Mutation (Twenty-Five Percent Book 1) (9 page)

“Shut up.” 

He turned the key again.  The starter rolled sluggishly over and over.  The eaters lurched closer, the first few within ten feet now. 

Suddenly, the engine caught.

Micah exhaled loudly and sat back, revving for what seemed like an age.

“Don’t you think we should be leaving, Mike?” Alex said from between gritted teeth.

“Do you want it to die again?  And it’s Micah.”

“What?”

“You can call me Micah or you can call me Mr Clarke, but don’t
ever
call me Mike.”

The first eater reached the car and slammed a bloody palm onto the window next to Alex. 

“I’ll call you sweetheart and bake you cupcakes if it will get us moving,” he said, watching the eater nervously.  If it worked out it could break the glass with a fist and enough force, he was in trouble.

Micah gently let his foot up.  When the engine noise lowered, but didn’t fade out, he shifted into first, just as the second eater reached them.  The car clipped the first eater and it spun away and fell as they moved out.  The back wheel bumped over it. 

Alex pulled on his seatbelt as they made a u-turn and sped away, willing his heart rate to slow to less than two hundred.

“Thank you, Mavis,” he murmured.

Alex slid the rifle into the bag on his lap.

“What else have you got in there?” Micah said when they could no longer see the eaters behind them.

Alex glanced at him warily. “A taser and pepper sprays and some extra ammunition.” 

“Will a taser work on an eater?”

“No idea, but in the event that’s all I have I’d rather try it than nothing.”

“And the pepper spray?”

“They were the last two things left in the armoury so I thought, why not?  You want one?”  Give him the pepper spray, he might not try for the assault rifle, Alex thought.  Although he was willing to admit that logic might be a bit flawed.

“No, thanks, I think I can do without it.”

Alex shrugged and zipped the bag closed.

“Where can I drop you?” Micah said.

Alex looked out the window at the skyline.  The streetlights were beginning to warm up.  Dusk was rapidly approaching.  In his experience, bad situations rarely improved in the dark.

“East Town,” he said.  “Right now, I think it would be a good idea to dig in for the night.”

“So you’re going home,” Micah said.

Alex nodded.  “Tomorrow I’ll see what it’s like further out of town.  What about you?”

Micah was silent for a while.  “The same.”

Alex had the strongest feeling Micah was hiding something, but then he’d felt like that practically since they’d met. 

“Whereabouts do you live?” Alex said, trying to sound as if he was making casual conversation.

“Not far from you,” Micah replied, without elaborating.

Alex gave up, trying to put it out of his mind.  It wasn’t as though Micah would tell him.  As long as it wasn’t anything that would get him or anyone else killed, he could live without knowing.

They drove in silence for a while, making several turns as Micah drove them towards the east side of the city.  The streets were practically deserted, other than roaming eaters.  There were signs that people had left in a hurry, the occasional glimpse of belongings strewn in front gardens and on doorsteps.  Looters had struck the shops.  Society was already breaking down and it had been less than twelve hours since the outbreak had begun. 

They passed an electrical store, its windows smashed.  As they drove by, two young men emerged, staggering under the weight of a huge plasma television set. 

“Wanna bet how long those two are going to last?” Micah said.

“I’m guessing it’ll be measured in hours instead of days,” Alex replied.  At least for now, they no longer lived in a society where stupidity wasn’t a handicap.

He gazed longingly at a coffee shop a little further along. 

“That doesn’t look good.”

Alex tore his eyes from the poster of a steaming espresso as Micah slowed the car to a stop.  Ahead of them, cars were strewn across both sides of the street.  Dented bumpers and doors bore evidence to several collisions.  Blood soaked into both upholstery and tarmac, but there were no bodies.

The way forward was blocked.

“Can’t you get past on the pavement?” Alex said.

Micah turned to him, his eyebrows raised.  “Didn’t you learn anything from the station car park?” 

“You are never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not as long as we’re together.  Which, once we get past this, and if I’m lucky, should be another twenty minutes or so.”  He shifted the gearstick into reverse to begin a three point turn.  “We’ll have to circle round.”

