by Steve Feasey
A map appeared on the screen. On it the positions of the Six Cities were marked, but also, well away from them, were six new separate areas. One by one these flashed up, accompanied by visuals of rivers and fields. An image of a tall multi-storey building was shown, a family of four standing before it, smiling at the camera.
‘It was an olive branch my son wished to extend to the mutant people. And even though, as a father, I am hurting from his loss, I know how important it was to him. He felt it was the right thing to do. It should be him, not me, addressing you now. With that in mind, I intend to follow through with the plans he set in motion. I may not like them, but I’m willing to be proved wrong.’
The map was replaced by Melk’s face again.
‘Once completed, each of the six reservations you’ve just seen will have enough housing for thousands of mutants. To date, the only one finished is the reservation designated to house you, the Mutes of the slums outside City Four. You have been chosen as the pioneers for this project. You will be the first to be resettled. My offer is simple: take up these places. See this for what it is – a chance to start again, a chance to get out of the slums, out from the shadows of a city that does not want you.’ A pause. ‘Following this broadcast, a registration bureau will be set up near the fences on the western side of City Four. You can enrol yourselves and your families there. Rules for registration will follow this announcement. You have five days in which to register, and another two days to gather your things together. We have arranged comfortable transport to your new lands.’ He narrowed his eyes, his look cold and stony. ‘Those Mutes who refuse to register will be declaring their allegiance with the terrorists and will be arrested. A week after the deadline for registration, Muteville will be burned to the ground.’ He paused, letting this last bombshell truly sink in. ‘You have been warned.’
The screen went blank.
‘Cut!’ the director responsible for the live address shouted.
Melk leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands before him and resting his chin on the tips of his fingers to accept the congratulations and plaudits of the broadcasting team. Feeling pleased with himself, he watched them for a few moments as they busied themselves around his office space, dismantling equipment and coiling wires. The lights were still on, their harsh beams directed straight into his face, so the space behind them appeared to be in deeper shadow than it really was. One of the crew came over and began to unclip the microphone from the lapel of his jacket. She was young and, like almost everyone in C4, ridiculously good-looking.
‘Great speech, Mr President. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I haven’t always agreed with your views. I realise that was foolish of me. I’m right behind you now.’
The lights were making him sweat a little. He was about to ask that they be turned off when his attention was caught by a figure hanging back in the shadows beyond their glare. Unlike the rest of the crew, who were busy packing up their stuff, this person stood unmoving. Melk narrowed his eyes against the harsh light, trying to get a better view. The way the shadowy figure stood, its arms folded in front of it, head set at that angle … The president’s pulse quickened. The intense heat thrown out from the bulbs suddenly seemed to increase to an almost unbearable level.
‘Zander?’ Melk whispered.
‘I’m sorry?’ the young woman said, but the politician swatted her away and rose to his feet. The shadowy figure tracked his movement.
‘Is this some kind of joke?’ the president said in a loud voice, turning to look at the members of the film crew, all of whom had stopped what they were doing and were staring back at him. ‘Do you think this is funny? Hmm?’
The director eventually broke the silence.
‘Mr President? I’m sorry, sir. What … what seems to be the problem?’
Melk glanced at the man before hurrying around the desk, pushing people out of the way until he was beyond the lit area. He stopped. There was nobody there. ‘Where did he go?’
‘Sir?’
‘He was here. He was …’
‘Who was there?’
Melk looked at the coat stand bearing one of the crew’s jackets and a peaked cap.
‘Get out,’ Melk said, his voice quiet at first. ‘Are you deaf? I said get out. All of you. Now!’
Leaving their equipment behind, the film crew hastily scrambled out of the room.
Melk balled his hands into tight fists and closed his eyes. For the second time in as many days, he’d felt his grip on reality loosen. He would not, could not, let that happen. The people relied on him, just as they’d always relied on the Melks.
He was about to change Scorched Earth forever. This broadcast was just the start, the opening move in his quest to provide a solution to one of their longest-standing and most difficult problems. He would not buckle under the strain!
Hands still a little shaky, he took a small yellow pill from a dispenser in his inside jacket pocket and swallowed it.
Get a grip on yourself! You are a leader!
And a leader did not allow shadow phantoms or disembodied voices to distract them from what was needed. Especially now, when he was on the verge of leading the people of the Six Cities into an all-new era. There was no place for weakness, not now. And when the true nature of his mutant relocation was revealed, all of Scorched Earth would see his strength and resolve.
Silas
Snow had started to fall in Brickville. A few small flakes drifted lazily out of the sky, dancing on the wind. Silas looked up at the heavy grey clouds and sighed. He doubted this would turn out to be a full-blown storm, but it would surely be followed by increasingly unpleasant weather.
