Mutation (Twenty-Five Percent Book 1) (11 page)

Shots rang out and several eaters dropped to the ground, thinning the press around him.  But the man still clutched his jacket.  Without any other choice, Alex pulled the knife from his belt and plunged it into the man’s ear.  Its grip loosened as it fell, tripping up a couple of eaters behind it.

Alex ran.  He dodged an eater in front of the steps, bounded up the stairs and pulled the door open.  He slammed it behind him and turned the key.  Thuds rained on the outside of the door again.

He ran through to the kitchen, dropped the knife into the sink and turned on the hot water.   After ripping off his bandages, he grabbed the bottle of washing up liquid and squeezed a large puddle into his palm, scrubbing and rinsing repeatedly, ignoring the pain in his cut skin. 

Rapid footsteps descended the stairs.

“What happened?” Micah said as he ran into the kitchen.

“Check the cupboards for bleach,” Alex said, still washing his hands as he shuffled his feet to one side so he wasn’t blocking the doors beneath the sink.

Micah pulled the doors open and leaned down to look, eventually straightening with a yellow bottle in his hand.

Alex rinsed again and held his hands out over the sink.  “Pour it on.”

Micah looked at his hands, which had started to bleed again.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes.  Do it.”

Micah upended the bottle, pouring bleach all over Alex’s hands.  Alex clamped his mouth shut and whimpered as his wounds erupted in agony.  Gritting his teeth, he worked the liquid into his palms then rinsed thoroughly.

“Again,” he ground out.

“What happened?” Micah said again as they repeated the process.

“When I stabbed that eater, I may have got blood on my hand, I’m not sure.”

“But I thought you were immune.”

“I was, to the original virus.  Now, I don’t know.” 

He rinsed his hands again, leaving them under the water for several minutes before finally stopping.  Micah handed him a tea towel and he dried himself off.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Alex said.  “I don’t think any blood got on me from the ones you shot, but just in case.”  He started towards the door, then stopped and looked back.  “Thanks, by the way, for helping.”

Micah nodded and Alex turned back and headed for the stairs, praying that when he came down again, he’d still be human.

The smell of cooking food enveloped Alex as he walked, all faculties still intact, back downstairs. 

He realised he hadn’t eaten since breakfast when his mouth started watering. In the kitchen, Micah handed him a steaming mug of coffee. 

Alex almost cried.

“Thank you,” he said, sitting on one of the chairs around the table in the centre of the room and taking a sip. 

Micah sat on the opposite side of the table with his own mug. Alex could hear the oven fan running and a saucepan was bubbling on the hob.

“What’s for dinner?” he said.

“Sausages and mash,” Micah replied.  “I assumed we’d be staying for the night.”

Alex nodded and took another mouthful of hot coffee.  It burned his tongue before sliding down his throat, warming his insides.

“So what happened out there?” Micah said.  “It looked like they were accepting you as one of their own.”

Alex decided to let that slide.  “At first, they didn’t seem interested.  But then one of them got really close and things went downhill.  Best guess, I smell similar enough from a distance to get by, but closer than a couple of feet and I’m in trouble.”

“So disguising my smell could work?”

“Maybe, as long as none of them get too close.”

“Right.”  Micah was silent for a few seconds.  “I’m not sure whether to be pleased about that or not.”

After eating, and more coffee because Alex felt he had some catching up to do, they tried the TV in the living room.  Every channel was static. 

“If this is just happening in the city, how can they be blocking the satellite signal?” Micah said.

Alex didn’t give an answer because he didn’t have one.  It was the same with the radio, internet and phone.  Nothing at all.  It was as if the entire outside world had vanished.  But he knew it couldn’t have, if only because they still had electricity, gas and running water. 

Eventually, they gave up and went upstairs.  It was only 9pm, but neither of them had had as much sleep the night before as they needed.  Micah volunteered to keep the first watch and settled down with a book in a chair next to the window in the front bedroom, rifle in hand.  Alex chose a bedroom at the back of the house with a lock on the door.

Fully dressed, bag of weapons at his back and a pistol beneath his pillow, he went to sleep.

