The Mutants

Shadow of Utopia

Vol. 1

By
Luke Shephard

© 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

And above all – Enjoy!

Shadow of Utopia

Volume One
: The Mutants

Once, long ago, the world was a happier place. It was beautiful and rich with life. There was music and laughter, pictures that could move,
objects that could sing. When a life was born, people celebrated and hosted parties. When a life was taken, people were overcome with grief. There was light everywhere, and hope could always be found in the darkest of times.

That world was called Earth.

Earth is no more. This is the dead Earth, a shell of what once was. Here there is darkness and death, sickness and turmoil. Music is fragments of memories contained within the oldest people. Laughter is for fools. Life is misfortunate, death is celebrated. There is no hope.
There is no hope
.

When the old Earth became too over-populated, the governments decided upon a way to eradicate the swarms of people who lived on the streets, who could not find jobs, who were taking up space, who were consuming food meant for those of higher society. They called this solution
The Cure
and slipped it into the hands of the homeless and the sick.

At first it worked. The Cure destroyed hundreds of people worldwide. But then it turned into something unpredictable. Those who were immune to the virus started to develop strange symptoms. They could hear planes landing miles away, see the grains of sand upon a beach from their hotel room, or swim underwater without holding their breath. Others were not so lucky with their newfound traits. They grew extra fingers and toes, lost their eyes, or became crippled.

Hospitals could do nothing for any of these people and soon they began to diverge into two routes: death or mutation.

Death was the ideal solution to the leaders, though mutation was a frightening sight and uprisings became the new trend for the common people. While mingling down on the streets with the infected vessels in their attempt to protest, the disease began to spread amongst the higher society.

The governments were forced to make another decision.

The sky kingdom was built. It was called
Utopia
. Leaders fled to this paradise, along with all those who could afford such a luxury. Fueled by the Earth’s collected reserve of oil, the sky city left the contaminated Earth below, leaving the sick to struggle on their own and eventually die off.

For a very long time, that was exactly what the sick did: die. Yet they also struggled, and many managed to overcome the accursed illness. Others went insane. Some built cities upon the ruins of old cities. Some ate their neighbours and fled into the wilderness, never to be seen again. After years of reproduction and suffering through life, babies with little signs of The Cure (which was at this time called The Death Mark to the Earth people) were born. Infants with peculiar abilities and little sickness gave hope to the mutants, but hope was easily quashed.

The Utopians saw that the mutants were not dying as planned. Following their ancestors’ guidance, they began the raids upon the dead Earth, killing off as many mutants as they could without spending too much time amongst them. They wore suits to protect their skin from the mutants and if a suit was ripped, that person was left to the mercy of the monsters.

There was one Utopian, however, that had survived the onslaught of the mutants when his protective gear had been torn. His name had been Christophe, and he was Cora’s father.

And this is Cora’s story.

Earth
was not a pleasant place, especially at night when the giant eight-legged creatures would crawl up your legs in an attempt to suck your brain out through your ears. Cora was not a fan of those mutants. Twice now this month she had awoken to the deep stillness of the night and found dozens of beady eyes gleaming at her in the darkness. Then she would have to grab the nearest object (usually a rotting board or her makeshift club) and whack them away with a few good swings. They would shriek and crawl away into the ground. Sometimes they felt the need to go for a second round, though Cora was fully awake by then and if any attempted to come near, she would beat them into the dirt until their eyes glowed no longer.

Such was a peaceful night on Earth.

Sleep was a luxury and Cora knew her sleep was over this night. Her resting patterns were not quite like the others within her small village. She slept from sunset to early morning and awoke in the early hours of the night to begin her day.

Cora was a mutant. She was also gifted. When she had been born, the pupils of her eyes expanded farther outwards than most normal babies. Sunlight had caused her to cry, and darkness allowed her to see. During the hours of the sun, Cora remained in the shadows, hooded and concealed from the bright light. During the hours of the moon, she roamed the village and took care of her chores.

Though, Cora grew afraid as the years passed. Her eyes were becoming weaker and weaker every time they glimpsed a bit of sunlight. Even when all she saw was darkness, they ached until she closed them. She feared that one day the sun would take her eyesight completely and leave her like the mindless mutants that roamed outside the village.

Yet she still had to stay focused. There were many things to do in the run of a night: hunting, foraging, mending, trading, and – most importantly – surviving. Food was essential, as it had been since the beginning of time. Cora had never met a mutant who did not feel the need to eat. Though, hunting required one to travel outside the village and that was very dangerous.