From his position at the top of the wreckage that might have once been an office complex or maybe a shop of some kind, he could see out towards the route the teens would use for their return, if they hadn’t done something reckless and got themselves captured or killed. He reprimanded himself for having these thoughts. He was being foolish; they were more than capable of looking after themselves – they’d proved that from their last two successful raids, not to mention their heroic rescue of Brick from City Four. He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of that day when their audacious plan had come together so that they not only liberated their friend, but also sent a message to Melk and the people of the Six Cities: that the mutants were no longer going to sit back and put up with the mistreatment they’d endured for so long. His smile broadened further as he was reminded of the look on his brother’s face when he’d realised that Silas had not been bluffing, and the explosions, carefully placed to cause the maximum damage without costing a single life, had begun.
A noise made him look up again, but it was nothing but a large ugly bird taking to the skies from one of the ruins. Where were they? He glanced off into the distance again, willing his young charges to come into view.
‘No sign of them yet?’ Tia called up to him. She was working at a small makeshift table she’d set up not far from the underground entrance, trying to get some of her damaged equipment to work.
‘Not yet,’ he replied, and she turned back to her task.
He had come to admire the Cowper girl immensely. At first he’d wondered why she’d stayed with the group. She was a Pure, and although she’d illegally removed her CivisChip – the device that allowed citizens to be recognised as such and granted them access inside the Walls – he thought there must be some way she could have used her father’s power and influence to get back inside. Instead she’d remained with the mutant company, claiming her work documenting the group’s struggle was nowhere near finished. It was only when Silas began to notice how she looked over at Rush at night as they sat round the fire to eat that he began to think there was more to her staying put. Of course, somebody else in the group had also spotted these stolen glances, and from the way Anya had been treating Tia recently, there was little doubt in his mind that she was none too happy about it.
Just what we need, Silas thought. An already volatile shap
e-shifting teenager with bad feelings towards a telekinetic’s potential girlfriend. What could possibly go wrong there? The only good thing to say about the situation was that Rush appeared to be oblivious to it all. Since their big argument on the evening they’d all arrived here, Rush and Anya had hardly spoken a civil word to each other. That was good in some ways, but bad in others, and he knew he’d have to try to do something to resolve the situation. The longer it went on, the more resentment would grow between the two, and the more likely something other than just a shouting match would occur.
Movement at the edge of his vision made him turn his head again.
‘What the … ?’ He stared in disbelief as an enormous vehicle hurtled across the rubble-strewn landscape towards him.
‘Now, I know what you’re thinking,’ Rush said, before Silas had a chance to speak. The young mutant had climbed down out of the cab almost before the transporter unit, driven by Jax, had come to a halt, and now he stood in front of his guardian, hands out before him in a placating gesture. ‘Give us a chance to explain.’
‘What is this?’ Silas said, barely able to control his anger. ‘Maybe you could bring a whole fleet of stolen vehicles here next time, eh? Closely followed by every ARM agent on the face of Scorched Earth! How the hell are we supposed to hide this thing?’
‘I know we agreed no more vehicles, but we wouldn’t have brought it back here unless it was important.’
Jax had joined him and nodded in agreement. ‘It’s true, Silas,’ he said.
Rush knew Jax’s opinion carried more weight with the older man. It was understandable; while the other mutant infants had been hidden in the far corners of Scorched Earth following their rescue from the secret facility where they’d been created, the older albino boy had stayed with his liberator, growing up in the shadows of City Four’s walls. Jax was almost like a son to Silas. ‘We would have taken what we wanted and let this thing go. But the vehicle’s driver was no ordinary delivery woman. I took a peek inside her head and discovered she was an undercover ARM operative.’
‘Why would an ARM agent be driving a supply vehicle?’ Tia asked, coming up to join the others.
‘That’s what we wondered,’ the albino continued. ‘At the same time I discovered that she was not who she seemed, I also discovered that this vehicle isn’t all it seems either.’
Brick opened up the large doors at the back and they all walked round to look inside.
‘Look how far back all this stuff goes,’ Rush said, pointing to the cargo stacked on either side. ‘Now go back outside and see how long the hold really is.’
When Silas and Tia came back, puzzled looks on their faces, they climbed inside and approached the far end of the hold. The others joined them.
‘This wall is a dummy,’ Silas said, nodding at the metal barrier. Copying what Jax had done when he first came across the barrier, he rapped his knuckles against it, noting how solid the sound was. ‘The question is, how do we get it open?’
‘Did the woman have one of these on her?’ Tia asked, removing her omnipad from her pocket and showing them. The thing had stopped working a few weeks back because of a problem with its internal power supply. Despite this, the teenager still carried it around with her at all times.
Rush grinned at her. He knew how much she missed using the device, and how cut off she felt without it. He dug into his pocket and fished out the one he’d taken from the ARM agent before sending her away. ‘I figured you’d want this. I thought you maybe could use the power supply to get your own working.’
Tia turned the thing on and waved her hand over the pad, quickly scanning the display for unusual applications. One caught her eye, and when she opened it a holo-keypad appeared in the air. She let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Security protected. You have to enter a four-digit code to gain access, and that could take me forever to –’
‘Try 7648,’ Jax said, shrugging as the others turned to look at him. ‘It was a number the ARM agent was trying very hard not to think about once she realised I could read her thoughts. I had no idea what it might mean – until now.’