. . .

For the first few seconds after waking, with his eyes still closed, Alex thought he was sleeping in his own bed on any normal night.

Then he remembered. 

For a moment the sadness was almost overwhelming, before he was able to push it away.  When this was all over, then he would grieve for his friends.  For now, he needed to survive.   

His watch said 02:47 so he rolled out off the bed, used the en-suite bathroom, and walked through to the front bedroom.

Micah was right where he’d left him hours earlier.  He looked up from his book as Alex walked in.    

“How is it out there?” Alex said.

“There’s more eaters.  They’re not doing much, but there are definitely more of them.”

Alex walked to the window and sat on a chair across from Micah, looking out at the road.  The streetlights would be off until six in the morning, as part of the city’s drive to go more green and save money.  Shadowy figures, visible only by the light of the moon, moved in the darkness.  Alex watched their faces, devoid of emotion, staring unseeing at the ground as they shuffled around their little patches of asphalt.  Everything that had made them human lost to the disease that coursed through their bodies and ravaged their minds.

He shuddered and looked away.  Most of the time, he managed to not think about what he’d been, but sometimes seeing eaters hit too close to home.

“A couple of hours ago a man came out of his house over there and tried to get to his car.”  Micah pointed to a semi-detached house across the road.  “He got back inside once he realised he wasn’t going to make it, but barely.  He really should turn his lights off.”

More or less every light was on, eaters clustered around the house like moths around a porch lamp.

“I hope his doors are strong,” Alex said. 

He sat for a while, watching the clouds drifting across the three-quarters full moon.  Did eaters sleep?  He didn’t think they did.  He had a vague memory of hearing once that without any higher brain function, they didn’t need to.

“Do you have anyone in the city?” he said after a while.  “Family, friends, girlfriend?”

Micah shook his head.  “Not really.  My mum and dad and my sister don’t live here.  My friends can look after themselves.  And my girlfriend,” he paused and shook his head again, snorting quietly, “my girlfriend of six months broke up with me a month ago.”

“Do you want to check on her?” Alex said.

Micah stretched his back, shifting in his chair.  “No. I’m sure her new boyfriend, who she’s been seeing for
two
months, can take care of her.”

“Oh.”  Alex felt awkward.  “I’m sorry.”

Micah raised his eyebrows.  “Really?”

Alex stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, thinking.  “In a guy solidarity kind of way, yes.”

Micah smiled slightly and looked back out the window.  “What about you?”

“My parents and my brother and his family don’t live here.”  He thought about his family, his six year old niece’s cute, smiling face coming to mind.  “I hope this really is only happening here.”

“Yeah,” Micah said quietly.

“My friends are all either Survivors or worked at the station...”  Stopping before he thought too much about those he’d lost, he shifted his thoughts to Cutter, wondering if he had got to his daughters.  Hopefully they at least were safe.  “And as for girlfriends, well, let’s just say my social life has taken a severe downturn since I was infected.” 

They were quiet for a while.  Alex stared out at the darkened road, lost in thought.  Nothing about the situation was normal, the outbreak, the fact that he was spending the night hiding in a stranger’s house just a couple of miles from his home, the apparent disintegration of life around him.  But the oddest thing was that he had, to all intents and purposes, temporarily joined forces with an anti-Survivor.  People like Micah had plagued his entire police career, from both the uninfected and Survivor side of things, but this was the first time he’d ever spent any amount of time with one.

“Why do you hate us?”

Micah, evidently deep in his own thoughts, started.  “What?”

“Why do you hate Survivors?”

He frowned, shifting on his chair.  “Hate is a strong word.”

“You led a mob into East Town to get us out.  Before I let you out of the cell back at the station you could barely stand to be in the same room as me.  Hate may be a strong word, but I don’t think it’s wrong.”

“Whi... Survivors are dangerous.”

“So are normals.”

Micah shook his head.  “But when Survivors get violent, normal people can’t fight back.” 

Alex got the feeling there was more to it than that. “Is that why you can fight?  So you can beat someone like me?”