On Earth, hunting during the night was safest. Any creature edible enough to hunt down slept while the moon was up and a large portion of those creatures were also blind in the dark. Cora had a slight advantage in this, as others required fire to travel at night. Fire attracted the sharp-tooths and the quick-claws and you didn’t want any of those on your trail.

Foraging was easier. Many things could be found around the village, either discarded or lost. Cora hoarded those things whenever she saw them. Blankets were valuable. The biting mites liked to chew on them. Blankets never lasted more than a few weeks at best before they were covered in holes. Foraging outside town was still easier than hunting, but also risked the chance of being discovered by the Wildfolk. They were bad news.

After the hunting and foraging was over, Cora usually returned back to her little hiding place under the statue of an ancient ruler. No one liked to go near it because of the Earth’s history with leaders, and that was exactly why Cora chose it as her home. Some knew – of course – that was where she lived, but they avoided her because of her lineage. Her father had been a Utopian soldier a long time ago, spared by the people on Earth through some stroke of luck. After she had been born, he passed on to death due to his susceptibility to The Death Mark. Utopians could not survive something they had avoided all their life.

Cora’s mother was a mystery. Some said she ran off into the wild with the rest of the insane mutants after her child’s birth. Others said she killed herself for loving a Utopian. Cora preferred not to think about it.

After returning home, mending was the next step on the list of things to do. Mending was important. Without good protection, the eight-legged mutants would be always around, trying to suck out your organs. Cora usually kept a wide nailed-together board across the entrance of her home (which was a hole only large enough for her to fit through) and stuffed burnt rags into the gaps in the ground. The smell of smoke usually kept the creatures away. Her clothes always needed mending, too. Once the mites got through the blankets, they liked to snack on your pants and shirt. Cora kept her sun-blocking hood tucked safely away in a metal box she had luckily found one day. Mites couldn’t bite through metal.

Trading came last and was only acceptable when hunting and foraging went poorly. There were some days when even Cora’s eyes could not help her out, and she was forced to bring special trinkets she had found to the vendors in exchange for food or clothes. Sometimes she was turned away. Some merchants didn’t like her smooth skin and natural hair. They said she was lucky to be born.

In those times, Cora felt a great amount of shame wash over her. It was her father who had been Utopian, though it was her who suffered for that. Despite having her mother’s mutant blood, she was still branded an outcast by many. Half of the village hated her. The other half tolerated her. Very few embraced her as a member of their community. Though, she had a few friends she could rely upon in times of need, and she was very grateful for that, for without friends you would find arrive at death’s door much faster than usual.

Footsteps could be heard outside of her home and Cora peered through a small hole in her wooden door to see a pair of ragged boots outside. She smiled and shifted the board aside. Outside stood a girl dressed in a simple tunic and tattered trousers. Her skin was closer to red than white and her teeth were sharp. Her eyes were sun-bright.

And – for a mutant – she was beautiful.

‘Shyla,’ said Cora, giving her friend a hug. She peered over the mutant girl’s shoulder to see a young man with silvery fur for hair. ‘And Lyle!’ she added in surprise.

Lyle was a special sort of mutant. He favoured the night over day, like Cora, but for different reasons entirely. Lyle’s mother had been bitten by a quick-claw while pregnant, causing some of the creature’s genetics to mix with her own. Both her and her son developed qualities of the quick-claws. While she could walk straight, Lyle had been born with a bent back and could only walk with his body tilted forward. He usually kept his sharp fingers on the ground, like the quick-claws.

‘Good morning, Cora,’ said Lyle, his eyes glowing in the darkness.

‘We came to help with the hunt tonight,’ said Shyla. She looked tired, as she should have been. Shyla didn’t usually wake until much later in the night.

‘Are you sure?’ asked Cora. It was not that she doubted her friends’ hunting abilities. Shyla was good with a knife and Lyle had his own brutal ways of taking down prey, though neither could see in the dark. It was only the lighted torches – keeping away the mutant monsters outside the village – that led them to her home.

‘Tell her,’ said Shyla to Lyle.

The boy mutant smiled giddily. ‘I found a nest of burrowers earlier.’

‘Burrowers,’ whispered Cora, glancing suspiciously around. There was no one to be seen, though she couldn’t chance it anyway. Burrowers were rare. She had only seen them once before and that was a long time ago. She had been inexperienced in hunting then. When she had raided a nest the last time, most of the burrowers had escaped and she was left with little meat to bring home. It was a disappointing day, though a day she learned much from.