Tia entered the code and was immediately rewarded by the sharp noise of automated locks being withdrawn on the other side of the transporter’s false wall. A staccato series of harsh clicks followed and then, with a noise like a sigh, the entire wall slid up and back over their heads.
A weird yellowish-green light spilled out of the revealed space, painting the onlookers’ faces in the same ghastly hue. The illumination came from the glass-fronted cabinets that lined the walls, each of them filled with what appeared to be hundreds, if not thousands, of syringes, hanging point down. Each hypodermic appeared to contain the same light blue liquid.
‘Medicines?’ Silas said, stepping forward and depressing a small button at the side of one of the cabinets so the front slid back with a hiss. He reached in and picked up one of the hypodermics, tapping the vial and peering at it as if this inspection might reveal the nature of the liquid. Removing the rubber bung covering the needle tip, he applied gentle pressure on the plunger, squirting a small jet of the contents into the air. He sniffed, it was odourless.
‘Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff if this is just any regular medicine?’ Anya asked. ‘The convoy we hit last week had medical supplies on board, and they weren’t hidden away like this.’
‘Maybe something in here will tell us,’ Tia answered, holding up a heavy-looking metal case she’d found beside one of the cabinets. This too had a small keypad on the top. Trying her luck, she entered the same four-digit code Jax had previously revealed to them. Once again they were rewarded, this time with the satisfying clunk! of locks disengaging. Inside the case, nestled down among protective foam, was a holo-image player. Placing the device on a shelf, she activated it, stepping back so the others could get a view of the image that immediately appeared in the air above it. The figure of man in his fifties looked back at them.
‘President Melk, felicitations from City Two. As promised, here is the second batch of the N22 DNA marker. I must say, I rather like your name for it: Crimson Tears – very good, Mr President. There are twelve hundred syringes pre-loaded with product, and we are manufacturing more as quickly as we are able, as per your instructions. In line with your suggestions, we have made some changes to the transportation solution, and I think you’ll be happy with the results. Following this holo-mail is a short film demonstrating our most recent tests. I’m sure you’ll agree it is quite impressive. Just speak the words “Play N22 research file number forty-six”, followed by your security code, and it will begin. I trust you’ll find it most enlightening. I hope to see you the next time I’m in City Four. Until then.’ The man disappeared.
‘Where was this shipment bound?’
‘C4.’
Silas looked about him. ‘So unless we know my brother’s security code, we have no way of knowing what these syringes are for? Great.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Tia said. ‘I know a man in Muteville who might be able to tell us.’ She looked at the case. ‘He might also be able to get us access to that research file.’
‘Who is this man?’
‘His name is Juneau. He’s a scientist. Quite brilliant, but he’s chosen to set himself up as a backstreet surgeon, carrying out all manner of dubious work for money.’
‘Can we trust him?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘But he’s about the best chance we have of discovering why all this is so important to Melk.’
‘Then I think we need to make a visit to the C4 slums.’
‘Great,’ Anya said. ‘I’m sick to death of this place.’ She grimaced, realising what she’d said.
‘No,’ Silas said firmly. ‘We will not all be going. For this, I think we should keep the numbers to a minimum. I suggest Jax, Rush and Tia.’
‘What?’
‘Think about it. It makes sense. While Tia goes to find Juneau, Jax can go on a fact-finding mission in other parts of the slums. He knows them bette
r than the rest of you. After all, he grew up there. Tia is the only one who knows this Juneau character, so she has to go –’
‘Why does he have to go?’ she said, pointing at Rush, and doing nothing to disguise the contempt in her voice.
‘Because if anything untoward happens, Rush will prove useful.’
‘Useful. So what am I to infer from that? That you consider the rest of us to be useless?’
‘Now I didn’t say that. In fact –’
‘To hell with you, Silas! To hell with all of you! This is just so typical of what has been going on here recently. She –’ Anya thrust an angry finger in Tia’s direction – ‘has been manipulating you ever since she wheedled her way into this group. Don’t you see what she’s doing? She doesn’t care a damn about any of you; she’s only interested in us as a narrative for her precious documentary! A freak story that will make her famous!’
‘That might just be the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard!’ Rush said.
It was clearly the wrong thing to say. The look on Anya’s face went from indignation to outright fury. She transformed. One second an angry teenager was there, the next a huge winged monster with a broad serpent head and an ape-like body loomed over the group, its jaws wide open to display row upon row of black curved teeth. It hissed, turning this way and that to direct the angry sound at everybody present. Unfurling the leathery wings, it bent at the knee and leaped into the air, the wings filling the air with a loud whooshing as they beat faster and faster, lifting the creature up into the air.
‘Anya, wait!’ Silas said, ignoring the dust kicked up from the earth. But it was too late. The creature took off into the air, flying away without so much as a backwards look.