Mutation (Twenty-Five Percent Book 1) (3 page)

Alex was eager to interrogate the blond man from the night before when he reached work the next morning.  

It had been on his mind from the moment he woke up.  There was something off about the man, the way he behaved, his complete lack of fear, his fighting skills.  If he was unafraid of the Meir’s survivors, why was he leading a hundred riled up men into the middle of East Town to try to get them out?

His detective’s instincts were buzzing.

The first stop when he got into the Porter Street police station was the armoury, where he collected his Glock 17 semi-automatic pistol from his locker and grabbed a nineteen round magazine.  Next, he headed for the squad room and his tiny, cluttered desk. 

“Don’t get comfortable, Alex, I need you and Rodney to take care of a grab.”

His jacket halfway off one arm, Alex paused to look over his shoulder at Police Inspector Nathaniel Parker. 

“Now, sir?”  He hadn’t yet reached the third, and arguably most important, step of his usual morning routine - coffee.

“Yes, now.”

Sighing internally, he pulled the jacket back on.  “Where?”

“On St. Michael’s Street, east of the roundabout.”

“What’s the building number?”  Alex opened his desk drawer and reached in for his holster.

“It’s not in a building, it’s on the street.”

Alex stopped.  “On the
street
?  Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Parker said with a smile.  “Try not to make too much of a mess.”

. . .

Eaters roaming the streets were so rare Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard of it happening. 

If someone was infected and, illegally, didn’t go to the hospital, they always hid out in their houses or flats or bedsits trying to ignore the inevitable.  Hoping that they alone, in the whole thirteen year history of Meir’s Disease, would be the ones who wouldn’t turn, who would recover by themselves using high strength vitamin C tablets and the half a bottle of penicillin they found in the back of the medicine cabinet.  They hid and turned and were trapped as mindless, ravenous monsters, until either some unfortunate soul discovered them or they starved to death and someone noticed the smell. 

They holed up where they felt safe.  They didn’t go for a stroll.

“You ever heard of an eater outside?” Alex said, glancing at Rodney Cutter in the driver’s seat beside him.

“Learn to drive, moron!” his partner yelled at a car that had pulled out in front of them. 

The siren blared as he hit the button for the blue flashing lights retro-fitted behind the grille of his Porsche and he glared out the window at the driver as the car pulled over in front of them.  He left the siren on and cars scattered out of the way ahead of them.

“Not since the first ones when nobody knew what it was,” he said. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

Cutter shrugged.  “Yeah, but what about a flesh eating crazy person isn’t weird?”

Alex smiled.  “You know what I mean.”

“Let’s just get in, take the thing down and get back to the station,” he said.  “We can work out the whys and wherefores later, when there’s coffee.”

They didn’t have to search for the eater when they reached St. Michael’s Street. 

Alex shook his head.  “What are these idiots doing?” he said as they pulled up behind the crowd.  “Don’t they realise how dangerous it is?”

Two police cruisers were already on the scene, parked at right angles to each other to form one half of a square of vehicles.  The two cars completing the box were a taxi and someone’s silver Qashqai.  Within the makeshift corral an eater, a middle-aged man wearing brown trousers and a checked shirt, lurched around the small area, single-mindedly trying to reach the people around it, but unable to summon enough brain power to escape its metal prison. 

Alex and Cutter pushed their way through the shoving, gawking crowd of people stupid enough to try to get a closer look.

The four police officers on the scene, three men and a woman, were doing their best to get the people eager to see the unexpected sight to move back, but they were largely being ignored.  Eaters were no longer a common sight.  Some of the younger people in the crowd may never have seen one in the flesh.  Everyone wanted a get a photo or video.  One teenager who’d managed to get right up to where two of the vehicles met turned around for a selfie and had the unique experience of being photobombed by the eater as it made a grab for him.  Its grasping hands closed onto thin air as Alex grasped the kid’s collar and jerked him away at the last second. 

The lucky escapee’s eyes widened as he looked up at Alex.  “Hey, you’re...”

“The person who just saved your stupid behind from being eaten,” Alex said.  “I hope that photo was worth it.”

The teenager glanced at his phone then held it up for Alex to see, a huge grin on his face.  “Hell, yes.”

Alex knew the shot of the boy’s inane smile with the eater looming over his shoulder would be viral before lunchtime.

“Hey, could I get a shot of you...”

The boy was cut off as Cutter shoved him out of the way.  “So how do you want to handle this?” he said to Alex.  “If we shoot it here and the thing’s blood gets on someone, you just know we’ll get the blame instead of all these bloody idiots.”

Alex glanced around.  Some of those closest to them backed away at the sight of his almost colourless eyes.  People’s stupidity astounded him at times.  They were feet away from a thing that wanted nothing more than to rip its teeth into their throats and yet
he
was the one they were afraid of.

He grinned.  “I’ve got it.”

He vaulted up onto the bonnet of one of the police cars and jumped onto the roof.  Raising his gun, he fired a single shot into the air, the sound echoing from the surrounding high-rises.  The crowd quietened, staring up at him in shocked silence.  The eater immediately stumbled towards him, reaching its grasping hands toward his ankles then stopping abruptly.  It sniffed the air and then backed away, returning to the task of walking into the cars hemming it in.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Alex shouted, “my name is DC MacCallum and I am about to attempt to restrain this
highly dangerous
eater.  In the event that I get into trouble, DS Cutter here,” he waved a hand in Cutter’s direction, “will have to shoot it.  If that happens, anyone too close will be in serious danger of infection.  So if you don’t want to end up like that,” he pointed at the eater, which helpfully moaned on cue, “or like me, please move back from the vehicles.  Thank you, your co-operation is appreciated.”