‘The nest is just outside the village,’ said Lyle. ‘There are sharp-tooths lurking about during the day and that’s probably why no one has spotted them.’

Cora’s mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. Burrowers were mostly meat and hardly any fat. They had no fur to deal with and they were quite slow. They made great meals and their claws could be used to craft various useful things. The thought of getting her hands on even one of them caused her to forget her other chores.

‘When can we leave?’ she asked.

‘Right now if you want,’ said Shyla, smiling. ‘We thought that with the sharp-tooth asleep, you could help us out with the raid.’

Lyle snarled at the last word and Shyla clapped a hand over her mouth, apologizing over and over. Cora frowned but said nothing. Her eyes drifted upwards to the floating city in the sky. It was enormous and the underside burned forever. Tall buildings of pure stone surrounded the edges of the strange city, like the shabby fence that stood around the village. It was there for protection, though Cora had never seen any dangerous flying mutants before.

How comfortable the Utopians must be up there, and how they must be laughing at the poor mutants crawling about down below. They were selfish and cruel. Instead of wasting time, waiting for the sick to die off, why not create a cure … an
actual
cure, one that could fix all of their problems and return peace to the Earth.

Yet they did nothing. They sat in their fancy homes and ate merrily away while the world below fell into chaos. The children there probably owned all of the things told of in stories: boxes that played music, paper that held colour, and dolls made out of glass.

It made Cora sick sometimes to think that she was half Utopian. Once, a few years back, she had snuck into a merchant’s home and found a strange item that allowed one’s appearance to be reflected back at them. In it she saw a strange young woman with oddly-coloured eyes and soft skin. It had taken her a while to realize that the person staring back at her
was
her.

And that person was part Utopian. Part monster, in other words. Utopians might believe that the mutants upon the Earth were the monsters, but Cora knew better. They
all
knew better. Utopians flew down from their floating city and slaughtered those who were inferior to them. By now they had probably created a great civilization, while those below were still searching in the dirt for scraps. Some didn’t even know their own name.

Cora thanked her father for her good health and her mother for her insanity to love a Utopian. If she ever met and fell in love with a Utopian, she wished her mind would turn to mush too.

‘Sorry,’ murmured Shyla again, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. ‘I forgot that we shouldn’t use that word …’

‘No big deal,’ Cora reassured her, though Lyle still seemed bothered by it. ‘Cheer up, quick-claw,’ she teased, knowing that he hated that name. The mutant snarled at her but she ignored him. ‘Let’s talk about what to do with the nest.’

Shyla agreed and stopped fretting about her mishap. They huddled inside the statue and closed the makeshift door behind them. It was time to formulate a plan against the beasts. They were not dangerous or overly large, but they were clever. Nests were usually made up of dozens of tunnels. That meant dozens of exits, and their claws could easily shovel through the dirt to make other tunnels to escape if they really needed to.

Lyle drew the nest upon the dirt with one of his clawed fingers. From the look of things, Cora figured even if they blocked a few tunnel exits each, many burrowers would still escape during their attack. They also had to worry about the sharp-tooths hearing them. There was nothing faster at accelerating your heart rate than a two-hundred pound sharp-tooth chasing you, and if you managed to survive the chase you would then have to face the angry wrath of every villager, because you just lured a two-hundred pound sharp-tooth to the village.

‘How are we going to block off all those exits?’ asked Cora, rubbing her finger across her lip in thought. ‘If we fill them with dirt, the burrowers will only dig their way out. We don’t have enough blankets to do the job, and honestly I wouldn’t sacrifice my blankets like that.’

‘I have an idea,’ said Shyla mysteriously. From the pocket of her tunic she pulled out a tiny box and shook it in front of Cora and Lyle. Something was inside.

Cora studied the box for a few moments but then shook her head. ‘What is that?’

‘I recognize it …’ said Lyle slowly, but he said no more.

Shyla pulled the small box open and inside were tiny sticks with coloured heads. ‘Fire sticks!’ she whispered in excitement, and Lyle took on a look of recollection. ‘I have been saving them for a special occasion.’

‘Fire sticks?’ Cora was confused. She had never heard of such a thing. Whenever she lit a fire, she used black rocks and dead twigs. ‘Are you saying those little sticks can make fire?’

‘I saw my father with them once, a long time ago,’ said Lyle. ‘You slide them along the side of their box and fire appears where the colour once was.’

‘Really?’ Cora took the box of sticks from Shyla and examined them closer. They didn’t look special to her, though they smelled different than normal sticks. ‘Well, we can’t make fire out there. It’s too dangerous.’