Three sharp bangs sounded on the side of the car.  Alex peered into the wing mirror next to him, seeing two men walking towards the front of the car.  One of them was holding a knife.  The other had what looked for all the world like a sword.

Someone tapped on the driver’s side window and Alex looked round to see another two men.  He glimpsed the handle of a knife protruding from the belt of the one nearest the car.  The man made a winding motion with his hand for Micah to roll down the window.  Micah lowered it an inch.

“This area is crawling with eaters,” the man said, leaning down to look into the car.  “It’s not...”  He stopped when he saw Alex.  “Eater!”  He yelled. 

The other three men were immediately on alert, brandishing their assorted weapons as they bent down to see through the windows.  Alex pulled his gun from its holster.

“He’s not an eater,” Micah shouted, “he’s a Survivor.”

“Eater, white-eye, makes no difference,” the man doing all the talking said.  “You can go, but we need to deal with him.”

“What do you mean, ‘deal with him’?”

Two of the men had moved to the front of the car. 

“We need to go,” Alex muttered.  “Now.”

“He’s dangerous,” the man said.  “He needs to be killed.”

“What the hell are you talking about?  He’s a cop!”

“I don’t care what he is,” the man said, his voice rising.  “If it has white eyes, it gets put down.”

“Micah, you can’t reason with them,” Alex said.  “Just go.”  It wasn’t the first time he’d been the target of this kind of irrational fear and hatred.

The man on Alex’s side tried to pull the door open, but it was locked.  He slapped a hand onto the window. 

“Idiots,” Micah hissed, throwing the car into first.

The window next to Alex shattered, glass showering his lap.  “Go!” he yelled.

The sword thrust into the car, aiming for Alex’s head.  He instinctively grabbed at it.  The car jerked forwards and he screamed as the blade dug into his hands.  Grimacing, he held on as the car accelerated.  Micah spun the car around and the two men in front of them leaped out of the way.  The sword was dragged from the hand that held it and Alex pulled it in through the window as they sped back the way they had come.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Micah said, banging his hands against the steering wheel as he drove.  “How can anyone be that stupid?”

Uncertain if Micah meant the men for trying to lynch him or himself for not letting them, Alex kept silent.  Using his knuckles, he brushed little cubes of glass from his clothing, and then unfurled his hands, wincing as he did so.  Both palms were bleeding.  Micah glanced at him.

“I can’t believe you just grabbed that thing.  Didn’t it hurt?”

“Yes, it hurt,” Alex replied, “a lot.”  He looked down at the sword which was resting against his thigh, its tip on the floor between his feet.  “But hey, at least I got a sword.”

Micah snorted, shaking his head, and for the first time since they’d met, Alex saw him smile.  After driving past a few side streets, Micah turned right, navigating around the blocked route.

“Check the glove compartment,” he said.  “Mavis seemed like the kind of person to have a first aid kit.”

Alex flipped the compartment door down, trying to do everything with the backs of his hands to avoid spreading his blood around.  He found a pack of tissues and pulled one out, trying to clean the blood without touching any of the wounds.  Looking down at his hands, his head almost hit the dashboard when the car jerked to a halt abruptly. 

“What...?”  He looked out the windscreen.  “Reverse.  Reverse now.”

“I know,” Micah growled, shifting the gear. 

The car sped back. 

There was a deafening crash as they halted abruptly and Alex was suddenly face to face with an airbag.  The engine stalled.

Alex batted the airbag out of the way and turned to look behind them.  He heard the squeal of tyres as the car they had hit reversed frantically, only one headlight now working, spun across the road and drove away.

Their own engine turned over a couple of times and stopped.  His airbag in his lap, Micah turned the key again.  Nothing happened.  He did it several more times, glancing between the ignition and the windscreen.  The only response was a series of soft clicks.

Alex grabbed the bag of weapons, wincing as the woven handles cut into his wounds.

“We’re going to have to run,” he said.

“You think?”

Micah opened his door and jumped out.  Alex pushed his own door open and did the same, taking the bag and sword with him.  Ahead of them there were more cars, this time completely blocking the road as far as he could see.  Wandering amongst the pile up were the largest number of eaters they’d seen so far.  Alex guessed they had been the occupants of the cars.  Some were still trapped inside their vehicles, scraping their fingers pathetically across the windows, locked in what would most likely become their tombs.  Others were roaming aimlessly.  Some were feeding.  Alex desperately hoped there was no-one left alive and uninfected in the carnage.