He waited for his warning to sink in.  Some people moved back, including the four police officers.  Most didn’t. 

Alex looked down at Cutter and shrugged.  “No-one can say we didn’t warn them.”

Slipping off his brown leather jacket, he placed it beside him on the roof of the car, secured his gun into the holster at his waist, checked the reinforced eater cuffs attached to his belt, and jumped to the ground.  He landed inside the car enclosure and dropped into a crouch, absorbing the force of the impact through his muscles. 

There was an audible gasp from the surrounding crowd.  Dozens of smartphones were thrust into the air, striving for a good angle. 

I’m going to be an online star,
Alex thought. 
Lucky me.

The eater turned in his direction and lumbered over as he straightened.  As much as something with no conscious thought could be, it seemed confused.  Alex smelled different, not what it wanted.  He knew this because
he
could smell the difference too.  Sense of smell was heightened in the infected and stayed that way for Survivors, a fact Alex often regretted when dealing with the sometimes unwashed public.  Normals and Survivors smelled different.  But they were surrounded by uninfected people and their scent was overwhelming for the eater, driving it wild.  It couldn’t get to them, but it could get to Alex.  The smell and sound of its only desire overrode its usual apathy towards Survivors. 

It lunged at Alex with a groan.

A couple of rapid sidesteps and the eater missed, colliding with the car behind him.  The general lack of coordination and speed typical of eaters wasn’t much of an advantage for Alex in the small space.  He threw a glance at Cutter as he moved to the opposite side of the tiny area within the cars.  His partner’s pistol was in his hand, ready.  Alex knew he would shoot if he got into any real trouble, but with the action increasing in front of them, the people were crowding even closer.  He needed to take the thing down without bullets.

The eater shuffled its feet around to face him.  It no longer cared that he couldn’t be infected, it just wanted to feed on something, and he was the only thing within reach. 

It came at him again and he threw all his strength into a hook to the side of its face, whipping its head around and sending it staggering to its right.  Alex had hoped it would be enough to drop it, but the tiny space meant it just hit another car, staying on its feet.  He followed up with a swift kick to its knee, always a good place to attack to bring anything down, but he misjudged and the car got in the way again as the eater’s leg slammed back against it.  The eater made a grab for him while he was still on one foot and caught the edge of his shirt, pushing him off balance. 

He fell backwards, pulling the eater, still clinging on, down on top of him. 

The asphalt knocked the breath from him as he landed hard on his back, the weight of the eater on his chest almost smothering him.  Teeth snapped in his face.  Alex vaguely heard Cutter shouting.

The eater’s breath blasted into his face and he flinched, expecting the rancid smell of teeth that hadn’t been brushed in some time.  He was surprised when all he smelled was a vague minty freshness, but before he could think about it, its head lunged down at his face.  He jerked his head to one side and its face smacked into the tarmac next to his ear.  Alex heard bone crunch. 

When the eater lifted its head again, its face was covered in its own blood, nose twisted and teeth broken.  The wound didn’t even slow it down.  A twinge of fear prodded him.  He couldn’t be re-infected, but he could be hurt and he could be killed. 

As the eater took aim for his face again, he managed to get his hands beneath its shoulders.  With what he afterwards hoped was a manly roar and not a strained grunt, he pushed as hard as he could.  Thankfully, the eater was not a big man and it almost flew off him, landing on its back a couple of feet away. 

He sat up and batted its grasping hands aside, rolling it onto its chest before it could rise and planting a knee into its back.  It moaned and struggled, trying to rise.  Alex pulled the cuffs from his belt, grabbed its hands and secured them behind it. 

A smattering of applause broke out from those members of the crowd not holding phones.  Alex turned and sat on the eater’s back for a few seconds, gasping in a few deep breaths.

“Damn it, MacCallum, what the hell are you playing at?”

Alex looked up to see Cutter glaring at him.  He grinned.  “Worried about me?”

“Only that you’ll leave me writing the report out on my own.  What was that falling over crap?  I thought you were supposed to have good reflexes.”

Alex’s reflexes weren’t any better than anyone else’s, but he wasn’t going to say so.  He stood and dusted himself off.  “I got the job done, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, and nearly got yourself killed in the process.  I couldn’t even get a clear shot with it on top of you.”

“Why Rodney, I didn’t know you cared.”  Alex winked, knowing it would irritate the seasoned detective, and grabbed his jacket from the roof of the cruiser where he’d left it.

Cutter shook his head in disgust and stalked away through the crowd.  Alex smiled, pulled his jacket on and set about loading the eater into one of the police cars. 

Rodney Cutter was an acquired taste and on the surface of it they were a terrible match.  At forty-eight, he was sixteen years older than Alex, with greying dark hair, two ex-wives and a personality that could only be described as abrasive.  After Alex recovered from being bitten in the line of duty, Cutter had been the most vociferous of all his colleagues in his objections to Alex being allowed to keep his job as a detective. 

When Parker had partnered them up for eater grabs, Alex thought it was some kind of sick joke.  Cutter hated him and was constantly rubbing Alex up the wrong way.  For two years he was driven crazy by Cutter’s rude remarks and barely veiled contempt.  That was until Alex intentionally put himself in harm’s way to save Cutter’s life two years before, suffering a nasty injury in the process. 

It had proved a turning point, not only in the way Cutter treated him, but with the rest of his fellow police as well.  Suspicion and mistrust slowly turned to acceptance and admiration.  He was still kept on desk duty for anything other than eater grabs and cases involving other Survivors, the general public attitude toward Survivors ranging from wariness, through fear, to outright hatred.  But at least the men and women he worked with were more approving of him now and, while not exactly best buddies, he and Cutter had a good working relationship.  They even exchanged Christmas cards.