“I’ve been studying mixed martial arts for eight years now.  I just need to know I can defend myself from someone stronger than me, if I have to.” 

“So that’s how you embarrassed me last night.” 

Micah gave a small smile.  “I would have beaten you too, if you hadn’t had hand to hand training.  I didn’t know you were a cop.”  He stood, stretched, and headed for the door.  “I’m going to get some sleep, before the sun comes up.”

“Micah?”

He looked back at Alex.

“Not all Survivors are bad and not all normals are good.  We’re all just people.”

Micah held his gaze for a few moments before turning away and leaving the room.  Alex returned to watching the eaters outside and wondering if they were the only danger he needed to worry about.

Something jolted Alex out of his snooze. 

Squinting against the early morning light, he looked out the window to the street below.  The eaters continued their endless, lethargic shuffle.  Nothing had changed. 

Still trying to work out what had woken him, he started at the sound of shattering glass.  He scrambled to his feet a little unsteadily and ran to the door, drawing his pistol.  Micah was emerging from the bedroom at the back.

“What was that?” he said, blinking groggily.

Voices drifted from the floor below.  Alex crept to the stairs, stopping when he felt Micah’s hand on his arm.

“I’ll go first,” he whispered, “in case they see your eyes and don’t bother asking questions first.”

Somewhat surprised at the offer, he stepped back to let Micah past.  The voices became louder as they descended the stairs.

“Give it a rest.  How was I supposed to know about those big metal things?  How could I possibly have known that?”

“I’m just saying, we should have stayed where we were instead of going traipsing around the city all night.  If you’d listened to me...”

“If I’d listened to you, we would have helped that woman and we’d be dead now.”

“Shut up, both of you.  I have got a splitting headache and you’re not helping...”

Four different voices were distinguishable as Alex listened to the bickering home invaders.  Four potential friends or enemies.  Being a Survivor, he suspected it would be the latter.  He tightened his grip on his gun and checked the kitchen knife he’d commandeered was secure in his belt.

Micah reached the foot of the stairs and disappeared from view.

The voices stopped abruptly and Alex heard Micah speak.

“What do you want?”

“Oh.  Sorry, man, we didn’t know anyone was in here,” one of the voices said.

“Well if you’d knocked, we could have done this like civilised people,” Micah said.

Alex stayed out of sight on the stairs, reluctant to exacerbate the situation.  If they were very lucky, the men would just leave.

“The thing is,” the man said, “we’ve been on the move all night and we need somewhere to hide for a while, and this place is pretty ideal.  You don’t need all this room for just you.”

“There are plenty of houses around here.  Find an empty one.”

Another voice spoke.  “We like this one.  And we’re not going back out there.”

“It’s not a negotiation.  This one’s taken.”

“There’s only one of you and four of us.  I don’t think you have much of a say.”

It didn’t sound like they were going to leave.  Alex started down the stairs again.

Micah was standing in the hallway, facing away from Alex.  Four men of varying ages were clustered by the door to the kitchen, each of them carrying weapons of some kind, knives, bats, a poker.  Beyond them, Alex could see the back door standing open.  They had left the keys in the back and front doors in case they had to get out in a hurry.  It was a decision he was coming to regret. 

One of the intruders spotted him.  “It’s one of them!  He’s got one of them in here!”

Micah immediately pulled his gun from his waistband at the same time as Alex raised his.

“We don’t need to do this,” Alex said.  “Just leave and you won’t get hurt.”

“What on earth...?!” the man who had spoken first said, his eyes wide.  “It can talk.”

“He’s a white-eye, you idiot,” another man said.

“All of us are in enough danger as it is,” Alex said, trying what he knew would be a futile attempt to make them see sense.  “We don’t need to be attacking each other too.”

“You’re not in danger,” the second man said, “you’re one of them.  Why don’t you get out there with your own kind?”  He stepped forward, raising the knife he was carrying.  The others followed his lead.

Micah lifted his gun.  “Stay back.”

“What are you doing with him?” the man said, jabbing his knife in Alex’s direction.  “Why don’t you join us?  You’ll be a lot safer than you are with this freak.”

