than thought, the crack of fists connecting with bone ringing from the walls.
Liz stared, mouth wide with disbelief. What she was watching was not possible. Chris was keeping pace with the violent speed of the Chead, matching it blow for blow, punch for punch. Her eyes could barely keep up with their frenzied movements. The air itself seemed to shake with the strength of each blow, and still Chris stood, holding his own.
What have they done to us?
Her skin tingled as the question whispered in her mind. But there was no time to contemplate the thought, no time to consider its implications. Instead, she gathered herself and slid closer, searching for an opening.
Then a blow slid beneath Chris’s guard. It slammed into his stomach and drove him to his knees. The colour fled his face as the Chead stepped in, raising a fist to deliver the final blow.
Seeing her chance, Liz sprang forward and drove the heel of her foot into the back of the Chead’s knee. Idly she hoped whatever changes had been wrought on the Chead had not removed the cluster of nerve endings located behind the kneecap.
The bloodcurdling shriek that issued from the boy’s throat answered her question. The Chead’s legs crumbled beneath the force of the blow, sending it crashing to the ground. Clenching her teeth, Liz stepped up behind it as Chris rolled away.
She swung a kick at its head. But the Chead was already recovering, and quick as a cobra it twisted. Hands flashed out and caught her by the leg. Before she could free herself, it stood, grey eyes glittering. A low growl came from its throat as it lifted her. Gasping, she fought to break its hold, but its hands were like iron. Knowing it was useless, Liz lashed out with a fist, and caught it on the cheek.
A shock ran up her arm as the blow connected. The fingers around her leg loosened, and suddenly she was falling. Twisting, she landed awkwardly and looked up to see the Chead stumbling backwards, one hand raised to its cheek. With a growl, it straightened, and the grey eyes swept down to find her on the floor.
Liz felt her courage crumble as her eyes caught in its iron gaze. All semblance of its humanity had fled, melting in the red-hot flames of its rage. Hardly daring to breathe, she backed towards Chris, all thoughts of strategy falling away.
Snarling, it stepped after her.
“Now you’ve done it,” Chris panted, his hand reaching for hers.
She clenched her hand around his, drawing strength from his presence, and then released him. Together they watched the Chead approach.
With a roar, it leapt.
Chris sprang forward, screaming his defiance. Stepping in front of Liz, he deflected the first swing of the creature’s fist. But this time the force of the blow sent him reeling, and Liz had to step aside to avoid him. Then the Chead was on them, fists flying, lips drawn back in a snarl, its half-mad screams echoing from the mirrored glass.
A fist caught Liz in the cheek, staggering her, then the Chead’s shoulder crashed into her chest. The breath rushed from her lungs as she hurtled backwards into the wall. Her head whipped back and struck the padding. Despite the soft surface, her vision spun from the blow. With a groan, she slid down the wall, struggling to catch her winded breath.
Across the room, Chris fought on. But he was no longer a match for the Chead’s strength. And it was faster now, its speed and ferocity far beyond human capabilities. With contempt it knocked aside his blows. A fist crashed into his face, sending him stumbling backwards, but he refused to yield. Straightening, he launched himself back into the fray.
Desperate to aid him, Liz struggled back to her feet.
A shout drew her attention back to the fight. The Chead had caught Chris’s fist in one hand. As she watched Chris screamed again, though this time neither of them had moved. An awful crack came from Chris’s fist as he sank to his knees. The colour fled his face and he gave an awful groan. One handed, he struggled to regain his feet, until the Chead’s free hand smashed into the side of his head. Chris slumped to the side then, his breathing ragged, one hand still caught in the creature’s grip.
Silently, Liz pulled herself up. The Chead’s back was turned to her, its attention focused on tearing Chris limb from limb. She flinched as another blow thudded into Chris’s head. This time he made no effort to avoid the blow. A low gurgle came from his throat as the Chead lifted its arm, dragging him back to his feet.
Liz moved quickly, knowing she only had seconds to act. The soft floor made no noise beneath her bare feet. Without pausing to think, Liz hurled herself at the creature’s back. This time she aimed high, sweeping her forearm over its shoulder. Before it could react, she pulled her arm tight against its throat and leaned back. Her feet caught the ground, giving her purchase, and she pulled harder, bending it backwards, dragging it off balance.
The Chead gave a strangled cry. Releasing Chris, it turned its attention on Liz. Knowing she could not match its strength or weight, Liz allowed herself to fall backwards, taking the Chead with her. The thud as its weight landed on her drove the breath from her lungs, but still she held on, forearm tight across its throat.
Sensing its plight, the Chead thrashed against her. Its legs kicked out, catching Liz in the shins. Pain lanced from her leg as something went crack, but no force on earth would make her let go now.
Not even death.
Long seconds passed, and the creature’s struggles weakened. Its legs no longer beat against the floor, and its relentless strength no longer pressed against her as hard.
Movement came from beyond the Chead. Chris staggered to his feet, his face already turning purple, one eye so swollen she could barely see his hazel eye. Even so, he stumbled forward and fell to his knees beside her. He raised a fist and drove it into the Chead’s face.
Liz felt the power of Chris’s blow through the Chead. Its body went limp in her arms, but still she held on, wanting to be sure.
Finally satisfied, she loosened her grip, and with Chris’s help, heaved the dead weight from her chest.
Then she was embracing Chris, pulling him to her, clinging desperately at his back. An awful sob built in her chest and escaped in a rush. Chris’s arms tightened around her, and then he was sobbing too, his hot wet tears falling on her shoulder.
They clung to each other in silence, and let the horror wash over them.
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