But most of the eaters were staggering straight for him and Micah.

They took off at a run away from the horde, heading around the first turning they came to, then skidding to a halt.  Up ahead, more eaters were milling around in the road and surrounding gardens.  Seeing Alex and Micah, they started towards them.  Alex looked back to see the leading edge of the horde behind them appear at the corner.  They were trapped.

“We need to get inside,” Alex said, scanning the surrounding houses for a place to hide.  “Over there.”  He pointed to a detached house set back from the road.  There were no lights on inside that he could see, but most importantly, the front door was ajar.

They ran for the house, crossing the street and leaping over the low wall surrounding the front garden just as the nearest eaters coming the other way reached the gate.  They crowded through onto the path as Alex and Micah bounded up the few steps to the front door.  Micah already had his pistol drawn.  He pushed the door open, standing to one side and peering into the darkened interior.

“Looks clear,” he said.

Alex followed him in and closed the white UPVC door behind him, pushing up the handle to engage the bolts.  Moments later, they heard thuds and clawing at the outside.

“There’s no key,” he said, dropping the bag and sword and holding onto the handle. 

He looked around for a likely storage place for a door key.  Feeling the handle rattle as an eater nudged it, he grasped it with both hands, wincing at the pain from his sliced palms.

There was a sideboard close to the door and Micah started rummaging through drawers.

“Got keys,” he said, then frowned.  “Lots of keys.”

He returned to the door with seven loose keys that looked like they might fit and began trying them one by one.  Something heavy pushed at the handle from the other side and Alex gripped it tight to keep it from unlatching.  The smooth plastic was becoming slippery with blood.

Micah dropped the final key from the lock.  “How come they have all these keys and none of them fit the door?”

“Are there any more in there?” Alex said, glancing at the sideboard.

“No, this is all there is.”  He replaced the keys in the drawer and slid it closed.

The pounding on the outside of the door continued.

“I don’t suppose you can pick locks as well as hotwire cars?” Alex said.

“Yes, but I left my lock picking kit at home.”

Alex raised his eyebrows.

“No, I can’t pick locks,” Micah said, exasperated.  “Who do you think I am?”

“Well, I can’t stand here all night.”

“I’m going to see if I can find a key anywhere else.”

Micah disappeared along the hallway while Alex slumped against the door.  After few seconds he looked around.  A chair stood against the wall next to the sideboard.  Keeping one hand on the door handle, he reached towards it.  When his arm wasn’t long enough, he tried a foot.  He’d just got it looped around a leg when Micah returned, holding up a set of keys on a keyring.

“They were in the back door,” he said.

With a look of triumph, he inserted and turned the key.  A satisfying click emanated from the door.  Alex pushed down on the handle cautiously, letting go when he encountered resistance.  Blood covered the white plastic.

“You’re welcome,” Micah said.

Alex grunted.

“Will it hold?”

“It should,” Alex answered.  “These doors have five mortise locks.  I might be able to break it down if I threw myself a few times at it hard enough, but not just by pushing it.  And I’d probably break a bone or three at the same time.  But you stay here, just in case.”

“Yeah, right, I’ll just wait here for the eater horde to break through.”  Shaking his head, Micah walked through a wide arch into the living room.

A quick search of the ground floor revealed it to be a typical house, lounge, dining room and kitchen downstairs.  Everything was tidy and well looked after.  The remains of a meal lay on the dining room table, as if the occupants had left in a hurry.  Either out of mother-taught habit or respect for the owners, Alex picked up some of the half-full plates and carried them into the kitchen, depositing them by the sink.  After watching him, Micah did the same with the rest.

Alex looked out of the window into the back garden.  A patio gave way to a lawn surrounded by neat flowerbeds and a few trees.  A large shed sat in one corner.  There were no eaters, thanks to a six foot high wooden fence.  It wasn’t strong enough to keep them out, but it was solid enough to stop them from seeing in.