Micah threw a quick glance back at Alex.  He suddenly felt very alone.  Micah hated him, why would he take his side against these idiots? 

Surrounded by people who either wanted to eat him or simply kill him for the colour of his eyes.  Annoying as Micah was, Alex had begun to feel a little like he wasn’t in this by himself.  Now he just felt stupid. He wanted to go home.  At least he knew the people there didn’t want to kill him.

Taking a step back, he tried to calculate how much time he would have to get back up the stairs, grab the weapons and the sword, and lock himself in the bedroom.  He wasn’t sure he’d have long enough.  Maybe he’d be better to stay and fight them down here.  All five of them. 

He was really beginning to wish he hadn’t given the pistol to Micah.

Micah lowered his gun and shrugged.  “You’re right,” he said.  “I was only hanging around with the white-eye to get me out of what’s going on out there.  You guys look like you can take care of yourselves.  I’m in.”  He passed the gun to his left hand and held out his right.  “Micah Clarke.”

Alex took another step towards the stairs.

The man who seemed to do most of the talking looked down at Micah’s hand for a moment before grinning.  “James Rowe.”  He reached out to take his hand.

Micah grabbed his wrist and spun him around, jamming his heel into the back of his knee and sending him sprawling through the archway into the living room.  He landed on his side with a grunt.  The knife Rowe had been holding clattered across the wooden floor towards Alex.  Rowe grabbed a second knife from his belt, but Micah was too quick, stamping on his wrist and forcing him to let it go.

Feeling more than a little confused, Alex immediately raised his pistol again, aiming it at the other three men.  “Drop your weapons,” he barked.

They were looking between Alex, Rowe and Micah, appearing uncertain as to what to do.

“Drop your weapons or I will drop you,” Alex said again, hoping he sounded convincing. 

“Don’t do it,” Rowe growled, trying to push himself up with Micah’s foot still pinning his wrist to the floor.  “If those guns were real, they’d have used them already.”

Micah aimed at his head and pulled the trigger.  The bang echoed around the enclosed space as the bullet sent up a shower of splinters a couple of inches from Rowe’s nose.

Thuds and moans sounded from outside the front door.

“Real enough for you?” Micah growled.

Rowe’s lackeys looked on the verge of panic.  Alex held his gun higher, wishing he had a safety to flick off dramatically.  One of them dropped the poker he’d been holding, throwing both hands into the air. 

“Preston!” one of the others exclaimed.

“Preston was the smart one,” Alex said.  “Now he’ll get to live.”  He widened his eyes, giving the full effect of his pupils in seas of white.  “You two I’m going to shoot in the kneecaps.  Then I’m going to throw you out there and let the eaters finish the job.” 

He raised his voice at the end which had the desired effect of getting the eaters outside the door even more riled up.  Knives clattered to the floor as the remaining two men came to their senses.

“I understand him,” Rowe said, “but you, Clarke, I don’t get.  Why would you save a white-eye?”

Micah glanced at Alex.  “Because not all normals are good and not all Survivors are bad.”

Strangely, considering the circumstances, Alex found himself wanting to smile.  Instead, he waved his pistol at the men.  “All of you, face down on the ground.”

Preston and the other two men still standing began to lower to the floor.  Micah stepped back to give them room next to Rowe. 

Suddenly, Rowe made a grab at Micah’s leg, catching hold of his ankle.  With a yelp, Micah fell. 

Before he could move, Rowe had grabbed the knife from Micah’s belt and raised it.  As it came down, Alex fired.  Rowe screamed and dropped the knife, clutching at his bicep where blood was now staining his shirt.  Micah flipped over and kicked Rowe in the face.

The other three men had straightened and Preston took the opportunity to grab his poker and run for the back door.  As Alex whirled to face them, one of them grabbed for his gun.  He jerked his hand back, instinctively stepping away, and stumbled over Rowe’s legs, grabbing the edge of the fireplace to stop from falling.

Micah brought his gun up and the two men still on their feet apparently thought it was time to cut their losses, following Preston out the door. 

Rowe groaned and rolled onto his back.

Micah got to his feet and aimed the gun down at him.  “What is...” he began.

Screaming interrupted him. 

A few seconds later, Alex heard moans from the back of the house and one of the men ran back into the room.  The man bolted up the stairs.  A moment later, eaters poured into the hallway from the kitchen. 

Alex raced for the stairs.  Hearing Rowe screaming, he glanced back to see him being swarmed by eaters.  Micah stopped at the foot of the stairs and raised his gun.  A gap opened in the writhing mass to reveal Rowe, his face a mask of agony, covered in his own blood. 

Micah fired once.  The screaming stopped.

“
Go!
” Micah yelled.

Alex turned and ran.  He was almost to the top when he heard a grunt and a thud.  Looking back, he saw Micah on his belly halfway up, an eater holding onto his ankle through the balustrades.  Stumbling up the stairs behind him, another eater fell onto his legs and opened its mouth.  Micah struggled to free his leg from the grip of the first eater, but it held on tight.  The eater on top of him bit down, its teeth closing onto his jeans.  The fabric held. 

Micah kicked back, connecting with the thing’s shoulder, but it held on. 

Alex ran back down towards them.  The eater slid down a couple of steps, dragging Micah with it.  The leg of his jeans pushed up.  The eater opened its mouth again.

With no time to do anything else, Alex grabbed the eater’s jaw, yanked it back away from Micah’s leg, and plunged his knife into its eye.

Blood spurted from the wound onto Alex’s hands, soaking his bandages.  The eater went still.

More were stumbling onto the stairs.  Micah managed to pull his leg free from the tenacious grip of the first eater and scrambled to his feet.  Grabbing hold of Alex’s jacket, he hauled him upright and both of them clambered up the stairs. 

The man who had made it upstairs was nowhere to be seen, but the bathroom door was closed.  They ran into the back bedroom and Micah slammed the door shut and turned the key.  Five seconds later, eaters were thudding against the outside.

“That’s not going to hold them for long,” he said.

Alex ran into the en suite and turned on the hot water, frantically pulling away the bandages with his shaking hands and scrubbing at the blood coating his wounds.  But he knew it was hopeless.  If he could get infected, he would. 

Micah appeared in the doorway as he towelled himself dry. 

“Will you turn?”

“I don’t know.”  Alex walked past him back into the bedroom.  The door to the landing was creaking under the strain.  “We need to get out of here.”

Micah opened the window looking out onto the back garden.  “There’s a shed down here.  We can go this way.”

Alex grabbed the sword which he’d left on the bed.  He stared at the bag for a couple of seconds before picking it up and handing it to Micah.

“You should have this, in case...” He stopped, taking a breath.  “If I turn, don’t hesitate.  I won’t know what’s going on.  Just do it.”

Micah opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and nodded.

Alex walked to the window and looked down.  A brick shed with a flat roof stood below the window.  Two eaters were wandering around the garden, but the gate leading to an alley running along the side of the house seemed to be clear.  Evidently, all the other eaters were inside, many of them right outside the bedroom door.

“We get into the first house we can, okay?” Alex said.

After checking the garden one last time to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, he climbed through the window and lowered himself carefully to the roof, trying not to drop in case it didn’t support his weight.  One of the eaters in the garden saw him and lumbered over.  As he waited for it to approach, he noticed the tip of the sword he held trembling.  He tightened his grip and took a shuddering breath.

I am not going to turn. 

As soon as the eater reached the shed and stretched up for him, Alex stabbed the sword into its eye socket.  The sword wasn’t overly sharp, but it was effective.  The eater collapsed onto the grey tiled patio, staining the slabs beneath it red.

As Micah lowered himself to the shed, the second eater began to head in their direction, dragging its feet through fastidiously tended flowerbeds and trampling pruned shrubs.  Alex dropped to the ground and took it down before it got off the lawn.

Hearing a sound behind him, he turned to see the surviving intruder drop to the ground from the open bathroom window.  He straightened, glanced at Alex, and took off through the gate without a word.